How Late It Was How Late

by James Kelman

  Somebody was talking and then stopped. It sounded like two or three folk, they were coming up behind him. He slowed down till they passed. The talking started again once they were ahead of him, and one of them laughed. Nay wonder ye wound up paranoiac!

  Naw but ye hear cunts laughing and ye dont know what the fuck they’re laughing about. All ye know is what ye know; that ye’re wearing a pair of stupit sunglasses and carrying a fucking stupit stick, with these fucking smelly auld fucking stupit fucking trainers on yer feet ten sizes too wee for ye!

  He bumped into a wall on his left, tapped on for a wee bit then stopped. What fucking wall was it? Where the hell was he? He had come up the steps from across the square. Five minutes ago for christ sake he didnay seem to be getting anywhere; maybe he was fucking going in circles. Ye cannay even walk for fuck sake know what I’m talking about ye cannay even fucking walk.

  Right right right relax, relax. His fucking wrist was sore but. It was cause there was nay handle on the stick. It was awkward.

  So. What was he gony do now? Well he was gony walk, that’s what he was gony do. Where to? Jesus christ. Amazing. Life.

  Okay. The boozer couldnay have been too far from where he was cause he had come up the steps and hadnay banged into nothing out the ordinary – ye didnay count the wall, there was fuck all unusual about that. So he should have been on tack.

  Fuck it man he wasnay gony go to the pub at all, he was just going home. And that was that. Hell with it. The minimarket for some tobacco, plus a loaf and a pint of milk, a couple of tins of stuff. Nothing ambitious. Then the lift and home.

  It’s funny the way ye get. Ye’re better no thinking about it. Ye’re better just to fucking

  He turned back. It was the best thing. He transferred the stick to his left hand to give his right a rest, but he still wasnay very good with the left and a few steps on he returned it to the right. Plus the fact with his right he could keep in better contact with the wall. A dog barked quite close. Imagine if ye were blind from birth, ye wouldnay know what the fuck a dog was, all ye would hear was this woofing noise man it would be fucking horrendous, ye would probably think it was some crazy cunt instead! At least he knew what things were, what things were. A nightmare! Nah it wasnay a nightmare fuck off.

  It wasnay too bad it was just christ almighty

  Ye had to be careful; that’s all. More careful than other cunts. Nothing special in that. Anybody with any kind of dysfunction, they would all be the same. Even just if ye had lost yer legs, ye would still have to be extra careful. Nothing wrong with that. Ye just screwed the nut. And ye took it easy, ye didnay panic, it was too easy to panic, ye could feel it come on ye and ye just had to safeguard it, that it didnay happen, ye just watched yerself – ye were careful. He hit a space, tapped into it; he got to the wall and patacaked; it was a corner, he went round it and the wall was still there where it should have been a window, the chemist shop window. Ah well he was expecting something so fair enough I mean he knew he had took a wrong turning so okay man fair enough. It wasnay stone, the wall; it was some kind of metal and there was an empty sound when he slapped it. A car engine was revving. Unless it was the lock-ups. If he had took a wrong direction from the top of the walkway then that’s probably what it was, he had went at an angle and blundered through a gap.

  So he was at the back of the building across from his own. Which side but? Christ he wasnay even sure it was that building! Seriously but how ye did know? ye didnay; ye were just guessing. Well it was one or the other, there only were two; there was a third yin but it was a good quarter a mile away man he couldnay have blundered that fucking much. The car engine still revving. He tapped his away along in that direction. When he got close he called: Hullo there! Hullo there!

  Whoever it was had a radio blasting; it was a sports’ programme. Sammy shouted: Hullo there!

  A guy called: Aye what is it?

  The car stopped revving but Sammy still spoke loud: Naw just eh… I cannay see eh…I’m blind; I’ve lost my bearings. I’ve lost my bearings.

  …

  Any chance of pointing me round to the shops?

  Nay bother my man nay bother.

  Sammy heard him shifting tools then calling: You stay here… Then he was beside Sammy: Okay? he said.

  Aye.

  Right… He took Sammy by the wrist and they set off, walking slow. No a bad day eh?

