James Kelman - A Disaffection

Fuck the trousers and the shirt and the tie, he was wearing jeans and a fucking casual jacket. That was another thing about this life, how come you even started looking like a fucking teacher never mind fucking have to be one of the bastards. High time he started to dress differently although fair enough just now was not the time because the one thing about now was the need for a healthy attitude and a healthy attitude meant a relaxed attitude, it meant being comfortable, nothing out of the ordinary, fuck the jeans and the casual jacket in other words. No, not precisely. Wear the jeans. Just dont fucking go overboard on it. Dont fucking

ach shut up.

He was getting into the motor at a couple of minutes past nine o’clock and into Miller’s Bar shortly before 9.15. Alison was sitting in the lounge. It was busy, other people were at her table. She didnt notice him. She didnt seem to be looking at anything in particular. He walked to her fairly quickly. I’m really sorry I’m late, he said, his voice lowered, I’m really sorry.

It’s alright. She smiled.

I was actually asleep, I fell asleep on the chair. Would you like something to drink?

She wanted a gin & tonic. She was already sipping one. She wanted another. He was going to get himself a tomato juice and plenty of ice cubes and no beer or whisky. He wanted to touch her hand. Her face had been looking up at him, he wanted to put his hand onto her chin. He was going to get an erection. At the bar he stared at the bottles on the gantry. It was busy. He was to wait his turn and hope nobody went before him because such a thing was always an irritant and here in this lounge there seemed to be a policy that waitresses were given preference over standing customers but what was wrong with that there was nothing wrong with that, it was perfectly reasonable and brooked no argument, certainly not from him anyway. He waited. He glimpsed Alison; she was observing the company at the table next to hers. It was interesting. It signified things about her. He had noticed it before, how she could seem to enjoy just watching people. It was something to smile about. Patrick smiled. She was human after all!! There again though it could just signify things about him, things in reference to himself, in relation to her, that there she was observing other people while there he was, standing at the bar. And now she was lighting a fag. Patrick grinned. He shook his head and closed his eyes a moment. The girl behind the bar was really attractive. The uniform she was wearing: white skirt and red satin blouse. She smiled at Patrick. He smiled at her. Probably she smiled because she knew he was with another woman ergo not a threat in the usual male to female fashion. He smiled again. When she handed him his change he said, Quite busy the night eh!

She smiled. He lifted the drinks across to the table. Alison smiled at him and shifted on her seat so that he could sit in beside her. The seat was an upholstered bench and he had to squeeze in there because there wasnt very much room. The bloke who was sitting at the edge of the company at the next table had to squeeze along a bit to help create space. Patrick apologised. A bit of a squeeze, he said, eh!

Aye, said the bloke.

Pat winked at Alison. Busy in here the night eh!

Yeh. She indicated the tomato juice in such a strange, peaceful way, that his heart sank to the furthest depth of his belly. He could not speak.

It was also her thigh solid jammed against his and they were jammed together, it was silly. He put his hand towards her but stopped it in the act and got it onto the glass of tomato juice. Things were running away from him, they were coming to a head. She was so kindly too, her intentions were with being gentle and if he could get touching her hand. If he could get touching her hand. What like would that be. And he was going to actually get hard, he was getting these twinges from the tip of his prick right to beneath the bollocks and if he relaxed his knees even a moment that would be that for christ sake. He tried a smile but it would not have been appearing right it would be too strained, what a strain, his forehead was strained, into something or other, something else, altogether, he was touching her hand, her hand was obviously soft, he was holding it, it was softer than his, or was it, was it really, was it not just like his and therefore okay different but the softer-than-his business just being stereotypical because she was female and he was male. He studied it. Her fingers. They were soft as well. She wore rings. He had to be intent on it, what he was doing, not to notice it, what he was doing, to give that impression to her. Sorry, he said, withdrawing his hand.

Alison didnt smile. On her face there was a rueful look.

I’m sorry, he said.

She stared at her gin & tonic, and the bottle of what was left of the tonic alone; her cigarette lay smouldering in the ashtray.

Sorry, he whispered.

She continued to stare. Eventually she muttered, O Pat.

…

I dont want to have a relationship with ye.

No.

It would just make things so complicated. It would make things so complicated. Her head was bowed. She lifted the cigarette in her left hand, inhaled on it, her head moving to the side, so that the smoke wouldnt interfere with other people. She blew the smoke down the way, to beneath the table. She kept her head bowed. Pat looked at the bar. It was busy. It was busy at the bar. This was a Monday evening. She raised her head. They glanced briefly at each other. Do you understand? she said.

It sounds like a Hollywood picture o my darling! he said, smiling.

Alison didnt smile in reply.

Aye, he said, I know what you’re saying.

She didnt respond. She looked at the table. The bloke squeezed in on the side of Patrick seemed to be jumping about or something and Patrick felt like digging him one in the fucking ribs but he restrained himself because maybe it was just to do with scapegoats.

So:

that was that. He gulped. Saliva at the throat and a feeling across his shoulders. He lifted the glass of tomato juice. It was all up now it was all over. But it was good to have it in the open, to have had it in the open.

But just getting things out, aired.

Some sort of song was playing on the stupid muzak jukebox as if this was the fucking stupid piece of goods he would always remember in association — I remember the night etcetera etcetera. Would he fuck. He stared at the tomato juice. He felt like flinging it at the wall. What had he bought it for? He would never fucking buy it again, that was for fucking definite. He looked at the waitress: a waitress had come to gather the empty glasses and give things a tidy up. An older woman; methodical in what she was doing. Alison said very quietly, I wish ye hadnt done it Pat.

He nodded.

She was gazing at the table.

She touched his hand.

She smiled and said something. He missed what it was. She said something but he couldnt make out what it was. He laughed a moment. He shook his head to clear or settle his brains. She smiled and said something, he missed it. Their hands were not touching now. He said, I appreciate what ye did there. He smiled at her. He raised his hand to cover his eyes, but he just smoothed his forehead instead and he smiled and shook his head.

After yesterday, she was saying.

I appreciate it, he said.

Alison touched him on the hand again, but just this touch and she had stopped it. He looked at her hand and then he put his onto it and she didnt withdraw it. He said: I’ve just been I dont know, I’ve just been wanting to talk to ye properly because things areni fucking just really christ they’re no really going well at all, just now. And I’ve been needing to get things clear with ye, with you … He turned his head to look at her more directly; she didnt avoid the look. Then she leaned to stub out the cigarette.