Mo said she was quirky

by James Kelman

  Oh poor Brian, poor Brian. That was Mum. Never poor Helen. But Helen stayed in touch and Brian didnt.

  Mum should have looked at herself. Why didnt she? Her and Dad both, if they wanted to know the truth, but people dont.

  Yes people took risks. Of course they did. Grannie used to say it about Dad how he picked on Brian, that was a risk because if he pushed him too far, the size he was. Brian didnt have to be scared of anybody, only hitting them too hard. That was what Grannie said, if ever Brian hit back, that was the time to worry. And she gave Mum a hard look because she was talking about Dad, if he kept picking on Brian all the time, why didnt he just stop it? It wasnt nice picking on people. Dad did pick on Brian. He goaded him. That was Grannie’s word, goaded, he goads the boy.

  Fathers with sons; there are stories in the bible. But girls too, they have to take risks because with boys, what if they talk? Boys talk. They tell each other if you do something if you are a girl, so then they all come to your door, it is horrible, even if it is your dad answers, they ask him, or if it is your brother, they dont care, they say it to him, oh is your sister coming out to play? to play, what does to play mean, and laughing to each other; so nasty, and unfair, them all smiling and thinking what they are thinking. Whose fault is that? How can the girl be blamed if she hasnt done anything? The girl gets blamed. It is so unfair.

  They have to do it and they learn, that is how they learn, if it is the first boy. That is the real world. Why can parents not accept the real world, boys go for girls and girls have to let them, and if it is the wrong one; it cannot always be the right one. It would be impossible, so then they gain in understanding. Women get stoned to death, they get burned to death and buried alive and suffocated at birth. A girl is a woman, a baby girl too, she is a woman; a woman gets suffocated at birth, not a baby, they dont see a baby. That is the real world. People dont see the real world. That is up to them, if they want to hide the truth. They suffocate a baby because the baby is a woman, they stone her to death.

  Knowing Mr Adams let her see about her ex what she didnt want in life. Him! It didnt affect their relationship because that was already finished. Only she hadnt told him. She knew and he didnt. How many times, lying there beside him in the dark and he was awake, and she could have said it to him, she could have. And she knew he was awake. Oh she knew alright because when he swallowed. People dont swallow, not if they are asleep. He was wondering if she was awake. She hardly breathed, she wouldnt have, not for him; never. Her mind could go any place. She was able to lie there and think it, whatever it was, whatever she wanted to think, and he was powerless because he could not stop her brains. He would if he could but he couldnt. Except if he nudged her. He did that, nudged her. Horrible. Even with strength. So it was like hitting her. Imagine that. That was what it was. If it was the hip it was real pain because it was his elbow doing it and that was like the bone, so you could be bruised, and it was only pretence, to waken her up, hitting her to waken her up.

  He didnt know how lucky he was. If she had done what she could have done and told Mr Adams, but she didnt. Imagine she had! My God. He would have come and beat him up, or got men to do it. Although if he didnt recover: that was the worry. What if the men hurt him on the head or damaged his neck or his back or even his legs and like something happened so it was lasting damage? My God, what if it was a wheelchair? Sophie would have to push him around too. And she would when she was older and travelled up to Glasgow, because he would never come to London, never. Such a selfish bugger, just so selfish. Whyever did she get mixed up with him? That was Helen, that was so typical, so so typical; she was hopeless, really, she was.

  Not in a hundred years, marrying him, imagine, if she had known anything.

  The word ‘respect’.

  ‘Respect’ was such a beautiful word. ‘Respect’, what it was. There were these men in her life. Sometimes she was sick of it, of men, just all men, and if she had another child oh if it could be a son and the way she would bring him up, it would be respect, to respect people, whether men or women, or children. Why not children! We should respect children too. Mo did it with Sophie. He made sure of that. Helen watched to see. How does the man treat the girl? just the littlest girl, if he watches her undress. He has to do it, so how does he do it? And the little girl just trusts him. It is not a risk. She doesnt know that it is because she doesnt know, she doesnt know anything. What does a girl know? Nothing. She doesnt know anything. How can you blame her? You cant. A girl cannot be blamed. That is so so wrong, just so so wrong. Of course she trusts him. She doesnt know and sits on the carpet and with her legs open or sits on him and it is on him, on his thighs and front; what does he do? because if he has to do something, if it is a man he is so sensitive there, even if it is a father, you just have to touch him. But what if it is a little girl?

