How Late It Was How Late Read online

  Fuck off.

  Fucking bastards man know what I’m saying, yer fucking brains, they want the fucking lot, I gave her my heart but she wanted my fucking soul; on ye go, eh, on ye fucking go; fuck you too, we can all do it. Bastards. Nay point getting angry but nay point getting angry. If he had got angry it would have been a total disaster, know what I’m saying, ye see these guys out the game man they’re maybe standing somewhere the public can see them and they’ve lost it, they’re doing the nut, they’re shouting and bawling at cunts. For nay reason. No that naybody can see; they’ve just bottled out man they’re fuckt. The bold Sammy

  Ach he was making it, he was doing it his own way. Nay point pulling the plug on him after all. There was a wee bit of hallucinating going on but no that much, no when ye come to consider it. It was like he knew it was happening, so he got on top of it, when it started, he stopped it. A guy he knew once

  fuck sake ye kidding? he knew hunners of them, hunners of them: guys that had bottled it man fucking wild, the bammycain’s full of them. But this guy wasnay in the bammycain he was in a hostel, supposed to be

  Ah fuck it man stories, stories, life’s full of stories, they’re there to help ye out, when ye’re in trouble, deep shit, they come to the rescue, and one thing ye learn in life is stories, Sammy’s head was fucking full of them, he had met some bastards in his time; it’s no as if he was auld either cause he wasnay he was only thirty-eight, he just seemed aulder, cause of the life he had led; when ye come to think about it, the life he had led

  it was nay worse than any other cunt’s. It wasnay. Ye just battered on, that was what ye did man ye battered on, what else can ye do? There’s nothing else. No when ye come to think about it. It’s just these wee things ye can be doing with. A smoke, take a smoke, Sammy was gasping for a smoke. These cunts that thought he was an alky boozebag bastard, they were wrong. They werenay fucking half; the idea of a drink man it never crossed his mind, it was just a smoke he could have done with a smoke; so alright, if he couldnay get one, he just carried on till he did, then it was alright, once he was smoking, he would have forgot all about it, that was what happened, all these total needs ye had, once ye got them ye forgot about them, about how they were bothering ye, ye forgot about it, as soon as ye had it it went out yer mind. Forever. Ye never ever thought about it; no till the next time.

  Maybe he should go to Glancy’s. It was an idea. Bound to be some cunt there that would lend him a couple of quid; even auld fucking Morris behind the bar, that crabbit auld bastard, even he would help Sammy out surely to fuck. Nay eyes man know what I’m saying nay fucking eyes! jesus christ almighty! Okay relax. The traffic was fierce but and he had to cross this road and there was nay chance of crossing this road, no on his fucking tod, it wasnay fucking possible; out the question.

  Patience was a virtue right enough.

  Patience. Come on ya bastards! He started kicking his heel against the kerb, keeping his head down for some reason. I’m blind, he said in the offchance somebody was there. Cause there was bound to be. Nay takers but. Patience, ye had to learn it. How to just bloody stand there. What was that song…? Fucking song man what was it again?

  Voices at last. He kicked the kerb again. Could ye give me a hand across the street? he said.

  What?

  I cannay see.

  …

  I’m blind.

  Ye’re blind?

  Aye.

  Sammy heard the guy sniffing like he was making up his mind if it was true. I left my stick in the house, said Sammy.

  Aye right pal okay, just hang on a minute till the lights change… Then the guy whispered something and somebody whispered something back. And Sammy’s bottle went completely. A sudden dread. There was more whispering. What was it christ it was like he knew the voice, like he knew it; and it wasnay good man it wasnay fucking good: it could be any cunt. Any cunt at all man know what I’m saying!

  And then the guy got a grip of Sammy’s left wrist and tugged on it: That’s us pal… And Sammy was getting led down off the pavement and he was trying to find his feet, find his feet, where he was walking but he couldnay do the pace, dictate it, he had to do what the guy done, with him, walk with him. Other people were there, he knew they were there he heard them, he heard them kind of talking or something it was like some weird wind, like a draught or something, loud, it was voices, like these voices being carried on the wind, right next to him man. Christ almighty, christ almighty ye think of all the bastards ye’ve had trouble with ower the years, it could be any one of them, any fucking one of them

  Ye alright pal?

