by James Kelman
Life goes on but people dont, individuals.
Helen’s hand went to her forehead; she massaged there, thinking of something, whatever. Oh but it was true enough, divorce, what people say about it. So horrible an experience. Mo said he understood but he didnt. How could he? How could anybody, if they hadnt gone through it themself. Although he had been there for her. That was true, of course he had. And never would she forget it, if she hadnt met Mo, if he hadnt been in Glasgow, and it was only a fluke he had been, helping people at a restaurant, cousins of the ones he worked for in London. Typical Mo. He called it ‘troubleshooting’ and made a joke about being the sheriff in a cowboy movie. But it was true, he was there to sort out the problems. At weekends it was past three in the morning when he finished. He and a couple of workmates used Helen’s casino as a place to wind down. They spent an hour drinking tea and chatting by the bar, talking over things, how the evening had gone and whatever else. Casino staff knew them and occasionally used their restaurant. Helen was one of a group that booked in for their Christmas dinner. During it the guys who came to the casino sat with them, including Mo. She hadnt looked at him. He was smaller than her, and like younger, or seemed to be. Then he was sitting behind her, then talking to her directly. She just liked him. That was the truth. How he spoke, just like an ordinary Londoner. But he was an ordinary Londoner. Helen had lived and worked in London before getting married, it was nice talking about that, she didnt get the opportunity much. And he wasnt younger he was older – by one month! A month is a month; a month is older. That was him talking. God he was a cheery bugger, and the way he was chatting her – and he was!
He was chatting her. It was just so silly, and nice, so so nice and just – normality, after what she had been through, it was like boy meets girl.
He had seen her at the tables, had she not noticed? No. Surely she had noticed? No! She hadnt! Not even one time? She hadnt noticed any of them sitting at the bar and sipping their tea. It was not her job to notice, not when she was dealing cards.
He didnt believe her. Then he did. It was an honest smile too. She saw that it was. He was being straight with her, this wee London guy, Asian guy, making her laugh, and watching her, closely. If she was racist? Anyway, she was watching him, and he knew she was. I got two wooden legs. Stupid, but it made her laugh. She covered her mouth but couldnt stop herself giggling, it was a giggle, so silly. She stopped it. Only it was funny. ‘Giggling’. When had she last ‘giggled’?
Mo and his smiles, Mo and his laughs. If he hadnt been there for her. If he hadnt. There was nobody else. Not her family. Nobody.
Things make you strong.
The actual divorce experience itself, people wouldnt believe how dreadful it was. Not the stress my God the stress it puts you under. The children too, some dont recover, become damaged emotionally, psychological scars, the whole thing a nightmare. Only they never wake from it. No matter how bad the nightmare is in the ordinary world you wake up from it but they dont.
The photographs on the floor. She didnt want to pick them up. Ones facing up and ones facing down. It wasnt her choice. Things land at random. If her mother’s photograph was face down. She didnt want to see it if it was. As if it was her fault! It wasnt. Silly thinking such a thing.
She made her way through to the bedroom. It was a good-size room and must have been a lounge originally. They used it as a bedroom and a place to store things. There was plenty light coming in through the curtains. Mo’s huddled shape in the double bed, she listened to his breathing. Sophie slept in the walk-in cupboard. The door was kept ajar when she was in bed otherwise it would have gone from cosy to claustrophobic. There was no window in the cupboard. Cupboards dont have windows, even the walk-in variety, so no fresh air. When Sophie was in bed the door had to be left properly open. So things were awkward; it meant the room was out of bounds. The kitchen was where they lived. They needed a new place, whenever that might happen. Probably never. They didnt do the lottery.
Helen sat by the entrance with the chair angled that she might reach into Sophie without shifting position. An empty glass stood by the wall. Not quite empty; inside was a drop of water. Mo must have left it there. He would have checked how she was when he came home, then last thing before getting into bed; perhaps sat with her if she had been awake, if the movement had disturbed her. She could have been awake; sometimes she was. She still liked to come into bed with Helen, even when Mo was there. She had suffered bad dreams for a while. It still happened though not so much but on Helen’s night off the girl used it as an excuse to wangle her way in beside them, unless it was a form of jealousy. Mo said that. And jealousy could happen; parents and children, it did, jealousy and envy, spite, everything.
