Internal combustion? said Sheila.
Aye. He was a novelist but. I’m a playwright. Know what I mean, I’m involved in drama. Drama. Because according to yous pair I’m no, I’m a naval historian or some fucking thing, a compiler of Hollywood movie-star bio-pic photographs — mildly titillatory as well by the looks of these cover designs. But it’s the naval histories that are the worst, I’ve never been interested in them in all my entire puff. And in some ways I should take it as an insult that that’s what yous think of me because enormous tomes like this smack of an unhealthy fascination with the trammels of empire building and as you were so ready to point out a minute ago Alan, my concerns have aye been communistic at the very right of it, to put it fucking mildly.
Alan smiled. Ye aye had a good sense of humour as well.
Did I?
Aye.
You could’ve fooled me.
Well it must’ve been somebody else then.
Exactly.
Somebody awful like you.
Aye. Maybe the guy that saved up books on naval history for a hobby. And I stared at him so he knew I was not kidding. Behind him I could see Mr Moir who managed the bookshop gazing along at us. This was all I needed, my credibility destroyed completely. Look, I said, I would be grateful if yous took all these books out my arms and I’ll help yous return them to their proper places. Honest, this is like a bad dream.
I leaned closer to them both and whispered, It’s my favourite bookshop. I sometimes get reductions. . Aye, you’re right, the lassie at the desk does know that I write plays. I think she does honestly like me although I daresay she probably just expects me to die young or something and it’s romantic, like what she expects out of literature due to the influence of some totally fucking crazed teacher of English. She waits till Mister Moir goes off somewhere else and then I go up and get my purchases weighed in at maybe 33 and a third off.
Jammy bastard! whispered Alan. I knew that was how it’d be. You were exactly the same when you worked on the buses, that wee bird you were shagging over in Gartcraig Garage, mind?
I gaped at him.
I hate that word, Sheila was saying with her eyes closed, it’s really ugly.
I looked at her. Come on, my fucking arms are falling off. Get these fucking books off or else I’ll have sprained wrists — my tendons have been inflamed for years, fucking tynosinovitis.
Having sex with I meant to say. . said Alan to Sheila, Sorry love. . then he winked at me.
Everybody knew! said Sheila, smiling. When yous waited in the office for the last staff bus and then never sat the gether, and then yous aye got off two stops separate as if we didni know yous were going to run into a close as soon as our backs were turned and the bus was out of sight!
Randy buggers! winked Alan.
And then Sheila started that laugh she did — she was famous for it — a hoo a hoo a hoo, a hoo hoo hoo; that was the way she laughed, it would have drove you fucking potty.
Yous two are crazed eedjits, I said, that wee so-called bird you’re blethering about me shagging was Mary, the woman herself, her that walked out on me for this dirty evil bastard that she walked out on me for and I’m not a guy to go over the top, if you ever knew me at all you must at least credit me with that. And if her brothers get me I’m a dead man.
Her brothers. .?
Her brothers, aye.
Ye talking about McCulloch? said Alan.
What? I’m talking about Mary, my Mary, my fucking ex-wife — scabby bastard. Her team of brothers, I said, they’ve been after me for fucking weeks.
Aw her brothers. . Alan nodded, then frowned for a moment: Did they used to play for Brigton Garage?
Back in the bygone days, aye.
Dont start talking football, muttered Sheila.
Alan was watching me. If it’s the same ones I think it is then you’re in trouble.
Thanks.
Naw but I mean it, fucking bruisers they are, bad news.
Bad news, I know they’re bad news, they’re evil bastards, that’s what I’m saying. Christ almighty. And if I didni know I was so fucking paranoiac I would think yous were here plying me with these enormous big tomes just to weigh me down, because ye know her brothers are outside waiting to waylay me, hiding up a fucking close or something, and I’ll no be able to run.
That’s no funny, said Sheila.
I stared at the two of them. I could easily convince myself this was precisely what was happening. Here they were helping Mary’s brothers. It was a set-up. They were here to do me in. Bastards, I might have fucking known. Fate at last.
And I want to buy these books for you as well. . Sheila was saying, honestly James I mean it, as a present for old times’ sake. Especially if you and Mary are divorced. That’s a sin. When did it happen?
I studied her without saying a word. There was something up here and my memory was trying to warn me.
Eh?
I waited before giving her an answer. Five month ago. .
Five month ago! She shook her head. That’s hard to believe.
I kept on studying her.
Hard to believe. . she murmured, glancing at her man.
Mind you, I says, I would’ve thought you’d have knew already, being as how yous two were supposed to be so fucking close and all that Sheila, friends I’m talking about, you and Mary, confidantes and all that if I recollect certain parties we attended in a mutual capacity. And I’m talking about you as well Alan unless you’ve fucking spuriously forgot.
Listen, he said, and I’m being honest, if these headers are waiting outside then you’ll need all the help you can get. And I do mean handers James handers. Alright? That’s all I’m saying.
What?
You’ve got a hander, I’ll hander ye.
Thanks but no thanks.
Dont be daft.
I fight my own fucking battles.
My Alan’s a good fighter, said Sheila and she gave me a funny look.
I know he is. I’m just saying I fight my own battles, that’s all.
Sheila’s nose wrinkled: Well you aye did do didnt ye.
What’s that supposed to mean? I said. But I knew fine well the one thing it did mean; Sheila didni like me and probably never had liked me. She probably thought I had been a bad influence on Mary, because aye, the more I came to think about it, these two had definitely been close — whisper whisper whisper! Thick as fucking thieves was a better way of describing it.
Sheila was talking. And then she stopped talking, right in the middle of the sentence. As if maybe Alan had gave her a signal. I tried to think what it was she had said but I couldnt. The next thing Alan says: Come on and we’ll get you some more books James, especially now if this wife of mine’s going to be doing the buying. Ye know what like she is with money!
Naw, I said, no way, leave me alone, I want nothing to do with this.
The pair of them stared at me.
Cut it out, I says, whispering, and I glanced from them to the cashier’s desk and then to the exit, wondering if I could make a quick dash for freedom, beause there was definitely something no right about this. But there was Mr Moir watching me with a funny look on his countenance so I had to speak just to be seen to be acting naturally. I’m finished with all that personal stuff, I says to Sheila, trying to give her a smile but failing: I’m finished with it, women, yous just do my fucking nut in, I just canni work yous out at all.
Heh steady on, says Alan.
Steady on nothing, I says.
You’re a bad-tempered so and so, muttered Sheila, no wonder Mary left you for Tommy McCulloch.