Mo said she was quirky (4 page)

But if everybody was different their thoughts too would be different and all their points of view, everything. You couldnt have everyone different but their thoughts all the same. That was just stupid. Why did people want everybody to be the same? Or act like they did. Usually it was men. But not all the time. You heard women politicians and they were tough as old boots, you saw their faces; they were worse than men, they would tell somebody to push the button for the whole human race, they would give the order. They could be mothers. Of course they could. It was hatred, people hated; why did people hate? They did, they hated.

She eased La Divina out from beneath the girl’s head. It was just a little furry creature but she had had it since she was a
baby. Mo teased her about it. Helen wished he would stop. But maybe it was for the best. It was a new life now and the sooner Sophie got rid of the old stuff the better. But it didnt apply to dolls. There was nothing wrong in dolls. If she could break with the old associations. That was what counted. Mo was good with Sophie, she could have been his own daughter. Helen was so lucky with Mo, but perhaps she wasnt.

That was an odd idea. What did it mean?

Nothing. Odd ideas were – odd! And she got them. But she was odd. She was; just hopeless, hopeless. She knew it about herself. If she wasnt hopeless she would never have got involved with him in the first place, her ex, never. And marriage would have been out the question. Marriage! My God imagine marrying him! But she did; it was never a strong point, sense. People thought she was sensible. She wasnt. They thought she was and she wasnt. She had to be thick to have married him. At the same time he was Sophie’s father. So if not for him.

She lifted the empty glass and rose from the chair, the floorboards squeaking, treading so very carefully when she passed the end of the bed, although Mo would have slept through thunder. She clicked open the door into the hallway, and closed it so very gently.

That draught under the front door, my God, you could actually feel the chill. Her feet were always cold.

The light was still on in the kitchen. She had forgotten to switch it off. Oh well, she switched it off now, stepped across between the fallen photographs and settled into the chair. She was tired, sitting with the coat shielding her. It was weary. Weary and tired, that was her. Tiredness. Where did it come from? From living. Exhaustion. She was too weary to smile, she had been working all night dealing cards, dealing cards and taking money, putting up with it all, everything. And now here she was, not sound asleep and she should have been, snug,
warm, just warm, the heat from Mo he was so so, so warm, so warm, in beside him and away from everything, and his body, she loved his body; she did, why did she, men and women,

all these things and in her mind too all just going round and round. Her head lolled, her eyes open; only the tiredness, but not wanting to go to bed, she didnt want to.

Morning light but shadows lingered. Shadows of our lives. A shadow of our life. What our lives are. Those shadows, into those shadows. Brian at the traffic lights, that look in his eye, it was wild. Why was he staring at her? It was horrible. He didnt know her. If he had it would have been different, he wouldnt have seemed so murderous and dangerous. Because that is how he was to the others; that was how he appeared: murderous and dangerous. Not to her. Of course not, not at all. Because she knew who he was and if he had known it was her, if he had he would have looked at her differently.

He would have, because of who she was and who he was – her big brother. He was her big brother my God and it wouldnt matter about anything else; all what had happened, whatever had happened was away in the past. If anything had happened. She didnt even know if anything had happened. It was all past now, everything, she was his wee sister, she was only little, she had been; if anything had ever happened, she was only little. Nothing had happened anyway, what had happened? nothing.

Other shadows now, and a darkness. Oh but darkness, what is darkness, just darkness of mood, if her mood was dark.

These shadows. Shadows shadows, this is the past.

Memories are memories. Memories are not dark. It was Helen herself and her imagination, too many books as a girl,
Mum always said it. Shadows and images, darkness. These were only memories, all crowding in, her and the family when she was very small; the ones from the beach where she was sitting up on Brian’s shoulders. He took her down to the water. Other brothers would have skipped away and left her but he took her, walking over and over the sand, a far stretch of sand, across twirly little sandworms. She would not step on them although they were not real sandworms and would never hurt her. Brian said that. And nothing ever would hurt her if he was there. Helen knew that. But you could imagine worms, how they twirled round and were hiding there in the little piles my God and you could not walk to the water without stepping on them they were everywhere you looked and made you shudder and she hated touching them how boys could touch them oh my God and she could just look down at them, from high up on Brian’s shoulders.

