Mo said she was quirky (16 page)

Anyway, Brian hadnt been a fighter and he wasnt small. The one at the traffic lights was angry-looking and dangerous and even like he wanted to fight. That wasnt Brian. Brian didnt fight and why should he have? It was nothing to be ashamed of. She remembered from childhood days and that time, she was with him, he was taking her someplace – where was he taking her? – they met boys and they were laughing at him. Brian could have thumped them so so easily and like if he had he would have hurt them. It was not nice. Helen was holding his hand, if they were laughing at her too, they didnt even know
her and it was not fair how they could laugh at her, if they didnt know her. It should not have been her. Why were they laughing at her? What did it mean? Wee girls dont know. So much of what goes on, it passes over your head. Poor Brian. Boys had to stick up for themselves. They had to fight back. Helen would have. She would have slapped their faces. The cheek of them laughing at her. If she had been the boy. Dad said it too. Oh if it was your wee sister, she would have hit them back, she’s the fighter in this house!

It was fun, Dad meant it as fun when she told them. Mum called it tittle-tattle. It wasnt tittle-tattle; that was a horrible thing to say. Helen was only telling her. She was her mother for God sake she had a right to tell her; and she should have listened. That was her duty. She was a mother and mothers had a duty. It wasnt tittle-tattle it was only a wee girl telling her about something exciting.

As if it was Helen’s fault. It was not Helen’s fault. These boys were laughing at Brian. So it was not her. It was only because she was there they laughed at her, because she was with him. It was horrible and cruel. Boys were torturers. She would have slapped them. Brian could have punched them. Boys can punch. Because if you have to. Children learn to take care of themself: girls most of all. That was what Mum didnt understand, because she favoured Brian, or she only liked boys, but it wasnt Helen’s fault if she wasnt one. Dont blame the child. Why did Mum blame her? She seemed to, and it was not her fault. Girls shouldnt have to fight but people did things to you if you didnt. You couldnt hide anywhere; you couldnt find a place. People got you. They came and got you. Sophie had a picture book called
The Book of Secret Places
; it was a nice book but the title was a lie. There were no secret places. Sophie thought there were. What do you say to a child? They always find you.

School had been like that. And Marcelle Tierney.

Marcelle Tierney. Imagine thinking of her. She was just a bully. People thought she was marvellous but she wasnt. And taking the boys’ side against her. Some girls did that, if boys were getting you, they just laughed, they joined the boys against you. You had to stick up for yourself. So if Brian didnt. Dad picked on him too. ‘Picking on’ was not bullying. Dad was not a bully. He
picked on
Brian. It was not the same as ‘bullying’; and it was bullying Marcelle Tierney did to Helen which was worse than ‘picking on’ and especially she used the boys. That was what she did, it was horrible. The boys all liked her. They liked Helen too. They liked Marcelle because she was sporty but Helen was sporty. Everybody knew that. The worst was Ian Mathieson. It was just horrible and wouldnt have happened except for Marcelle and Marcelle was her friend – supposed to be, but friends dont act that way, not real friends, so she hadnt been a real friend, not like a real friend.

Silly nonsense, why was she thinking about it?

Anyway, she stuck up for herself, she had to. It wasnt always possible because how can it be? But for boys too. Imagine being a boy. Helen couldnt. Weak or strong, what would she have been? Weak. Or strong. She couldnt imagine.

It was survival. Children had to learn. People died or went mad.

Or not respecting you. Boys didnt. They could be animals. Not all animals, some were not like that. Sheep didnt hurt each other. Horses didnt, and cows; people worshipped cows. Human beings were worse. Only to respect another person, and they couldnt, they couldnt even do that. The human body is a ‘hallowed temple’ supposed to be but if it was not treated properly like only humiliated and made a thing to denigrate, if that was what happened, if they denigrated, girls too, they were the worst.

Helen dozed. Then was awake.

A blank period.

Not a doze. How long if it was? Half an hour. Half an hour is good. Even five minutes. Two. One and a half. Can people sleep for one and a half? Sleeping for one and a half minutes, not even the one with the limp, if that was a dream, but she didnt have any dream. Not unless it was longer. She hadnt checked the clock so it may only have been five, or ten, or even more although ten onto what she already had would have been good, and she was back to work at nine this evening. As soon as Azizah arrived she would be out the door, if Sophie allowed it. The crying fits had stopped thank God, thank God.

