If it is your life Read online

  But she was not going to give up, gony gie up, she wasnay gony. People are strange. Wives especially; their tenacity makes them doubly so. I wonder if they are like that with other women, or is it just with men. It aint a question. I call it a noggin-shaker, as in ‘one shakes one’s noggin’.

  Cath, I said, I need to say something: it was important what happened with that shit. I’m no taking crap off the likes of him. What because he’s my gaffer I’m supposed to shut my mouth! Never. It is not life or death, granted, but we still cannay allow it. I am not going to allow it. Right-wing fucking bastard, I am telling ye, guys like him, Labour Party bastards, they put the Tories to shame, fascist cunts. That is who they put in charge, that is so-called Britain and the fucking ppolitical system.

  Cath watched from the safety of the sheets and duvet.

  But it is a serious thing, I said, we are talking here about working-class representation. Bloody joke.

  Yes well write yer book, she said, ye’ve wasted enough time.

  I shall write it.

  Fine.

  Some of us are not going stand for it any longer. I mean are we supposed to let them walk ower the top of us? Fucking bunch of gangsters. You think I’m past it, well I’m no past it. If you think I am, I’m no.

  No what, past what, did I miss something?

  I dont actually care, I said, honestly, I dont. I’m forty-two years of age. Do ye know what we talk about during a typical tea-break in one’s typical factory warehouse? How effing glad we shall be to reach one’s seniority; in other words our chief desire is to become old-age pensioners. What happened to all our hopes and dreams! That is what happened to them. This is what I am talking about, give me the happy pills. Great Britain today, the existential nightmare that would have driven my poor old father off his fucking nut if he hadnay had the good sense to die at the advanced age of sixty-one and three quarters. So-called Scotland, be it known, a complete waste of space: I refer here to one’s existence.

  I wish I was a pensioner already. I want to go to a green field and just lie down. I want to get put out to graze like these old horses that win the Grand National, nay hustle and bustle, just chewing the cud. Mind you, I said, pausing with one’s hand on the bedroom door handle. I would like to get him. Preferably down the back of the storeroom, thoughts of shifting spanners and skulls, crunch de la crunch.

  Cath was looking worried re sanity, her partner’s.

  You dont know whether to believe me or not, I said.

  He certainly is getting to you.

  Oh jees.

  He is.

  Yeh, I said, I wake up thinking about him, go to sleep thinking about him. Fucking ratbag! Ach well. Want a cup of tea?

  Eh …

  Hot water with lemon?

  How did ye guess?

  I smiled. I’m gony have toast, d’ye no want some? Take some toast. The little essentials in life, toast and marmalada madame, eh, you want, you want me I serve you brekadafast ladeee, my leetil dandeelion senorita.

  Cath looked at me.

  Ye sure? I said.

  No thanks.

  Sorry about this stupid male shite.

  Mm.

  I continued into the kitchen, filled the kettle, standing next to the sink. And the window. From here I looked straight upwards, over the tenement roofs facing. It was a flight path. I enjoyed seeing the planes, these long-haul destinations, desert islands and nice hotels. Month holidays. People needed month holidays in foreign domains. No bosses, no gaffers, no Scottishness or Britishness.

  There was a sound behind. Her arms were round me while I was dumping the teabag into one’s mug. I stopped what I was doing. She held me tightly. She was wearing only her nightdress. I cannot move, I said.

  I’m not letting ye move.

  You are so warm and cuddly.

  Just relax.

  I have to get the milk, I said.

  Relax.

  I did relax. After a moment I sighed. My shoulders drooped. Man, fuck, I felt it, man, for fuck sake man oh man gaffers and all sorts, out the fucking windi

  amazing, how I felt, how it happened. I heard the water approach boiling point and freed my right arm, ready to pour it into the mugs. That is our rightful tradition, I said, to be felt by others as we feel them

  You just cannot relax, she said.

  I can, I’m just eh preparing to pour the water.

  She sighed, irritated. She was, and it was my fault. She walked to collect her cigarettes. They were next to the microwave. We had a wee hi-fi system beside it. Not fancy some music? Put something on, I said.

  What?

  Anything.

  What like?

