Mo said she was quirky (17 page)

Mr Adams was not ‘good’. Helen would never have said he was. Even he was crooked, he might have been. Although if it was business. Crooks and businessmen. But he was the strongest, not meaning physical – far from it. Although he might have been.

There was plenty she didnt know, not when it came down to it, about men, ones like him. You had to be careful. If you were not respectful, you met dealers who werent. It was risky, because who were you talking to? One like the mad doctor they patronised, even treating him with contempt. How come? Because he was a doctor? So like doctors were not to gamble? It was stupid. He was an actual surgeon anyway but he was a good guy and it wasnt fair. And they were taking risks too because how did they know about the person underneath? They only saw the surface. Stay or take a card. But the real actual person? They didnt do it to the Chinese; they were many and who was who? who was with who? you didnt know. There were ones never spoke to anybody, till then you saw them part of a group; the silent guy sitting at the edge, hardly even there, probably he was the toughest and the most dangerous. Too many stories. Criminals and gangsters, killers. One she knew was up on trial, a horror. He sat across from her. Gloating and horrible, that was him. The next thing was the newspaper photograph and she knew it was him, she knew it, although he wasnt smiling, that wasnt in the photograph. He wouldnt have cared. Another one the police took. He was playing the machines when they came for him. People would have expected him to run but he didnt. He just looked at them. What was that look? it was so – just something. Men could do it. Then the ones who vanished, just like disappeared. They were there
every week until the time they werent, and you never saw them again. What was it? Had something happened? Had they changed their life? They had had enough of gambling, or were fighting against the addiction if that is what it was, if their partners had caught them lying, or their employer, they had been using somebody else’s money so now it was like fraud, they were liars and cheats. So then the disgrace. People cannot cope, they run away. So understandable. It was shame, you were shamed, in front of your family and your community, your close friends, everybody. So then you escape, you disappear. Mo spoke about that because it happened to somebody close to him. For most people it is the same; at least once in their life, they do something that is just so so horrible, and hurtful for others, something that makes them so very very ashamed. It is a disgrace, they feel the disgrace. That is what Mo thought. Helen agreed with him, although with Mo, she could never imagine him doing anything. He said he had when he was young but it was hard to believe. People have different ideas. Disgrace for some is not for others.

Perhaps he did disgrace his family. People can think it. That doesnt mean it is true. Especially with families; families families.

People had mega disgraces, some had minor. For their family but not for others. Some families dont care. Some dont even know. Society sees it as a disgrace but they dont. Families can be sick, so can society.

This nonsense about tee-shirts and underwear, people ironed them, some did and some didnt, what did it matter? She had a pile of it waiting.

Unironed vests. There were families thought that a disgrace, girls especially. Sophie. But the same with gambling, if people dont know about it. Not all gambling is bad. What about lotteries? people do lotteries. Ministers and priests so they can
rebuild their churches, so gambling isnt bad, not as such. The ones Jesus threw out the temple were gambling, some of them.

Helen knew about gambling. That was the one thing. Mo forgot how experienced she was. It was not like ‘theory’. Mo knew in ‘theory’. Helen knew from experience, and that was the difference. People lost everything gambling, their lives too. People kill themselves. And through their stupidity other people might die, the very ones closest to them. Helen heard stories. Everybody did. This was the reality if you worked in the gambling business. It wasnt only money people lost, it only starts that way. Mr Adams said that. Money leads to other matters, and sometimes quickly, before you know where you are, you have gambled and you have lost, and what comes next depends on other things. Rich people can have different competitions; they compete in different ways, for different things, things invisible to ordinary people. Lives depend upon it. And not their own, never their own.

Mr Adams said things that were different but so true, they always sounded true. Mo would have liked him. Helen really really believed that. She never told Mo about him but if she did, perhaps she could. When he said things, you felt like it was obvious and wondered why other people didnt seem to know. He didnt gamble much. Not that Helen knew about. Perhaps he did and she didnt find out. She didnt see him doing it, because him doing it was invisible; to her it was.
Invisible.
He only had sex with her on one occasion, like proper occasion. That was so strange because he could have had it on other occasions. He didnt want to. Helen wouldnt have said no. Really, it was up to him. He only wanted to have her there beside him, just seeing her, that was it, looking at her. Some men were like that. Supposed to be. She didnt know them! She had a ‘beautiful body’! But she didnt. He said she did but it wasnt true. Her hips were too wide and her bum was so big, so
big. It was always big. She never had slim hips; other girls did, they could be too slim; some were. Helen was slim from the waist up. But it didnt matter. Skinny ribs. You could see her ribs. Before she had Sophie she had no tummy at all. When she lay flat, it was like a bowl. Her ex said that. That was why he wanted her topless. Just show off your boobs. Nobody will see your ribs. That was him when they went to Majorca. You’ve got the biggest boobs. Who cares about your ribs. Nobody wants to see them. Your boobs are hanging down anyway so nobody will. If I was a woman I would show them off. What a fool he was. So stupid, so so stupid, and prejudiced, completely.

