by James Kelman
Oh my God. It was just so funny.
But not stretching. If you stretched. The girl on holiday never stretched and her shoulders tightly together – Brenda, she could not relax. That was a plain name, Brenda, she didnt think of a Brenda. Did she ever relax? stretching. Helen could stretch. She could. Who else could? Not everybody. She didnt think so. If women spoke together she didnt hear one saying it, stretching. Helen could smile about that. Oh I stretched in front of him. Who else would say it?
Stretching means relaxed, and your whole body. Lying flat on top of the bed, naked, and stretching. It could be done and she had done it and like a man there and watching, she had closed her eyes. She could close her eyes. He was there and she didnt hardly know him. Oh she did. But she didnt. Yet she had done it, and he was there, she had closed her eyes, and was stretching out her body, oh my God people take chances. But she hadnt. She knew enough about him.
He was not controlling her. He didnt have that power. He could have had women to control, but was not controlling her.
Oh but he enjoyed seeing her and if he touched her, Mr Adams only touched her, stroking. She hadnt told Ann Marie that bit so like nobody knew, and never would, nobody, because he would never have spoken about her. He was an adult man and not a boy. Boys would tell each other, that was boys, then coming to your door and asking whoever, your mum, even your mum, oh Helen, is she coming out to play? My God, that was boys, Helen heard them at the door but wouldnt answer.
Men had no idea. They only saw you like a body, like imagine shagging her, oh my, sticking it in, it didnt matter anything else. If ever her ex had found out my God he would have killed Mo. He saw her as worrying all the time, worrying over nothing. What you worrying about? there is nothing to worry about. He thought he knew but he didnt. Although she was a worrier what woman wasnt? What mother wasnt? Mo had no idea the risks they were taking just chatting together. That was why London, thank God, never having to think of him.
And so false! Of all people. He would have been falling over himself to see that girl. That was the way he was. It was so false, so false. He always looked. He wouldnt have cared less if Helen had seen him, it was only for the other guy’s benefit that he even pretended, because he was so cool, so so cool, if other men were there. That was her ex at the poolside, him and that girl’s boyfriend, talking and not looking. Oh yes, so mature, so so mature like how they could just chat together drinking their beer and smoking a cigarette, with everything so normal except it wasnt because his girlfriend lying there and with her bare boobs, my God, wasnt he just so cool and mature! A chronic show-off, that was him, like an addiction. Because really he was drooling. It was so funny to see, drinking his beer and talking to that guy and he never ever looked. Of all people. Ha ha, liar.
You had to face things in this life. You could try hiding but sooner or later. If you didnt you still had it to face. That was something Helen had learned. Nobody taught her. Things dont go away, if they are there they are there and always will be there until you do something about it. Because if you dont. It haunts you if you dont.
There was nothing wrong with her memory. If anything the opposite. Details were too clear. Although you had to stop dwelling on details. It made things go wrong. Mo said that and he was right. It led to the bad side of life, as if it was all she could see and it wasnt, it really wasnt. She just had to put it behind her except to put it behind her meant putting it from her mind, Brian and the other one, the one with the limp, she didnt like him.
Anyway, it was Brian’s decision. He went away and never came back. What were people supposed to do? go and look for you? That was fantasy. If you thought they would. You make your bed and sleep in it. That is what happens in this life. People are not going to come running. Did he think they were! He was never practical. Practical. Helen had forgotten that one like when Mum made excuses for him to Dad, Oh the boy isnt ‘practical’. If he had made a mistake or done something silly and Dad was giving him a row. Oh Dad, he just isnt ‘practical’.