Nightshift didnt allow sleep. Perhaps if she lived in a castle or else the country, in a posh mansion with a hundred servants and finery and all furnishings, plush settees and beautiful soft cushions. But she needed bed, eyelids

A thickness too

But Brian

He wasnt a coward. He wasnt. They just were laughing. Why did they? It was horrible. He wasnt weak. Only with Dad, who was strong. Oh my God. Except with Mum. That was so strange. Take away Mum and he was the strongest. Who was stronger? Nobody. Nobody was stronger than Dad. Although not Helen, he didnt dominate her. He took her side in everything, even against Mum.

Although who did he dominate apart from Brian? That was a question too. But not a nice one. If it was Dad. Dad as a man. What like was he? If it was the company of men. That was a different question. If he was not strong, perhaps he wasnt. There was an arrogance in older men too, she saw them in the casino, ones who were loud and brash, showing off; that way they looked at you; you were just nothing to them, they rated you so low as a human being. They wouldnt think it was rape,
you were so nothing, just like nothing. They didnt care about human beings. It was all twisted and perverted, it wasnt love, and not respect. And the women with them. Not them either. What were they for? What did they do? What did they care about? Zombies personified. You saw their eyes, they had no life, it was horrible and tragic. They took part in it, and it was so demeaning, and affected all women; little children too. What did these women think? Did they think of that? No, because these little girls were nothing to them with their expensive jewellery and piles and columns of chips, stacks of them. It was so so demeaning. Old-fashioned too. From an old-time Hollywood picture with all dumb blondes and gangsters. But these gangsters were not criminals in the ordinary sense, just men with loads of money. Mo’s question was where did they get their money but what did it matter except they had it and waved it around and laughed if they lost. How did they
take
losing? Could they
take
it? That was the big question for them. One guy lost eighteen thousand pounds in twenty minutes and then said goodnight. So cool. He was like a hero. The dealers too, they spoke about him.

Perhaps Brian was weak but what did that mean? ‘weak’. ‘Weak’ was not
weakness
. So if he had been ‘weak’, it wouldnt have been like a weakness, like it had always been there. How could it? He wouldnt have survived. Nobody would. Not if you were one person and all of them, all of them there, if it was only you, you were only one person. You wouldnt survive. Who could? Nobody. Girls were begging and prostituting. Young girls too, people touching you and all what, it didnt bear thinking about, and gang rapes and beatings, actual beatings, just beating women. What cowards! Men were cowards. To treat women in such a way, they were cowards and bullies and you had to stand up to them.

Oh God, but it was true.

The rain was heavy, it was. Had he even taken the umbrella? At least he carried one, unlike her ex who was too macho, so he got soaked, ha ha. Sophie carried a wee one in her schoolbag which was just as well because she would not wear a hat. Put one on and she pulled it off. Even if it was raining. Some silliness to do with a girl in her class. Surely she didnt want her hair getting wet? Mo suggested pinning her hat to her coat collar. Imagine. So if the pin got loose and jammed there, the point sticking out beneath her chin, right at her neck. What if it did and she fell and the point sticking up oh God it was just so dangerous. It really was. You couldnt believe he would suggest such a thing. Trust a man, just so stupid. And like really thoughtless, it was.

She wouldnt sleep now.

Oh well, the television. The remote lay within reach. She pressed the power button, then the mute-setting on the volume-control. She didnt want people’s voices, that was the last thing.

Before the screen image appeared she pulled the sheet and duvet up to her chin, closed her eyes. Eventually she looked at the screen then pressed the guide-setting for the listed programmes. The one about house-decor improvements was watchable. She quite liked being able to see things for when she got a house, if ever she did. She used to think so; perhaps she wouldnt. Mo called it window-shopping. That was what these programmes were, virtual walking down the virtual High Street. But what was wrong with that? At least it was something. If you didnt have any money it kept you going, even to see the things, and if you ever did get the money, if you got enough, you could go and buy something. Then too you got basic tips for do-it-yourself and that was good for painting and decorating. Helen liked all that and if they did get a place she wanted to do it herself. In his situation Mo should have
appreciated that. When would he ever have money? He didnt even go in for the lottery.

Anyway, a cup of tea.

That was cheery. But it was true, she needed a cup desperately. If not disaster. Leastways a fainting fit. Helen smiled, but her eyes blinked shut. And a Nurofen.

She got out of bed and dressed.

