AN OLD PUB NEAR THE ANGEL
Also by James Kelman in Polygon
The Busconductor Hines
A Chancer
Not not while the giro
AN OLD PUB NEAR
THE ANGEL
And Other Stories
James Kelman
This ebook edition published in 2011 by
Birlinn Limited
West Newington House
Newington Road
Edinburgh
EH9 1QS
www.birlinn.co.uk
First published in 1973 by Puckerbrush Press, USA.
This edition published in 2007 by Polygon, an imprint of Birlinn Ltd
Copyright © James Kelman, 1973
Interview © The Scotsman, 1973
Afterword © James Kelman, 2007
The moral right of James Kelman to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form without the express written permission of the publisher.
ebook ISBN: 978-0-85790-148-4
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
In memory of Constance Hunting, literary hero.
Contents
The Cards
A Roll for Joe
Abject Misery
He knew him well
The Last Night
Wednesday
Dinner for Two
An old pub near the Angel
The Best Man Advises
Circumstances
New Business
This Morning
Nice to be Nice
Off The Buses: an Interview (1973)
Afterword (2007)
The Cards
‘Duncan your record is appalling,’ Sanderson looked over his head somewhere and then sniffed. ‘You should have been fired the last time you were up.’
‘But Mr Sanderson there were reasons for those absences,’ Duncan stopped and looked away.
‘What excuses could there be for this,’ he picked up the folder, ‘since the last time you were up here. Look at this.’ He smacked the page with his left hand. ‘November sixth, eight, nine, the fourteenth, twentieth, twenty-first and twenty-second.’ Sanderson let the page fall.
‘But I gave a medical certificate for those three days,’ said Duncan.
‘No that won’t do,’ Sanderson frowned. ‘I mean what would my bosses think. No. You’ll be paid to the end of the week. Now let me see, Tuesday isn’t it.’
‘Yes.’
‘Fine fine,’ he made a note on a pad then sat back in his modern chair.
‘Well Duncan if you go home and change now, you could get to the stores before it closed. Or you could go tomorrow. Yes perhaps that would be best.’
‘I won’t be working today then?’
‘Today!’ His eyebrows arched in astonishment. ‘No, no,’ Sanderson sucked in air sharply between clenched teeth making a rasping sound. ‘No!’ he said again loudly and shook his balding head violently.
Duncan stood up. ‘The cards be ready tomorrow as well?’
Sanderson stared curiously up at Duncan, taking in the semi-long hair and then, lowering his gaze, noticing the crew neck sweater under the uniform jacket, said: ‘I don’t think you were suited for this type of job from the start you know.’
Duncan felt the blood roaring through his head. Christ what an insult. It really was.
‘Try and collect your things before 2.30 eh?’ murmured Sanderson picking up the telephone receiver.
He wondered whether Sanderson could hear his heart thumping.
The anger subsided. ‘OK, Mr Sanderson I’ll see you.’ He turned and opened the door. Sanderson began dialling a number. His secretary looked up at Duncan as he walked across to the front door.
Duncan paused and smiled. ‘Little shite isn’t he?’
The woman turned in her swing chair and pulled out a drawer from the filing cabinet.
He closed the door behind him and walked out the gate to the bus stop. Well that was that. It was good to be free again. Still December? Bad time of the year for the broo. Probably be barred for misconduct. Yes bad timekeeping Mr Duncan ah ha. The ultimate sin, matched only by raping the district superintendent’s wife. Still the NAB would have to pay. A wife and child?
‘Jake Duncan!’ called out a youth in a bus conductor’s uniform.
Duncan looked round. ‘Aye Alec how’s it goin’?’
‘Not bad.’ The conductor pointed to the office. ‘What were you in for?’
‘Absences, late reports,’ Duncan shrugged, ‘the bullet.’
‘Jesus Christ! Must have been pretty bad for that.’
‘Aye,’ he looked up the road.