Mum protected him. She didnt protect Helen. That was funny. Not protecting your daughter. She protected Brian but not her; protected the male but not the female. It was not usual. And if there is an imbalance in the affections, parents correct this, they try to. If one child is likeable and the other isnt. Dad favoured her. He did. Of course he did. But it wasnt her fault. If anybody thought it was. Brian thought Mum was wonderful: she was not wonderful. That was one thing she wasnt. Of course Helen had done things. Yes and would never deny it. Everybody does things. It has a name: ‘being young’. Nobody is interested. Nobody cares. Why should they? It is just people’s lives. Nobody can keep track. Everything goes on with everybody and everybody doing everything. That is life and it is all around. She didnt have one of those extended families with all cousins together. She didnt have that and didnt want it. She had what she had and was content, and the future too, saving for that.
And once they had they would see how things were, if they could find a place of their own, but if not, even just if they were okay and surviving.
People want to survive, they cling on. Some by doing nothing, they go numb and their whole body freezes, they lie there and it is like a lizard and its body, a body and not a body, a suit of armour; a hide, it shields you and they cant get you. Going numb. People go numb beneath the threat of violence. Violence is everywhere and in all walks of life, not only the ‘working class’. It sounded different how Jill said it, ‘working class’. They were talking one night during the break. Somebody had made a silly statement and Jill spoke up. Others looked at her. It was because she had the posh voice. But if she was posh here she was on her own. She didnt have any man and she had the same job as them. She was escaping too. People escape.
The kitchen door had opened. Sophie was there. She was in her nightdress, standing almost without movement, staring into her mother’s eyes, hand to her forehead as though testing her temperature. A moment passed. Helen smiled. You are so cheeky!
Sophie continued staring. Helen touched her hand. Dont worry.
Well why are you sitting here? I’ve been standing for ages and you didnt wake up, why are you not in bed? I’ve been looking at you!
Oh you have have you! I should tickle you.
But I was only waiting for you to wake up.
I was not sleeping.
Yes you were.
Helen smiled. I should tickle you all the same! That is so so cheeky!
I didnt mean to wake you.
I’m just tired honey. Do you know what I feel like? I’ve been trampled by an elephant. I’m not kidding.
Yes you are.
It was a big fat elephant with massive tusks!
No it wasnt.
It was, it really was.
You’re just a fibber!
Huh! Oh – what a thing to say about your mum! Helen squeezed her arm and Sophie laughed.
Oh Mummy will you take me to school? You never do!
Pardon!
But you never!
I do when I’m not working!
Oh you’re always working.
I’m not, no I’m not.
It’s only Mo takes me.
I thought you liked going with Mo!
I want you. Will you? Please?
Oh love I cant, I have to go to bed! I’m just so horrible and sweaty.
Sophie was watching her. Helen widened her eyelids to appear menacing. Sophie smiled cautiously. Now Helen waved her hands in a circular fashion near to Sophie’s eyes as though to hypnotise her, and she adopted the voice of a robot: Whyy did you wayyyken meee uhhhp?
Sophie laughed, jumping back the way.
Ssh, dont thump, said Helen, and resumed the robotic inflection: Ye-es youou diiid wayyyken meee uhhhp.
Oh but Mummy I didnt mean to. Sophie had stopped laughing and was almost scared. I didnt, she said, I really didnt! Oh Mum, I really didnt.
Helen took her by the hand. I’m joking.
I dont like it when you are.
I dont like it.
Helen sat back down on the kitchen chair. It’s not that bad, she said, dont take it so seriously.
I didnt mean to wake you up.
I know you didnt.
Honest Mum.
I know! Helen clapped her on the shoulder. Dont be so worried all the time! You are a wee worrier!
No I’m not!
Yes you are!
Sophie laughed, tried to squeeze in beside Helen on the chair but there wasnt the space, so moved to lie against her, slouching. She put her arms round Helen’s neck, cuddling her cheek to cheek then forehead to forehead. Helen’s eyes were closed. Oh thank you young lady, she said.
Why are you still wearing your coat?
Never you mind.
Why are you not in bed?
I am too tired.
No you arent.
I am. You’re making it worse.
