Read The Busconductor Hines Online

Authors: James Kelman

The Busconductor Hines (8 page)

BOOK: The Busconductor Hines
6.39Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Along the footbridge he stopped to chip the dowp of the cigarette over into the river. He peered down. Not too far off was a bend in the river, the driftwood flowing towards him, passing below; he went to the other side to watch it reappear. Pools of rainwater on the flat rail where his forearms rested, the wind rustled the higher branches of the trees. On the opposite bank the grass also being rustled on the steep slope up to the street, a kind of shimmer. He struck a match but the flame didnt burn for long. The sound of wheels needing to be oiled. A high-pram, being pushed by a girl maybe as old as Sandra but probably younger a couple of years. She was wearing a thick anorak and jeans, and thick boots. He cleared his throat; then he moved to
allow the pram to pass more easily. She had long hair. The pram bumped down the short flight of steps: and along the path, behind its canopy, the girl's head and shoulders could be seen above the big weeds.

For a while he tidied the house, before making a slice of toast and cheese, and coffee. Carrying it ben the front room he laid it on the floor beside the settee. He put an L.P. record on the music-centre, setting the arm so that it played continuously. He closed the curtains. When he sat down he bit a mouthful of the food and shut his mouth on it. But within moments he emptied it onto the plate, then stretched along the settee, resting his heels on its arm. He got up and switched off the light. He lifted the cup but put it down without tasting the coffee. He made a cigarette. When it burned he laid it on the ashtray on the floor.

The wallpaper peeled at the corner of the room nearest the front of the building, on the same side as the boy's cot. Beneath the peeling section were several air-pockets. He was reaching to press his right indexfinger into one of the larger ones, to make contact with the wall; he continued to press when the contact was made.

Back on the settee he raised the cup to his lips and allowed the coffee to enter his mouth; but he was restricting the gap so that it could only trickle through. He pushed a finger against the skin beneath his bottom lip, to the point where the coffee would have been parallel on the other side. Fuck sake. He drank most of the rest at once.

Toys and books were among the fankled blankets on Paul's cot. Hines hadnt tidied there. He got up from the settee but he went ben the kitchen and got the quilt from the bed and back on the settee he stretched along it, drawing the quilt over himself, right over his face, and turning in to face the rear of the settee. He closed his eyelids, he stuck his indexfingers into each ear.

Paul – bouncing on the edge of the settee and grinning at him. Hines sat up, shielding the light from his eyes. The music was no longer being played. Paul was laughing . . . Granpa gave me 50 pence and we got trifle and crisps.

Good.

Sandra came in, her coat off; she walked to the cot and straightened out the bedclothes. Your record was blaring, she said, I dont know how you can sleep with it like that. I'm surprised nobody was in complaining.

He nodded; he lifted the unsmoked cigarette from the ashtray on the floor and lit it. Sandra was now tugging on the sleeves of Paul's coat and she got it off then knelt to help him with the rest of his clothes but he twisted about and she told him to stand at peace. He continued to twist, not letting her get ahead with it all.

How was your mum and dad? okay?

For God sake Paul. Yes. She pulled the jumper over his head and shoulders then he jerked out of her grasp and she smacked him on the wrist. Just stand still this minute!

I dont want to go to bed.

O for heaven sake.

I dont want to!

Hines reached over and whacked him on the bottom and his knees caved in; and he fell so that his chin could have landed with some force on the floor but it was avoided, his hands arriving first and taking the impact. A moment's shock before the greeting fit. Hines got off the settee then Sandra sat down on it. She murmured. He's dead beat, he's been on the go all evening; dad had him out in the garden after tea.

Hines had knelt on the floor, one knee raised, and he sat the boy there and continued undressing him, then helped him on with his pyjamas. He told him to go to the lavatory and began folding the clothes onto a chair next to his cot. Paul was no longer crying when he returned. Hines put him into the cot and he pulled the blankets up to his chin. Good night son . . . He gazed at him; he leaned to kiss him on the forehead. See you the morrow eh!

He turned and smiled at Sandra and went to the kitchen, switching on the television and the gas-fire.

More than quarter of an hour passed. He was glancing at the situations vacant column in the
Evening Times
when she came ben; and he nodded at the television. I think there's something coming on.

She didnt reply. He made as though to speak but said nothing. She was sitting poised on the edge of her chair, her hands gripping the edge of each of its arms. Without looking at him she said: It's no good Rab.

She looked at him for a moment. He flushed. What d'you mean Sandra?

But she only shrugged and then he gazed round the interior of the kitchen, breathing steadily. Soon the flush had gone from his face and he repeated the question. Again she shrugged. He
shook his head slowly, then more quickly, the flush back on his face. I honestly dont know . . . he was saying, really – I dont know what you mean Sandra honest; is it the house? I mean if it's the house you're talking about then christ I mean, we'll get one. He cleared his throat: In Knightswood too if we bide our time.

