The Busconductor Hines Read online

  THE BUSCONDUCTOR HINES

  Also by James Kelman in Polygon

  A Chancer

  Not not while the giro

  An Old Pub Near the Angel

  THE BUSCONDUCTOR HINES

  James Kelman

  This ebook edition published in 2011 by

  Birlinn Limited

  West Newington House

  Newington Road

  Edinburgh

  EH9 1QS

  www.birlinn.co.uk

  First published in 1984 by Polygon Books.

  This edition published in 2007 by Polygon, an imprint of Birlinn Ltd

  Copyright © James Kelman, 1984

  The moral right of James Kelman to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form without the express written permission of the publisher.

  ebook ISBN: 978-0-85790-143-9

  British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  For

  Marie

  and

  Laura and Emma

  1

  Hines jumped up from the armchair, she was about to lift the huge soup-pot of boiling water. She nodded when he said, I’ll get it. Taking the dishtowel from her he wrapped it round his left hand before gripping the metal support-ring; he held the handle of the pot in his right hand. He raised it slightly above the oven and paused, adjusting to its weight. Sandra had moved to shift a wooden chair out of his path.

  The plastic babybath was positioned a yard from the fire with several sheets of newspaper spread beneath and around it. She had already emptied in a basinful of cold water. After each step across he was pausing to let the water settle. When he reached it he tilted the soup-pot a little at a time, until about a quarter of the water remained, then he emptied that straight in. What a weight, he said.

  I put in too much . . . She had returned to the oven for a smaller pot of water which was also boiling. And once this had been poured in she got another basin of cold water; she poured in half of it before testing the temperature then she left the other half of cold water in the basin, and placed it within arm’s reach of the babybath. She murmured, almost inaudibly.

  What?

  She glanced at him.

  Sorry; I thought you were eh . . . He prised the lid off his tobacco tin and began rolling a cigarette. Before putting the empty pots back into their place in the kitchen-cabinet she wiped them dry with the dishtowel. Then she undressed. She stopped, and walked to draw the venetian blind at the window above the sink. Hines smiled. Passing helicopters eh!

  She shrugged.

  It’s pitchblack outside!

  That only makes it easier to see in.

  He nodded in reply and she continued to undress, her back to him, as though she was watching the television, but it was not on. Aside from her bra she took off all her clothes; she stepped into the bath, eventually sitting down with her knees raised almost to her chin. The water had risen to within an inch of the rim. Hines grinned. A moment later he said. Want me to do your back?

  No.

  You sure?

  I want to relax a minute.

  Will I turn the fire up a bit?

  She shook her head.

  Naw, seeing you’re still wearing the bra and that I thought you might’ve been cold.

  I’m fine.

  He put the cigarette in his mouth and lifted a book which had been lying on the floor next to his chair. Without opening it he laid it on his lap, and he stretched and yawned. Aye, he said, that was a good buy. He chuckled briefly. Heh, what about the time my knees got stuck? Eh! thought you were going to have to send for the Fire Brigade or something.

  Manoeuvring the armchair forwards he leaned to place his hands on her shoulders. Fancy a massage? And he began at once, her head lolling a bit to the rhythm. He smiled: Watch you don’t bang your chin! He continued for a time, until he sat back to adjust the crotch of his uniform trousers. Then he made to resume.

  It’s alright, she said.

  Naw, I was just getting comfortable.

  Honestly Rab, it’s okay.

  I’m fine but, no bother.

  I’m going to start washing though.

  O. He sniffed. He manoeuvred the chair back again. He lifted the book and relit the half-smoked cigarette. She had taken off her bra now and the side of her right breast was visible. She got herself onto her knees without too much difficulty and washed quickly. Hines stretched to the mantelpiece and he switched on the transistor radio; settling back on his chair he opened the book.

  What we need’s a roof over the head, said Reilly when he came into the close. There were four of them sheltering there out the rain. Reilly was Hines’ regular driver and with them were McCulloch and Colin Brown, driver and conductor. They were waiting for another driver by the name of Barry McBride who had gone to the gents before leaving the pub.

  I’m suggesting the snooker-room, said McCulloch.

  Aye but nobody’s allowed in now because of that last performance.

  Colin Brown had spoken and McCulloch glared at him: You trying to say something?

  I’m no trying to say fuck all – but some cunt pished into the corner; and it wasnt me.

  Aye well it wasnt fucking me either.

  It was me, cried Hines. Please sir I own up. I did it, in protest.

  Against the impoverished condition of the buses, grinned Reilly.

  Exactly. Hines licked the gummed edge of the rice-paper and stuck the rolled cigarette in his mouth, and lighted it. Anyway, he went on, it doesnt really concern me about roofs over the head, I’ve got to pick up the wean from the nursery shortly.

  They’ll no let you in, grunted McCulloch.

  Too drunk, added Reilly.

  Too drunk fuck all.

  Aye you are.

  Naw I’m no. Wish to christ I was but. That’s the trouble with nowadays, you cant even get fucking drunk.

  Aw at last, at last . . . McCulloch had peered out the close.