Anyway, it didnt matter. Prejudiced males were ten-a-penny. Never trust a word they say. That applied to most of them. Even Mo, sometimes it did. Imagine a break with other women. A long weekend. Just the company, having a laugh. There were clubs you could join and specialised holidays; only women went, they did painting and walks, sight-seeing, but proper sight-seeing, discovering about history and all different things; artefacts of archaeology. Women went together, all ages and all shapes and sizes and no one worrying about anything, what men said or anything about them, they just had no presence,
no presence
. When she first heard about the all-women holiday to the Greek islands it was the first name into her head. Lesbos. Just silliness.
Lesbos.
But it was a nice name. She liked it.

But he did make her shiver. It was an odd thing. An older guy. You would have expected her ex for that because of bodies. There was no comparison how his was better, more like ‘attractive’. Mr Adams’ body wasnt attractive at all. Not really, and she didnt think his – calling it penis, not how it looked, and it didnt go so hard, so she didnt – it wasnt so what you might think attractive. Helen didnt think so although she wasnt good on men. She didnt think she was. Jill was better. Helen liked Jill; it didnt matter she was posh. Caroline acted as if she and
Helen should stick together. Helen didnt care about that. Anyway, Jill wasnt really posh, it was just her voice, and it was only English, upper English or what, middle class. Women like Jill have posh voices but only because it is English middle class. Caroline’s was English working class, so that and Scottish went together, so if they stuck together. Caroline thought they should. But not all Scottish was working class, some was posh, it just depended.

There was a drip at the kitchen sink, the tap there, it was so occasional it didnt seem like a drip at all but she found it aggravating. Then the effect it had on the heating system, if that knocking sort of clanking sound worsened. Mo spoke about fixing that but he couldnt, it was a specialised job. Why do men think they can do these things?

Oh God sinks, why was she thinking about sinks, she didnt want to think about sinks, damn sinks, bad enough with the ironing to do and she would have to do it.

It was true that she hadnt met his parents but he didnt have to worry, she was not bothered, not really, only about what she had, and she only wanted what she had. She wasnt looking for anything else, only for Sophie and things with her ex, if it all could be resolved properly about access matters and whatnot, everything, please God if it could be, that was all, nothing more, she was not being greedy or too wishful in her thinking, surely not, only if things would go as they were going. She didnt need to meet anybody, parents or like anybody. Really, she didnt care. A side of her was glad not to. Especially for Sophie. How she would cope with all the new people. It would be so like strange, a new family and a different family. But that was human beings; they were all different, all strange. Her and Mo. Who would have guessed about them? Nobody at all. Not like when it happened back in Glasgow, who could have guessed about that? Nobody.

It was also the sarcasm with men. So much of how they communicated was sarcasm-based. Not only did they do it to women, they did it to themselves. Mo didnt mean it but he was sharp, occasionally too sharp. Some of the comments he made, sometimes you wondered. He was a Londoner and used to speaking in certain ways but Glasgow was different; you had to be careful. Helen had worried about him there.

All the lives. People’s lives. The ones you were glad to see the back of. It was good when they vanished. Away to annoy somebody else. You never knew who was at your table. And if they were looking at you. Creeps. They didnt care if you saw them. Some did and some didnt. Other ones only looked when you didnt. They didnt seem to be looking but they were and you knew they were, and it gave you the creeps how with their eyes on you and that was that, and how could you hide? you couldnt, unless a duvet cover from your chin down because even your neck, hanging down from your neck, the bumps would show, so it had to be from your chin, if it was hanging down to really hide them. Girls had their boobs taped to flatten them down. Fathers did that. Where did they do it? Some country. Then their feet, they taped the girls’ feet so tightly the bones broke and that was them. What a thing. A horror. Feet. What was feet?