Turning the cupboard into a ‘bedroom’ had been Mo’s brilliant idea. But it was good. Really, and made a huge huge difference. He bought an old bed from a so-called furniture store down near the market. It was secondhand junk they sold and the bed wasnt just old it was like prehistoric, with a nailed-down metal frame. It was so so heavy. Two of his mates helped with the lifting and manoeuvring. They managed to squeeze it into the cupboard by taking off the end frames, and the legs too, sawing bits off and nailing bits on as supports, then putting bricks underneath the sides. Obviously the mattress didnt fit. Obviously. Helen hunted about and found long settee-style cushions made of foam-rubber. These had been designed for a caravan but could be fitted together, and would do meantime. What the landlord didnt know wouldnt hurt him.
Although landlords have a habit of finding things out. Surely he would have had no complaints? If changes werent structural and no damage occurred. What could he say?
Oh but he would find something. They always do. Any excuse to keep the deposit. The cupboard shelves, he would have had something to say about them. They were high above Sophie’s bed and couldnt be reached without stepladders but he definitely would see them. How could he miss them?
Mo built them before the bed went in. You had to twist about to get up because you couldnt set the ladders inside the cupboard, you climbed up then twisted and reached across; and the stepladders were old and shoogly; greasy and oily into the bargain; horrible old things. Everybody in the house used them and they were just horrible.
In this place everything was old. Nothing worked. Especially if she was using it. What worked for Helen? Nothing. It didnt matter what.
It was true.
No it wasnt. It was not true at all, and she was stupid and foolish for thinking such a thing and she had to stop it stop it, stop thinking negative thoughts all the time, things were good. They were.
But what would the landlord do if he saw the shelves? Surely it was structural if you interfered with the walls? And you werent supposed to do anything structural.
That was Mo. He interfered. He did. Walls came under fittings, you werent to touch fittings, it was interfering and you werent to interfere. He went in and did things, and that was the shelves, building them and so high. And he kept heavy stuff up there; old computers and bits and pieces; cables and connections, leads and other stuff, all fankled together. He hunted the secondhand shops and came home with junk. Ancient junk. Why did he do it? There was nothing in them. Spare parts, it was stupid. Two old video machines under the bed my God why did he keep them? outmoded junk. What a waste of space. Spare parts for what? The IT industry didnt work like that. She knew enough to know junk when she saw it, and that was junk. It was all relics. The technology changed every couple of years. Less. It had to. That was how the industry worked, that was profit and loss, people had to be buying and people had to be selling. And like the ones that made the things, them too, the people doing the actual jobs, poor people in foreign countries, whatever they did for a measly pittance of a wage and catching all the cancers. Mo wanted to talk about them and that was good but he didnt make the other connection. A man he knew worked down town selling the stuff, why didnt he ask him? That old junk was not going to be useful and come in handy; it would sit up there gather
ing dust. Why clog up your home? What was the use of that? eBay, nobody was going to buy these things on eBay. Even if they did, a pound here and a pound there. And these big hi-fi speakers on the top shelf. What were they for? They were completely obsolete. Things became obsolete because they had to be so people were forced to update. Everybody knew that. Mo was clever but he could be thick. He had blank spots. All men did, it was like a gender issue. They did things that were silly. They didnt see the consequences. Mo said the shelves were strong but they had to be strong because what happened if they fell down? so that was not an answer. Even the walls themselves: what if they fell down, because of all the shelves and all the heavy objects piled on top of them? This wasnt Glasgow where you got big thick sandstone lasting a hundred years. The buildings here were flimsy, their wee thin bricks, the big bad wolf could have blown it down. She got sick of talking about it. He wore her down. Not everything was a joke. When you looked up to the ceiling and saw the stuff all piled high, then down below and it was Sophie’s bed! My God!
