James Kelman - Not Not While the Giro

Chas was saying: Did you manage to get through to her but?

Get through to her! Course I didnt get fucking through to her — thought I was going to rape her or something.

Hell of a blow to your ego son, eh! Sammy grinned.

Fuck my ego. Tell you one thing, I’ll never sleep the night.

Aye you will, said Chas. You get used to it.

You never get used to it. Never mind but, Sammy chuckled, you can have a chug when we’re asleep. . He laid the can of beer on the floor next to his bunk and wiped his lips with his wrist; he took another cigarette from his packet and lighted it from the dowp-end of the one he had been smoking. He was still chuckling as he said: Mind fine when I was down in Doncaster. .

Fuck Doncaster.

Chas laughed. Never mind him Sammy — let’s hear it.

Naw, better no. Sammy smiled, Wouldnt be fair to the boy.

When I had dried my feet I walked into the kitchenette to hang up the towel. The top section of the window was open. I closed it. If anything the rain seemed to be getting heavier. And back in the main area Chas said: She’ll be swimming out there.

Thanks, I said.

Thanks! Sammy snorted, You’d think it was him swimming!

I drank a mouthful of lager, sat down at the foot of my bunk, and lifted the cigarette one of them had left for me. Chas tossed me the matches. A few moments passed before Sammy muttered: Aye, just a pity you never thought to tell her about next door.

I looked at him.

The sparks, he said, they’re not here tonight. Had to go back down to Glasgow for some reason.

What?

I’m no sure, I think they needed a bit of cable or something.

Jesus Christ! How in the id of fuck could you no’ve told me already ya stupid auld. . I was grabbing my socks and my boots.

Sammy had begun laughing. I forgot son honest, I forgot, I forgot, honest.

Chas was also laughing. The two of them, sitting spluttering over their lager. Fine pair of mates yous are, I told them. Eh! Fuck sake, never’ve signed on by Christ if I’d known about yous two bastarn comedians. Aye, no wonder they keep dumping yous out in the wilds to work.

Will you listen to this boy? Sammy was chortling.

And Chas yelling: Aye, and me about to lend him my duffel coat as well.

Keeping to the grass verge at the side of the track I walked quickly along from the small group of caravans. The centre of the track was bogging. It was always bogging. Even during the short heatwave of the previous week it was bogging. Plastered in animal shit. Cows and sheep and hens, even a couple of skinny goats, they all trooped down here from the flearidden farm a couple of fields away. By the time I got to the road my boots and the bottoms of my jeans were in a hell of a mess. I headed along to the village. Village by Christ — half a dozen cottages and a general store cum post office and the bastards called it a village. Not even a boozer. You had to trek another couple of miles further on to a hotel if you wanted a pint.

Over the bridge I went up the lane to the modern cottages. Although the mist had lifted a bit it was black night but it wasnt too bad, the occasional porchlight having been left on. Where the lane ended I turned back. If she was here she was either sheltering, or hiding.

Round the bend I continued in the direction of the hotel. The rain had definitely lessened, moonlight was glinting on the waters of the loch. I saw her standing at a wee wall next to the carpark entrance, she was with a very old man who was dressed in yellow oilskins, a small yap of a terrier darted about in the weeds at the side of the road. My approach had been noted. The girl finished muttering something to him, and he nodded. She made a movement of some kind, her face had tightened; she stared in the direction of the loch.

Well, I said. Has she not got a place yet?

What was that? The old man leaning to hear me.

I said has she not got a place yet, the lassie, she was looking for a place.

O aye aye, a place.

Aye, a place, has she got one yet?

He waited a moment before shaking his head, and while he half gazed away from me he was saying: I’ve been telling her try up at Mrs Taylor’s house.

Were you?

Aye, aye I was telling her to try there. You know Mrs Taylor’s I would think.

Naw, I dont, I dont at all.

Is that right. . he had glanced at me. You dont know her house then, aye, aye. No, I dont think she’d have any rooms at this time of night. Mrs Taylor, he shook his head. A queer woman that.

The girl turned her head, she was gazing in through the carpark entrance. But her gaze had included me in its manoeuvre. Look, I told the old man. I’m living on that wee caravan site along past the village. There’s a spare one next to where I am. Tell her she’d be alright in there for the night.

He looked at me.

Look it’s empty, an empty caravan, she’ll be on her tod, nothing to worry about for Christ sake.

The old man paused then stepped the paces to begin chattering to her in her own language. Eventually she nodded, without speaking. She’ll go, he said to me.

I told him to tell her I would carry her rucksacks if she wanted. But she shook her head. He shrugged, and the two of us watched her hitch them up onto her shoulders; then she spoke very seriously with him, he smiled and patted her arm. And she was off.

I nodded to him and followed.

She stared directly in front of her thick hiking boots. We passed over the bridge and on to the turnoff for the site. A rumble from the mountains across the loch was followed by a strike of lightning that brightened the length of the bogging track. A crack of thunder. Look, I said, I might as well get a hold of your rucksacks along here, it’s hell of a muddy. . I pointed to the rucksacks indicating I should carry them. I helped them from her. She swung them down and I put one over each of my shoulders. Setting off on the grass verge I then heard her coming splashing along in the middle of the bog, not bothering at all.

The light was out in our caravan. I showed her to the one next, and opened the door for her, standing back to let her enter but she waved me inside first. Dumping the rucksacks on the floor of the kitchenette we went into the main area, it was the same size as the one shared by the three of us. These caravans were only really meant for two people. A stale smell of socks and sweat about the place, but it was fine apart from this, fairly tidy; the sparks must have given it a going over before returning to Glasgow, and they had taken all their gear with them.

The girl had her arms folded and her shoulders hunched, as if she had recently shivered. She stood with her back to the built-in wardrobe. I nodded and said: I’ll be back in a minute.

Chas was snoring. I could see the red glow from Sammy’s cigarette. He always had trouble getting to sleep unless drunk; this evening we’d only had 4 or 5 pints each over a period of maybe 3 hours. He said: I heard yous.

Any tea bags?

My jacket pocket.

I also collected two cups and the tin of condensed milk from the cupboard in the kitchenette. It’s still teeming down out there, I whispered.

Aye.

She’s soaked through. I hesitated, Okay then Sammy — goodnight.

Goodnight son.

I chapped on the door before entering. She was now sitting on a bunk but still wore both her anorak and her hiking boots, her hands thrust deep inside the anorak pockets. When I had made the tea she held the cupful in both hands. No food, I said.

Pardon?

Food, I’ve no food.

Ah. Yes. . She placed the tea on the floor, id a rucksack to her, unzipped it and brought out a plastic container from which she handed me a sandwich. Then she closed the container without taking one for herself.

After a few sips of tea she said, Tea very good.