The Busconductor Hines (27 page)

That sensation of dread, that terrible feeling, the alarm clock having failed to be set, it had stopped long ago, he had forgotten to set it. He was out of bed and lifting Sandra's wristwatch, which had also stopped – sometimes she neither winds nor wears it for days at a stretch. The light told him nothing; it could be 4.30 a.m. or maybe as late as 8. Ben the front room he gazed to the street, a man walked to the corner, the sound of a heavy vehicle passing away up on the main road. About 7 perhaps but not later than 8. He crossed to the cot, arranged the blankets over him, went to the lavatory. He could not go to work. He had missed the shift by two hours. He could go in and ask to sign spare. They would not allow him to sign spare unless desperately short of staff. But they would not be short of staff – not on a Thursday, wages-day. He would stand at the counter. He would stand there. He would roll a smoke. He would be standing. Harry Cairney was the Deskclerk this morning; he was better than most but insufficiently so; he was not able to be as good as all that. Hines would be at the counter, smoking, and having to speak. He was not going in. He was not going in.

Time is it?

Late. He sniffed, I forgot to set the alarm.

O.

Terrible. Terrible.

What're you going to do?

Ach.

You going in? it cant be that late surely?

He said nothing. He went to the sink and filled a kettle for tea or coffee or whatever the fuck. His record was too bad to be true.

Should you not go in?

Aye, suppose so. Jesus. He gripped the edge of the sink. He took his hands away, he parted the blinds to see out. It was just too bad to be true.

When were you supposed to report?

The back of 5.

What time is it now?

Eh.

Switch on the radio.

Aye . . . He walked to the mantelpiece to get it and he lifted it. The water could be heard heating. It's getting bad really, he said, the timekeeping Sandra, it's out the window just now I mean . . . he sniffed. She took the radio from him and fiddled with the knobs. I cant seem to get into it. That's eh. And my day-off tomorrow as well, the wages next week I mean, hh. It's bad but Sandra, really bad. He was shaking his head. He shrugged.

Would they not give you a spare?

He shook his head.

Are you sure?

No on a Thursday. Afternoon aye but no the morning. It would be a case of well, turning up just, letting them see I've showed the face, so my name doesnt go into the book – well it still goes in right enough but no as bad, no as if I've just taken the day off without telling them I mean, without letting them know; that's the worst thing. But even then . . . even then, the way things stand.

7.27. She switched off the radio. You could be there for 8 if you hurried.

10 to.

She was waiting for him to say something.

10 to.

At least to show your face.

Aye. He sniffed, Coffee? Tea?

And you can get your wages at the same time.

Aye . . . He returned to the sink with the cups from last night, rinsing them out from the tap. He spooned in the coffee powder, waited for the water to reach boiling point. He got the tin from the television and rolled a smoke. He sneezed when the sulphur reached his nose. And he continued to sneeze while pouring from the kettle into the cups.

You should've put something on.

Aye, bloody freezing. He paused to sneeze again before carrying the coffees across, and he put them on the television before getting into bed. She snuggled into him. He put his arm round her, sitting up with a pillow behind his back.

They sipped their coffee.

What was it you did again? last night. Over in Knightswood I mean.

Nothing – just put on my coat and left.

Aye but did they no say anything? I mean surely they said something.

No. I just told them I forgot you were coming home early.

Hines chuckled.

They didnt believe me of course. Dad's eyebrows: you know the way he can look, as if he's done everything possible and now he's powerless.

O christ!

They laughed for a time, then Sandra went on: They did know something was up, the way I wasnt talking. The afternoon was fine. Just after tea-time, that was the worst: I knew you'd be home. O God, I couldnt stop thinking about what you'd do when you found the note.

Hh.

I cant imagine not living with you Rab.

. . .

What'll we do?

He said nothing.

I was thinking if you went on the broo I could go full-time and you could find something else – anything; part-time, it wouldnt matter because we'd be able to save either way. It wouldnt be for long. Once we had enough gathered we could leave, leave Glasgow I mean, just go away.

Right enough.

Even if you couldnt find anything you would still get money, from the broo.

For a year, aye.

A year's good; we could save in a year.

D'you think so?

Yes; we would live on my money.

I doubt it.

Well I think we would. And even if we found we couldnt we'd at least manage to save something.

Aye, true.

Well then?

Hh.

Sandra was looking at him.

What happens if we get the dangerous-building notice next week?

We wont.

Aye but we could.

They've got that whole side to do yet.

Aye I know but still I mean, it could happen; anyway, even if it doesnt, it'll happen in a couple of months. Then these council rents, hell of a stiff so they are. I doubt if we could save much.

I disagree Rab.

He nodded.

We would manage on my money; yours would go straight into the bank.

Aye . . . He nodded, his lips pursing; and he nodded again.

She sipped coffee then passed him the cup and he placed it next to his own on the television.

So, he smiled, what do we do then? once we've got the sum, assuming we can save the fucking thing – what do we do?

We leave.

Hh.

She smiled.

He turned and kissed her forehead. Aye but where to?

God I dont know, anywhere.

He laughed.

It doesnt matter Rab, not really; just as long as we get away from here.

The ice-bound plateaus of the southern reaches.

It doesnt matter.

Hh.

It doesnt.

Naw, I know.

Well then!

Okay okay. He laughed and kissed her forehead. Just so's I've got it: I get the boot or I jack it; I go on the broo and you go full-time; we're saving the dough and arriving at a certain sum; once we've got it we leave; we just fucking leave. Right?

