James Kelman - Mo said she was quirky

Helen paused and half turned to wave once more. She couldnt see Sophie but she would still have been standing there, still waving until the last. Helen as a child. Who did Sophie take after! It was true but the wee soul, she so took after her mother. Never mind.

She enjoyed this part of the journey to work. She even looked forward to it! Walking. Yes! And she so hated it as a girl my God she did, really really, she did. And now, well, she quite liked it.

About fourteen minutes to the station. Twenty-three on the train, depending, a leisurely journey and really, a time to relax, it was, for her anyway it was, for other people perhaps not, not if whatever.

It was lazy. She liked that. The older stations too, she preferred them. There was something nice about them. You got on the train and that was that. Nothing you had to do. You just sat down and the window was there if you could get a seat and just stare out. She stared out. People worked on their laptops, or were on their phones, else texting, reading books or newspapers. Helen didnt, she was one of those who just whatever — stared, dreamed, who closed her eyes. She might have dozed. It was a private world, almost like a secret world, being in the middle of a city but not visible, in the back of the city, being behind . A peace descended. A ‘peace descended’ was her words for it.

So many railtracks and all the names, strange names, hundreds of wee towns and villages all filling the map, it was so unlike Scotland. How people lived! Their lives were so so different; quiet places and streets, little shops and beyond that too green pastures and bridges, canals and their boats. This was England. Helen didnt know England. South London wasnt ‘England’. Caroline said that; her family came from ‘the Cotswolds’. The Cotswolds. Where was that? Their trains must have been the fast ones. Trains to the back of beyond. Helen’s was an old thing that took its time and had to sit at the side until the fast ones passed. Helen imagined them full of businessmen in their bowlers and thick coats all being rushed into the city and the houses where they lived like the ones you saw on television with bedrooms and lounges, kitchens and gardens, patios, a ‘patio’, imagine a patio and the sun is shining and the seat is there in the garden and just sitting there and a glass of lemonade, where the murder takes place, the Chief Inspector arrives to take down the details and the housekeeper is there too, Yes milady, and the servant girl back in the shadows, at the kitchen door, and the ‘young master’ — what? what would he be doing? It is all men anyway.

The train moved through one area Helen knew from weekend visits. This was an old factory and warehouse area where a couple of the less dilapidated buildings housed market stalls at the weekend. Each time they went somebody would tell them next week was the last because the council was closing it down. You could find so many bits and pieces, all bits and bobs, anything and everything. A dream for Mo. When they went they took turns rummaging while the other watched Sophie. You needed two hands at the clothes-stalls in the main market areas, especially if some of these women with big elbows were about and trying to reach something in front of you. Manners didnt exist. If you let a child out your hand for one second she would be off wandering, lost in the crush.

It was like from a bygone age. The Russian man Lenin, from the politics of that time, the Russian Revolution. He visited with his wife to give talks to people. Lenin and the Russian Revolution. It reminded Helen of the Barrows back in Glasgow; the ideal place to find a z-bed. One stall specialised in computer relics, old cables and gadgets. Mo knew the stall holder by name. Most of the junk he brought home came from here. No wonder the man was friendly. Mo was his best customer. One old place they called the ‘warren’. If you disappeared in here you got ‘lost forever’. Mo told her this with a glint in his eye but the very last time here they had a row because of it. He got ‘lost’. It wasnt funny. Yes Helen was nervous. Of course she was nervous. Who wouldnt have been? He knew she didnt have her phone and yet he still disappeared, like for ages. He said he was only looking at things but my God. Eventually she and Sophie had to go inside to find him and men looking at her too. Even with a child beside you men ‘looked’. He didnt think about that. No, because men dont, they dont have to. Then when he did come back my God like sauntering, just sauntering, hands in his pockets, and winking at her. He hadnt even bought anything. He called her a born worrier. Yes, and not ashamed to admit it. If she was a worrier; if she was then he was a dreamer. He so didnt think. Imagine her ex. If he had known about Mo and was stalking them, and just waiting his chance. Mo was defenceless. Against him he was. He would have beaten Mo up. He was just like — he was horrible.

Even if he had told her he would be gone a while. Her and Sophie could have gone to a café or into the place with the good toy-stall. There was one where the guy did demonstrations and it was like entertainment; a young guy too but thickset and with a baldy head and a wispy beard. His patter was hilarious and he made everybody laugh, picking out individual children and winking at the mothers. The last time he had big sort of space-truck things that he operated by remote control but they kept dropping off the stall, making everybody laugh. He had a bowl of boiled sweets and threw them to the children. He reminded Helen of somebody. Some conjuror on television. Now you see it now you dont. Then it came to selling them. I’m not going to ask for this and I’m not going to ask for that. He always had a crowd round his stall for the demonstrations.

A few people were poor. Really really poor. Immigrants and asylum-seekers, bags of old clothes and whatever. Men in small groups, and women with babies and toddlers. You had to be careful with your bag and purse. People said that, if it was true, probably it was but you had to watch your purse anywhere.

It was the kind of old place where she might have seen Brian. The people hereabouts wouldnt have looked twice at him or the one with the limp. Guys were standing about, leaning on rails and against the wall. Tough-looking men, drinkers and junkies, the younger ones arguing, laughing and horsing about, then looking when you passed. You would have had to be tough to survive, so so tough. Would Brian have managed? You heard these stories. Not just men but women too. Unimaginable. What sort of life was it? hell on earth. You would have to keep moving. You might be healthy at first but the more you were on the street the worse it would get. The worse you would get. And if you were mentally ill. It was the worst nightmare. Poor Brian. People looking at you all the time. When do you sleep? When do you get a seat? Are you allowed to sit down? Washing yourself. You heard stories about people using lavatory pans, men shaving themselves out the toilet bowl water, women washing themselves underneath. What diseases would they catch? Contaminated water and contaminated blood. It was like nightmarish zombie stories, just horrific. And the constant constant hassle. Not just the police but people shouting at you all the time and doing dirty tricks, even like beating you up, setting you on fire; there were stories about boys burning people alive, old tramps; it was horrific to think people would do that, and videoing it too, just brutalised, people were brutalised, children, they were, horrible. That was Brian having to cope with it. My God

It would be strange him and Mo. How he would react, if he was racist, probably he was. But perhaps not. But it happened anywhere. People looked twice. It didnt mean they were racist. Only she got so sick of it, having to think about it and always you did and if you didnt you soon had to because something happened. It put you off going places, even entire districts. Although she handled it better. It was true that most people were. Even without knowing it, the very words they used. They didnt like Muslims, even hated them. And without knowing any my God that made you smile, if you didnt cry, how bad that was, how just sick; really, it was; so prejudiced and shocking, so so shocking. His mates who came to the house, she saw them looking at her too; not in a sexualised way but like they were wondering about her and wondering about Mo; how come here they were together? But surely that was all couples and not just white and Asian? People get together. How on earth do they manage that my God it is just my God it is just like so amazing. And sleep together, just literally sleep together! The trust in that alone! Imagine! Lying beside another human being and asleep, and them beside you and you just lying, and you have that trust because just anything they could do and you are powerless, you are so so powerless, so like all you can do, only trust them, you have to, just so have to — and get beyond it if you can, you have to, because then if you do, if you manage it comes the peace, peace comes, you close your eyes, that is the trust, you can close your eyes and trust the person. Helen trusted Mo; she knew she did, and she had to, that was the other thing.