  Aye.

  He had stopped walking and now he was on again. And he banged into the guy.

  Fucking hell!

  Sorry I wasnay eh… Jesus he felt like greeting he felt like greeting

  Take it easy, said the guy.

  I’m alright.

  Muttering. He heard muttering.

  There’s the kerb now.

  Right.

  Feel it?

  Aye. And Sammy was on the pavement and he didnay stop till he made it to the tenement wall; it was a shop window, his hand on the glass; he was breathing fast; fuckt, drained, knackt, totally, felt like he had ran a marathon. Fucking tension, tension. When ye done something. Every fucking time. Strain into the muscles; everything, every time; just so fucking tense, every part of yer fucking body. And he needed across the new street, he knew where he was, he thought he did, and there was another street now round the corner round this corner, where he was standing jesus christ alfuckingmighty. The traffic was roaring. Oh my my my my, fuck sake, my fucking

  jesus, alright

  Mutter mutter. Somebody next to him. People going by. Fuck the people going by.

  Dear o dear he was stranded he was just bloody stranded. Bastards. Fucking bastards. Fucking joke. Fucking bastards. Sodjer fucking bastards. Sammy knew the fucking score. He knew the fucking score. He gulped; his mouth was dry, he coughed; catarrh; he bent his head and let it spill out his mouth to the pavement. He was still leaning against the window, now he pushed himself away. A groaning sound from the glass. He stepped sideways. He needed a fucking smoke, he needed a seat, a rest. This was crazy man it was fucking diabolical.

  Was it his fault it was his fault it was his, naybody else, naybody else; him, it was fucking him.

  He groped for the shop window; it was warm. He couldnay stay here but people would see him, people from inside the shop, they would come out and get him to fuck man call the heavy squad. He was gony have to walk. Where to! Left. Jesus christ. Okay. Okay, these things. Ye have to watch yerself. Nay point in fucking going helter-skelter. Ye calm down. That’s what ye do. Then ye move, ye move.

  He was near the centre of the town; that was where he was. He was alright. Just a couple of more roads. This first yin then the next yin and maybe another yin, afore the big yin, the bridge, and once ower the bridge,

  that was him

  And when he made it up to Helen’s, christ, he would be fucking knackered, he would sleep for a fucking week. Unless he collapsed on the fucking road man he was fucking exhausted, right fucking now, it was a hands and knees game, that was what he felt like, getting down on the ground and crawling his way up the road. Fuck sake man. Fucking hell! What like was it at all? A fucking nightmare ye kidding! A fucking nightmare was like a fucking Walt Disney cartoon man compared to this jesus christ almighty fucking Bugs Bunny man know what I’m talking about!

  Move. Okay.

  Sleep! He would sleep right through till the morrow morning. Probably he wouldnay eat he would be so fucking tired. Once he got home. And the giro would be lying there,

  would it fuck the morrow was Thursday. Friday it came.

  He was walking. Hold yer breath, he had started without thinking about it, patting the window and now a wall, okay, that was good, it was alright, what he needed was a stick. At least the weather was okay. That was fucking one thing. A couple of months back it would have been a bastard.
The pavements all frozen up man fucking murder.

  One thing about seeing, at least ye can bump into cunts ye know. But the way it was the now ye were just getting from a to b, having to rely on being seen by them. I mean this was the centre of town for fuck sake he would never have went so long without meeting some cunt, no if he could see; even a begging bastard, he would have met somebody, nay danger. Plus yer head was down all the time and ye were having to keep into the side of the building so there was less chance.

  He straightened up. Ye had to look the part. Jesus christ who’s kidding who! he had been on the razzle since Friday

  fucking razzle man that was a good yin, fucking razzle.

  It was his own fault but. That was the thing. Fucking crazy. Wild. Banging the sodjer, fucking bampot, yer man, the bold yin, what the fucking hell

  jesus christ

  So that was him. Blind. He was blind. Okay. Blind. That was that. Ye know. Okay. There ye are. So be it. So fucking be it. Who did he know that was blind? Bobby Deans, an argumentative bastard; every cunt kept out his way, he was fucking trouble. Sammy hadnay seen him for years right enough. Probably fucking dead. Apart from him? Nay cunt.

