The Busconductor Hines (35 page)

Sandra had been shopping; she was by the entrance turnstile when they came out, and Hines took some of her bags as they walked to the café. She was cheery, speaking about various things. She had redeemed his suit. In the café they ate bridies and beans accompanied with tea and a glass of orangeade for Paul. She asked if he was still going to the
Vale
after dropping him off at the nursery but he shook his head, there was no point.

Quite a crowd queued at the bus-stop. Complaints about the time they had been waiting; apparently no buses had passed for half an hour. He brought his tin out to roll a smoke but it was too windy and he returned it into his jerkin pocket. The first bus to arrive continued on beyond the stop, it halted at the traffic lights; the doors opened and three people got down onto the pavement. Those at the bus-stop were indignant. Sandra had grinned and turned away.

Another bus appeared, and behind it another could be seen. More complaints.

Before stepping aboard she gave him the remainder of the shopping bags. They waved to her as the bus moved off from the kerb. The traffic lights were showing green; the bus continued across the junction, round the bend in the road. Hines passed a couple of the lighter bags to the boy while they walked to the nursery. The Supervisor was standing in the corridor when they came to the cloakroom and Hines smiled to her, whispered cheerio to Paul. He rolled a cigarette in the doorway. A group of toddlers and three women approached from the street; he exchanged hellos with them while gathering the shopping bags and working their handles onto his wrists so that his hands were free.

Instead of going home immediately he crossed the road and went into the nearest pub and ordering a pint he walked to a table at the wall and dumped the bags on the floor there. Back at the bar the man serving nodded to him and commented on
the weather. Farther along a man named Michie was trying to attract his attention and when Hines acknowledged him with a nod he asked if it was his day-off. Hines smiled and said it was. He borrowed the
Daily Record
from the barman and took it back to the table; he read it until finishing his pint. A man was coming in as he was going out and held the door for him to pass.

Across the road a woman who lived up the next close asked how Sandra was keeping, she hadnt seen her for ages; she was in a hurry but gave him a cheery goodbye.

Upstairs he dumped the bags on the bed, switched on the television and the gas-fire, made a cup of coffee. The house was tidy. Eventually he dozed. Before leaving to collect Paul he drank another coffee.

At 5.30 he laid out the food. The whiting werent dressed. There was a packet of dressing in the kitchen-cabinet. He washed the potatoes and peeled them, washed them again and dried them. He put the chip-pan on to heat the fat then chipped the potatoes, occasionally whistling. When the last chip was in the pan he put on the shallow-frying pan to heat, put in the fish to cook on a slow gas. He wiped the pull-down section of the kitchen-cabinet, filled the kettle from the tap and set it to boil. Everything was ready by the time her key could be heard in the front door lock.

He had set the table. While Sandra and Paul settled themselves onto their chairs he laid the used utensils in the basin in
the sink and added washing-up liquid, he mixed in water from the tap, hot water from the kettle. When he sat down eventually a round cream sponge was lying in the centre of the table. Sandra smiled. Friday night.

Paul's method of eating fish is not a good one. Hines' grandfather passed on a better one to himself, his brother and his sister. The portions of fish are forked into the mouth: bones are ejected via the tongue. Hines' father used to scoff at this method. He preferred not eating fish. He wasted so much time rooting out bones with his knife and fork that it always went cold. Sandra didnt scoff but she preferred taking the bones out beforehand. Paul was following her. Hines had washed his plate and cutlery as well as other utensils before they had finished eating. Laying her cup of tea beside her plate on the table he carried his own to his armchair and sat down. He rolled a cigarette, gazing at the back page of the
Evening Times
she had brought home. After a time Sandra said, Why dont you go to the
Vale
Rab? find out what happened.

Ach . . . he shrugged. Then he sniffed. Actually I
was
thinking of going out; but I thought I would see the auld man.

Is that a good idea?

I'll be on my best behaviour.

Sandra continued clearing the table. It might be good if we all went – the three of us; it's a while since we've seen them.

He nodded.

We dont have to. It's just an idea.

Hines shook his head: He'll no be drinking in the Drum tonight; he'll be down in Partick, seeing his auld mates.

I thought he'd stopped it?

Nah, you know the way he goes, he takes spells. He'll be back there for two or three months. And then he'll get sick of it again, and stay local.

Sandra nodded. Still, she went on, I could go with Paul – I'm sure your mum could do with the company. We could see you later; you and your dad could just come back on the bus together.

Aw aye.

You dont fancy it?

Naw it's no that; it just seems a lot of bother.

Mm.

D'you fancy it yourself?

Not really. I just thought . . . She had poured him a second cup of tea. While handing it to him she smiled, I only suggested it because I thought it was a good idea. It's not important, it's just we havent seen them for a while. And I know the way you and him end up after a drink.

Healthy discussions!

Ha ha. As she sat down she added, I thought you would've been going to the
Vale
if you'd been going anywhere.

Ah well aye, to be honest, I was thinking I might head along there if the auld man wasnt to be found. He reached for the tobacco tin. Paul was laughing at something on television. A comedy programme. How was work by the way?

Sandra drew him a look.

Naw, I'm genuinely interested.

Well if you must know we were busy. By the way, Jean was asking if you were coming to the Christmas-do this year.

Was she?

Yes.

Hh.

Sandra smiled. Seriously Rab, I'd like you to come.

Aw christ.

You dont have to.

Naw, it's no that Sandra I just eh . . . he made a face.

Paul laughed again. The three of them watched the
programme for a period. Hines brought over his piece of sponge cake and ate it. He lifted the cigarette he had rolled from the top of his tin, and struck a match. When he exhaled he said, I'm going in for my shift the morrow morning. I've been thinking about it, it'd be daft no working the week's notice.