Mmhh.

His eyelids closed and opened. He looked for his tobacco tin. We could get a place just now if we wanted . . .

There's no sense in resurrecting this argument.

It's no an argument. He sniffed. Anyway, there's a lot of good bits in Drumchapel.

I'm not saying there isnt.

And we wouldnt have to take their first offer. Something else you seem to forget: if they do slap a dangerous-building notice onto us then they're going to have to give us somewhere good I mean cause if they dont we can just sit it out till they do.

You're dreaming.

Hines looked at her.

It's a place of our own we should've got. At the very beginning.

You've been listening to your dad.

She turned to face him. I have not been listening to my dad. It's just so bloody obvious. We should just never have come here. We could've used the money as a deposit.

No we couldnt have – not unless we'd bought a dump.

But we would've moved onto another. Look at the way prices have risen? if we'd bought five years ago we'd have sold for a lot more than we paid and then we could've afforded something better. God, when I think of what we paid just to get the key to this bloody place, bloody dump.

It wasnt a dump then.

Well it is now for God sake when did you last look out the
window! I knew it was too much to pay. I told you so at the time but no, you let that woman talk you into it.

Evelyn Donaldson, she was trying to help.

O Rab I know she was trying to help, I'm not saying she wasnt – but that doesnt mean we had to take it.

We got the furniture as well.

Furniture!

Aye furniture. What we had was absolutely fuck all if I mind right. And another thing; you seem to forget the big repayments we'd have been making – interest as well; probably 5 or 6 times what we've been paying rent and rates.

Rab, we would've managed.

Hh.

We would've. She was looking at him and she spoke quietly: I mean how could we be worse off than we are just now?

What?

Rab; she gazed at him. We've got nothing – sorry, £83.

He returned the gaze; then he glanced at the gas-fire, his hands clasped. I should never have started back on the buses that last time, it was a mistake, no a 3rd time, daft, it was daft; I should've known better – even the broo, I should've stayed on the broo, christ . . . He stretched his fingers and reclasped them; he looked up to the mantelpiece then to the floor round the foot of his chair.

Your tobacco's in the room.

Aye. He turned his head slightly, away from her. She was up from her chair and coming to him. He grunted unintelligibly. She knelt; she cupped her chin in both hands and smiled at him. Shaking his head he said: Stop looking at me as if I'm cracking up.

Rab.

Fancy a cup of tea?

I've made some already.

I didnt see you.

When I came in, it's probably cold by now.

Aw aye, christ.

Rab!

I'm fine.

You're not fine at all, if you would talk. If you would just bloody talk! She held each of his wrists now. I hate it when you act as if I cant understand you.

What?

You know what I mean.

I dont.

You do, you bloody do . . . She let go his wrists. Sometimes you're really arrogant. You are you know. Then you half mumble things and expect me to catch on right away and I cant – how can I? how can I if you never tell me?

After a pause he said, There's nothing to tell.

. . .

Sorry; I didnt mean it like that.

Yes you did. I'm going to bed.

Dont.

Yes, let go my hand.

Dont go yet Sandra, please.

God Rab I'm sick of it, I really am, the way you get at me.

What?

Yes, get at me, all the bloody time. That stupid joke in the pub; it was me you were getting at; dont think I didnt notice because I did, I bloody did!

What?

Why did we go there in the first place! I hate that kind of situation. The first time we'd been out in ages and look what bloody happens. O God, bloody dump bloody dump, I hate this place. Sandra's hands were covering her eyes and she had been standing for a while. She withdrew her hands: Do you
know what happened 2 nights ago? – you were asleep in front of the bloody television – do you know what happened? I was propositioned; I was propositioned. I was with Paul, coming back from the dairy. An old man in a red car.

Jesus christ.

I was coming back from the dairy, a shopping bag in one hand and him in the other.

Christ Sandra. What d'you no get me for?

Because it wouldnt have done any good, she said after a moment.

What?

He was just an old guy; it wouldnt have done any good. Anyway, he would've been away by the time you went down. She shook her head. And I didnt want you to.

How no?

I just didnt want you to.

Hh; christ. He glanced to the mantelpiece and to the side of his chair. He got up. He stood by her then put his hands on her shoulders.

Rab, I just want to get away from this place.

I know, I know.

BOOK: The Busconductor Hines
6.39Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Where Roses Never Die by Staalesen, Gunnar
Masques of Gold by Roberta Gellis
Return by Peter S. Beagle; Maurizio Manzieri
A Deeper Love Inside by Sister Souljah
We Are Our Brains by D. F. Swaab
Dance Until Dawn by Berni Stevens