Also by James Kelman
Novels
The Busconductor Hines
A Chancer
A Disaffection
How Late It Was, How Late
Translated Accounts
You have to be careful in the Land of the Free
Kieron Smith, boy
Mo said she was quirky
Short Story Collections
An old pub near the Angel
Short Tales from the Night Shift
Not not while the giro
Greyhound for Breakfast
The Burn
Busted Scotch (selected stories, USA only)
The Good Times
Prezivljanje preživlijane (selected stories, Slovenia only)
If it is your life
A Lean Third
Drama
Hardie and Baird & Other Plays
Essays
Some Recent Attacks: Essays Cultural & Political
“And the judges said . . .”
The characters in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons,
living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Catapult
catapult.co
First published in Great Britain in 2016 by Canongate Books Ltd.
Copyright © 2016 by James Kelman
All rights reserved
ISBN: 978-1-936787-50-0
Catapult titles are distributed to the trade by
Publishers Group West
Phone: 800-788-3123
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016944752
Printed in the United States of America
987654321
for
Kenny Glenaan
Tony Slater Ling and Dirk Powell.
Contents
It was half five in the morning when his father wakened him. Murdo lay in bed an extra few minutes. There was a lot to think about. But that was all, thinking; he finished the packing yesterday. Soon he was up and downstairs for breakfast. Dad had eaten his and was doing the last-minute check to electric switches and gas taps, water taps and window snibs. In a couple of hours’ time people would be going to school. Murdo and his father were going to America.
Then they were off, walking down over the hill and on down to the ferry terminal, Dad pulling his suitcase, Murdo a step behind, rucksack on his shoulders. Dad had wanted him to bring a suitcase too but what a nightmare that would have been.
It was a good morning, fresh and new-feeling. An old neighbour and his dog were returning from the newsagent. He saw their luggage and was ready to stop for a chat. He told long stories and Murdo quite liked listening but just now there was no time. Murdo gave him a wave. Dad had barely noticed the old guy anyway. Father and son carried on down to the pier.
A guy Murdo knew was by the entrance to the ferry terminal. His young brother had been in Murdo’s class at school. The guy was working and there was no time to blether. The early morning ferries were busy. People crossed to the mainland on a daily basis to get to their work. Murdo’s father was one of those and must have recognised a couple of the passengers but he didnt nod to any of them, not that Murdo saw. Dad didnt talk much anyway. As soon as they sat down he brought out his book and began reading. Murdo sat thinking about stuff. If anybody had asked what about he wouldnt have known. All sorts and everything. Soon he got up to go outside. I’m just going out a minute, he said.
Dad nodded and continued reading.
Murdo had made this ferry crossing a million times but it was still enjoyable. He leaned on the barrier seeing down towards the island of Cumbrae. Next thing they would be flying over it. But they would hardly see it because it came so close on the take-off. Murdo had only been on a plane once before, for a holiday in Spain. So that was twice, there and back. All he remembered was a happy time. What made it so happy? He stopped the thought. But it was not even a thought. The image from a photograph. His mother and sister were there.
When Murdo thought of “his family” that was what he thought about. The family was four and not just him and Dad. Mum died of cancer at the end of spring. This followed the death of Eilidh, his sister, seven years earlier from the same disease, if
