The Busconductor Hines (19 page)

Amazing but; how people are conned into thinking high unemployment means parsnips are not in demand. That's the trouble with the lower orders, they're a bunch of bastarn imbeciles. As though emphasising the point a girl was just then ejected from a close, being pushed out by a youngish woman – the mother – who forced the girl to march ahead by a series of sharp digs in the small of the back, displaying her scapegoat for the catastrophic state of the steel industry. That spot on the back is maybe his favourite on the whole of Sandra's body, right at the base of her spine, this wee bit which is always so warm. The mother was wearing slippers nevertheless, and ice needing to be crunched. A right fucking headcase. She dug the girl on toward the small cluster of local shops. Probably the girl had been sent a message earlier and been short changed by the thief who owns the newsagent, or maybe she had purchased an incorrect item. What a performance! The woman quite wee, with long black hair, the coat unbuttoned.

All in all a scene to avert the face from.

Hines followed them into the newsagent. Pandemonium inside. Weans everywhere, and a few disgruntled adults – and these latters having astonishing sets to their bearing to indicate extraordinary emotional control, as they stared to the dwarfs jostling each other along the counter, poking around in the boxes of sweetmeats and generally ignoring all known rules of social conduct concerning orderly procedure. But the thief's trio of assistants was performing wonders, serving a minimum pair of adults to the 1 child.

He had bought a ½ ounce, rice-papers and matches; and he rolled a smoke in a shop doorway.

Along the street music blared from a 1st storey window, a teenage girl leaning out, chatting to three others at the long entrance to the close. Farther on somebody called to him. A
man he knew. He returned a hello and continued on up the hill where on the road the grit should have been lying very thickly. He passed the close where he used to live.

One of Griff's three daughters opened the front door. She left him and came back with her mother. He smiled and made to speak but she had turned, and she showed him into the living room. Once she had gone the daughter entered, to remain for quite a while, just looking at him occasionally, pretending to be engrossed with the objects inside and on top of a glass display-cabinet; she was called away. Hines lifted a newspaper from beneath a coffee-table.

Several minutes went by till Griff appeared. Hines had heard him being shouted awake. When he came in he took a cigarette from a battered packet on the mantelpiece and switching on the electric-fire he crouched over it with his back to Hines. Then his wife entered carrying two mugs of tea. That can of lager, he said.

What can of lager?

Look I brought one back with me last night.

No to this house you didnt. And she went out, closing the door. Griff glanced at Hines, pursing his lips; then the door opening again, Mind you've to sign-on this morning . . . And it closed immediately.

Griff stared at the door. How can I sign-on if you'll no give me the bloody bus-fare! Crouching back over the fire he rubbed his hands, inhaled on the cigarette, blinking as the smoke hit his eyes. These weans no away to school yet! he added. He looked at Hines, shook his head briefly.

Hines sniffed; he had prised the lid off the tin and paused, he sipped at the tea. Taking a paper from the Rizla packet, and the door opened: Naw, they're no away to school yet.

Griff had moved onto the nearest armchair and lifted the mug of tea from the coffee-table.

Hines said, How's your maw keeping?

They took her back into hospital.

Aye, I heard.

Ah she's okay, no bad, she was talking the last time I was up, a wee bit – you could make out what she was saying.

Good.

Griff yawned then shuddered, shaking his head: Fucking freezing man eh! A team of huskies you need for the hill. You should've seen them coming out the boozer last night! pantomime on ice so it was. O by the way man your name cropped up.

Hines looked at him.

Milligan.

Aw aye.

He was saying he bumped into you a wee while ago.

Aye – he's doing alright eh?

What! fucking loaded the cunt – these oilrigs man to listen to him you'd think they were 5-star fucking hotels or something – the grub they get. T-bone steaks man; and the cunts're leaving half of them on the fucking plate: right out of order so it is – all gets dumped into the fucking sea.

Ah well at least we'll get fat fish.

Griff snorted.

The door opened and the girl entered with her younger sister; they kissed Griff and said cheerio. On their way back out he asked them to see if the toast was ready yet. The door closed he said: So you're still on the buses!