  Barry was staggering; he was being supported by a conductor who had been with them in the pub. He burped then said, Where we going?

  Your house, replied Reilly. The others laughed.

  Well we cant stay here, said McCulloch, that’s for fucking definite. Heh Rab, what about your place?

  Ha ha! Reilly snorted.

  Hines looked at him. To McCulloch he said, Sorry, out of bounds – even for me by christ! Then he chuckled suddenly and lifted the carrier bag of beer from the floor. We’re going to the park, he said, come on.

  What you on about ya cunt? McCulloch was shaking his head.

  I’m on about the auld men’s club, the pensioners’ place – roaring fires and cups of hot toddy, games of dominoes. Dry roofs over the head.

  Brilliant, laughed Reilly. My conductor! Brilliant fucking suggestion.

  They’ll never let us in, said Colin Brown.

  Shut up, said McCulloch. And he glanced at Barry who was leaning against the wall, eyelids shut. The park’s won it, he said.

  See that? said Hines. It’s his decision.

  Reilly nodded.

  Barry staggered suddenly away from the wall. The other conductor got a hold of him but he pushed himself clear and said, I’m going to the betting shop.

 
; Naw you’re no, the conductor told him.

  Betting shop’s shut, said Reilly.

  Barry looked at him.

  That’s right, said Colin Brown.

  Fucking rubbish, muttered Barry and he made to leave the close but staggered and almost fell.

  It’s a bevy we’re going for, said Hines. Come on ya cunt ye! He took Barry by one shoulder and the other conductor did the same with the second shoulder.

  A slash, mumbled Barry.

  Jesus Christ, said McCulloch.

  The pensioners’ club was down by the river, near to the iron footbridge. Barry and the conductor assisting him had fallen someway behind the other four who were trotting along the path, through the heavy rain. Reilly arrived first. He pushed his way inside to be followed by Hines. Silence when the four of them had entered. On a very large wooden table in the centre of the room two games of dominoes were in progress; four players were involved in each and quite a few spectators watched. Other old men sat on the long benches set at the walls.

  It’s the buses, called somebody. What’s up? yous all on strike!

  Colin said, Is it okay if we come in? It’s bucketing down.

  We’ve brought our own refreshments . . . Reilly grinned, indicating the carrier bag. The pensioners glanced at the carrier bag, and some muttering started.

  Hines said, We’ll challenge yous to a game of dominoes! Alright?

  Naw it’s no alright, cried a man seated next to the open fireplace. He gazed at Barry who was now slumped on a bench not too far from him, and he spat into the fire. Naw, it’s no alright at all.

  No business to come barging in here, muttered someone else.

  Who’s barging? replied McCulloch.

  Another silence. Then one of the players looked round from side to side: No harm in letting them in out of the rain surely!

  Aye fair enough but they’re wanting a blooming game and we’ve got the tourny on!

  A few grunts greeted this.

  If they do come in they’ve got to be quiet, said somebody.

  Aye.

  We’re no wanting any funny business, called the man next to the fire.

  Can we no even have a sing-song? grinned the conductor.

  Shut up you, said Colin.

  McCulloch had taken a can of beer from the carrier bag, he pulled off the stopper. The man at the fire cried, Alcohol’s verboten. Heh you Ramsay! you seeing what’s going on here?

  Ramsay was one of the domino players. He nodded. Alcohol’s taboo in here son; it’s the one thing no allowed.

  Muttered assent from other pensioners. Hines tapped McCulloch on the arm. Heh George, there’s somebody talking to you – but dont answer . . . He took a can from the bag, unstopped it and swallowed a mouthful immediately.

  That’s it, cried the man at the fire. Drinking the howsyour-father plain as you like!

  Colin stared at Hines who winked back at him.

  That’s right out of order, said someone at the table.

  A number of voices were chattering quite angrily. Ramsay was being spoken to by three or four people at once, and he was nodding silently. Colin shook his head and he walked across to where Barry was slumped, and he gestured at the conductor as though wanting him to help him get the other to his feet.

  Reilly glanced at Hines, and grinned; he took the can from Hines and said: Cheers Rab, and he drank from it.

  I’m chapping the table, said Hines. Fancy a game Mr Reilly? Eh George?

  McCulloch laughed.

  Hines went to the table and chapped it. Me and the muckers fancy a game, he said. We’ll pick two and challenge two of yous. And you better pick your best cause we’re fucking hot stuff.

  What’s he yabbering about, shouted one of the old men. Bloody tourny day and he’s jumping in trying to chap the bloody table!

  Nobody’s jumping, called McCulloch.

  There’s no question of yous chapping the table, said Ramsay. I mean God sake if

  The table’s chapped and it stays chapped, said Hines.

  Quite right pardner. Reilly spoke while walking to join him: Me and you’ll play the winners of this here tourny.

  Ach away and drive your fucking buses, muttered a voice from the back of the room.

  Aye, said somebody else, bloody scandal – no wonder you can never get a bloody hold of one when you want it. All off their work drunk so they are. The likes of them shouldnt bloody have a job in the first place.