Oh but the walls would never collapse. It was just her worrying.
Even the nails, see the nails.
Mo showed her them. They were big strong nails. They were too. Helen could see they were.
Nothing would happen. He called her ‘girl’. Dont worry about it girl. What did he mean by that? As if ‘girl’ because she was a ‘girl’ and a girl was a child like not an adult and not to be taken seriously. It was annoying. They said ‘girl’ in London but so what? Mo wasnt even a real Londoner he was Middlesex my God he said it often enough, ‘Middlesex’, like being proud of Middlesex. Danny the driver said ‘girl’ too. She didnt like it from him either. ‘Girl’, it was not like an adult.
What did it matter? She closed her eyes, although thoughts of her ex, his image; she was too tired to shudder. Why could she not be rid of him forever? It wasnt fair that his image could still be there and come into her brain, not after such a long time. Why could she not wipe it out? If the brain was a computer. People say that, as though things can be deleted and then erased, but the brain is not a computer, things cannot be erased, not like that.
Even now her main worry – laughable, so laughable – that she might turn a corner and bump into him. She knew he was in Glasgow and there was no reason to worry but she did. So it was like why? He would never come to London. Except perhaps it was a new job, and he came down for it, if she was with Mo, and Sophie too, Mo walking with them and it was hand in hand and they turned a corner and there he was. But he would never do it, he would never leave Glasgow and there was no reason ever to worry, never more, he could do what he liked. She could too. She could. It was up to her; if she wanted to do something she could do it.
Oh God.
Mo was nothing at all like her ex. Nonsense even thinking it. Only he could be silly. She liked it about him but also she didnt like it.
But the walls wouldnt fall down. She accepted that. She did. Mo knew what he was doing. She didnt have to nag him, if you could call it nagging. That was what he called it though with a smile on his face to make it a joke; but it was still nagging. That was what he thought about Helen safeguarding and protecting her child, he called it nagging. But if one hair on her little girl’s head was ever hurt by one single thing relating to these damn shelves, one thing, that was all, then that was that.
She was not going to lose her temper about it. Only if anything happened, if anything ever happened.
But that was why she worried and why she nagged him so that it wouldnt happen and it wouldnt be too late and it didnt matter if he sighed or how much he sighed. She was not a silly child. He got exasperated. It was his word, exasperated. She exasperated him. She felt like slapping him never mind exasperated, he exasperated her. Then when he laughed. She hated that. It was like – why did he do it? As if she was thick, she wasnt thick. Why did he make her feel that way? It was a thing about Mo and why Helen compared him with her ex. Of course she did, it was natural. He had mates from the restaurant. One came to the house and Helen saw him smiling at something Mo said. Helen knew it was about her, whatever Mo said. Else why whisper? Mo had whispered. He did it so Helen couldnt hear. What other reason was there? So she was the one excluded, so it was about her.
Why else would he have whispered? It was like speaking in Urdu. His mate did that until Mo corrected him because with Helen there, it was just bad manners. So was whispering if it excluded people. Especially matters between a man and a woman, these are private things, it could be anything, sex or whatever, if it was about her he was speaking, that was horrible, like behind her back and in the same room too, it was horrible, so so horrible, any man that could do that. Helen just could not ever, ever, never ever. She would never stand for it, how could she she never ever
That was a trust. He would have broken the trust. She had trusted him and he had broken the trust. That is how it would be. There was no excuse. She had trusted him, even with her own daughter. My God, if ever Sophie suffered. That was the one thing, if ever one thing happened, one little tiny thing.
It was beyond talking about except it had to be because with people in the house; there had to be people in the house. But who were they? That was the trouble with lodging houses with people all coming and going. Strangers: you were surrounded by them.
