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Authors: James Kelman
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tea?
Iâve made some already.
I didnt see you.
When I came in, itâs probably cold by now.
Aw aye, christ.
Rab!
Iâm fine.
Youâre not fine at all, if you would talk. If you would just bloody talk! She held each of his wrists now. I hate it when you act as if I cant understand you.
What?
You know what I mean.
I dont.
You do, you bloody do . . . She let go his wrists. Sometimes youâre really arrogant. You are you know. Then you half mumble things and expect me to catch on right away and I cant â how can I? how can I if you never tell me?
After a pause he said, Thereâs nothing to tell.
. . .
Sorry; I didnt mean it like that.
Yes you did. Iâm going to bed.
Dont.
Yes, let go my hand.
Dont go yet Sandra, please.
God Rab Iâm sick of it, I really am, the way you get at me.
What?
Yes, get at me, all the bloody time. That stupid joke in the pub; it was me you were getting at; dont think I didnt notice because I did, I bloody did!
What?
Why did we go there in the first place! I hate that kind of situation. The first time weâd been out in ages and look what bloody happens. O God, bloody dump bloody dump, I hate this place. Sandraâs hands were covering her eyes and she had been standing for a while. She withdrew her hands: Do youknow what happened 2 nights ago? â you were asleep in front of the bloody television â do you know what happened? I was propositioned; I was propositioned. I was with Paul, coming back from the dairy. An old man in a red car.
Jesus christ.
I was coming back from the dairy, a shopping bag in one hand and him in the other.
Christ Sandra. What dâyou no get me for?
Because it wouldnt have done any good, she said after a moment.
What?
He was just an old guy; it wouldnt have done any good. Anyway, he wouldâve been away by the time you went down. She shook her head. And I didnt want you to.
How no?
I just didnt want you to.
Hh; christ. He glanced to the mantelpiece and to the side of his chair. He got up. He stood by her then put his hands on her shoulders.
Rab, I just want to get away from this place.
I know, I know.
Across the yard Reilly had appeared from between the row of parked buses; he carried a watering-can which he used to top up the radiator in the engine section at the rear. Hines stepped round the blind side from him, to the front of the bus and he sat on the first seat there. 5 more minutes till they were dueout the garage. And Reilly waited until then before boarding and getting into the cabin; he switched on the engine at once and when they reached the 1st terminus he left it to idle, periodically depressing the accelerator pedal. It was dark outside and his reflection could be seen in the front window; he was reading a newspaper. Hines was on the rear seat, only moving when it was required by a passenger. Both this and the next journey were busy but the one following less so and Reilly switched off the engine at the terminus.
Fuck off: called Hines as he opened the tin. On his first drag on the cigarette he exhaled a large cloud of smoke and shouted: Good King Wenceslas is a daft bastard.
Reilly peered round the partition, then returned; the newspaper rustled.
Although Iâm sorry Iâm no really sorry. And I dont mean that I dont mean it cause I do, I do mean it. I apologise and do not apologise. The apologising takes precedence.
What I mean is I apologise because Iâve had to speak first since under normal circumstances you wouldâve been yapping like fuck for the past 43 years; instead of that here you are finding yourself in the unnatural position of keeping the gub shut at all costs because of certain events of an unhappy nature which took place at a recent friendly gathering in the local hostelry ya bastard ye Iâm sorry, honest. Honest. Hines sat upright on the seat, glanced out the back window. Hail was blowing across the street. Fuck it. He stood up and sat down. Look
Iâve made some already.
I didnt see you.
When I came in, itâs probably cold by now.
Aw aye, christ.
Rab!
Iâm fine.
Youâre not fine at all, if you would talk. If you would just bloody talk! She held each of his wrists now. I hate it when you act as if I cant understand you.
What?
You know what I mean.
I dont.
You do, you bloody do . . . She let go his wrists. Sometimes youâre really arrogant. You are you know. Then you half mumble things and expect me to catch on right away and I cant â how can I? how can I if you never tell me?
After a pause he said, Thereâs nothing to tell.
. . .
Sorry; I didnt mean it like that.
Yes you did. Iâm going to bed.
Dont.
Yes, let go my hand.
Dont go yet Sandra, please.
God Rab Iâm sick of it, I really am, the way you get at me.
What?
Yes, get at me, all the bloody time. That stupid joke in the pub; it was me you were getting at; dont think I didnt notice because I did, I bloody did!
What?
Why did we go there in the first place! I hate that kind of situation. The first time weâd been out in ages and look what bloody happens. O God, bloody dump bloody dump, I hate this place. Sandraâs hands were covering her eyes and she had been standing for a while. She withdrew her hands: Do youknow what happened 2 nights ago? â you were asleep in front of the bloody television â do you know what happened? I was propositioned; I was propositioned. I was with Paul, coming back from the dairy. An old man in a red car.
Jesus christ.
I was coming back from the dairy, a shopping bag in one hand and him in the other.
Christ Sandra. What dâyou no get me for?
Because it wouldnt have done any good, she said after a moment.
What?
He was just an old guy; it wouldnt have done any good. Anyway, he wouldâve been away by the time you went down. She shook her head. And I didnt want you to.
How no?
I just didnt want you to.
Hh; christ. He glanced to the mantelpiece and to the side of his chair. He got up. He stood by her then put his hands on her shoulders.
Rab, I just want to get away from this place.
I know, I know.
Across the yard Reilly had appeared from between the row of parked buses; he carried a watering-can which he used to top up the radiator in the engine section at the rear. Hines stepped round the blind side from him, to the front of the bus and he sat on the first seat there. 5 more minutes till they were dueout the garage. And Reilly waited until then before boarding and getting into the cabin; he switched on the engine at once and when they reached the 1st terminus he left it to idle, periodically depressing the accelerator pedal. It was dark outside and his reflection could be seen in the front window; he was reading a newspaper. Hines was on the rear seat, only moving when it was required by a passenger. Both this and the next journey were busy but the one following less so and Reilly switched off the engine at the terminus.
Fuck off: called Hines as he opened the tin. On his first drag on the cigarette he exhaled a large cloud of smoke and shouted: Good King Wenceslas is a daft bastard.
Reilly peered round the partition, then returned; the newspaper rustled.
Although Iâm sorry Iâm no really sorry. And I dont mean that I dont mean it cause I do, I do mean it. I apologise and do not apologise. The apologising takes precedence.
What I mean is I apologise because Iâve had to speak first since under normal circumstances you wouldâve been yapping like fuck for the past 43 years; instead of that here you are finding yourself in the unnatural position of keeping the gub shut at all costs because of certain events of an unhappy nature which took place at a recent friendly gathering in the local hostelry ya bastard ye Iâm sorry, honest. Honest. Hines sat upright on the seat, glanced out the back window. Hail was blowing across the street. Fuck it. He stood up and sat down. Look
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