James Kelman - Mo said she was quirky

Her eyes were closed. It was a serious wish. And for herself, how she wished she could stay home, every day. She so so wished it was only the two of them — and Sophie, the three of them — that their life could be as they wanted. She prayed for that, she did. She didnt know if she believed in God but it was more of a prayer than a wish, that they could experience something like a real freedom, a real one; and they could choose how life was to be instead of having it forced on them all the time not being able to do anything they wanted, even go someplace else, just go out together, why could they not just go out together? Why couldnt the three of them just go someplace? Not forever, even just a long long time, months, if they could have long long months together. She didnt want him to let her go and he didnt. Her head angled over his right shoulder; her left forefinger close to her mouth, and she bit on it.

Mo was worried. Okay …? he said.

Yes, she said but really she didnt know if she was. She didnt feel it. Sometimes she felt okay but not now she didnt, really, more like sad. Poor Mo.

What’s wrong? he said.

She shook her head. Do you ever wonder if London isnt the answer? Perhaps it’s only a stepping stone.

What’s that?

Do you ever think we could go someplace else?

Mo frowned a moment, then smiled. I cant go no place. Where can I go? Apart from Glasgow!

Oh Mo.

I mean it. They wont take me.

Who wont?

All of them. Mo grinned. Me ethnicity is all wrong. Except the north of Scotland girl, right up the very top; in beside the penguins — what you call that place? oats, groats, porridge oats?

John O’Groats. Helen smiled. The two had separated now. Mo had his hands on the sides of her shoulders.

I aint joking, he said. Life’s tough for Pakis.

Oh God I wish you wouldnt say that.

Say what? Pakis?

It’s a horrible word.

The badge of shame. Heh heh heh. Mo was laughing, then shaking his head. He checked his wristwatch again.

Oh Mo, how can you laugh at that?

Because it’s funny.

Helen pushed her arms round his neck. He made a choking sound. I’m not letting you go, she said.

A man’s gotta go if a man’s gotta go. Mo was peeling off her hands to free himself. There’s a movie showing and we’re going. Not this Thursday but the next.

What one? asked Helen, following him into the hallway where his boots were positioned on a sheet of newspaper. Mo crouched to pull them on.

Any one, he said. You’re off I’m off it dont matter only it’s got to be a comedy.

I hate comedies.

Exactly. You’re amazing!

Helen pushed open the front room door to call to Sophie: Come and see Mo before he goes!

How could I be with somebody who hates comedies! he said. How is it even posseebleh mon dieu!

Helen had her hand on the front door handle. Now Sophie was there and Mo leaned to kiss her on the forehead. Sophie stepped back to avoid the contact but Mo moved quickly. You see that! he said.

I hate kisses, said Sophie.

Me too, said Mo and he kissed Helen on the lips. Helen had her arms round his waist and when they parted she muttered, Oh God.

Mo said, I know. He patted Sophie on the head and stepped outside.

Helen called, Take care. She and Sophie watched him walk downstairs. Sophie was holding Helen’s hand; they entered the kitchen. Sophie said, Do you like Mo mummy?

Yes, said Helen.

All the time?

No. Helen grinned. No, she said, not all the time. Do you like me all the time?

Yes.

Oh no you dont.

Yes I do. You like me all the time.

Helen smiled.

You do.

I know.

Sophie laughed.

Houses creaked because they were old. Old everything. The washing machine was the worst. When it entered the spin it crashed across the floor and banged into the sink support. If that collapsed what would happen to the pipes and water supply? The whole thing, it was a nightmare and like the actual washing machine itself, if it dropped through the floor, imagine it, the family below at their breakfast. Mo had looked to see what was wrong but couldnt mend it, whatever it was, and they would have to call in a plumber or whoever to fix it. It was supposed to be ‘feet’ on the bottom. Feet , that was what he said, but they didnt work or something or was only three instead of four, it should have been four ‘feet’. Mo was supposed to be getting the name of somebody to do the job but it was taking ages. You couldnt rush these things. Not when guys were doing a favour.

That was the trouble with ‘favours’.

She shouldnt have been using the machine at all but the washing piled high, towels and sheets. She was doing a handwash at the same time. Three clothes-horses my God it was just crazy and couldnt be done. In the old days houses had pulleys on the ceiling.

No rain was scheduled: both washes could have been hung outside to dry, had she begun earlier in the day, first thing in the morning. But it never occurred to her first thing in the morning. Why should it have? First thing in the morning was last thing at night for nightshift workers.

There was a laundrette along the main road and she used their drying machines occasionally. It made a walk for her and Sophie. Nearby was a kebab shop; Sophie enjoyed their pizza and Helen enjoyed a break from having to cook.

Sophie’s bed was to be made. It was awkward having to squeeze into the cupboard, sore on the back. But it was great how Mo and his mates had fitted it in. Men and DIY. Her ex was the epitome. He only did it to show off his biceps. Oh darleeng you are so strong. Helen yawned.

Sophie said, Why do you have to go to work?

To get our money.

But if Mo goes why do you?

The machine would be entering its final spin and she needed to listen to it. As soon as the spin-cycle started she would hold it down. Something was wrong with everything, so what? life was the usual, life was life. Sophie was watching her. She was engaged with a colouring-in book. She had an eye for colour. Helen said, That’s nice colours!

Working at the sink she could see out the window. The kitchen looked across to the backside of the next street, and the row of houses there. Council apartment blocks were there too merging with the others. Women sat out the back together with small children and it was like how Helen had been brought up in Glasgow; the women did that there. It was nice seeing. Although here they had made wee gardens. If the weather had been warmer and time to spare Helen might have gone across to sit with them. Probably they would have been friendly. They grew herbs and things.

You could stay home, said Sophie. Why cant you? You could play with me and read stories.

That sounds good!

Sophie reached for other coloured pencils, bent her head over the book again. You could Mum.

Helen had expected to tell Mo about Brian but it didnt happen. She waited to say it but it didnt happen. It was her to have said it. It wouldnt if she didnt and she didnt. Why didnt she? Because she didnt, she didnt tell him because she didnt tell him. Anyway, it would have taken too long, him going to work.

She could have started with the folding bed, z-bed. If he knew what a z-bed was. She could have asked him that and then it would have led on to why, like why did she want a folding bed? Because it was useful to have one. If she kicked him out of their bed he would have some place to sleep!

But they were useful, just so practical, if somebody arrived out the blue, family or friends.

Silence. The washing machine was set to enter the final spin. Helen quickly rinsed the blouse and left it on the draining board, and placed both elbows on the right corner of the machine to steady it. Now it started, the spin building to its usual racket, an absolute crescendo, it was horrendous, actually shaking the floor; Helen could feel the trembling and she really had to fight to keep her elbows on the corner. Sophie was smiling. Helen said, I think it’s going to fly up in the air. If it does we can hang on.