by James Kelman
What?
Who is this?
No.
Sophie continued the tugging.
Sophie!
But who is it?
I dont know because I’m not looking. Helen held onto the other, and the question who took it? who took the photograph? Dad. Twenty-five years ago. It must have been, my God – Sophie, stop pulling my sleeve!
But Mummy!
No.
Oh but
No, there’s no time, you have to get ready. Come on. Oh my God look at the clock, you should have your clothes on by now! Hurry up! Hurry up hurry up! Helen sprang from the chair and chased the girl across the floor, spanking her on the bottom when in striking distance, the pair of them laughed their way out the kitchen.
Mo was in the bathroom, side on to the door. The space was so cramped there was hardly room for a washhand basin never mind the shower but there it was and so snug the way the man had fitted it; such a pleasure. Less than a month in the flat and Mo had arranged for a shower unit to be fitted. She didnt think he would have been able to get anybody but he had; and he did wee bits to help the man. He was good at do-it-yourself, even if she laughed at him and was critical too, he was good at it.
Mo was watching her in the mirror, warily.
Honestly, she said, you are such a genius, and I’m not being sarcastic.
Mo squinted at her, then looked a question to Sophie who didnt respond. Mo shuffled back the way to get a better look at Helen. And where are you going? All dressed up like that, you are going somewhere, where? that is the question.
I fell asleep.
Mo called to Sophie. Too tired to go to bed, that’s her.
I sat down in the chair and dozed, said Helen.
A hard night at the cards eh! Mo studied her then kissed her on the nose. You take it easy girl, you look knackered.
So do you.
You look very knackered.
Helen smiled.
Go to bed.
I shall do.
Take off your coat first.
Nag nag.
You’re a nag to me! called Sophie.
Oh I’m not, not like Mr Noisy, he nags me all the time.
Hey, you were snoring when I looked in!
I dont remember you looking in.
Of course not, you were snoring. Mo gestured to Sophie, jerking his thumb at Helen. You mum is the only woman in the world who snores when she’s awake.
Dont say that about my mum. It’s not fair to say it.
Helen said, Oh Sophie, he didnt mean it.
Well it’s not very fair.
He’s only pretending.
You were not snoring.
Yes she was, said Mo. She is the biggest snorer in the whole house.
No she isnt, shouted Sophie and she turned from him.
Mo and Helen exchanged looks, Mo smiling and Helen sighing. He doesnt mean it, she said.
Mo was about to comment but Helen held her right forefinger to her lips to shush him.
Well it’s not fair to say, continued Sophie.
I bet you my mouth was open anyway.
It wasnt.
Mo grinned at Helen: You are such a paragon!
No she’s not, said Sophie and strode out of the bathroom.
Oh huffy, called Helen.
I am not huffy, shouted Sophie.
Sorry, whispered Mo.
It’s not your fault.
She thought I was insulting you.
You were!
Mo put his arm round her shoulders. Sophie had returned and was watching them. Girls are not boys! she said, then walked off again.
What does she mean? said Mo quietly. I dont know what she means.
Just what she says, girls are not boys. Helen stepped back from him.
It’s like a crossword puzzle.
Helen held her forefinger to her lips again and indicated she was going after Sophie. She found her in the front room sitting on a chair between the double bed and the window. Helen waited a moment before saying, Oh come on love.
Sophie didnt look at her. After a moment she said, Why does he call me Soapy?
Dont be so huffy.
I’m not being huffy.
You have to get dressed.
I dont want to, I want to stay with you.
Get dressed.
Sophie stared out the window. Helen sighed. You know what my dad called me?
Jellybelly.
It’s worse than Soapy.
Mum it isnt.
Yes it is.
No it isnt.
I dont want to go to school.
Oh for God sake Sophie come on, I dont have time for this.
I’m not wearing these leggings again.
What leggings again, I’m not saying anything about leggings again. Helen frowned when Sophie pointed behind to a pair draped on the handle of the walk-in cupboard door. I’m not telling you to wear them.
Well why did you?
Why did I what?