  Aye no bad, said Sammy, as long as the rain keeps off. I was heading for a pint but I took a wrong direction.

  What ye wanting to go to the pub?

  Naw naw, no now, naw, changed my mind: I’ll be fine once I get to the shops.

  Cause I’ll take ye there if ye want I mean it’s no a problem,

  Naw naw ta, I’m giving it a miss.

  Maybe just as well, said the guy, fucking drink eh!

  Aye ye’re no kidding. Heh d’ye mind if I take your wrist instead of you taking mine?

  Naw not at all, on ye go.

  Ta, I’m finding it easier this way.

  Nay bother my man nay bother. Aye, he said, I’m trying to get the jalopy on the road.

  Aw right, aye.

  Heap of fucking scrap, being honest with ye! The lassie’s getting merrit in a fortnight. Liverpool. Me and the missis are heading down for it. Fucking headache but and I’m no kidding ye. Even if ye do get it on the road, know what I mean, taking it all that distance! fucking murder – they motorway garages too it’s a fucking arm and a leg. Be better getting a bus; cheaper in the long run as well. It’s the fucking wedding presents – the house is stowed out with them; all the faimly and the neighbours and that – so I’ve got to stuff them in. Wells Fargo. Ye merrit yerself?

  Aye, said Sammy: he couldnay be bothered saying naw.

  The guy chatted on, walking him to the minimarket door. If he hadnay opened the door Sammy might just have headed for the building. Instead he got the messages. Ye were supposed to do it self-service but it was the same guy as yesterday and he was good and okay about it and shouted on somebody to get the milk and bread.

  So then he was on the last lap and into the building, pushing through the glass door. It swung shut then seemed to check and open again like somebody had caught it and nipped in behind him. He got across to the lift and found the button. He was thinking stupit things. He listened hard and heard nothing and nay wonder he heard nothing cause there was nothing to hear. Getting into the house would be good. He was gony go straight to bed. He would take the radio with him and listen to the football. Just lying down out the road, that was what he felt like. Out of danger. Ye just seemed to get panicky ower the least wee thing like the coordination got affected; cause ye couldnay see ye started hearing things. Then yer fucking imagination got to work.

  He was cold too and that was funny; how the fuck was he cold? He needed to get warm, he needed to get fucking christ almighty safe or something, maybe he was coming down with the flu, maybe that was what it was. It would explain how come he was like this cause he wasnay usually like this man nervous as fuck. That lift as well for christ sake where was it! sometimes it took years. Fucking weans playing hide and seek. These bastard junkies man shooting up and keeping the doors jammed. It was coming. He took off the shades and shoved them in his pocket, stepped to the side and hid the stick as best he could. Two people came out. Okay, he found the thing and pressed it. The lift was moving. Great. That was what lifts done, they moved, the fuckers went up. Or down – depending on what button ye pressed, as the bishop said to the actress. The bishop said to the actress man ye wonder if there ever was a fucking bishop!

  Christ, that sounded like his fayther, the kind of thing he used to say!

  Nervous fucking nervous why was he so fucking nervous! ye wanted to fucking scream it man! ye were nervous, jesus christ. Ye had to cope but ye had to cope, ye just had to fucking cope, cope. The lift was stopping. The doors opened. And along the corridor, felt for the nameplate on the door. Thank fuck, he said when he stuck the chubb in the lock and it fitted.
But lo and behold it wasnay needed. Okay. He shoved in the yale immediately, turned it, and the door opened. He pushed it and stepped inside, closed it. He called on Helen: Is that you? Helen!

  Nay answer.

  Helen…! This time he said it in a loud whisper: Helen! Ye there?

  …

  Alright man alright; he took off his jacket and hung it on the peg; it was just how folk could be in the house and how would ye know, ye wouldnay, ye would have to wander about listening for sounds; breathing and all that. Never mind. He put the bread and milk on the kitchen counter and went to the toilet. It wasnay the first time he had forgot to double-lock the door with the chubb. It wouldnay be the last. I mean for christ sake one day he had forgot to shut the bloody thing I mean actually shut it! He had left it open all the gether man, the fucking door I’m talking about. Just as well Helen hadnay left for her work. Wild.