  Come on, said Ramsay to Hines and the others. Yous better just be going now.

  The conductor had come over for a can of beer; he knocked the carrier bag as he did so and a few cans rolled. He knelt to retrieve them. He glanced up and said: What is it with they auld yins at all? just in out the rain and what do we get, abuse, a lot of fucking abuse. No wonder they’re going to start bumping them all off.

  What was that? cried somebody.

  Nice weather for ducks, said Reilly.

  Your patter’s rubbish, grinned Hines. He winked at the conductor: Give us a can.

  He took the can and walked to the bench where Barry was and fixed his uniform hat more squarely on his head, then balanced the can of beer on it. Barry snored. Hines stepped back three paces as though checking its position. He returned to the others and aimed with the can he had been drinking from.

  McCulloch laughed loudly.

  I’ll give ten to one he misses by a mile! called Reilly.

  Done, said the conductor. Thirty quid; wait till I get my wages.

  Lot of blooming weans, muttered an old man.

  Ramsay sighed: Come on lads, enough’s enough.

  Enough isnt enough, replied McCulloch.

  And Hines lowered the can of beer at once. He turned to Reilly: Did you hear that Willie? Driver McCulloch there, did you hear him? Did you know he knew that? I mean I never fucking . . . christ sake!

  Reilly was smiling.

  Colin had returned; his face was red. This is definitely out of order, he said quietly; come on, let’s move.

  Somebody whispering in the company, said Reilly.

  That’s barred, said Hines.

  I’m no fucking whispering.

  Naw, said McCulloch, you never whisper. On and on you go, the voice of doom.

  The voice of doom! laughed Reilly.

  Even fighting amongst themselves now, said one of the men at the table.

  Ach away yous go, shouted another.

  Here, what about this bet! The conductor had called; he walked to stand not too far from Barry.

  Hines nodded; he raised the can.

  Fuck you Rab: cried Colin, and he turned and strode to the door, and pulled it open and strode out, letting it bang behind him. The impact caused it to bounce open again, and rain blew inside.

  A moment later McCulloch was muttering, I’m having it out with that bastard; right now, me and him, right fucking now. He left the room. The door was shut immediately by one of the pensioners who then sat down on the bench nearby; he sniffed and drew a half-smoked cigarette from behind his ear which he lighted from a match he had struck along the floor. Reilly had gone to help the conductor with Barry.

  Hines began fixing the beer cans in the carrier bag. The man at the fire snorted and started talking to those nearest him. Hines walked to the door and held it open for the other three. Life is difficult, he said to Reilly.

  Reilly nodded.

  Outside they could see Colin Brown; he was quite a distance away, not running but walking quickly, heading towards the footbridge. McCulloch trotted after him.

  Eh . . . you better manage Barry, said Hines to the conductor.

  Aw you kidding?

  Hines shrugged. Reilly had already begun running after the other two.

  When McCulloch reached Colin he pushed him in the back. Their voices were audible above the noise from the rain and the river. Now they faced each other, Colin stepping backwards while the other was attempting to shove him on the chest. Reilly arrived and he put his hand onto McCulloch’s arm but got it
knocked aside. No fight here, he was saying, you’ve been muckers too long.

  Out my road.

  You’ll murder him man.

  Will he fuck murder me, muttered Colin.

  You ya bastard. McCulloch glared at him: You’ve been giving me a pain in the neck for months with your fucking moaning, on and on and on ya bastard.

  Aye well you know what you can do about it.

  McCulloch moved forwards and Reilly attempted to restrain him.

  Handers! cried Hines. Who wants handers? He put the carrier bag down and held out his fists.

  Fuck off Rab, said McCulloch.

  Naw.

  Nothing to do with yous two.

  Aye it is.

  I dont need your fucking help, said Colin.

  Help ya cunt! what d’you mean help? we’re wanting a fucking boot at you.

  Just fuck off, said McCulloch.

  Naw, me and my driver are wanting a go as well. Eh Willie, if we grab an arm each or something . . . toss him into the foaming briny: what d’you think?

  A point for discussion. Reilly nodded. He had taken a crushed cigarette packet from his pocket . . . Let’s have a smoke.

  See that George! First time he’s offered us a fag in 38 fucking year!

  McCulloch looked at him.

  Hines clapped his hands and sang, Singing aye aye yippee yippee aye, singing aye aye yippee yippee aye

  McCulloch moved, he grabbed Colin by the lapels of the uniform jacket and seemed to raise him from the ground, he cracked him on the bridge of the nose with the brow of his forehead, and let him go. Colin was on the ground and clutching at his face with both hands. For a moment McCulloch watched him, then he was off towards the footbridge, not looking back. Reilly bent to tug Colin’s hands away. And Hines laid his hand on his shoulder and said, You’re a silly bastard Colin.

  He might need stitches, muttered Reilly.

  Aye . . . The other conductor had arrived, by himself. Maybe we should take him to hospital.

  I’m no going to any fucking hospital. Colin held his hands away now; the blood streaked down his face and onto his chin, and was staining his shirt.

  You better, said Reilly.