Mo said she was quirky (19 page)

Without Mo she would have been stranded. She would never have returned to London. It wouldnt even have occurred to her because with Sophie and everything, if the nursery scene was bad in Glasgow at least she knew about it there and the travelling wasnt so bad. Then worrying about him all the time, her ex, if he was going to interfere and he would have my God he would have of course he would have.

She would never have managed. She didnt have the looks for prostitution. Well of course she did. If you were young, you only had to be young. She would never have considered it. She didnt know how; even making enquiries, who would you have asked? it was ridiculous, except in a roundabout way, but who would have known? It was all guessing, and if you went up to somebody and asked, what a laugh that would have been. The ‘girls’ came into the casino. Helen could have got talking to one, or if she had gone into a casino herself, another casino, and just, all she would do, just, if she just waited or sat down and what would happen perhaps if a guy talked to her or what, she didnt know. Except the problem then that people would know her in these other casinos. You get to know people, and they know you.

Imagine walking the streets my God whoever could imagine. And the risks, imagine the risks. Helen saw girls on these quiet streets, poor-looking and cold, behind buildings and in back lanes and car-parks, so horrible and dangerous. Girls getting beaten up and raped and murdered, how many girls were
murdered every year? the figures were shocking; what were they? You saw these guys, horrible horrible guys, looking at you, just how they looked at you like sleazy, so so sleazy. Stripping you with their eyes, women said that, oh he strips you with his eyes. That was what they done, and to make you feel that way, you just turned your head and they were watching you and that was it, they wanted you to know, that is what they were doing. Sleazy and horrible. They wanted you to be a slave, you were just a woman, you meant so little to them, they looked down on you and didnt think you were anything, not a real human being, they didnt think you were, just a slave. That was him. You were a servant bringing up his child and for sex, that was what he wanted you for so he could penetrate you or if it was your mouth, that was penetration too, it was all just penetration, penetrating another human being; and you werent another human being, not to them. They only thought of men. They didnt think of women. That was the look, how they did it, sleazebags. That was a good word ‘sleazebags’.

Helen watched for that look and if Mo was there too. Who is this little guy getting this white woman? she must like Asians, she must want it from Asians, smiling horrible smiles, if she wants it from anybody, perhaps she does so then they are looking. All she had to do was tell Mo, if ever one did. They were taking a risk because he had that in him too and he would do it; her ex would have found that out. Mo didnt care, big or small, he said he couldnt fight to save his life but it wasnt true it just wasnt true, she knew it wasnt, he had thick arms and could punch, she knew he could or else stick a knife in them, small men could do that. Dad always said it about tall skinny ones, forget about them it was the wee guys with the bad temper, they were the dangerous ones.

But that was the last thing, telling Mo, she would never take the risk because if she did.

She had learned not to react. People thought she was naive. They were the naive ones. If you worked in a casino you were used to men, being looked at and watched. You coped. You had to. Helen was young and men looked at her. She was a girl. Girls learned. As would Sophie. Helen would teach her. Mothers should teach daughters. Instead of criticising. Fathers could help. Real fathers. Not only biological ones, real fathers dont have to be ‘biological’, not if it is a natural feeling for children, and not like an enemy. There were enemies of children. Mo wasnt one and neither was her ex, she could never have charged him with that – oh God, a sharp pain in her tummy. Sometimes she experienced this. ‘Anxiety’ in the stomach. Caroline called it that. She might be dealing the cards then for no reason she got it. Anxiety.

She opened her eyes, seeing her slippers by the door. Fancy ones Mo had bought her. She liked the design. Her eyes had been closed. Why did she not raise her head? she didnt want to, she didnt want to see things. People dont have to see things, not if they dont want to. Just the ironing. What did it matter it was just so stupid and daft just day in day out clothes and worries. Ironing is just silly and foolish and the most foolish foolish

Helen left the kitchen. Through in the front room she opened the window to see out. In the old days women got a reputation for doing this. Nosey buggers. Around here it was like creepy-crawlies, that was the worry, if a driver saw you leaning out: he circled and came back again to see if you were still there and if so, if you were – what? Did you want a man? No thank you, nice of you to ask, she had one and one was plenty thank you very much.

Punctuality was not a strong point. He was good but not for time; he ignored it. Him and his chatting and meeting people. Who was he talking to now? Somebody anyway. Sophie would have to remind him on the way home, otherwise it was another port of call.