What’s all them? said Sophie, pointing at the photographs. Most had been tidied and stacked together. She lifted one, of Helen’s mother and father. Sophie studied it: Is it my grannie?
Your grandpa too.
My grandpa?
You know he’s your grandpa. Helen yawned. I’ve told you before.
Is he not feeling well?
You’re just being funny, said Helen.
I’m not.
Yes you are.
Sophie laid down the photograph and turned in the direction of the door. If you’re so sleepy you should go to bed, she said, if you are; if you are you should.
You, my girl, are cheeky.
Well Mum you always yawn.
Helen smiled. So did Azizah read you a story?
No.
No?
She just read her own book.
Aw.
She said sorry because she forgot.
That was nice of her.
Sophie didnt respond.
Helen glanced to the door. Where’s Mr Noisy?
The girl still didnt respond, distracted by the photographs, or so pretending. More likely she was ignoring Helen. This was becoming a habit. She did it even more to Mo. It wasnt nice. Some adults would have been hurt. Among younger children it was acceptable but Sophie was too old. Helen remembered the way she and other kids had played together at nursery; ‘together’ was the wrong word, they were only in the same room. They were each on their own, playing their own individual games. That was the way they were. They didnt have any community spirit at all. They didnt. They werent born with any. Rather the reverse, they were selfish, they told tales about each other. It was true. Children were deceitful, they didnt care about each other. People liked to think otherwise but that was the reality. They were only interested in themselves, in getting their own way, twisting adults round their little fingers. Sophie was guilty of that, just like everybody else. If she had a little friend and Helen asked about her, Sophie acted as though she didnt know who she was or what Helen was even talking about. It was quite sad really, in a way. They called childhood a happy time but was it? Perhaps for some. Not so much for others.
Now she was about to lift the photographs, all the photographs, all at the same time, pushing and pulling them for God sake Sophie! Sophie stop that!
Sophie looked at her.
Helen glared at her. Stop that, stop being so silly.
I’m not being silly.
You are.
I’m not. Sophie continued with the photographs but more carefully.
Helen reached to place her hand on the girl’s wrist. Dont do it like that, she said, you’ll bend them.
It was only to see this one, said Sophie.
Helen sighed. The girl was pointing to one with Helen and Brian, the same one Helen had been looking at earlier.
It wasnt strange; not really. Helen had been roughly the same age as the girl when it was taken. That’s my big brother, she said.
Your big brother?
Yes! Helen chuckled.
Oh Mummy!
Do you like him?
Yes, said Sophie.
I showed it to you before.
No you didnt.
I did. You just dont remember.
Sophie grinned. You’re holding hands, he’s your boyfriend.
Cheeky.
You are! Sophie gripped the photograph, holding it more closely to her eyes.
Careful, said Helen.
But I just want to see.
Well you wont if you hold it too near.
You’re holding hands.
Of course, he’s my big brother.
Helen and Sophie continued to study the photograph. Helen was holding Brian’s hand but he was holding hers too, you could see it, he was as self-conscious as ever but at the same time he looked pleased. They both did; it was in their smile that they were pleased with each other, and so pleased to be holding hands. This is what was nice.
Yet they never would have done it had they not been forced. Boys dont like holding hands and look for any excuse not to. Although fourteen years of age, Brian was fourteen years of age when this one was taken so he was not a child.
But girls dont like it either. They wont hold hands with boys at all unless they have to. But if they have to. If they have to they enjoy it, if the boys dont laugh, if they dont make a fool of you. If they dont. But some boys enjoy it, if they are forced to do it, they do it then, and they enjoy it, even if they pretend not to. Girls are the same.
My God she looked so happy in the photograph! Brian too. At least he seemed to be. Who took it? Dad? You wouldnt have expected it to be. But it must have been. Because who else? Mum didnt take photographs. Dad must have taken it.
