Glasgow Student Short Story Prize 2009

Judged by A.L. Kennedy
Edited by Elisabeth Ingram, Rebecca CF Bradburd and Jose Velazquez

'He Wasn't Half Late'

The sun was half-oot, half-hiding behind the only cloud in the muddy sky; it wis raining for weeks but suddenly stopped.

    A sat oan the roof ae ma late brother’s tenement building, oan the edge, after clearing out aw his shit A knew would get left fir weeks. A had wan black bin bag to show fir ma day aff work and held it, dangled it like a deid body o’er the street four stories doon. A had a litre bottle of cider tae- already half-cut. Across the road, half the flats were fir sale, the other half bulging wae overcrowded immigrants. Decorations overlapped on the walls. A small passage of sun reflected dust from mirrors on the way back out the window. It made me think how empty ma brother Lenny’s place already wis before A got there, how lifeless the walls wur, how the paint wis peeling.

    A felt like A wis fishing up the Clyde- where there’s nae fish- just waiting fir something or someone. The air became dense and thick; like being under the watter. Time slowed. Voices rose up. They were cummin fae the street and didnae half catch ma attention. ‘Top ae the league’ and ‘Motherwell are still pish’ were the only things A could make sense ae. Oh, and then came the laughs. Everybody loves tae huv a good laugh in Glasgow. No matter whit. A heard a door b-bang a loud echo. A put two and two thigether and guessed that the two jokers lived in this very building, where Lenny used tae. A mean they shared walls, floors and a front door wae him and they couldn’t gee a flying fuck, really. Rude bunch ae pricks. Not once did they say ‘awrite’, or ‘see ye’ last time A wis here. Lenny once said ‘Ignorance is bliss; but so is listening and pretending not to, everyone thinks you’re happy, and so are they’.

    A hated that smug smile. But at least A told him so, and that made him smile even more… smart-arse. Bastard wis always right.

    Our da wis a joiner. Christ…the money in that game. Came in fae work filthy and black every day ae the week but naebody washes that dirt aff better than the papered queen wae her fat smiling face.

    If our folks wur still here Lenny would never have stayed in that peely-wally hoose. They’d huv had ‘em livin’ back wae them. Always on the go but, Lenny, always climbing a fuckin’ ladder even if he knows he’ll faw aff. Even if he knows. And he did. A few times, know? Got back up, back tae work somewhere else. Smart-arse. A never got oan a fuckin’ ladder, Av seen they insurance adverts, cunts fawin’ aff aw the time. Some cunt breaks their ankle then takes six and a half weeks aff an office job. (No kiddin’. Broo money in hand, odd jobs every odd month. Quiet life).

    The sun began to leave its hiding place as it neared midday; drifting from the lonely cloud to its peak in the sky.

    Ma brother’s street wis never mobbed, but the corner shops were always busy. Wee bit a shopping; smokers on their tea; and delivery vans, always parked on double yella lines when there’s spaces a few yairds back.

    Cannae beat fresh air and cider though, a day aff work on yer late brother’s roof. When A finished the bottle A put it in the bag. A watched a white van man flick oan the auld hazard lights. He sat there reading a paper. Double. Yellow. Lines. I was so annoyed I felt a b-bit sick.

    Missin’ somebody close doesn’t half put things intae perspective. It makes every wee thing stick out and wave at ye. Everyone looks ye in the eye and tells ye where you can go.

    The sun was not hiding anymore either. The street now sharp with new shadows.

    Bright sore and stinging, every sun ray wis mocking ma life and how ma brother never complained like this. Never.

    He never complained that he once had a shit life in a shit house in a shite neighbourhood. Last thing he ever said to me wis ‘you take things far too seriously’. Lets huv an example…

    Can of coke, fifty pee? nae bother! Was it ma fault Abdul got my change wrong? He even gave me that innocent martyr look when a lost ma cool and kicked his fridge full a Scottish drinks. A don’t mind telling ye A felt like a wee fuckin’ school boy when the bell above the shop door rang when A stormed oot.

    Mibbe that’s why he’s where he is now. Ma fucking tempers. They’re probably the reason Am alone in a cooncil hoose ten minutes walk fae the city centre— five minutes in a bus. Aye, talk about things getting put into perspective, (A could see it aw, nae taped up glass, nothing).

    Ma bum wis getting cold, my legs stiff and tired. A cannae hack wasting ma time over Lenny. Just wan time, fir ma sake, A tried really hard to calm doon. Aw the noise fae that corner turned intae a wee whisper. Nice thoughts washed over ma heid like a nice mornin’ shower and A felt better. A felt good.

    Then, just like that, A goat that feelin’ ye get when ye buy a new pair a sannies and plop… right in a fuckin’ puddle.

    The silence broke.

    The calmness fucked off.

    An engine roared roon the far corner then stopped right below me, ticking. Fae his new car he got fae his new job that got him his new hoose, Lenny stepped out and looked up, waving. ‘Lenny’, A thought, ‘ye want a ladder to get up here ya prick?’

    All that fucking money. How can somebody be so rich if they’re always fucking late.