Naw, grunted Hines, and he flicked the hat off the settee onto the floor and stretched to kick at it.

At least it's a fucking job man. Any vacs?

Aye, four hundred and twenty seven. Naw. Hines shrugged. No for conductors. If you could drive . . .

Ach I dont fancy these fucking shifts anyhow. Griff yawned, swallowed some tea. So how's the maw and da these days?

Away up and see for yourself.

For fuck sake man you've got to ask these questions; it's called fucking politeness I mean battering the door at all times of the morning when cunts're trying to kip!

Ah christ, I've been up for days.

Aye you get paid for it but.

Naw I dont; propaganda.

Griff raised his eyebrows and sighed, gazed briefly at the ceiling. On the wall to his left the small picture of King Billy on his white horse, athwart Boyne Water. Hines grinned and nodded to it: I see you still like the cowboys Griffin.

He had been exhaling smoke, and he smiled a moment. He glanced at the door and it opened. His wife and youngest daughter – an infant; she was clutching a blanket to her mouth and toddled to squeeze her way in beside Griff on the armchair. The plateful of toast on the coffee-table.

No cheese?

In the fridge. I'm going to the shop, she added. She paused, then she looked at Hines and indicated the toast.

Thanks Rita.

She nodded. How's the family?

Aw fine, okay.

We need fags, said Griff.

Is your da still working?

Aye.

It's just the one you've got?

A wee boy – four and a half.

That's right . . . After a moment she nodded then walked to the door.

Mind the fags, said Griff as it closed.

They munched the toast without speaking. The girl occasionally twisted to touch Griff 's head then would stare at Hines, the blanket almost obscuring her face. And when Hines eventually prepared a cigarette she studied his movements, and he rolled it slowly, sitting forwards for her to see more easily. Griff said, I could never be bothered with that – no patience.

It's no patience you need man it's skill.

Griff snorted.

It's an art.

Griff raised his eyebrows and he reached for the last piece of toast; then he said: How's the wife? what's her name again – Sandra?

Aye; ah she's alright.

Still got the wee job?

Hines nodded.

That's good.

Aye, it's a help right enough . . . He struck the match; he had been waiting for Griff to get another cigarette from the packet on the mantelpiece; when he had lighted his own he passed across the burning match. Heh how's wee Frank doing these days? you ever see him?

Hh. Griff put the match into the ashtray, he frowned: No if I can bloody avoid it. A Peter Pan that yin.

He's still going about but?

Aye, unfortunately. He's jumping around
The Glen
with a young team. When you see him you walk the other way. Naw Rab, a headcase, worse than ever he was, shooters and all sorts . . . He sniffed, made to rise. How? you're no wanting to see him are you!

Hh; naw.

Griff had risen from the chair, holding the girl in one arm; he collected the mugs and went ben the kitchenette, and returned with refills of tea. The girl got up onto the chair before him. He
shook his head as he sat down. That last time he got lifted, they'd stuck a blade in some poor . . . no reason nor nothing.

It wasnt him but, no as far as I heard.

Aw Rab, Christ sake.

Hines shrugged.

I mean you dont know him now man; he's no the way he was at school.

I'm no saying that; I'm just saying it wasnt him that actually done it.

Ah! Griff snorted, shook his head. He's a headcase Rab he's a headcase. A wean. Showing off to the young team and that, makes you . . . bloody sick.

Hines grinned after a moment. Sorry, sorry sorry sorry! He held his hands palms outwards.

Naw, these . . . Griff shook his head. He raised the girl and sat her on his knee, bounced her a couple of times then sniffed and lifted her up to smell the nappy. Away and get your potty hen. He put her onto the floor then got up and opened the door for her.

Christ, good for her age!

Aye. Griff smiled.

What is she anyway?

Just turned two.

What!

Aye, yaps like fuck as well – you can hold a conversation with her. He grinned as he sat down.

That's great man.

Aye well, you just having the one and that . . . he shrugged. The other pair talk to her so she picks it all up – she could be at the nursery the now. They've got her doing her sums. Ask her 2 and 2 and she'll tell you 4. She doesnt know what it is right enough but she'll fucking tell you anyway. Griff chuckled. He sniffed. Actually I better see she's alright and that.