  Nay wonder ye got angry but ye could understand it; fucking telling ye; mutter mutter mutter, that was all ye got.

  Grub! Baking! He could smell it strong. He thought he knew the place; sometimes him and Helen sat in there on Saturday mornings reading the paper. She liked looking at the shops roundabout here. Sometimes she dumped him inside and he just sat for half an hour reading the paper. Maybe nick round the corner for a pint if she wasnay looking. A packet of strong mints. A nose like a fucking dalsetter spaniel so she had – whatever the fuck that was man a dalsetter spaniel.

  Aw christ man Helen. Who knows. Who knows.

  There was nay point in fucking worrying but, no about things ye cannay handle.

  He stopped again; his shoulder against the wall. His eyelids were shut. He didnay feel good. He didnay. His belly was bad. He wanted out. He wanted out. Just fucking away. Terrible terrible feeling. Sick. Right in the fucking gut. A premonition, that was what it was like, a terrible kind of premonition. Cause he was fuckt man he was fuckt he was totally fucking fuckt. There was nothing he could do. Nothing. Except walk. He had to walk. He turned about, naw, he turned back again; it was this way he was to go, he had turned once, so now he had to turn back. It was just to the bridge, when he made it to the bridge

  He was gony be fine. Across the big junction and onto the bridge and that was him, so okay, so that’s that, ye just fucking

  that’s all ye do, step by step, ye walk

  step by step, by step, ye keep going, ye just dont cave in man that feeling, hanging there, but ye dont let it cover ye ye keep going christ the times he had had, the times he had been through man he had been through the fucking worst, this wasnay the fucking worst man he had been through it man and this wasnay it, it fucking wasnay, it wasnay, it just fucking wasnay, he had seen it, the worst man he had fucking seen it, cunts fucking dying, getting fucking kicked to death, the fucking lot man he had seen it. Fucking Charlie! Ye didnay fucking need Charlie to tell ye man ye kidding! Get to fuck. Fucking bastards. Sammy had fucking seen it, he had seen it. All he wanted was his due, that was all man his fucking due. He had copped for it; copped for this and copped for that. Fucking alright, okay, okay; fuck yez!

  Even talking about it ye didnay like talking about, that was how Sammy said fuck all. In the boozer, whatever, tell them nothing man say fuck all, say fuck all; his auld granpa telt him that and it was a true bill, ye say nothing, ye say nothing to nay cunt. Fucking sodjers man. Eh! Sammy smiled. Fucking bastards. Ye kidding! Just fucking walk man push ahead, that’s the story; how far, how far.

  Ye know the auld saying: life goes on. Sammy made it across the bridge and up to the flats; it wasnay a scoosh case; he battled it out; he went for it and he made it. So there ye go and that’s that. Plus Helen hadnay come back. He knew it as soon as he stepped out the lift. The fucking wind blowing in from the corridor as usual. That was the trouble with this place ye were aye faced by the elements. Sometimes it made ye hear things. It did. If the wind was up then it made things creak and sometimes at night if ye were coming home ye thought ye heard things, it could even get a bit scary, there was a lot of shadows; and even just now, even though ye couldnay see shadows and stuff like that, it was still a bit funny, like there was somebody hanging about watching him, just dodging about out his footsteps, something like that man stupit, ye just ignored it, yer imaginings; that was what it was.

  He had the front door open and now closed it behind him. He got into the living-room and collapsed on the settee. He was so tired, so fucking tired. He gulped, he gulped again, and again, a fit of gulping; fuck sake.

  Helen wasnay home. She was away to her work. Unless she was in bed. What time was it? Afternoon. She was at her work. Unless it was her day off.

  Aw dear, fuck sake.