She couldnt have had a better brother. Did people not know? It was just so obvious. Dad knew that too. He must have. Why wouldnt he? Because he didnt like him. Poor Dad, his voice was a roar filling the whole house. Frightening and horrible. Helen hated it and wished she could stop it and just hide, she could just hide, if there were blankets, and just pulling them over her head, it was so so horrible.

If he didnt like his own son. My God. Surely not, but yes. It isnt strange to find in families a parent doesnt like a child. You had it in stories and films. It was an old subject; even in the bible. The parent tries but cannot bring himself to do it. It does happen. It is nobody’s fault and just such a horrible shame, for everybody – not only the child. Dad would have felt it the worst. Poor Dad, fifty-four years of age. That is young for people dying. Cholesterol and blood pressure, or blood through the veins; to do with blood, something. Scotland was horrible for dying. She hadnt known it was so bad. Porridge and whisky, kilts and haggises. People laughed. It was a warped sense of
humour. It happened in the casino. Anything about Scotland and they made a fool of it. Even Mo, and that was racist too, if he wanted to talk. Okay it was a laugh but just as well Mum didnt hear him. She was for Scotland and against anybody who said different. Scotland is a Protestant country. So if people came here they just had to put up with it. Or stay in their own place; why didnt they? Nobody asked them to come.

Mo said he liked Mum but how could he? If people dont like you how can you like them? She couldnt look in his direction except with lowered eyes. Nobody would have succeeded with her. Even Dad failed. Of course Brian.

Helen glanced at the photograph in her hand, she had lifted it from the floor, one of Mum and Dad but half turned so she couldnt see the actual surface, the image. She didnt want to see them. Not at this moment. The ones of Brian, she didnt have many. Mum had more, she liked him. Of course she did, her son. Mum loved Brian and it was nice to know. She had never loved Helen and she loved Brian so that was nice, nice to know, she loved somebody.

But that could never have been him at the traffic lights. It was just too coincidental. The entire population of London my God millions and millions of people. Brian went to England but a long long time ago: Doncaster or someplace; he liked Doncaster, then it was Liverpool. Although of course he could have left and come to London, of course he could. But if he had seen her he would have known her. Surely he would have known her?

Not through the windscreen and the side windows. She would have been a shape, only a shape.

Oh my God if he had recognised her he would have been so so glad, just so glad to see her. He would have been. He was her big brother. She didnt have anyone else. Other people had lots of relations. She didnt. Brian was the one and he went away, and poor old Dad. Nobody was left except Mum. If
people want to complain, Helen could have, she could easily have complained. Yes life was unfair. If you expected life to be fair you were in for a shock. Dad was hardly turned fifty and it was a heart attack. What is a heart attack? Your heart stops, a heart seizure. It was a seizure. Blood and cholesterol. What does it mean? The doctor asked if he smoked my God it had nothing to do with smoking, Dad didnt smoke; he used to but it was years ago.

Why did they say these things? Oh but it was all the time, the same with Mo’s uncle dying of cancer. People blame the wrong things. It happened to her dealing cards, if they kept getting bust or if she kept getting blackjack, so the bank kept winning, so it was like her fault. It wasnt her fault. They blamed her for bad cards. Total stupidity. And it wasnt her money, did they think it was her winning for goodness sake it was not her winning, it was the bank, and it was not her fault if they lost. Punters lost their wages so blame the dealer. All the time they did it, as if she was responsible for how the cards fell. What did they think, that she had stacked the deck? How could she do that? They saw the cards under their very nose, that was how they were shuffled, they just came out and it happened, and they cut the deck themself, it was them done it, so why blame her? What about fate, do they never think of fate? Or luck? Why not luck? People were lucky. Some were and some werent. That was life.

A slice of toast. She needed something.