  I scratched down beneath the lobe of my ear then my scalp, watching her light a cigarette. She had a range of nightdresses. They were all kind of silly, with bunny-rabbit patterns, teddy bears. With her figure they were a bit incongruous, thank christ, she didnay have what they call a girlish figure. She skipped through the CDs, barely reading their covers. The Karelia’s a cassette, I said.

  Oh I’m not playing a cassette.

  Well whatever, whatever ye like.

  You always want Sibelius.

  I dont always want Sibelius, I’ll take Hazel Dickens.

  If you want the cassette go and get it. I can never find anything in there, it’s a complete mess.

  I watched her inhale on the cigarette, a really long sort of deep inhalation as befits one who enjoys a smoke, like myself, who wrapped it all in a year ago and have regretted it ever since, unlike one’s nearest and dearest who has a fancy card pinned on the wall which reads: This belongs to a Happy Smoker!

  Hurreh! That is what I shout whenever I see it. Now she gied me a wifely look. Is that smoke good? I said.

  She winked.

  Blow it ower here will ye! I clutched at the smoke and inhaled loudly. Ye know something, I said, things havenay been the same in the factory since Jimmy Robertson retired.

  Mm.

  That’s the truth.

  Cath nodded.

  I mean really, old Jimmy, christ. You never saw him but ye knew he was there. That last year, they put him out in the gatehouse.

  That wasnt fair.

  I nodded.

  It wasnt.

  Naw. Although he preferred it … he said he did anyway – fuck, that guy was a beacon. Ye aye knew: here is one guy that still exists in the world, a proper reader, a proper thinker, somebody that knows pppolitics and fucking fuck knows what, history! Everything!

  Dont look for excuses.

  Excuses for what?

  To finish with yer job. If ye want to finish the job then finish it.

  I am finished with it.

  Cath smiled at me for a moment.

  I am finished with it, I said.

  Oh.

  I didnt think you were listening to me.

  I was.

  I am finished with it.

  She nodded.

  At least with Jimmy I could talk about stuff. See that crowd nowadays, they are so ignorant. But they think they know everything. They actually believe the Scottish Nationalists are a left-wing party, them and the Lib Dems. Honest! At the same time but if ye want to vote socialist ye vote for the Labour Party. Unless ye’re an extremist. In that case ye vote for the Scottish Socialists! Honest, that’s what they think. Ye ever heard such crap! But they actually believe it.

  Cath sighed.

  They know nothing so they cannay think. They cannay think because they know nothing.

  She might have been listening to me. She lifted an ashtray from the mantelpiece, planked herself down on the one armchair in the entire room, laying the ashtray beside her on the shoogly fucking wee coffee table that aye collapsed if I even looked at the stupid thing. She pulled her legs up, covering her shoulders with a woolly article, tugging the nightdress down to cover her legs. She inhaled on the cigarette and shivered. I was about to walk to her but my foot kicked a teddy bear. Imagine that, a teddy bear. My daughters were ten and twelve
and they still fucked about with teddy bears.

  I hated using the word ‘fuck’ when referring to one’s off spring. But there we are.

  Look at that, I said, and stooped to pick it up. It’s got one of these ears ye see on the Antiques Roadshow.

  No it doesnt.

  It’s probably worth an effing fortune!

  If it’s got a button in the ear. Only if.

  Is that right?

  Yeh.

  Christ.

  Cath smiled.

  Why dont you go to nightschool and do a course on antiques? I think you could earn a fortune. You have a feel for it. At the same time …

  Yes?

  I shrugged.

  Cath was looking at me.

  Fancy a go?

  What?

  Nothing.

  You’re so edgy.

  I’m not.

  Then ye jump down my throat.

  I dont really, it’s just the way it comes out. Things get to me. I try not to let them but they do. Just now they do. It’s no to do with being edgy, I just get a tight feeling.

  Oh so you want me to worry about heart attacks?

  Not at all. I raised my hand to my upper chest and rubbed in a circular motion.

  She watched me. Have ye got indigestion?

  A touch.

  She swung her legs down from the seat. She said, I take it ye were talking about sex?

  Who me?

  I know you.

  You know me!

  I do.

  Ye think ye know me.

  Okay, she said, but were you talking about sex?

  Yes but we’ll have a drink of tea first.