When he returned he left the door ajar.

Hines had lifted a book from beneath the coffee-table and was reading the blurb.

Take it with you if you want. I finished it yesterday. No bad, it's about this guy's retired from the Secret Service, finds out his auld boss's been done in and that, so he rejoins to get after the cunt that did it.

Hines nodded. After a moment he reached to replace it but he sat back with it again, flicked through the pages; he grinned. I wonder if it's these pesky fucking commies to blame?

Griff glanced at the ceiling. D'you never give up!

How can I when cunts like you're still voting fucking tory!

Ach away and give us peace!

Hines grinned.

Griff laughed. The brainbox of 3c! He laughed again. Heh man mind that baldy auld geography teacher!

O christ! I wouldnt say he was a thingwi but you should see the way he thingwis his thingwi.

The two of them laughed for a while. Eventually the girl pushed her way in carrying some dolls along with the blanket. Hines glanced at the electric-clock on the wall, and Griff noticed.

Naw, said Hines; he reached for his hat. I just thought I'd take a walk up, since I was passing and that.

Griff nodded.

That's the trouble with nowadays, you've got to see the parents once in a blue moon . . . He stood up, buttoning the uniform jacket. Heh you fancy nicking down for a pint later on?

Naw no me, the time I get back from the broo and that. He stubbed the cigarette dowp into the ashtray, and rose from the chair.

Eh, etcetera, sorry and so on, getting you out of bed at godforsaken hours of the day.

Ah I was having to get up anyway. So . . . Griff paused, glanced at Hines.

Hines shrugged.

Take a run over the centre some Saturday, me and Hammy and a few of the boys, we're always there round dinner-time – the ITV 7 and that; if we're no in the boozer we'll be in the betting shop – collecting the dough!

Hines grinned, then snorted. I dont even know what a Saturday looks like.

Griff chuckled. Is it no about time you jacked it in man? I mean Christ, how long's that now?

Ah no long, no long, just a miserable 38 year. Hines got a 10 pence coin from his trouser pocket and handed it to the girl. Watch your auld man doesnt spend it on drink!

It was only because he was in the district that he was sitting in the home of his parents. It had not been the purpose of his visit. And if the auld man had been present the whole thing would have been beyond talking about. Bad enough with the maw. How to speak to her even. What is important concerning a mother. There you have the weans and their way ahead. Nothing wrong in that, perfectly reasonable. Three of them to get worried about. The youngest a lassie working in England who telephones quite regularly and is the favourite of the dad; perfectly natural – and she and Hines were close in childhood; and then she got very upset on her most recent visit home, last Hogmanay, in company with her boyfriend. The discussion had begun in general terms but finally involved only her and Hines. Sandra, the boyfriend, and mother were present – father having previously retired to
bed having consumed too much to drink. It was a strange kind of situation altogether and no one had seemed to feel at home. Apparently Hines acted badly but doesnt regret any of it. The boyfriend was working in a good job which wasnt his fault and he came from the English Home Counties which also wasnt his fault and he spoke with this fucking amazing English accent which also might not have been his fault but who can tell; one would require to know how the cunt's family, friends and neighbours conversed in order to settle the point. Anyway, that was irrelevant. What mattered was the wage (and Barbara's wage if it comes to that). It was an extraordinary piece of business. As an illustration of how Hines felt about it all he ventured that he might have to vomit when he saw the boyfriend being friendly to Paul. There was, of course, nothing wrong in being friendly to weans, doing your bit and so on, when they've become bored and tired in adult company. It was just a sharp sensation of nausea. He just didnt want the cunt playing with him – bad enough having to speak to him but imagine having your wee boy actually touched by the cunt, actually fucking touched; jesus christ, too much. It was nothing personal. Hines had explained how the thing was genuinely distanced from individuals as such. And to be honest, the boyfriend wasnt too bad a cunt. This is always the fucking trap. Hines was able to drink with him and shake hands with him at
the Bells
and the rest of it. But not for the actual future. That would have been too shameful.