  No one in the entire world had known about Mr Adams, until Ann Marie. Helen told her. Imagine telling her! Typical. But why, why why why!

  Because she had to. Otherwise explode, exploded, she would have exploded because who to tell if not Ann Marie it would have been him, her ex, that was who she was going to tell. The one person never to tell was the one she would. She thought she would, she was bursting to, really, she was, lying beside him and she was going to explode my God the words reaching up from her throat into her mouth and if she unzipped her lips out it would come: everything would come out; not in a confession; only how wonderful it was, she wanted to tell him because he didnt know and didnt know anything about how it could be if it was two people, he just had no knowledge at all, such an ignorant ignorant

  But she needed to tell someone and told Ann Marie. Then others knew. They were smiling. They knew. Ann Marie told them. Imagine telling them. But she did.

  So sad, so so sad, really. A friend is a friend but is not a friend, not a real friend. What is a real friend? That is like family, a real family. Mo had a real family. Helen didnt. Sophie was her family.

  It was the last time she would confide in anybody. Who was there? Not another living soul. She didnt have one proper friend. Imagine a sister, how that would be; just talking and being able to say things. Some said about mothers and daughters, but not hers. Even brothers; in stories you got them, sisters confided in brothers.

  Oh but Ann Marie had had a tough life. It was true. Everybody had tough lives but Ann Marie really really did have, just how things had been for her, so very very difficult. But other people’s lives were difficult too. Everybody’s life. Ann Marie had a habit of going on and on about how tough it was. Other people were the same, like they were the only ones with troubles. Nobody knew the meaning of ‘tough’ except them. It was so so foolish. They knew nothing about people but dismissed them anyway, and said things that were nonsensical. If they could only think, why didnt they think? There were countless millions of people. How many of them had tough lives? Most of the world. What if it was Africa and Asia and these countries where they starved to death? People were killed in these countries. But oh no, they didnt want to hear about that, they didnt like political things and thought they knew better. If you said about other countries they just looked at you so it was you, you were the naïve one.

  That was a fault people had. Older ones especially, they had to be the experienced person, as if they knew everything because they had seen hard times and their lives were tough.

  Nobody knew everything; nobody had the right to say that. It was like a woman’s story in a magazine Helen had been reading. This woman sent in her own personal diary and they published it. Her dad had Alzheimer’s and her mum was an invalid, unable to leave the home without assistance. The daughter had to call in every day. Every single day. She visited her parents every single day of her life. A train and a bus on the return journey. She was married herself although she had no children. How could she have? There wasnt any time. It was just so tough. Helen wouldnt have coped. Every single day. The travelling alone was two and a half hours, then the time she spent looking after them, say an h
our and a half, so four hours daily, four hours out your life, every day of the week. Imagine it. Every single day! My God. So she did have it tough. But was it the toughest? It didnt give her the right to act like she knew everything, although she could have but she didnt. Some people were humble but some were the opposite. It was interesting when you read about their lives. There were hidden parts for everybody.

  It was true. You never knew about other people. Nobody told you everything. Why should they? Every night of the week Helen saw people in the casino: what about them? What were their stories? These old Chinese women. You couldnt imagine. Where she worked in Glasgow they spent more time there than their own home. People said that and it was not prejudice. Some didnt even gamble. They only came in for a cup of tea, and a chat with their friends, or else just sat there looking at nothing. The management didnt bother, even if their voices were loud and carried. If it was ordinary Glasgow people they would have been asked to quieten down but not the Chinese. Management wanted them because they were regulars, they were the ‘bread and butter’. Some nights it was like their own casino. Then if they were all talking round your table. Ann Marie said that, if they compared notes in their own language like what happened when she was dealing years ago, you didnt know what they were saying yet it was your table, you were supposed to be in charge. So that was annoying. But if management didnt bother who else would? You had to be careful at the tables, you never knew who you were facing.

