Mo said she was quirky (7 page)

It was true. You never knew about other people. Nobody told you everything. Why should they? Every night of the week Helen saw people in the casino: what about them? What were their stories? These old Chinese women. You couldnt imagine. Where she worked in Glasgow they spent more time there than their own home. People said that and it was not prejudice. Some didnt even gamble. They only came in for a cup of tea, and a chat with their friends, or else just sat there looking at nothing. The management didnt bother, even if their voices were loud and carried. If it was ordinary Glasgow people they would have been asked to quieten down but not the Chinese. Management wanted them because they were regulars, they were the ‘bread and butter’. Some nights it was like their own casino. Then if they were all talking round your table. Ann Marie said that, if they compared notes in their own language like what happened when she was dealing years ago, you didnt know what they were saying yet it was your table, you were supposed to be in charge. So that was annoying. But if management didnt bother who else would? You had to be careful at the tables, you never knew who you were facing.

Her workmate Caroline said that to her once. What a cheek. Helen wouldnt have minded if it had been Ann Marie, but
Caroline? Helen had forgotten more about casinos than she ever knew. She seemed to think Helen had led a sheltered life. Oh you are so innocent. That was how she looked at her. It rankled. People think they know better. Caroline wasnt the only one. They were surprised Helen had a six-year-old daughter, they didnt think she was old enough. So she was supposed to take it as a compliment. Ha ha. So patronising. After what she had been through. How ironic, how very very ironic.

Really, they knew nothing about her. And if it was women talking about men, that was another ha ha.

In some ways she might have been naive. She would admit that. So if she was, everybody is, in some way. Helen didnt care. She really didnt. Why should she? It was all meaningless nonsense and she couldnt be bothered with it.

It was her turn to phone Ann Marie. She would eventually. It was nice to talk. Only not for important matters. But she could still enjoy her company. It was cheery. She had a boyfriend or as she called him, ‘a manfriend’. Ann Marie’s stories concerned men. She called them ‘the great lost cause’. Men. What use were they? None at all – except hanging a hat.

That was Ann Marie’s sense of humour. Only women were there when she said it and they didnt all get the joke. Helen knew immediately and spluttered on her coffee – literally, she did, the coffee went over her – it was just so funny, the tears would be streaming out your eyes. Ann Marie didnt care about men except for sex, that was what she meant, and most of them were hopeless even for that. It was true, my God, and smelly. Ann Marie was right. Why did they not wash? It was so obvious but they didnt do it; and these personal things, it was disgusting. And their breath, even Mr Adams. He was so clean except when it came to his teeth, and he brushed them regularly, but it didnt matter, the smell of his breath made her think of old people, and he wasnt old. Although forty-eight, and
she was twenty-seven. It was old. But not too old and just so clean, he was. But then her ex, my God, her ex washed himself in the washhand basin, that was just so bad like his private parts, the very thought; and afterwards there were hairs stuck to the sides. Hairs! What would they have been? private ones, pubics. A washhand basin. People had to wash their faces. Disgusting wasnt the word. The word was
pig
. For him it was. That was one of them, ‘pig’, there were others. Mo was so much better. Perhaps it was the culture. Muslim men seemed cleaner, even the beardies. That was her, probably she was wrong, prejudice in reverse, she didnt care. She couldnt always think, not when she was tired tired tired, tired beyond anything, and could not sleep, if she went to bed now, she would not sleep, she knew she wouldnt; exhaustion, except her mind; minds were the strangest thing, they were.

She shivered, drew the coat about her shoulders, raising her knees, snuggling in on herself; better snuggling in with Mo, he was like feverish he was so warm; he was, you worried if he was catching the flu. She did anyway, but she worried about everything, anything and everything, everything and anything, the slightest shiver, life is full of shivers. She was comfy where she was, except the headache, which was only slight. They would be up soon for school; Sophie had to be there by eight thirty.

If it was Brian.

Life is so weird. Families especially, what families are. You looked at photographs but what did you see?