‘Could do wi’ a holiday myself,’ said Alec smiling.
‘Aye,’ replied Duncan. ‘Anyway looks like my bus coming.’
‘Yeah sure Jake,’ he grinned, ‘might see you in Bells sometime.’
‘Probably. Oh Alec any fags?’
‘Aye.’ Alec produced a ten packet. ‘Want a couple?’
‘Aye if you can spare them man.’
‘What with the fiddle I’ve got, are you kidding?’ Alec gave him three.
Jake burst out laughing and shook his head. ‘What a fucking job.’
The bus drew in to the kerb and Duncan stepped on to the platform. He turned and said, ‘See you Alec,’ then walked upstairs, to sit in the back seat. He caught a last glimpse of the garage before the bus turned the sharp bend into the main Glasgow road.
Duncan knew every bump and hill on this road, he could also name every pub and betting shop between Garthill and the boundary. He settled back and closed his eyes. He had always found it easy to sleep on a bus, too easy at times.
Not a bad job the buses. Hours were terrible right enough but you could knock up a decent wage if you put in the hours. Christ it was a bad time of the year for the broo. She’d be worried. Understatement. Probably go off her head. Could take a couple of part-time jobs. Mark a board or a boozer. Done them before. Anyway, time for a pint before going home. She’s not expecting me back till midnight anyway. Could stay out for a while. Maybe win a few quid on the horses. Who knows?
The journey to Killermont Street from Garthill Bus Depot took forty-five minutes exactly and when Jake alighted, it was 2.30 p.m., just too late for a pint. He had 4/- in his pocket and all the time in the world to spend it. Not enough for the Pictures but he could have a bet or a table game at snooker. No fags though.
Jake walked over to the kiosk and bought a half ounce of Sun Valley and a packet of Rizlas. He would have to rely on travelling free on the bus. The Corporation and other omnibus companies’ employees had an unofficial agreement whereby drivers and conductors were never asked for fares while travelling in uniform. Occasionally Jake had had to pay on a Corporation bus because the conductor had been an old timer and old timers were notorious company men. They had worked on the trams and boy it was a job in those days – had to wear white collar, black tie and black shoes then. Better than the average wages too. Aye, aye. Aye! NOT like now. Not at all.
He decided to go home and tell Joan. Better to get it over and done with. He walked down Buchanan Street pausing at Gerrards corner. The Man’s Shop, there was a good tie in the window he rather fancied. Perhaps get it for Christmas. Buchanan Street was crowded with Christmas shoppers especially at Argyle Street and where the expensive stores were. A tie could cost five and a half quid there. Argyle Street was busier yet with thousands of people charging around clutching pap
er bags and shopping bags. When the traffic lights changed they surged across the road and the red-necked traffic policeman was powerless to do anything other than wave them on. Less than two weeks to go and the urge was upon the people to buy and buy and buy in time for Xmas.
The bus queue outside Arnott’s stretched for thirty yards and Jake joined the end. Unfortunately he had to queue like anyone else because he worked on the blue buses and therefore had no priority.
The people waiting were complaining and Jake listened amused. Apparently there had not been a 63 or 64 through for nearly twenty minutes and it was beginning to snow. A wee man standing next to Jake opened the left corner of his mouth.
‘Bloody freezing isn’t it?’
‘Aye’ replied Jake.
‘Bloody snow,’ the wee man spat into the gutter, turned his coat collar up and pulled his bunnet down tighter until it rested on his ears.
‘What is that son?’ he pointed to a bus standing at the traffic lights. ‘Is that a 64?’ he asked.
‘No it’s a 63,’ said Jake.
‘Jesus Christ!’ The wee man hunched his shoulders up and turned inwards. The lights changed to green and the bus drew into the stop; three people got down and the conductress leaned out. ‘First three,’ she called.
About eight women jumped on defiantly.
‘I said the first three!’
‘We’ve been waiting half an hour you know,’ said one woman.