  She swung her legs back on to the seat. Called yer bluff as usual.

  I chuckled, passing her a mug of hot water with a dod of lemon floating about.

  Just relax, she said, for a change.

  My feet will be freezing.

  Good.

  What d’ye mean good!

  Cath smiled. Wash them, that will heat them up. They’re probably ponging.

  Oh man.

  Some people would go for a shower.

  But I’m just finished my work!

  Dont wheedle.

  Well really, I’m not wheedling. I paused, smiled in a conspiratorial manner. You think you’ve got the upper hand dont you?

  She exhaled smoke towards me. I awaited her comment. None came. I closed my eyes. I thought she might have spoken then but she didnt. Thus I would have to.

  No. I didnt have to, not at all. Of course I didnt, nobody is obliged to speak. Sometimes I cannay get the hang of that obvious truth, people like me, we cant. And evil fuckers like the gaffer play on it. Honest. Will we ever be free of the shite, the degradation – because that is what it is, degradation. We are degraded man! Will they ever leave us alone? Ye wonder but.

  Cath gazed at me.

  Ye know what he called me? a throwback; he called me a throwback.

  What did you do?

  Me?

  Yes.

  What did I do? I cannot remember.

  Is he afraid of you?

  You joking?

  I wouldnt be too sure.

  He’s paranoiac right enough.

  There ye are, said Cath.

  He thinks I’ve got the young team on my side.

  Who?

  The younger ones. He thinks they listen to me. They do but only about football; only if I dont lecture them about ppppolitics; they cannay cope with ppppolitics.

  Cath listened but was not smiling. I saw the anxiety. Smoke didnt relax her. I was glad I had stopped.

  I wished I could help her stop. I wished I could help her period. Just about the future, I wasnay sure about the future. It was a long time till I retired. Maybe we could go someplace. Anyway, she was going back to work herself. If she could get a job. She spoke about getting a job but how did she know she would get one, she didnay even know she would get one, fucking dreamworld.

  Oh man.

  What is it? she said.

  I spoke out loud eh …! I smiled. Come here, take a look outside the window. Come on! Take a look! Blue sky … nothing but blue sky.

  She made no move. She held the mug of tea in her right hand, close by her cheek. I like the way women do that; every last ounce of heat, ye want to extract it.

  Intract it, she said.

  Intract it! Take it out and put it in.

  Dont be vulgar.

  I smiled. Cath puffed on her cigarette. Or interact, I said. That must be where the word comes from.

  Where’s the toast? Did ye not make toast? I thought ye were hungry?

  To be honest, no.

  I’ll make ye something.

  Dont bother.

  I’ll just finish my smoke first.

  I can make it myself.

  Cath smiled. I watched her inhale again on the cigarette. Two puffs in two seconds. What if she died? I nodded. If you dont stop smoking you will die. Do ye know that?

  She blew smoke at me. I grinned and shouted at the ceiling. Heh God! There’s a woman down here trying to kill herself!

  Cath covered her mouth with her right hand: Oh ya blaspheming pig ye, you’ll go to hell.

  She was really laughing and I laughed too. I swallowed some tea, set the mug on the arm of the chair, then transferred it to the floor. She was watching me. I reached down and lifted it, transferred it to a safer place, the damn table.

  Good boy.

  I saluted her. Mon capitaine. I returned to the window. There are scarecrows down below skipper. Think I should toss them a lifeline? I cupped my hand to my mouth: Leave them to suffer bosun, leave them to suffer! It’s the only way they’ll learn. Aye aye sir!

  What ye blethering about!

  Nothing, I’m just cracking up.

  Linda’s coming home at dinner time.

  What about dinner-school?

  She asked to stay off.

  My god. In my day we would have gave wur eyeteeth for school dinners.

  Cath was stubbing her cigarette out.

  Far below the window the docile subjects wended their weary way back and forward and back and forward.

  Is that you talking to yerself again!

  I always think of that painting by Breughel, the one with all the people, and the horses and dogs; the village scene.

  You’re wrong to think of that one.

  How come?

  Because it is the slaughter of the innocents.

  Christ, aye.

  Your memory is not good.

  I know, it is like a mental collapse has occurred. My synapses have collapsed. Death by collapsing synapses. For all I know it’s a recognized industrial disease, brought on by constant nightshift.