Why not? We just decide on a time really – say a year. By that time we can work out where we'll go.

It could even be Australia.

Yes. You get the forms beforehand. Andy said he'd get you a job easily.

Aye but no now; he's left.

Well your Uncle then.

Hh.

She chuckled.

I smell a rat.

Yes I know, it's too simple for you, that's the trouble.

Europe. What about Europe? could we go to Europe? France or someplace?

Yes.

Yes! Ha! Christ! He pushed down beneath the sheets and tugged the quilt right over his head and laughed loudly. Out he came to sit where he had been sitting. No we couldnt, no really.

Why not Rab? We would just arrive. We would just make sure we were arriving at the start of the summer. Remember that person in Isobel's college? Northern France, for four months. We would just need a tent, and my brother's got one; he would loan us it.

Hines laughed.

And if you stopped smoking ...! She rapped him one on the shoulder. He had been prising off the lid of the tin. He replaced the tin on the television and took her head onto his chest.

She grinned, shaking her head slightly. Her left leg came to lie in between his. He already had an erection. Oho, she said.

Hines laughed.

Paul was chortling, his frequent shrieks could be heard. Between him and where Hines was at the oven, Sandra had arranged the clothes-horse with towels so that she could use the baby-bath without the boy seeing her.

The bacon grilled while the eggs crackled in the frying pan; on a plate to the front of the grill compartment lay a pile of buttered toast; the tea infused near to the frying pan. The table was already set. Hines glanced at the label of the cornflakes packet then flicked the hot grease onto the egg yolks to get them turning white while at the same time keeping them runny. Paul's shriek.
Hines walked round the clothes-horse. Actors on the television. He watched for a moment. One actor had biffed another on the head; and this other was bouncing about then doing a cartwheel which carried him across to the first whom he kicked on the bum, and then cartwheeled out through a doorway. It was well worked.

Sandra had begun drying herself.

Are you sure he's just to get toast?

Ask him and see.

Aye, well, if you leave it to him he'll no eat anything.

He had cornflakes.

I know that, but it's hell of a cold outside; he could be doing with something hot in the belly.

Fine, make him an egg then.

Aye but he'll probably no eat the fucking thing.

Well . . . Sandra shrugged; she finished dressing and made to lift the babybath. But he did so instead; tipping the water into the sink. She took the bath from him and rinsed it out. Dont worry about it, she added.

Aw naw, naw, I'm just eh . . . He grinned. See when I was a boy! He chuckled and lifted the thing to lift the eggs out the frying pan. Bacon though, he said, I mean you'd think he'd go for that. Christ, how often do we have it!

Sandra poured the tea.

Surely he'd eat a slice of bacon?

She glanced at him.

And he grinned, Just kidding. Honest.

Thank God.

D'you believe in God? He sniffed. What I mean is an item such that it is more powerful than finite items, such that it makes them tick? Cause I dont, let me tell you, I think it is all a load of shite, a load of fucking codswallop, just stuck there to mislead the workers. That's the trouble but, they're all a bunch of bastarn imbeciles, the workers, the lower orders. Eh!
He grinned, lifted the bacon from the grill to lay on the plates. Sandra also grinned; she cupped his right hand in her own.

He nodded. I like the way you do that it eh . . . makes me feel something or other – great; it makes me feel great.

She kissed him and walked to clear the clothes-horse. He laid the food on the table. She said, If you dont go in what'll happen?

Nothing; I'll just have to go up to Head Office for the wages. After a pause he added, I'm going in but. Anyway, with a bit of luck I'll just march in, get the dough and march back out.

I hope so.

I'll play it cagey, boxing clever, sidling through the door, up to the counter – in my stocking soles so they'll no notice ...Heh! the wee man; I've got the wee man with me! Psychological warfare for fuck sake I'll sit him on the counter. They wont give me a sherriking in front of him surely! Eh I mean how can they humiliate a man in front of his boy? I ask you, is that the done thing!

Sandra smiled as she took a slice of toast across to Paul.

Potato scones, he said, it's the one thing missing from this breakfast.

Well I told you to buy them.

Aye I know, but you've got to buy the whole fucking packet nowadays, they'll no let you take a couple.

We would've used them up.

Ah. He shrugged and pushed the plate of toast towards her as she sat down. You'll be okay about yesterday afternoon? about taking it off?

She nodded, then she looked at him. And he wont deduct any money from me either . . . She paused, then began to eat.

He studied the food on his plate.

Sorry.

I wasnt getting at you Sandra.

O I know you werent.

He reached over to hold her hand for a short time. Last
night . . . I didnt expect you, I didnt expect you to be back like that. I mean I never really thought about it, what I would do, if you didnt. Too much . . . he shook his head.

I'm sorry Rab.

O christ shut up.

There are parties whose attention to a variety of aspects of existence renders life uneasy. It cannot be said to be the fault of Hines that he is such a party. A little leeway might be allowed him. A fortnight's leave of absence could well work wonders. A reassembling of the head that the continued participation in the land of the greater brits.

Fuck off.

Hines is forced into situations a dog wouldnt be forced into. Even a rat. It is most perplexing. Hines has a wean and he treats this wean as a son i.e. a child, a fellow human being in other words yet here is he himself being forced into a situation whence the certain load of shite as an outcome, the only outcome, an outcome such that it is not fair. It is not fucking fair. Hines is fucking fed up with it. He is not to be treated like this. He has already decided not to be.

As also his wife. This very morning she has suggested things may yet prove brightly. And even prior to that he himself