‘What a shame,’ replied the conductress, ‘wait and I’ll get the ladders out and you can climb on the roof.’
‘There’s no’ even five standing,’ said another but the automatic doors closed on the reply. The bus pulled away but stopped again and the doors opened.
‘Hey Jake!’ shouted the driver.
Duncan recognized him and jumped on unaware of the accusing looks from the people left behind.
‘Harry,’ he said, ‘when did you start in here?’
‘Three months ago,’ replied the driver as he closed the doors and drove off. ‘Better than that mob you’re with.’
‘Wouldn’t be hard,’ said Jake. ‘I jacked today anyway.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Well they asked me to leave.’
‘So long as you got your refs,’ said the driver.
‘Oh I made sure of that.’ They both laughed.
‘Why don’t you start in here man?’
‘No Harry. I’m finished with the buses. For the time being anyway,’ said Jake.
The bus was passing under Central Bridge and the driver asked, ‘Anybody wanting off?’
‘No,’ said Jake looking down the passage.
‘Hang on then,’ Harry said. The people queuing at the bus stop had their hands out expectantly, the driver slowed the bus down a little, drawing in to the kerb, then he accelerated and waved goodbye as he drove off across Hope Street.
Jake burst out laughing. ‘What a fucking job.’
‘Listen to the punters,’ said Harry grinning. They were all talking excitedly across to each other and pointing to the driver’s cabin at the front. The conductress came downstairs smiling. She was around thirty and smartly dressed.
‘You’ve got them all going now,’ she said, ‘listen to that babble.’
‘Did you see the look on the faces at the bus stop?’ asked Jake.
‘Serve them right,’ she said, and walked down to collect the fares. The chatter stopped dramatically.
‘They know Sheila too well,’ said Harry. ‘When she starts they know all about it.’
‘Aye I could believe that,’ smiled Jake.
‘Oh she’s OK. Been in the job about ten years,’ said Harry.
The conductress returned and passed round the cigarettes.
‘Where you living Jake?’ asked Harry after a time.
‘In Partick man, Beith Street.’
‘That’s next to the garage.’
‘Aye just before Sandy Road.’
The bus pulled into the lights at Partick Cross.
‘Room and kitchen, inside toilet,’ Jake continued.
‘Bought?’ asked Sheila.
‘No. Six quid a month including rates. They’re coming down though.’
‘Aye you’ll get a corporation house,’ said Sheila.
‘That’s very nice, probably get a semi-detached out Castlemilk,’ said the driver.
‘Aye,’ Jake smiled wryly, ‘or the Drum.’
‘My sister lives in Drumchapel,’ said Sheila, ‘and she quite likes it. Depends what part you get I suppose.’
‘Aye,’ replied Jake, ‘anyway this is where I get off.’
‘Aye. Listen Jake take a run up to the Wheatsheaf one night. I’m early all week. Definitely be in on Friday night.’
‘Yeah I’ll probably do that,’ he stepped down. ‘See you later.’
He walked down Crawford Street which was nearly all down now. Only the top and bottom closes remained and the old detached house near the railway line was boarded up.
Jake was beginning to feel very depressed at the thought of explaining it all to Joanie. He turned in to No. 136 and trod on an old shit.
‘Bastard!’ he grunted without anger, and wiped his shoe with a piece of newspaper. The headline caught his eye. He read aloud. ‘“Baxter to leave Rangers?” Christ what is it all about.’ He looked at the date and snorted, ‘1966.’
He walked upstairs. The steps were cracked and chipped, condensation seeped from the scarlet painted walls. Gang slogans and names and dates were scrawled everywhere in paint of all colours. The Duncans lived on the top floor across the landing from the Moonans. He knocked at the door and heard his wife come through from the kitchen. He could see a shadow in the peephole he had put in the door. It opened a slit then widened.
‘Jackie?’ said the girl in surprise.
‘Hullo,’ he entered and kissed her. ‘Well where’s the milkman then?’