  Her workmate Caroline said that to her once. What a cheek. Helen wouldnt have minded if it had been Ann Marie, but Caroline? Helen had forgotten more about casinos than she ever knew. She seemed to think Helen had led a sheltered life. Oh you are so innocent. That was how she looked at her. It rankled. People think they know better. Caroline wasnt the only one. They were surprised Helen had a six-year-old daughter, they didnt think she was old enough. So she was supposed to take it as a compliment. Ha ha. So patronising. After what she had been through. How ironic, how very very ironic.

  Really, they knew nothing about her. And if it was women talking about men, that was another ha ha.

  In some ways she might have been naive. She would admit that. So if she was, everybody is, in some way. Helen didnt care. She really didnt. Why should she? It was all meaningless nonsense and she couldnt be bothered with it.

  It was her turn to phone Ann Marie. She would eventually. It was nice to talk. Only not for important matters. But she could still enjoy her company. It was cheery. She had a boyfriend or as she called him, ‘a manfriend’. Ann Marie’s stories concerned men. She called them ‘the great lost cause’. Men. What use were they? None at all – except hanging a hat.

  That was Ann Marie’s sense of humour. Only women were there when she said it and they didnt all get the joke. Helen knew immediately and spluttered on her coffee – literally, she did, the coffee went over her – it was just so funny, the tears would be streaming out your eyes. Ann Marie didnt care about men except for sex, that was what she meant, and most of them were hopeless even for that. It was true, my God, and smelly. Ann Marie was right. Why did they not wash? It was so obvious but they didnt do it; and these personal things, it was disgusting. And their breath, even Mr Adams. He was so clean except when it came to his teeth, and he brushed them regularly, but it didnt matter, the smell of his breath made her think of old people, and he wasnt old. Although forty-eight, and she was twenty-seven. It was old. But not too old and just so clean, he was. But then her ex, my God, her ex washed himself in the washhand basin, that was just so bad like his private parts, the very thought; and afterwards there were hairs stuck to the sides. Hairs! What would they have been? private ones, pubics. A washhand basin. People had to wash their faces. Disgusting wasnt the word. The word was pig. For him it was. That was one of them, ‘pig’, there were others. Mo was so much better. Perhaps it was the culture. Muslim men seemed cleaner, even the beardies. That was her, probably she was wrong, prejudice in reverse, she didnt care. She couldnt always think, not when she was tired tired tired, tired beyond anything, and could not sleep, if she went to bed now, she would not sleep, she knew she wouldnt; exhaustion, except her mind; minds were the strangest thing, they were.

  She shivered, drew the coat about her shoulders, raising her knees, snuggling in on herself; better snuggling in with Mo, he was like feverish he was so warm; he was, you worried if he was catching the flu. She did anyway, but she worried about everything, anything and everything, everything and anything, the slightest shiver, life is full of shivers. She was comfy where she was, except the headache, which was only slight. They would be up soon for school; Sophie had to be there by eight thirty.

  If it was Brian.

  Life is so weird. Families especially, what families are. You looked at photographs but what did you see?

  He just went away. What happened? Nobody said anything and you were not to talk about it. If there was a phone call Mum was to take it but not in front of Dad. Even his name, you were not to speak his name. What were you not to think about him, your own brother? Helen did. Of course she did, she was his sister; did that not count for anything? She would have spoken about him to Mum except Mum never spoke about anything. Not to Helen anyway. Oh well of course she did, but not much.

  And she thought about Brian. It was obvious. She sat in her armchair with the television on and the magazine in her lap but she wasnt looking at them and wasnt thinking about them, only about Brian. And why shouldnt she my God he was her son!

  Even after Dad died and it was only the two of them. So unfair; it really was. And selfish. Mum was Brian’s mother but Helen was his sister. Why should she be excluded? She was excluded, Mum excluded her. Even the marriage; parents should be happy at their daughter’s marriage. Oh God. Resentments were the worst. One day she would tell Mo. He just didnt understand it because with families, his was like a world of difference, a total world away.