If you left them out?
I didnt leave them out!
Well why are they there?
I dont know why they’re there, what do you mean?
They were just there, said Sophie. So if you put them.
I didnt put them, dont be silly.
I’m not being silly, if they were there.
Helen shut her eyes. She heard Sophie get up from the chair. She had gone to lift the leggings. Helen shook her head.
Sophie lifted and dropped them onto the floor then went to her small chest-of-drawers. She stood there without opening a drawer, glancing back to Helen. Helen pointed at the leggings: Pick them up.
But why were they there?
Pick them up.
But why were they?
Now you are being silly, that is just silly to say. Helen was glaring at her, then she sighed. Oh Sophie, you’re not crying are you?
I hate you not being here. I hate it hate it. The girl had raised both hands to cover her eyes. Not enough to conceal the crying completely. It was almost comical, but it wasnt. Helen stepped to her, touched her on the left wrist and whispered: You’re not crying are you?
Oh Mummy.
Dont cry.
I’m not.
But now she really was, and her face red with it, and her nose, poor wee thing. Helen took her in her arms and cuddled her.
One and a half minutes! called Mo from outside the room.
Sophie’s crying was unabated, breaking her heart it was so real, just completely real. You could tell when she was acting. This wasnt it. Now you’ll have to wash your face, whispered Helen.
Oh Mummy.
And get your clothes on you need to get your clothes on!
The crying continued. There was a box of tissues. Helen extracted two and dabbed round the girl’s eyes, kissed her on the tip of the nose. Sophie was trying to laugh the wee soul, it was so tough for her, it just was so tough.
I dont want him coming in if I’m dressing.
He doesnt.
Well I dont want him to.
But he doesnt.
I dont want him to.
Yes but he doesnt.
Sophie had left the chair and was searching for clothes inside a drawer. Sometimes he does, she muttered.
No he doesnt, not unless he doesnt mean to, if he doesnt know.
Sophie ignored her, concentrating on the clothes inside the drawer, but she began dressing. Everything is all upside down, she said.
Helen watched her. Eventually Sophie glanced across. Helen said, I’m just watching you.
I dont like you to.
Well I’m going to Sophie, I’m your mother.
But I dont like you watching me, and if Azizah does it.
Azizah is there to help.
Sophie sighed.
One and a quarter minutes! called Mo.
Again Sophie sighed, but at least she was moving, spreading three blouses out on the side of the bed to compare. She did this methodically, yet in a self-conscious, defe
nsive manner. Helen moved to the doorway. I’ll get your breakfast, she said. What do you want? What do you want to eat?
Sophie didnt reply.
What do you want for breakfast, Sophie, what do you want?
Nothing.
Oh for goodness sake.
I dont want anything.
You’ll have to eat something.
I dont want to.
It doesnt matter if you dont want to, you’ll be hungry later on, so you’ve got to.
Yes but I dont want to.
I dont care.
Mum I dont want to.
Oh God.
Well if I dont want to?
I dont care if you dont want to.
Because I’m not hungry.
Yes but you havent eaten anything to not be hungry.
Sophie was fastening on her school skirt now, watching herself in the mirror but she paused while doing this. It is horrible, she said, it is just horrible.
I’ll put crispies out for you.
I dont want crispies.
Weetabix …
I dont want Weetabix, I dont want anything Mum; if there’s toast, can I have toast?
Just if you hurry!
Oh Mum.
Hurry up.
I cant.
Of course you can. Helen closed the door on her.
Mum!
She clicked it open, left it slightly ajar, and continued into the kitchen. Mo was at the table eating toast, sipping tea. Helen clasped her head with both hands and acted a scream: She’s still dressing!
Hoh. She’s been mooning about in her nightdress for the past half hour.
Females take longer.
Oh yeh?
We do that, havent you noticed?
There’s a lot I havent noticed. Mo reached to her and held her hand. You are tired.
Mm.
Go to bed.
When you’ve taken her to school.