He just went away. What happened? Nobody said anything and you were not to talk about it. If there was a phone call Mum was to take it but not in front of Dad. Even his name, you were not to speak his name. What were you not to think about him, your own brother? Helen did. Of course she did, she was his sister; did that not count for anything? She would
have spoken about him to Mum except Mum never spoke about anything. Not to Helen anyway. Oh well of course she did, but not much.

And she thought about Brian. It was obvious. She sat in her armchair with the television on and the magazine in her lap but she wasnt looking at them and wasnt thinking about them, only about Brian. And why shouldnt she my God he was her son!

Even after Dad died and it was only the two of them. So unfair; it really was. And selfish. Mum was Brian’s mother but Helen was his sister. Why should she be excluded? She
was
excluded, Mum excluded her. Even the marriage; parents should be happy at their daughter’s marriage. Oh God. Resentments were the worst. One day she would tell Mo. He just didnt understand it because with families, his was like a world of difference, a total world away.

Parents could be unfair. It was the one thing with Sophie, if ever Helen had another child, she would not treat her unfairly. That was so wrong, the very worst. Children knew. It doesnt matter if the injustice is to another, it is every bit as horrible. It was like that with Dad towards Brian, and it was horrible to see. Why did a parent do that? It so spoiled things. And Dad smiling to her as if she was on his side, and she wasnt; she wasnt on anybody’s side; it just wasnt fair, and when she got older too

Brian was a good brother and she loved him. Her memories from childhood were fond. The photographs were there and there was nothing to say otherwise. He was so tall and she was so wee, he was the horse and he went galloping with her. She was up on his shoulders clinging on, oh clinging on because of how he galloped and the force threw her back and she had to hold on, hold on, gripping his forehead and him just laughing and galloping. My horsie; she shouted that.

Oh and she would not fall, she would never fall, he wouldnt let her.

There was nothing about his behaviour. If it ever crossed anybody’s mind. If they ever thought anything. What could they think, it was just horrible, if it was his head or neck and her legs, just a little girl, that was all she was, if her legs were wrapped round him, that was nothing, it was just nothing, if ever people thought such a thing.

Unless Dad, if it was something with him but there was nothing with him. It was only the favouritism. She was her daddy’s girl and Brian was a big boy. What was unusual about that? Would any dad be different? She was his girl; that was how he said it, You are my wee girl. And he called her ‘jellybelly’. Mum didnt like him saying it. Why not? ‘Jellybelly’. What was wrong with it, ‘jellybelly’ like it was her fault, it wasnt her fault, how could it be, she didnt ask for it my God it was only fun, father to daughter. It wasnt rude, did Mum think it was rude?

There was a coldness in Mum. With Sophie too. There wasnt the sparkle when she phoned, not what you might expect from a grandmother. She hardly asked a question; what are you doing in school, have you got a best friend. Nothing like that. She was tough. Helen would never have been so tough, not on a child. Perhaps if it was a grandson Mum would have acted differently; she preferred boys, or seemed to.

Oh well, nothing could be done about that. Boys were supposed to get on with things and not bother. Perhaps that was it. If it was even true. Children are children. Sophie was quite girlish but why not if she was a girl? A girl was allowed to be a girl, my God, what do people want?

None of Helen’s toys ever remained in Mum’s house, not even as keepsakes. Although why else would they have been kept? For sentimental value? That was a joke, Mum and sentimentality.

It was so unfair. What had she ever done? Nothing, except
wanting things to be nice. They were if people tried. People didnt try. Why didnt they? Helen could never understand that. Only if they tried, if people tried. Mum never tried.

It was so different for Mo with his cousins and uncles and aunties. Relations still wrote to his parents from Pakistan. They kept in touch with one another. Mo knew some of their names and could speak about them as if they were ordinary relations and they werent, he had never seen them. Even his father hadnt seen some of them. It was amazing and wonderful. And quite strange really. Helen had nothing like that, except the cousins in New Zealand and the pile of ones in Australia. She spoke to Mum about it but they were Dad’s relations and Mum had lost their address, or didnt have it in the first place. It would have been nice to make the contact.