At six years of age Helen had helped her mother. As far as she remembered. She thought she had; she used to pick things up and put them in drawers. Sophie didnt, she didnt pick up anything.

It was too early to collect her from school, so wherever Mo had gone it was someplace else. That happened after sex; he bounced about and had to do something, go and visit people. He used to play five-a-side football. Not now. She wished he would, it was just like
ordinary
. Other men slept, not Mo. But he had to be at the school for three ten on the dot, on the dot. As long as he remembered that. Helen would text him. Except she needed a top-up. Anyway, he would remember, he was good at remembering. Really, he was a responsible guy. If you forgot the doritos. Me doreeetos, I needs me doreeetos! Cheese and doritos, tomatos and doritos. Everything was like doritos. Doner doritos, everything. He took them in his cornflakes and made it fun. Sophie didnt know whether to laugh or not when she saw him, glancing to Helen for guidance. When Helen laughed Sophie nearly choked on her own, and when he poured in the milk and mixed it all in oh God it was like hysterical, just so so funny. He was such a fool! He truly was. A born comedian. He could have been on television, without any doubts.

The bag of doritos was on the kitchen-counter. Helen was nibbling another. They were full of fat and salt and sugar and all the ‘gluegomerates’ as he called them, I needs me gluegomerates.
She closed the bag and put it away in the cupboard, the salsa into the fridge, then filled the kettle.

Unleavened bread was good for diets but not so tasty, not for a sandwich; toast and cheese was what she felt like but was avoiding. Mo ate dried fruit in handfuls. She should have. It was a habit to acquire. One mouthful of chocolate. She was not going to because one is two; one is always two.

Life

It was a sigh. She did sigh. She sighed and didnt know she was sighing. Sophie’s head would have turned, What’s wrong Mummy? She always noticed; so so perceptive, the slightest sigh. Helen couldnt stop herself. Who could? You didnt know you were doing it until then you were, you heard yourself.

Green tea. There was an online site Helen visited which gave good information and green tea was one. It was will and commitment. You cant feed the horse if it doesnt take the food, you lead it to the well but if it doesnt drink. Good habits to acquire.

She would have a proper meal later, her and Sophie, after Mo had gone to work and before Azizah arrived. Although the ironing, she had a pile of ironing, oh God. In Glasgow they might have popped up to see Mum, even for half an hour. There were times she couldnt stay home, if you called this home, although it was. She just needed to get out. Her head was full. She needed to talk. There was nobody. Sad but true. Unless if she phoned Ann Marie. A proper phone call and just talk, and it didnt matter to Glasgow, just whatever, and not having to hide things. She wasnt hiding things. What things? Only her head, she needed to get out her head.

Jill too was somebody, she could be a friend. She already was a friend but a workfriend and there were boundaries with ‘workfriends’. Helen discovered this a while ago. During the bad periods with the ex it was like who to turn to? Who was
there? It was her own fault. She had moved away from friends, mentally, physically and felt like she was losing touch, just losing touch, if ever she would make another friend. A real friend: people had friends. Real friends, like who were there for you, if you were in trouble, even for advice, only to ask something, just a question, if they felt something rather than another thing, so you could just ask them, for advice, like what would they do my God if it was their brother and he was there and it truly was. She didnt even know if it was. It could be. Perhaps not.

My God, ridiculous, she was.

Only life was changing. Not just for her. Everywhere you looked, there was a hardness. People were tough. If ever it got too much at the casino she would leave. There was a link between it and the outside world; things that happened there. She didnt need Mo to tell her. If you saw the young men. She saw them all the time. What did tenderness even mean? They wouldnt know. None of them. Somebody like Brian, they would think nothing of him: he was just nothing; that is what they would think. Only the strong counted. They were admired and emulated. If anybody showed weakness they stamped on him. Hurt or be hurt. That was poker too, my God. Helen saw them in the tournaments, so cool with their sunglasses and cowboy hats and like the way they acted, filmstars or something. All watching one other. Pretending not to but they were. Such show-offs. I am the toughest look at me. Little boys. Some of the dealers joked with them. Some of them were the same. There was a foolishness about it all. It was like they had their own wee pretend world. Where did they get their money? It didnt matter. They saw nothing without it. Everything depended on having it. Without it there was nothing. They saw nothing. But that was society. It was forced on you and you had to live. It didnt matter if you thought something else you
still had to live. There were men Mo knew were ‘good’, meaning
virtuous
but it was the same for them, they too had to live. How did they do it? People had to.