Helen went to the pantry, lifted out the packet of crispies, a bowl from the cupboard below, the milk from the fridge. Mo had noticed the photographs. I was looking at them earlier, said Helen.
Mo nodded. He watched her prepare the cereal. Cant she do her own? he said.
Be quiet.
She’s past six.
Only just.
Only just is past.
Helen put her finger to her lips to stop him saying more. The kitchen door opened. Sophie walked to her chair, looked at the crispies in the bowl. I wanted Weetabix, she said.
Surprise surprise, murmured Mo.
Helen signalled him to be quiet, lifted a hairbrush as though threatening him. Mo mimicked panic, waving his hands above his head.
Sophie lifted her spoon, unaware this was happening. She studied the spoon. She began eating. While she did so Helen brushed her hair. Mo poured Helen a cup of tea and put a glass of orange juice out for the girl. She drank this swiftly, held out the empty glass.
Champion orange-juice drinker, said Mo.
You just talk all the time, she said.
It’s because I’m a blabber.
Sophie craned forwards to allow Helen to brush the back of her head more easily.
I cant help myself, said Mo.
But if it is all the time?
I got to do it.
Yes but all the time?
All the time you dont eat your breakfast.
Not all the time.
I’m just listening to you two, said Helen.
Oh but Mum he doesnt have to do it all the time, not if it’s talking.
You know Mr Noisy.
I’m not going to listen. Sophie stuck out her tongue at Mo.
I got to do it. It’s like it’s a disease, know what I mean?
No.
Helen finished brushing Sophie’s hair, tapped her on the shoulder.
Maybe they’ll send me to hospital! said Mo.
Helen had taken the loaf of bread from the cupboard, was inserting a slice of bread into the toaster although Sophie had forgotten about it and was getting up from the chair.
Maybe they’ll do an operation on me tongue!
Big blabber, muttered Sophie.
Helen chuckled. Mo had raised his right hand in the air, forefinger extended. Look at you, she said, you’re like a schoolteacher scolding the class.
It is the whole truth and nothing but the truth. What am I? a big blabber! I should start a blabbers’ anonymous. Guys with blabbing problems can all join up. Maybe they’ll pay me a signing-on fee? I never thought of that!
Isn’t he silly? said Helen.
Poo face!
Oh Sophie!
No, said Mo, poo-face blabber, that’s even better! Poo-faced guys with blabbing problems, dribbling down my chin.
You’re just silly, said Sophie.
I wont be silly once I’m a millionaire and everybody is all paying me money and I can go and buy old Totters Football Club.
The very very silliest. Helen said, A real Mr Silly.
I’m only one of the sillies. Silliness runs in my family you know, they came from a little village where everybody is silly. The name of the village is the very word for silly. My grandfather used to say, Oh we are all sillies, every last one of us, that’s why we wound up in London, got on the wrong boat.
Helen chuckled. She saw Sophie looking at her and she winked.
No, it’s true, me old gramps, him and me nan were heading for Toronto, Canada and what happened, yoicks and tally ho, London, England old chap. That’s as true as I’m standing up.
Oh you fibber! Look Sophie, he’s sitting down when he’s saying it!
Sophie smiled, only for a moment, but a smile nevertheless. Mo made a startled face and clutched his throat, croaking: Hoh the smile, the young lady smiles, she smiles, my life is not in vain!
Sophie glanced at Helen with an expression on her face, a certain expression. It was nice seeing her smile, and that expression too, whatever it was. A mixture of amusement and wonder perhaps; puzzlement at the behaviour of adults, in particular the male of the species. The poor girl was glimpsing the future world; encounters with ‘the male animal’. Helen called to her: Shoes Sophie!
Sophie sighed to the ceiling but her mood had shifted and off she went, almost cheerily. Mo could do that. He coped with her; it was so good that he did. Helen passed Mo the extra slice of toast. She wont eat it now.
Mo folded the slice into his mouth immediately.
Mr Hungry, she said but so quietly he either didnt hear or assumed it was not for his ears. He had the toast in his mouth so that it was half in half out when Sophie returned with her shoes in hand.