Sandra was looking at him.

Naw, I was just eh – I think it'd be daft. The cash and that I mean I'll be barred off the broo for 6 weeks and they'll send me up the S.S. And the money you're making, they'll just deduct it; so that'll be us, getting the absolute minimum. With Christmas coming up and the rest of it, he shook his head, we'll need the dough; that extra week'll make the difference. No think so?

She nodded.

It's a late week starting Sunday. He grinned. So I'll no be sleeping in. And no signing-off sick, I promise! Naw Sandra, it'll mean a full week's wages; plus with the Sunday and then next Saturday being a backshift, an additional 8 hours money. It'll help tide us over.

After a moment she said. It's your decision Rab.

Aw aye I know. He nodded. I know it is; naw, I just think it'd be daft not to.

Do you think they'll let you?

What d'you mean?

I thought you just walked out.

Aye . . . he leaned to flick ash into the ashtray.

Paul got up from the floor, he left the kitchen. The lavatory door opening and the click of the light switch.

Sandra was gazing at the television.

Hines coughed slightly, inhaled on the cigarette. His face screwed up as he exhaled. I'm trying to remember what exactly I said, when I was in with McGilvaray – I mean I said I was resigning but I dont think I said anything more than that. I
didnt actually say I was chucking it on the spot, I just eh . . . he sniffed and sat back on the armchair. He reached for his tea; it was lukewarm and he drank it all.

Paul came in. He knelt on his spot on the floor.

Then Sandra was looking at Hines, her eyebrows rose a moment and she smiled, then she looked back at the television.

About twenty minutes later he was shaved and wearing his suit, had a shirt on beneath his jersey. He walked downstairs, paused at the front of the close. Rain was falling steadily but not too heavily. He buttoned his jacket, upturning the lapels and collar, stepped out to the right, keeping tight into the wall of the tenement. Round the corner he began trotting, on beyond the stop for buses to the garage. It was a blue bus he boarded, he was going to Drumchapel.

Apart from the clusters of boys and girls hanging around in doorways the shopping centre was deserted. During the bus journey the rain had become heavier, then sleet. Outside the pub he unbuttoned his jacket and shook himself, using the sleeve to dry his face and forehead.

A blast of hot air when he entered, from a fan above the door. There was a space at the head of the bar directly beneath a colour television set which was attached to the wall: an old man had his elbow on the counter; he clutched a half-pint glass of beer, staring up at it; and he had to shift his position for Hines, his head twisting sideways so he could continue viewing.

Quite a few barmen served and soon he had a pint; he moved out from the space and stood as though he too was watching television. Later he bought another pint and walked towards
the far end of the pub where a large group gathered about a darts board. At one of the tables near to here Frank was sitting but at another table sat a man and woman he recognised, they lived up the hill and were acquainted with his parents. He went over to chat with them, he stayed for several minutes.

At the other table Frank introduced him to the company. He did know some of the faces and it turned out a couple had been to school with Andy while somebody else was wanting to know where Barbara was staying these days. Then Frank began speaking, talking about the old days, the carry-ons they used to get up to in the classroom along with Griff and Milligan and the rest, those long walks they used to go during the summer holidays – that time somebody stole his maw's frying pan and they cooked eggs but they stuck to the bottom cause there wasnt any lard.

Hines was included in the next round of drinks. Now and again somebody would have his name called from the darts area and would leave to chalk the score before playing the next winner. The conversation had become general; a discussion about how the rest of the night was to be spent, with some in favour of travelling into town to go to the dancing or something while others were wanting to stay put and maybe get a carry-out to go and play cards in somebody's house. Hines was asked what he was doing and he said he was going straight home, he had an early start in the morning. He finished the pint and refused the offer of another. He had to wait half an hour for a blue bus.

Through the close and up the stairs he paused on the first landing, he smoked a cigarette.

Sandra was reading. He walked to the sink and filled a kettle of water from the tap and put it to boil. He was saying how
his old man hadnt been in any of the usual places so he had just ended up going into the
Vale
; he met Barry McBride and a couple of others and they told him nothing had happened yesterday; but they hadnt spoken personally to the Shop Steward so maybe something was happening and they just hadnt heard.

He went ben the front room to change clothes. Paul was asleep. Back in the kitchen he waited for the kettle of water to boil then made a pot of tea.

A foreign film was beginning. Sandra had switched on the television for it. He passed her a cup of tea and sat down with his own.

Farquhar wasnt an angry driver but and that's the difference. Angry drivers are fucking hopeless man I'm no kidding ye – I mind I was on with a cunt and he smashed into a car on purpose, went smack right into the middle of it and the poor bastard inside came flying straight out the door and got flung yards away; the car turned a fucking circle, two circles. There were genuine reasons why the cunt should've been so angry but none for crashing – excuses I mean; no fucking excuses. And he was hell of a lucky the poor auld fucking injured party never died – although, right enough, he wouldnt've been done for dangerous driving let alone manslaughter or whatever the fuck. But he knew I knew he done it on purpose. And he never even fucking bothered man, just acted as if nothing had happened bar a bad accident of a crash. And being a smart conductor as usual I was
right out there capturing witnesses before the smoke had fucking settled. An accessory after the fact Willie, an accessory after the fact. Just as well I dont believe in guilty bastarn consciences. That poor bastard too, lying in the middle of the road, all twisted to fuck, legs and elbows everywhere. He was in the wrong. Because of where he had been when aforementioned incident occurred, to wit, with his car fucking bonnet poking out the side street, trying to bully people into letting him out onto the main drag. A right fucking imbecile! But still, no reason for crashing into him. No kidding ye man it never pays to get angry on a bus. Once that starts you're bang in trouble; you've got to take it calmly, calmly calmly calmly.