  Parents could be unfair. It was the one thing with Sophie, if ever Helen had another child, she would not treat her unfairly. That was so wrong, the very worst. Children knew. It doesnt matter if the injustice is to another, it is every bit as horrible. It was like that with Dad towards Brian, and it was horrible to see. Why did a parent do that? It so spoiled things. And Dad smiling to her as if she was on his side, and she wasnt; she wasnt on anybody’s side; it just wasnt fair, and when she got older too

  Brian was a good brother and she loved him. Her memories from childhood were fond. The photographs were there and there was nothing to say otherwise. He was so tall and she was so wee, he was the horse and he went galloping with her. She was up on his shoulders clinging on, oh clinging on because of how he galloped and the force threw her back and she had to hold on, hold on, gripping his forehead and him just laughing and galloping. My horsie; she shouted that.

  Oh and she would not fall, she would never fall, he wouldnt let her.

  There was nothing about his behaviour. If it ever crossed anybody’s mind. If they ever thought anything. What could they think, it was just horrible, if it was his head or neck and her legs, just a little girl, that was all she was, if her legs were wrapped round him, that was nothing, it was just nothing, if ever people thought such a thing.

  Unless Dad, if it was something with him but there was nothing with him. It was only the favouritism. She was her daddy’s girl and Brian was a big boy. What was unusual about that? Would any dad be different? She was his girl; that was how he said it, You are my wee girl. And he called her ‘jellybelly’. Mum didnt like him saying it. Why not? ‘Jellybelly’. What was wrong with it, ‘jellybelly’ like it was her fault, it wasnt her fault, how could it be, she didnt ask for it my God it was only fun, father to daughter. It wasnt rude, did Mum think it was rude?

  There was a coldness in Mum. With Sophie too. There wasnt the sparkle when she phoned, not what you might expect from a grandmother. She hardly asked a question; what are you doing in school, have you got a best friend. Nothing like that. She was tough. Helen would never have been s
o tough, not on a child. Perhaps if it was a grandson Mum would have acted differently; she preferred boys, or seemed to.

  Oh well, nothing could be done about that. Boys were supposed to get on with things and not bother. Perhaps that was it. If it was even true. Children are children. Sophie was quite girlish but why not if she was a girl? A girl was allowed to be a girl, my God, what do people want?

  None of Helen’s toys ever remained in Mum’s house, not even as keepsakes. Although why else would they have been kept? For sentimental value? That was a joke, Mum and sentimentality.

  It was so unfair. What had she ever done? Nothing, except wanting things to be nice. They were if people tried. People didnt try. Why didnt they? Helen could never understand that. Only if they tried, if people tried. Mum never tried.

  It was so different for Mo with his cousins and uncles and aunties. Relations still wrote to his parents from Pakistan. They kept in touch with one another. Mo knew some of their names and could speak about them as if they were ordinary relations and they werent, he had never seen them. Even his father hadnt seen some of them. It was amazing and wonderful. And quite strange really. Helen had nothing like that, except the cousins in New Zealand and the pile of ones in Australia. She spoke to Mum about it but they were Dad’s relations and Mum had lost their address, or didnt have it in the first place. It would have been nice to make the contact.

  Helen wouldnt phone her about Brian. Not if it wasnt him: why raise her hopes? She should only be told if it was him for certain. It was so unlikely. All those years. Why had he not been in touch? You shouldnt act like that to your own family, your mother a widow. That was so selfish. If he did hold a grudge it was against Dad but Dad was dead. He knew Dad was dead. The police traced him and told him. He had the choice to go to the funeral; it was his decision not to. He came home for Grannie’s. So it was a grudge. But not against the whole family, surely? That was so very foolish. And not normal. Helen was only twelve years old when he left home. It should have been her grudge to him! He never got in touch with her. Imagine that, his wee sister. Did he even know she was a mother! He couldnt have. Not unless Mum told him. He was Sophie’s uncle for God sake surely that was something? That was like a miraculous thing, another human being. It was miraculous. Miraculous is miracle. A new human being in the world is a miracle. Surely a brother would want to know about that? His very own niece. Of course he would.