Helen had lifted her tea-cup and sat down for a moment; she signalled Sophie to hurry. Sophie sighed. Because she already was hurrying. Helen could see that she was and now she returned to the front room. In the huff or not? Helen was unsure. Mo winked, followed the girl from the kitchen.
But it was the two of them. If Mo coped with Sophie Sophie coped with him. First thing in the morning that was not easy. Mo and his jokes. Helen wouldnt have blamed her. Nothing against ‘jokes’ but there is a time and a place. People arent always capable of smiling, wearisome having to try. Perpetual smiles. Smile, smile, why dont you smile? That was it with some folk. Why do they do it? Not just men. Who wanted to smile all the time? Not all the time: cheer up, what’s wrong with your face, give us a smile. So irritating. The same in work with some of the punters, like it was their job to make the dealers laugh, cracking jokes all the time and getting her to smile. Just shut up and play the cards. That was what she did, or tried to.
That was her with him too, her ex, what a pain it was being the audience, him and his stupid wee jokes. She even found him amusing, in the beginning. Talk about sad cases, that was her.
She did though. Imagine. What a confession! My God! Oh well. And it was childishness pure and simple, like in the classroom at school when a boy did it and you were supposed to look at how wonderful he was. It was him was the joke, a complete joke, showing off like a
wee boy.
Mo was so different, he really was. He was funny for one thing. Genuinely funny. Sophie thought so too and she wasnt easy pleased.
At least she made the effort. Some children wouldnt. It showed she was learning. It should never be underestimated how difficult things had been for her. Mo said she was a woman already but she wasnt. Six years of age my God. Although he didnt mean it seriously, not literally; she was only a girl, and a little girl at that; a month ago she was like everywhere, legs everywhere, skirt round her neck, jumping up on Mo, and he had to not see. It was him that told her about that. And she listened. She did, she really did. The boys would laugh at her if she didnt sit properly. She had to sit properly and not jump up like that because they would see up her skirt. Boys did that. Thank God he told her. If she listened. She seemed to. It hadnt occurred to Helen until he said it. But of course they would laugh at her. Of course they would make her life a misery. Boys did that; they could do, they could be so so cruel. To them she was a girl, so fair game, girls and boys, a wee girl but a girl; she was. But that is all she was. Why would anyone ever think anything else, my God! Surely no one would ever ever, ever think anything else?
Or harm them. How could anyone ever harm a child? an innocent little child.
Mo would have made a wonderful teacher. He was so very patient. Patience was needed with children. Mo had it. Because he liked them. That was the difference. And Sophie could be difficult, there was no denying that. Things had been tough, very very tough. So no wonder about ‘lacks enthusiasm’. What a horrible comment, ‘lacks enthusiasm’. Sophie lacks enthusiasm. Her teacher said it. Does she talk at home?
Of course she talks at home.
But not all the time? no. What does that mean, all the time? You dont want a child talking all the time, not in the classroom. Surely? It was just a ridiculous question.
Talking was not a problem at all. Helen liked the teacher but she was too quick to judge. This was a new school and a new environment, completely new. Sophie was the only Scottish child in the class. Did it ever occur to them to wonder about that? She was on her own. It was significant for a girl, so so significant, and disappointing about Sophie’s teacher because Helen liked her; she was a down-to-earth woman with a nice London accent; not snobby at all.
It was said about Helen too, people thought she was quiet; even reserved. Reserved! Caroline called her that. What a laugh. As though she was middle class! With her background! Ha ha to that. Really, it was just stupid. People didnt know; just what they made up out of their own brains. Helen had never been quiet. It was only England if she was. People didnt understand her at first but eventually they did because she spoke slowly and changed how she said things. They made fun of her anyway. Not nastily; stagey voices and jokes about kilts and being mean. Mo did it too at times. It wasnt meant to be nasty, and it wasnt. Do they all talk Scotch in Scotland? That was Mo’s jokey question. He knew because he lived there but other English people might have wondered about it, even the teachers. Yes they did speak Scotch. It was not funny, even if some acted like it was.