Helen wouldnt phone her about Brian. Not if it wasnt him: why raise her hopes? She should only be told if it was him for certain. It was so unlikely. All those years. Why had he not been in touch? You shouldnt act like that to your own family, your mother a widow. That was so selfish. If he did hold a grudge it was against Dad but Dad was dead. He knew Dad was dead. The police traced him and told him. He had the choice to go to the funeral; it was his decision not to. He came home for Grannie’s. So it was a grudge. But not against the whole family, surely? That was so very foolish. And not normal. Helen was only twelve years old when he left home. It should have been
her
grudge to him! He never got in touch with her. Imagine that, his wee sister. Did he even know she was a mother! He couldnt have. Not unless Mum told him. He was Sophie’s uncle for God sake surely that was something? That was like a miraculous thing, another human being. It
was
miraculous. Miraculous is miracle. A new human being in the world is a miracle. Surely a brother would want to know about that? His very own niece. Of course he would.

He had been a good brother to Helen and he would love Sophie. He would. It wasnt too much to say. This is the way brothers and sisters are. If ever they hate each other they love each other, they really do. Brian was quiet and went his own way but he would be tender. He had been. That was what Dad didnt understand. Dad was not tender, you wouldnt say it about him but you would about Brian.

Of course Helen would help him. Of course she would. Whatever his troubles were my God he was her brother, if times were hard for him; they knew about hard times, her and Mo. Perhaps Brian couldnt stay with them but they could help in other ways and they would, Helen would make sure of that.

Mo and Brian would get on well together. Mo was easy-going. Brian would like him and be so comfortable with him. Mo knew London like the back of his hand and would take him places.

If they had had more space; life would have been easier if they had – unless he slept on the kitchen floor. Because where else? Then Helen coming home in early morning and not able to sit, not able to have a cup of tea, and wee Sophie coming in in her underclothes. That would have been so awkward. Really, it would have been.

The flat was too small. That was the truth. Too easy to clutter, never mind Mo and the junk he brought home.

Although if it had been his family my God even a distant relative, a tenth cousin! There would be no question. People just appeared. That was Mo’s childhood. You woke up in the morning and two uncles were in sleeping bags on the carpet. All for one one for all. It was a worthwhile attitude. Even if it wasnt family it was friends, arriving unannounced, no money and no place to go. It wouldnt have been one night for them. It would be for as long as it took. Of course it would. And if the
person was in need, in genuine need, if he needed looking after, or just care, and attention.

Oh God.

Mum’s flat in Glasgow would have been ideal. She had a spare room. It was a bedroom in the past but was now a workroom. She could move out the table and sewing machine. She used to have a folding bed sort of thing, a z-bed. Perhaps she still had it. Except Mum wasnt a hoarder; if things had no function she dumped them.

Mum would have changed the house for Brian. She would want to. She would be so glad to see him.

Although Helen could get a folding bed. She could. Mo would enjoy the hunt. Car-boot sales and secondhand shops, the old market they went to. Brian wouldnt have any money, not if he was living rough. An actual mattress was all they needed, and a sleeping bag or a duvet.

Oh God, why was he living rough! Unless he was ill and unable to fend for himself: people got trapped in vicious circles with government agencies, if you have no address they wont give you money, but you cant get an address until they give you money. It was appalling and obvious. Why did they not work it out? Surely they could work it out! People wandered around, ill, in need of care and attention and the government just oh my God why didnt people do something about it? if things were obvious, it was always obvious things, and everybody knew them, everybody, everybody knew yet nothing was done, it was horrible. Poor Brian.

Mo’s family was straightforward, they seemed so. But only what she knew and what did she know? nothing. Did he tell her everything? Of course not. He didnt know himself. Nobody did. Nobody could. Because people didnt know everything. There were matters and events his parents and uncles and aunts wouldnt speak about, especially if the memories were
bad. If you went back two generations it became more complicated. It was the same with all families, unless you were rich, there were things you didnt want to know and not if it was Pakistan and India and these places where it was killings and all that, people starving to death. Mo was going to go. His parents hadnt been back for years but were saving to go again – one last time, and Mo was going with them.