  Anyway. Every wee detail, ye wind up making a mountain out a molehill. A raving fucking loonie man that’s what ye end up. Ye have to watch yerself. That was a thing inside. So many cunts were paranoid.

  Stuff heavy on top of ye. Ye felt like pushing up the way, getting it to fuck off yer shoulders. Like that feeling ye get when ye stand at the edge of a cliff and ye look out to sea and the wind’s blowing and a tanker’s way out on the horizon and ye feel as if ye’re really fucking out in the open and so christ almighty the opposite of hemmed in, the opposite

  So what Sammy was feeling was the opposite of the opposite, in other words he fucking was hemmed in man know what I’m saying, hemmed in; and it was gony get worse, afore it got better; that was a certainty, it was gony get worse. He needed to do better, he really needed to do better. His entire approach had to be changed. The whole set-up. Everything. He had to alter everything. There was all these different things needed doing and he was the man. Naybody else. If he didnay do them they wouldnay get done. They wouldnay get done if he didnay do them. Simple as that. His life had changed. Ye had to accept it. It’s like he wasnay accepting it. It’s like he was going about as if he wasnay blind, as if he didnay think of himself as blind but was just meeting up with all these obstacles and fucking things he kept fucking bumping fucking into. His life had changed, it had changed. The sooner he accepted that the better. But he wanted his life to change anyway I mean it was fucking rubbish.

  Ach he was going to bed. He was hungry but so what, the grub he didnay eat now was the grub he would eat later. Fuck Helen. Fuck her.

  Sammy was in the living-room, about to get the radio and bring it back to the bedroom, but he left it where it was. He switched it on and sat down. Maybe he would paint the fucking stick. A whole week now she had been away. Nay wonder he was upset. Naw he wasnay. She could do what she wanted. It was fucking up to her. Ye’re that long without people what does it fucking matter it doesnay matter, ye do without. He had been gony change his life too; even afore this shit, that was the whole point. He telt her too. Tried to I should say, it hadnay fucking worked. She took the needle about something whatever it was he didnay know cause she wouldnay tell him she just gave him the silent treatment. Sometimes ye wonder about women man I’m telling ye. It was a couple of days afore the row on Friday morning. Cause that was what it was: a row, a fucking row; so okay, the bold Sammy, he made the fatal error, he came clean with her. No totally clean but clean enough to mess things up. He was so used to no talking at all. That was the problem, usually he telt nay cunt fuck all man nothing, fucking nothing. And that was the right way. That was what he was used to. And you get good at it, ye get fucking good at it.

  It isnay even as if Helen was nosy. About his past and aw that, she never seemed to bother. She knew he had done time but that was it, past tense. So there was nay need to talk about it. It was just stupidity. He could have telt her nothing for the rest of his life and it would have been fine it would have been took for granted, nay danger, nay problem, on ye go. But he had to go and blab. But he was only doing it to show her it was past tense. Lying there in bed, her head on his inside shoulder, legs spread ower each other and her hand man that way fingering the hairs on yer chest so sometimes ye get the stupit wee fear she’ll make knots or something.

  Relax ya bastard.

  He was fucking trying to relax. That was how it started.

  He had fucking relaxed. A second go was on the cards and he was getting himself the gether. She was sleepy but he felt the need, wanting her to come as well. Okay, inexperience talking. Ye have to mind but a guy of Sammy’s age, eleven years out his life, stunted fucking adolescent.

  He felt so good but! so fucking good! Jesus christ.

  He did, he felt really fucking

  Ach. He was wanting to show her how stupit it was. How stupit he was.