Men exaggerated about everything and he was no different. What was the opposite of expert? That was how she felt about men. Sometimes she thought she knew them, most times she didnt. And they lied. It was second nature. Helen hated lies and men did it the worst. Even the ones who didnt, they did too, they all did; white lies and black lies. Some guys tell them because they are lazy. Too lazy to tell the truth! A comedian on television talked about that and it was funny. Usually Helen didnt like comedians. Haw haw haw, ho ho ho, laughing all the time at horrible nonsense, stupid stupid silliness, showing off, that was them usually, you felt like putting your fingers in your ears.

It was a quiet street and that was good but you never saw children where were the children! At school. But they should have been home by now, nearly quarter to four my God so actually they were late. Of course he detoured, if he knew she was in bed, if he met a friend it was yap yap yap, he just talks all the time, Sophie making faces at him, pulling his sleeve. She was so right, just all the time talking, talk talk talk, even walking down the street on the mobile talking or texting people. When he came round the corner he would be texting.

In Glasgow too. For somebody who had never been to Glasgow, he knew more people than her. It was a knack he had. What about her friends? Why dont you introduce me to people? What people!

Her life had gone from top to bottom bottom to top, just screwy. How had it happened? It was just so
screwy
.

He had his own life and she was happy that he did. She didnt need to meet his family. Things might change but it didnt
matter if it didnt. This was their relationship and it suited her, it suited her. Oh God.

He was her best friend. He even said it about the relationship, the first thing you should be is a friend. Friends come first. He called it a ‘position’. That is my ‘position’.

In Glasgow

there they were thank God, that was them coming from round the corner thank God oh thank God thank God. Hand in hand. Of course. Sophie had the schoolbag over one shoulder. Of course of course.

Helen closed the window quickly, returned to the kitchen, switched on the radio.

Sophie was supposed to wear the schoolbag over both shoulders but she didnt. It was pointless talking to her. Whether Mo tried or not it would have made no difference.

When they came in through the outside door Helen was kneeling by the ironing board iron in hand and she rose. Sophie called, Oh mummy I have things to show you.

All kinds of things! Mo chuckled.

Sophie was hopping on one foot while untying a shoestrap. Helen filled a kettle of water. We had an errand to go, said Mo, and to Sophie: Didnt we?

Yes.

It’s a secret, said Mo and he winked at Helen while wagging his finger at Sophie: I thought you were bursting for the loo?

Sophie sighed, glaring at him.

You should have gone in the park!

She kicked off her other shoe and stepped sideways into the bathroom, snapping the door shut.

You went to the park? asked Helen.

No, we were passing but she wouldnt go in.

Sophie shouted from behind the door: I’m not doing the bathroom in the park it’s all dirty!

Mo whispered very loudly at the bathroom door: But what if she explodes! We dont want exploding girls, who wants an exploding girl?

Sophie called: I’m not listening!

Helen returned to the ironing, rearranged the clothing. Mo followed her, wanting to talk but she wasnt wanting to listen, not just now, not when she was trying to work in this confined space. She held the iron and edged past him. Sophie was even worse, she stood far too close. It was how accidents happened. What if it was like boiling water in a pot, or if the kettle tipped over? Even the gasrings on top of the cooker were a hazard the way they had gaps. It wouldnt be the first time a pot wobbled and nearly fell. The design was bad. The ones who designed cookers had never cooked a meal in their life, not in a cramped space where people were knocking your elbows. It was all rich people, where you could just swan around and people might come in and have a chat, sit down at the table, a big table; probably there would be servants, and a cook doing the cooking or carry-outs from a high-class restaurant.

What did he want to talk about that was so important? It couldnt be that important, not that it couldnt wait five minutes. Everybody talked in the restaurant kitchen, according to him, they shouted at one another. Perhaps they did but what did that have to do with it? They were adults and like experienced kitchen-workers, that was their job. And he moved about he always moved about, why didnt he stand still? He was talking. People should stand still when they talk my God he never did – and the clothes there too, even if he lifted them because if he stood on them for God sake having to wash the damn things again and then – she always ended up – why couldnt he wait? could he not wait? surely he could wait?

Although he would be away to work soon. She knew that, so if he needed to talk, it had to be now, or soon. Only sometimes
it wasnt important, not once he had said it. Chit-chat, that was all. Why couldnt it wait? He could wait. She had waited for him.