People were living in nightmares. You were
exposed
. That is how Helen felt. And if there were two of them staring at you, if they were together doing it, with their little smiles all the time, wanting you to see it. Men did that. They came to your table on purpose. Not just hers. But Helen could tell when they did, how they sat down and the little looks to each other. Then if they waited on till she finished her shift, not taking no for an answer, there they were on the pavement. My God! What did they think? That she would go with them! People are mad. Men are. Any woman in her right mind, none would
ever, not in their right mind, never ever, not with any of them. Mr Adams was different. She chose him. He chose her but she chose him. He hadnt chosen anyone else. It was something to smile about. Why not? If it was true and it was. She was the one he chose. That is the true fact. Imagine Mum. If she had only known. The very idea. She wouldnt believe it, except it was the truth. Mum didnt rate her; not as a person. She made that plain often enough. Why deny it? Mum didnt rate her. Imagine that, a mother. So unfair, so very very unfair. A child is innocent. Why was Helen being blamed? What had she ever done? Children are innocent. Adults have a responsibility.

My God and it was even like she had extended it to Sophie. Okay if it was to Helen, her own daughter, then so be it, so be it, but not to the daughter’s daughter, that horrible negativity, it was so unfair. The lack of interest, that is what it was, Mum turning her head. Helen saw her do it. Sophie was crying and Mum turned her head away, like just turned her head away. Turning away from a child.

Although Sophie’s behaviour, sometimes, it was difficult; back then it was and no wonder, the wee soul. Complete turmoil. So no wonder she had the screaming fits, worse than tantrums. Poor Mo when it happened to him, people looking and seeing. It pierced him. Like a knife going in. Them all looking like he was a murderer or a paedophile. Him being Asian was so much the worse.

Then something from Mo the way he was looking, almost saying something but stopping himself, meaning molested. If anything had ever happened to Sophie. He wondered about it but not in so many words. Just come out and say it. Helen would have preferred if he had. Because never. Never never. Never never could that have happened and it was surprising Mo could ever think it, so so surprising, honestly astonishing, like how could he ever? That was ‘piercing like a knife’ but the
knife was into Helen. Her own child my God. Nothing had happened to Sophie. Nothing ever would. Helen would die, she would die, nothing ever

Nothing ever could. If anything ever could, it would never. Nothing ever would.

Helen looked to the clock.

It seemed ages since he had gone to collect her. Occasionally they walked a different route home. Sophie liked to see things and Mo enjoyed pointing them out. The screaming stage had passed. He carried his ID anyway. In case somebody called the cops. Paki bastard. Going to sell her to the slave-trade you cunt, where’s your ID then?

In me pocket.

And a photograph of the three of them together for further evidence, especially if he had to carry her in public, she hated him doing it. It was okay in the house if he did it for a laugh but not outside, going up the tube escalator or walking through a crowd or across a busy road. Mo joked about it but Sophie hated it. Put me down put me down! I dont want you to hold me! I dont want you to hold me!

He was not holding her he was carrying her. There is a difference. Sophie didnt understand that. At least it was better now than the early days in Glasgow. Leave me! Leave me! She wouldnt hold his hand without a fight, just being touched. Oh I dont like being touched! In this world you have to be touched. You learn that as a child. Although it can be an invasion, of course it can and was for Helen when she was a girl, people grabbing her and poking her. Why? Why did they think that was acceptable, poking your fingers into a child? They looked for an excuse to do it. Men were the worst, and so patronising, the way they did it, so actually just like patronising, like with dogs, stroking their muzzle. Pawing you. What a pretty little girl, stroking your head. Or taking you by the shoulder, What’s
that love? grasping you, so you cant hardly move, What’s that love? and you cant hardly breathe. Men did that. Imagine. If you asked them a question, the hand going round your shoulder, gripping, What’s that love? suffocating. On television too you saw them doing it. Not to other men, oh no, they just did it to females. Helen didnt like it. Her own mother wasnt a toucher. Helen was so very glad of that, except the odd occasion, it would have been nice. A mother who doesnt touch. That was unusual, surely. There were times Helen had to touch Sophie, just pick her up and hold her, just hold her, she needed to do it – giving her a bath or she was in her nightdress my God what was wrong with that? just so she was alright. Nothing ever would happen to her, if anything ever did, if anything ever did she would die, Helen would die, she would, she would die, she would die, oh my God. Leave me leave me! Never.