Once Sophie had gone to school she would fall into bed, just fall in. Everything. It was everything. You got tired of it all. She had been about to say ‘death’. Even death, being tired of death. Why was she thinking about death? It wasnt morbid, she wasnt morbid, not generally, although her thoughts, her imagination.

Her thoughts were the darkest, often they were, they could be. Not herself, if it was the smear, she always went and always
would, and ordinary cancer, people dont pass it on to one another, not like a contagion, cancer is not a contagion, and people survive. Mo’s uncle hadnt smoked one cigarette in his whole life. He was a religious man and a non-drinker too. Why did the medical people say that? Because it was lung cancer. Mo’s family were angry and no wonder. Didnt they read the medical records? His uncle was a sportsman my God didnt they know he was a sportsman? They dont even read his files! Mo could hardly get the words out when he was telling her. Then too his family, his mum and dad up visiting most every day of the week and what a strain it put on them.

But at least they had had time together as a family. Not like when the person is just struck down. That is the horror. People have no time. Helen’s father was dead before he hit the pavement. So said the doctors. He was walking along the road and collapsed, and was dead. Children in the street witnessed it happen. So horrible. Those children looking at him and he was dead, they saw him falling down, it was a dead body, they saw a dead body falling and it was her father, my God, nobody knowing, not getting the chance to see him and wish him cheerio. It sounded stupid; foolish and just crass. But that was it, to say cheerio or bid farewell, how do you say it? goodbye, if your father is dying and you know he is and he does too, farewell or cheerio Dad or what, what happens? just holding his hand. Helen would have held his hand, pressed his hand and just

so he would know she was there, just being there for him. That was his life! That is the parent’s family, father or mother, it isnt just mothers. Dad had been so important for her. He had a right, he had a right, only to have the contact and know this at the end of his days, it isnt too much to ask, not to die like he did in the middle of the horrible street it was just so so unfair, for people believing in God, it was just silly and not only silly
but not at all justice, who could ever believe in justice, poor Dad, he deserved something better than that. If there was no justice then there wasnt any so what was there?

He died the year before Sophie was born. Imagine how unfair, so so unfair. Dad would have loved a granddaughter. But it wasnt to be. Things dont work out. You plan things to happen and they dont. Whose fault is it? it is nobody’s, whether God or whoever, life is life, if it is fate. Helen didnt believe in fate, not too much, and not too much about God either. Mo could do what he wanted but not for Helen and not for Sophie, it was not their culture; he didnt speak about it to her and she didnt want him to. Really, she didnt. He went to Mosque a lot, and that was him and it was fine, the pillars of faith.

It was all too big anyway. Sometimes Helen felt that, and she was nothing, she knew she was nothing. Except she wanted nothing, so that was something. She wasnt asking for stuff and wanting things all the time like fame and fortune it was just stupidity. If she had no right to have something she didnt want it. She didnt want anything like that and didnt care. She wanted her family, that was all.

Mo laughed at her. But it wasnt her fault. She was different to what he knew but what did that mean? He thought it was Scottishness but it wasnt Scottishness, it was nothing to do with Scottishness. What was Scottishness? She didnt know what it was and it didnt matter because it wasnt her.

Anyway, she wondered about him. There were things he didnt tell her. That was men. The man who talked, but not about everything. They had had very different life experiences. Even just male and female was different, never mind families. People fight to live. Some do and some dont. Mo’s people did but what about hers? Would they fight? Did they?

Sad thoughts, sadness about the thoughts; the thoughts were not sad in themselves, the sadness was from thinking
about them, their lives, their lives were just poor, poor lives, the casino too and the people she saw and encountered day in day out, night after night after night, frittering and superficial and some horrible, just horrible, horrible people and all their horrible attitudes, going out into the night, avoiding the shadows, the back alleys and side streets, they didnt want to know about them.

Brian
was
skinny. He was a skinny malinky; awkward and just lanky. He was lanky. She was not being disloyal saying that if it was the truth, and it was the truth.