James Kelman - How Late It Was, How Late: A Novel

Contents

About the Book

A passionate, scintillating, brilliant song of a book Independent

Sammys had a bad week his wallets gone, along with his new shoes, hes been arrested then beaten up by the police and thrown out on the street and hes just gone blind. He remembers a row with his girlfriend, but she seems to have disappeared. Things arent looking too good for Sammy, and his problems have hardly begun.

As uplifting a novel as one could ever hope to read Sunday Telegraph

About the Author

James Kelman was born in Glasgow in 1946. His books include Not not while the giro, The Busconductor Hines, A Chancer and Greyhound for Breakfast , which won the 1987 Cheltenham Prize. His novel A Disaffection won the James Tait Black Memorial Prize and was shortlisted for the Booker Prize. How Late it Was, How Late , won the Booker Prize in 1994. His collection of short stories The Burn , won a Scottish Arts Council book award. James Kelman lives in Glasgow.

OTHER WORKS BY JAMES KELMAN

An old pub near the Angel, and other stories

Three Glasgow Writers (with Tom Leonard and Alex Hamilton)

Short Tales from the Nightshift

Not not while the giro, and other stories

The Busconductor Hines

Lean Tales (with Agnes Owens and Alasdair Gray)

A Chancer

Greyhound for Breakfast

A Disaffection

Hardie and Baird & Other Plays

The Burn

Some Recent Attacks: Essays Cultural and Political

The Good Times

Translated Accounts

And the Judges Said

You Have to Be Careful in the Land of the Free

Alasdair Gray, Tom Leonard, Agnes Owens
and Jeff Torrington
are still around,
thank christ

YE WAKE IN a corner and stay there hoping yer body will disappear, the thoughts smothering ye; these thoughts; but ye want to remember and face up to things, just something keeps ye from doing it, why can ye no do it; the words filling yer head: then the other words; theres something wrong; theres something far far wrong; yere no a good man, yere just no a good man. Edging back into awareness, of where ye are: here, slumped in this corner, with these thoughts filling ye. And oh christ his back was sore; stiff, and the head pounding. He shivered and hunched up his shoulders, shut his eyes, rubbed into the corners with his fingertips; seeing all kinds of spots and lights. Where in the name of fuck

He was here, he was leaning against auld rusty palings, with pointed spikes, some missing or broke off. And he looked again and saw it was a wee bed of grassy weeds, that was what he was sitting on. His feet were back in view. He studied them; he was wearing an auld pair of trainer shoes for fuck sake where had they come from he had never seen them afore man auld fucking trainer shoes. The laces werenay even tied! Where was his leathers? A new pair of leathers man he got them a fortnight ago and now here they were fucking missing man know what Im saying, somebody must have blagged them, miserable bastards, what chance ye got. And then left him with these. Some fucking deal. Unless they thought he was dead; fair enough, ye could see that, some poor cunt scratching himself and thinking, Naybodys there, naybodys there; so why no just take them, the guys dead, take them, better that than them just sitting there going to waste, disintegrating christ sake why no just take them. Fucking bastard he should have checked properly. Maybe he did; and saw he wasnay dead after all so he just exchanged them, stuck on the trainer shoes.

Fuck it. He shook his head and glanced up the way: people there was people there; eyes looking. These eyes looking. Terrible brightness and he had to shield his own cause of it, like they were godly figures and the light coming from them was godly or something but it must just have been the sun high behind them shining down ower their shoulders. Maybe they were tourists, they might have been tourists; strangers to the city for some big fucking business event. And here they were courtesy of the town council promotions office, being guided round by some beautiful female publicity officer with the smart tailored suit and scarlet lips with this wee quiet smile, seeing him here, but obliged no to hide things; to take them everywhere in the line of duty, these gentlemen foreigners, so they could see it all, the lot, it was probably part of the deal otherwise they werenay gony invest their hardwon fortunes, that bottom line man sometimes its necessary, if yere a businessman, know what Im talking about. So fair enough, ye play yer part and give them a smile, so they can tell ye know a life different to this yin where what ye are is all

where what ye are, that its part of another type of whole, that they know well cause theyve been telt about it by the promotional events organisers. So municipal solidarity man know what Im saying, the bold Sammy gets to his feet. Then he knelt to knot the laces on the trainers, kidding on he wasnay shaking for fuck sake he was wearing his good trousers! There was stains down them. How come he was wearing the good trousers man fucking bastard where the hell was his jeans! Ah fuck come on, get a grip. Up and walking, up and walking; showing here he wouldnay be stumbling, he wouldnay be toppling, he was fine, he was okay, he was doing it, the bold Sammy, he was doing it, he was on his way, he was fucking going places; and he moved on and around down the lane; and a guy here looking at him too! How come they were all fucking looking at him? This yin with his big beery face and these cunning wee eyes, then his auld belted raincoat, shabby as fuck; he was watching; no watching but fucking staring, staring right into Sammy christ maybe it was him stole the leathers. Fuck ye! Sammy gave him a look back then checked his pockets; he needed dough, a smoke, anything, anything at all man he needed some fucking thing instead of this, this staggering about, like some fucking down-and-out winey bastard. He caught sight of the tourists again. Only they werenay tourists, no this time anyway they were sodjers, fucking bastards, ye could smell it; even without the uniforms. A mile away. Sammy knew them, ye can aye tell, their eyes; if ye know these eyes then ye aye see them, these kind of eyes, they stay with ye. And he even fuck he thought he knew them personally from somewhere, who knows.

But he had decided. Right there and then. It was here he made the decision.

And he was smiling; the first time in days. Know what Im saying, the first time in days, he was able to smile. Fuck them. Fuck them all. He settled the jacket back on his shoulders, tugging it down at the front, checked to see if he was wearing a tie course he wasnay wearing a tie. He gave his elbows and the arse of his trousers a smack to get rid of any dirt, and felt a big damp patch where he had been sitting. Who cares. He was smiling again, then he wiped it off, and he followed behind them, hands in his trouser pockets, until they stopped for a wee reccy; and he got into them immediately; and ye could see they didnay like it; them in their civvy clobber man they didnay like it:

Heh mate I need a pound. I dont like asking. Sammy shrugged. Being honest, its cause I was on the bevy last night; fuck knows what happened except Ive done the dough. I had my wages too and theyre gone, some bastards fucking robbed me I think. Ye dont know whos walking the streets these days. Know what Im talking about, nowadays, yere no safe walking the streets.

But these sodjers man if yere no a fucking millionaire or else talk with the right voice, they dont give a fuck.

The guy nearest Sammy looked a bit puzzled by this irritating behaviour; he squinted at his mate for a second opinion. So Sammy got in fast and controlled: Naw, he said, being honest, I had the wages and went straight into the boozer with a couple of mates; and one thing led to another; I woke up in the outer limits somewhere ye need twenty-two buses to get back home, know what I mean, wild! That was the early hours this morning; all I had was the fare back into the city. And I need to get home, the wife, shell be going fucking mental, shell be cracking up. What day is it by the way?