At least she wasnt cooking; that was the worst, no space at all, that so-called counter, having to keep it clear, everything stacked everywhere just because nowhere and nothing, no proper cupboards, no workplace my God this silly wire thing he brought home; the cutlery was supposed to like stand upright to dry off naturally but individual articles forever slipped through the gaps and landed in the sink and that sink, like gunge, always thick with it, and you had to wash them all again. It just created work. Why create work? That was labour-saving devices. He loved them but they were silly gadgets most of them.

He was talking again. Although it was cheery, Sophie was there and smiling at what he was saying and she put her arm round Helen. Helen said to her: Who does he remind you of? Does he remind you of anybody?

Mr Noisy.

Yes and Mr Nosey, rolled into one.

Mo laughed.

And Mr Grumpy, said Sophie.

Yes!

It aint me that’s Mr Grumpy! called Mo. There’s two Mr Grumpys in this house and they aint Misters let me tell you they are Misses.

Huh! said Helen.

Mo was beckoning to her: Guess what about?

Pardon?

Guess what I want to talk to you about?

I cant.

You have to.

Oh God.

Mo smiled.

You’re going to work in an hour and here you are blethering!

Exactly, he said.

Blether blether blether.

Yes, he said.

Helen sighed. There was a chair positioned to the side of the counter gable. She rose from the floor, settled the iron upright on a space on the counter, switched on the kettle of water then plopped down onto the chair.

Sophie was watching her. Of course she was. Helen smiled and Sophie smiled in reply. That was a girl who worried; six years of age and already, already she was doing it.

It was
having
people, she
had
people, and had known loss, whatever the reality was her father was no longer the fixture and that was it, poor wee soul. No doubt she worried about Helen. Of course she would. Helen’s arm was round her shoulder and she pulled Sophie to her. It was good having someone. Poor Brian if it
was
him. Imagine it was, down-and-out and on the street. A homeless person living rough. With psychological health problems. He should never have been on the street. That was so wrong. Britain was a horrible country. Everything being frittered and people in need. Brian should have been receiving care, he should have been in a nursing home. He was Helen’s brother and she would have looked out for him, come to see him every day possible, as often as she could, help him get better. Mo would be good too. He was good with people, he liked them. And if you like people people like you. Oh my God.

Mo was smiling.

What? said Helen.

You’re in fantasy-land!

No she isnt, said Sophie, leaning closely into her.

Yes she is, her head is in the clouds!

Dont be so cheeky, said Sophie.

She’s miles away!

Oh I’m just thinking, said Helen.

What about? said Sophie.

Nothing for nosey folk! Helen smiled. But Sophie didnt. Sophie was staring, about to cry my God she was, blinking to stop the tears. Helen sighed. Oh Sophie, she said.

I’m not nosey. You said I was.

I didnt.

You did. I was nosey. You said it.

Oh but it was fun, it was fun; I dont think you’re nosey at all.

I hate it when you say that.

Honestly, it was only fun.

You know your mum, said Mo, if there’s a joke she’ll make it.

Sophie looked at him. He poked his tongue out but she kept her face straight. A battle of wills. Helen shut her eyes. The water in the kettle had started boiling. She reached to switch it off. She thought to say something but didnt. They were both strong characters: stronger than Helen. At the same time it was comical, like how she had been herself, always on her dignity, on her
high horse
. Dad shouted that whenever Brian lifted her. Look at wee jellybelly, she’s up on her high horse, and that was Brian. Dad always poked fun. He shouldnt have. It wasnt sarcasm but it wasnt nice. Insensitive. That was Dad, like a lot of men. They saw things differently so their jokes too, their jokes were just not funny. But why did he pick on his own son? All the time he did it and it wasnt nice. If he was doing his best. People do their best. Why did Dad do it? Mum didnt like him when he did. Helen saw that. She was a wee girl and she saw it. Mum didnt like Dad. Brian was only lifting her, putting her on his shoulders. What was wrong with that? That was a big brother, he was a great big brother. There wasnt a single piece
of badness in him, there wasnt – him and his burnt toast, he loved burnt toast. So did she, although it was bad for your insides. Brian burnt it black then scraped off the worst portions, showing it to Helen making her jealous. Oh I love burnt toast, mmm. That was what he said, tormenting her. He did torment her so she did it back to him. Oh but it was playful. It was not in
spite
. There was no
spite
. There wasnt. They didnt blame each other. Why would they have if it was fun? It was fun. Nobody was at
fault
. She was a wee girl. There was no
fault
. Why
fault
? What
fault
was there? Only Dad. Dad was silly. He was. She saw that now. Grown-ups could be silly, their little jealousies and pettiness. It was the pettiness. Helen hated pettiness. She would far rather