Of course some strangers were necessary. You had to bring people into your home. Childminders. They had Azizah and thank God. She was a lovely girl and they were so so lucky to get her. Who else could they have relied upon for weekend working? All Azizah did was read. She barely spoke at all. Perhaps she did when Helen wasnt there. Mo said she did, it was only shyness. She couldnt look Helen in the eye never mind say hullo. The scarlet woman! Teenage girls have an imagination. Helen didnt care. Yes she did, but not much. Sophie liked her and that was the difference. Even if she didnt, childminders dont last forever, sooner or later it would be somebody else. And who might it be, you never knew, horror stories abounded. She was right to worry. Of course she was. It was impossible not to. But what choice did she have? None. That was divorce, that was being a parent. It was always difficult and you were always taking a chance.
She had worked in casinos for years so was well used to it; at the same time, she got weary. There was nothing wrong in admitting it. Nightshift was difficult with young children, the constant organising, everything, it got you down. She was lucky with Mo. Mo was good. He wouldnt hurt a fly. And so gentle with Sophie. More than her ex. He threw her up in the air! My God! Why did men do that? He put her to the highest chute in the park. No wonder she was nervous. Two years of age my God she was entitled to be. He knew better. He always knew better. That was him, Mr Know-Better. Because he was a man? What did that mean? a man? Did it mean something special? Not as far as she was concerned. Mo wasnt like that, not even close. If ever he was she would tell him. He was one good thing that had happened to her, amongst many others. She acted like they didnt but they did. Even if they did they didnt. If it was her they were happening to it meant they were not good. Because good things didnt happen to her. If they did they would come to an end; sooner or later they would. Anything good came to an end. That was her and that was life, her life anyway.
Her daughter’s head had moved on the pillow. The dampness was evident, her thick head of hair and the furry toy too close to her face, La Divina, Helen reached to ease it away, careful not to screech the chair legs. She kept her hand near to Sophie’s forehead but without touching. Even so there was movement, the tiniest wisp, but more than a pulse beat. Sophie’s brain must have picked up a signal. Mother and daughter, it was so so sensitive, so sensitive between them.
She would be up for school soon enough, poor wee soul. She had to be strong. Children had to be, nowadays, and resilient, just to survive. But they began strong. Mo said that. Their bodies were strong when they left the womb. Gradually they weakened, until late in life they died. That was humanity’s story. From birth on the spirit was strong but then it got knocked out you. The best pa
rt of life is birth, from there on it is downhill, downhill all the way!
What a terrible way of looking at the world. Helen wondered if it was his religion, then saw he was laughing. He had made it all up. He was always doing it, always laughing at her. Thank goodness, she loved it about him, she needed it so much, seeing life like he did, he was just so so cheery and so so – just cheery, it was so necessary.
It was lovely the way he had transformed the cupboard. It was a bedroom; it really was – perhaps not a proper one but
But it was a proper one! Helen knew that now. She hadnt at first, unlike Sophie who had believed from the beginning. That wonderful story about the doll who lived in a cupboard: so it was a bedroom.
But it was wonderful. It made you want to curl up and just, just listen, close your eyes, or open them. It was so so – just unbelievable. Who could believe it? The book had been put there for Sophie. If miracles did happen. It was for them to find and they did. The doll who lived in the cupboard had been written for Sophie. Mo said it. There was nothing surer than that. It was the exact same cupboard. So amazing, exciting. Even the doll, it didnt look like La Divina but it was her best first cousin, you could see that. Mo held the book-page next to the doll to show the resemblance. When the story was read to her Sophie’s eyes were huge as she looked round the interior walls. Whatever she was seeing, she was seeing something. Such an imagination. Oh but she got it from Helen. Her imagination my God it was notorious. Dad used to joke about it!
Poor girl if that was what she had. Helen felt sorry for her. It wasnt sweet and wasnt cute. Mundane thoughts were better. Boys had those. Girls were different. Boys thought what they thought but girls didnt, girls had their own world. They loved stories and loved reading books. Sophie too. Helen was so glad and would encourage it all the way. Real books and not just computers. Real books to help with her studying. So she would get away from it all, the horrible stuff, just get out of it all and get away and just – if she got a worthwhile job and just away from the hopeless world, all the horrible and dark side and all