  Used to be! Cause it was ower it was ower and it was fucking done with. And lying there man he knew, he really did know. It was finished. All the crap. It was finished. His arm across her shoulder and reaching down, his hand on her side, just stroking her. Fucking peace. A time for the future. That was what it was. That was that fucking moment, the future! No the past: no the past. He brought that up. Well he didnay really; it was just to get to the future, he had to bring a bit of the past in, so he could get there, so it was out there and part of it and then he could really start – the two of them could, the gether. Cause he knew it was possible. But she didnay. She didnay think there was a future. That was her problem man she didnay think there was a future. She was just taking it as it comes, one day at a time. Cause deep down she thought they were doomed. No his fault, hers. She aye made a point of saying that, it wasnay his fault it was hers. There was something wrong with her, that was what she said; it was her kept failing; no him. Cause she had lost her weans. Her weans were taken off her. All that kind of shite. Cause that was what it was, shite. It wouldnay have fucking happened if he had been there man know what I’m saying that bampot bastard she was married to. Ye couldnay convince her but ye couldnay convince her, ye couldnay fucking convince her.

  It made ye

  yer heart ye know ye just felt fucking – plus yer belly; and if ye didnay watch it

  Fuck sake.

  Sammy wasnay experienced with women. Being honest. Ye hear these cunts in the poky. The big question never gets answered; it doesnay even get asked: How come ye’re so experienced if ye’ve done all this time ya fucking halfwit!

  Ach.

  Just with Helen ye know ye were wanting to fucking ye were aye wanting to fucking protect her. Even thinking about it man.

  Jesus christ. Where the fucking hell was the tobacco? ye can never find it man no when ye need it. It’s always fucking

  He rolled a smoke. A week away but that was a long time. Ye worried. Ye hear these stupit bastards inside. Ye listen to them. It goes in one ear and out the other. Fucking boasts; everything’s fucking boasts. And ye get sick of it. Tales-from-the-poky, Lessons-I-have-learnt. It was stupidity it was all stupidity. Charlie was dead right I mean of course he was fucking right, ye think Sammy didnay know! It was Charlie that didnay, Charlie was the cunt that didnay. He just thought he did

  Ye got angry about things and ye shouldnay, it was a major error.

  People telling ye stuff. They always want to tell ye stuff. Ye’re a dumpling. Ye’re a fucking dumpling. That’s how they tell ye. Even a guy like Charlie, when he tells ye stuff, his heart’s in the right place but he wouldnay be doing it except cause he thinks ye dont know, ye’re an ignorant bastard, a fucking dumpling; ye spend all these years inside but ye know fuck all about the system, know what I’m talking about, that’s what they think about ye, ye’re just a fucking

  Ah fuck it man who gives a fuck.

  Fuck the football, he reached for a tape. Some of these voices man they would drive ye nuts; grown men, know what I mean, raving away about football. The tape was in, he found the play-button.

  Fucking Willie Nelson man that was the last thing he wanted. The first thing he needed and the last thing he wanted,

  Auld fucking Willie.
>
  Okay. Sammy had been gony turn it off but instead he turned the volume down low, almost so he couldnay hear it. But he still could, just.

  It’s cause times change. They change, ye know; some people dont believe ye. Well it’s their fucking prerogative.

  In Sammy’s case it was the driving. In the case of his fucking stupidity. That’s what these true-life tales of woe are about. The guys that tell ye them kid on it’s all about fate and fucking bad luck but they’re really talking about stupidity; theirs; nothing more and nothing less. Stupidity; that was how they landed inside. Fucking bampots: what they’re boasting about is their own fucking idioticness. The way they tell it they want ye to see how it was all down to bad luck. Sometimes they try for a laugh but when they get a laugh it’s cause the joke’s on them. The number of times Sammy had had to listen to these stories. No just inside outside as well. Everywhere ye go ye hear them, there’s aye cunts wanting to tell ye. They start off like they’re gony come clean and let ye know they brought it on themself. It’s a con but cause it’s gony turn into a boast. They’ve got this need to tell ye how what happened to them was different to every other cunt. Every other cunt’s fucking stupit but no them. So they tell ye how their own wee operation was worked out; they had done the lot boy dont worry about that, everything ye could think about they had thought about, the lot, they had done it, all the major bits: then bang, wallop, fuckt. By something so fucking minor and petty there was nay cunt alive could have thought about it. Nay cunt in the entire world.