She smiled at the old joke. ‘Are you on a spread over?’
‘No, eh,’ he grimaced, ‘they fired me, any tea?’ he went through to the kitchen and filled the kettle. He plugged it in.
‘Jackie what is it?’ She stood by the door. ‘Jackie what’s happened?’
‘I got the sack,’ he shrugged, ‘bad timekeeping.’
‘Oh.’
‘Could do with a couple of weeks’ holiday anyway.’
Joan sat down heavily in her armchair.
‘I’ll have three weeks’ wages coming to me,’ said Jake coming to her.
‘Oh Jackie,’ said the girl. ‘What . . .’
‘Listen I can get a job right away if you want?’ he interrupted.
She looked up at him, ‘Where?’
‘The Corporation for goodness sake,’ he put his hand on her shoulder, ‘no bother.’
She got up as the kettle boiled. ‘Tea?’
‘Aye. I thought I’d wait till after the New Year before starting.’
‘Some New Year,’ she poured the water into the teapot.
‘Och come on for God’s sake,’ said Jake quietly.
‘What happens if they don’t take you?’ she asked.
‘They’re crying out for men,’ replied Jake, ‘anyway I might take on a couple of wee side jobs.’
She sighed. ‘Like what?’
‘Marking a board. Maybe a boozer, oh there’s plenty going about.’
He accepted a cup from her and sipped slowly.
‘Then I’ll never see you,’ she sighed again sadly, ‘I hardly see you as it is.’
‘At least I won’t be working shifts.’
‘Can you get a job as a salesman?’ she asked.
‘Need a couple of suits.’
‘You’ve got two.’
‘Och they’re hopeless,’ Jake answered, ‘I never wear them as it is.’ He rolled a cigarette.
‘Thought you had stopped smoking?’
‘I’m finished buying packets,’ he gave a short laugh, ‘only 3/8 for a half ounce.’
He stood up and undressed. ‘
Do you know where my trousers are?’
‘The blue ones?’ replied Joanie.
‘Aye.’
‘In the wardrobe, unless you’ve shifted them.’
He went through to the room and found them hanging in the wardrobe. The baby was gurgling away to herself. He leaned over the cot and made her laugh.
His wife came through just as he picked the baby up.
‘Is she wet?’ asked she.
‘Aye and smelly,’ grinned Jake dancing around with the baby.
‘I met Mum this morning,’ she said. ‘Asked when we were coming round.’
‘What did you say?’ he asked.
‘Said I’d phone.’
‘We’ll go round tomorrow night.’
‘Dad could get you in beside him,’ she said cautiously.
‘Is that so,’ replied Jake showing no interest.
‘He’s offered before Jackie.’
‘Yeah I know,’ he handed the baby to her, ‘yes I might.’
‘Will I say anything?’
‘NO!’ He spoke sharply. ‘No leave it for a while yet.’
‘OK,’ the girl said it quietly. ‘What do you want for tea?’
‘Stew made the same as you did it last Friday.’
‘OK,’ she smiled and walked from the room carrying the baby.
Jake picked out a book and sat down to read.
A Roll for Joe
It was a modern pub, quite a flash sort of place. Piped music and the obligatory slot machine. Tables along the wall and high stools at the bar. A brewery house but not too bad.
‘Pint of bitter please.’
Quite a pleasant grunt from this skinny bartender.
‘Not a bad night eh?’
‘Yeah,’ he jerked it out the corner of thin lips.
‘Spring. Good season eh?’
He shrugged and plonked the pink glass down on the mosaic counter. Some froth sloshed over the rim and streamed towards my elbow.
‘Two and five.’
I got my penny change and sat on a high stool. Hell of a job being a barman. Watching everybody bevying the night away man. Must be pretty bad. All the conversations. Having to talk or at least acknowledge all the pieces of chat. No wonder you look so bored Percy. Why don’t you rob the till and high tail it to the badlands. That beer was very good.
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