  We need to get away.

  Mayo!

  Not Ireland.

  I’d love to go to Ireland.

  Not me.

  I wish we could.

  We cant.

  What about the Hebrides?

  Oh god.

  Sorry.

  I just wish …

  What?

  Nothing.

  I closed my eyes tightly. There are choices to make and we’ve got to make the right yin. We do, we have to! I slapped my forehead with my right hand, then again. And this time a real fucking sore yin and it made a loud slapping noise. Jesus christ, I said, that was sair!

  Dont expire yet.

  I gave an exaggerated groan, clutching at my chest: They’re taking my life’s blood, the last breath in me body.

  Relax. Come to bed.

  I’ll no sleep.

  Ye will.

  I’ll have to masturbate and I’m too old to masturbate. Honest, I blush when I do it

  Ye’re just exhausted, yer last shift of the week.

  My last shift period.

  Oh so ye have been sacked!

  I smiled. I opened the window wider, to let out the tobacco fug. Not to jump, I said, to let in some air. I feel kind of jittery, like I’m defenceless.

  I scra
tched my mouth, wiped round it quite roughly. It is true, I am defenceless. The next time the gaffer looks at me the wrong way I’m liable to burst out greeting. That is the kind of man I am, the kind of guy you’re married to.

  I like the guy I’m married to.

  Naw but nay kidding ye Cath … I stopped and stared out the window, straining to see farther below, my head angling. My goodness look at that, I said.

  What, what are you looking at?

  God knows.

  Is she attractive?

  Not as attractive as you. I faced her now, folding my arms. You thought I was past it?

  Past what?

  Would ye leave me if I was?

  You do get some juvenile ideas.

  I shook my head, looked back out the window. Sometimes I just want to lie and stare up at the sky, see if I can spot some stars.

  During the day?

  Sure, why not? If ye want to look and see ye should be able to … I wiped spittle from the corner of my mouth. I could do with a smoke myself.

  Well you’re not getting one, she said.

  I dont want one.

  That’s all we need, you starting again.

  It’s the smell …

  Cath smiled. She left her cigarette smouldering in the ashtray and came towards me. I made space for her to see out the window, put my arm round her shoulder. Far below a woman was passing along the pavement and entering our very close. It made us both smile. I find that very positive, I said.

  Cath chuckled.

  Who is she? I said.

  Missis Taylor, she lives one up.

  Honestly?

  Yeh.

  God! I laughed.

  She looked at me steadily, unsmiling. I kissed her on the forehead, cupped her chin in my hand, angling my head to kiss her on the lips. She was always so cool, so calm, but I could never have told her that, never.

  And she wouldnt have believed me, she didnt believe me, it wasnt true, it was just shite, it was nonsense. I broke from her and she frowned, then smiled. What’s up?

  Nothing, I said.

  On Becoming a Reader

  by rail daily to school, thus my penchant for departing class prior to the schoolday’s rightful conclusion that I might not disintegrate through the unutterable boredom of the subjects under consideration, my being forced to consider these subjects that I might the better advance beyond my fellows on the hierarchical ladder that was the greatbritishsocialsystem, the place of my parents and family not deemed of the lower orders but affixed therein through no fault of our own how-somever the school subjects under consideration purported to bring about the opportunity of escape, nor yet the fault of my parents whose apparent acceptance of this greatbritishsocialsystem ceded to myself a marked nauseousness largely indescribable but by authors whose ability to transcend that same indescribability by virtue of the act of storytelling exhibited not only the sad limits of an inferior art but an open-armed adherence to that system, inducing within myself a consolidation of purpose, effected by that same nauseousness, the predictable outcome of right reasoning, my unconscionable assumption of the dubiety of all adult authority, my consequent contempt being ill-concealed, barely disguised, leaving withdrawal from that society my only duty, the last straw being the charred remains of a book I had purchased, found in the fireplace, having been adjudged licentious by my mother and set in flames, though the book were purchased on my own account by means of a monetary gift from a grandmother, that was mine and mine alone to do as wish should take me, so that now, approaching a birthdate of more than passing interest its being the age by which a youth may decree that the departure of the education system is the one route by which the guarantee of sanity may be