Why do people not take photographs? Mum pretended she didnt know how to. It was nonsense. Mum was sharp, the sharpest; sharper than Dad. Why do women not do things? Because they arent allowed, it isnt encouraged; the same with her ex who did everything. He didnt want her to do anything. She used to like it and think he was a gentleman but he was just a control freak. Perhaps that was Dad. Although Mum was strong, very, she was. Helen was not; not with her ex. Although she was with Dad. Mum said that anyway, twisted him round her wee finger. Mum said that was how Helen had him, twisted round her finger. Not a nice thing to say about a child. They arent adults and shouldnt be treated as such. If Mum was critical then it should have been to a child she was critical but not like the child was an adult.
Sophie was speaking. Helen didnt answer. Sophie waited, then said: Is this you?
Pardon? Helen squinted at the photograph. It was the same one. What was she talking about? Of course it’s me, she said, as well you know.
I thought it was another girl.
Oh did you!
Mummy I’m honest, that’s honest. It is! Sophie pointed again: Who is he?
But you know who he is he’s your Uncle Brian, he’s my big brother.
Sophie frowned, slightly baffled. My Uncle Brian?
Yes, your uncle, my brother.
My God!
You’ve not to say my God.
But he’s your big brother?
Of course. So he is your uncle. Your Uncle Brian is my brother Brian. My brother is your uncle.
Sophie was watching her.
He is your uncle because you are my wee girl and I’m your mum.
Sophie frowned. I wish I had a big brother.
But I told you before who he was.
But Mum what is his name?
Helen looked at her. I’ve just told you his name for goodness sake his name is Brian!
Could he be my big brother?
What a question. But she seemed in earnest. He is your Uncle Brian, said Helen, wagging her right forefinger. And he is my brother Brian. He cannot be your brother because he is mine, so dont be so smart, you cant have him as a brother if he is mine!
Sophie grinned. They each took a corner edge of the photograph, peering closely, but Sophie gripped her edge tightly; almost clinging onto it and making it bend yet again for goodness s
ake Sophie!
She let go the photograph at once, lifted another from the pile. Helen stared at her but the girl didnt react. So that was it again. And she wouldnt apologise either. She never did. Not unless forced. It was aggravating. You felt like smacking her and how could you? you couldnt, it was horrible. The very fact it crossed your mind was horrible. One of the nursery women used to smack the children’s wrists. The parents turned a blind eye or like pretended there was nothing wrong. It was mainly boys she did it to. If it had happened to Sophie Helen would have complained.
Of course he was the biggest child of all. He never apologised, not for anything. If Sophie had inherited her father’s way of acting, that would have been the absolute worst. Surely bad behaviour was not genetic? It had to be learned from other people; not passed between the generations. My God, it was so unfair if it was. Imagine a child having to go through life under that burden. It made you wonder about childish behaviour in adults, if it was genetic. Her ex in one corner, her mum in the other. Everybody else having to put up with it.
Helen looked again at the photograph of herself and Brian. It was quite special. She hadnt realised that before. It was really quite in a way wonderful. It was! A record of childhood. Yes they were pleased, with themselves, pleased with each other. It was not smug. It was because really they so liked each other. They did and it was there how they held hands together. A brother and sister. Brian’s love for her. You could see it. Just like how Helen the girl trusted him, my God she did, it was so true: he was her big brother. It was in that sense of trust, how you trust someone in your own family, a male, you trust him, she trusted him.
That wasnt Brian at the traffic lights, with the big beard and all dirty looking. Brian was never dirty looking he was lovely, a lovely boy. He was. It was not silly saying so, a beautiful lovely brother. People would think it silly but it wasnt. She didnt care anyway what they thought. Why should she? People say what they like and think what they like, and always will. It didnt matter about her or anybody else, they said what they wanted to say and thought whatever they wanted. Nobody would stop them from that. That was life; real life; not fantasy. Helen sighed. Sophie was tugging at her coat. Oh Mum see this one! Mum, see this one?