  The breathing was better now. He reached to untie the shoes, got them loosened, lay back down again and tried to kick them off, but couldnay manage it and he had to reach back along with his hands

  He conked out. Probably for about an hour and a half. When he woke he got up and took off his jacket, he switched on the fire then went for a wander. Everything seemed tidy in the kitchen. Plus the milk was sour and the bread was hard. He felt about the sink and the draining-board. No even a cup! He checked along the lobby and into the bedroom; he felt the bed and it was made. Now that was unusual in itself. It had been known but usually it was after she came home she done it, if he hadnay got there first. So on the evidence showing yer honour, on the evidence fucking showing

  She hadnay come home. There would have been something lying about. Cause there was nothing man fuck all. The thing he wanted to check was her clothes, to find out if she had come back and packed a suitcase. Plus she had a pal worked beside her; maybe she had went to her place, to think things ower.

  He laid down on the bed. He didnay want to worry about it the now. He didnay want to even think about it, the situation, cause he couldnay control it, he couldnay do nothing that would help it. All he could do the now was look after himself. He was feeling fuckt. He was entitled to feel fuckt after what he had been through the last couple of days. How do ye cope with everything, ye cannay. He learnt that years ago. A guy like Charlie Barr now he tried to do it, he tried to cope with everything, he was aye fucking

  But Sammy wasnay Charlie Barr and he didnay want to be Charlie Barr; he couldnay be fucking Charlie Barr. Nothing against the guy; there wasnay many people Sammy respected as much, but fuck it, we’re all different, we’ve all got different lives, we go our own ways, different influences and different experiences. Ye’re no gony feel a fucking disaster just cause ye’ve went one way instead of another. Charlie had his bad points as well man there’s nay saints in this fucking world. Sammy happened to know that unless things had changed the guy was fucking his wife about so fuck sake I mean

  jesus that was bad that was fucking bad man fuck sake, talking about the guy like that. Sammy turned onto his front, smothering his face on the pillow.

  Later he was sitting on the settee in the living-room, the cup of coffee and all that, being grateful for small mercies, at least there was sugar.

  The radio was on. He was never a great television fan at the best of times so that was something. Sport was alright and some of the documentaries but most stuff he only watched to pass the time, especially if she was in and he was being sociable. He quite liked having a book to read and he quite liked the radio, discussion programmes and things to do with the news. But it was the music he needed, it was music made him jump about, it was music made him excited. She called him a man of moods. That was her words. Fair enough although he didnay think he was. Anybody got moods it was her herself. But if he was a moody bastard then he was entitled to be, the life he had led.

  He had always liked the music but. Especially doing time; ye get so ye can list
en to anything; without music man ye would wind up in the bammycain. Nowadays his best thing was country but there was other stuff he liked too. Cause ye cannay always choose. Especially inside. Ye have yer favourite DJ’s as well. Sammy could mind one guy on a local station, it was like he tuned into Sammy’s nut to make up his play-list. Many many years ago. But it was fucking eerie man it was eerie, lying there in the middle of the fucking night, the headphones on and out comes something that slices right through ye. One song in particular, a quiet kind of moaning one about splitting from the woman and all that – if you see her say hello/she might be in Tangier – at a time when the marriage had just went bust. He was feeling sorry for himself, plus the idea of wee Peter, the baby, no being able to see him again, so that was two things, the wife and the baby, so nay wonder he was feeling sorry for himself. It was more than that but. Cause he had been fucking angry; really, that was the way he was feeling, the way he had felt. So he wasnay really wanting her back it was just fucking

  lonely, just fucking lonely, lonely lonely fucking lonely, lonely; that was his life, lonely. Christ almighty.

  No now. Nay emotion left, fucking washed out, washed out, a washed out case. Nay

  He was still having difficulty with the lungs, the ribs, if he took a sudden breath, then he felt the pain.

  The coffee was cold. Another cup of coffee for the road. He never listened to Dylan at all these days. Maybe he would start again; a guy in the pub had been saying how his new albums were alright. Maybe he could go and capture a couple.

  Fuck it man fuck it, what does it matter, what does it fucking matter.

  There was a bowl of beans somewhere in the fridge, plus some cheddar cheese which might have been mouldy, he hadnay checked. Also a couple of tins of stuff. But he was gony save them. If this was Wednesday then the morrow was Thursday and the big day was Friday, that was how long he would have to go without dough.

  Funny but, the way life turned. For some reason he felt okay. It was like a peace had come ower him. Sounds corny but there ye are. You go your way and I’ll go mine.