Even the busker, sounding so professional and so so accomplished, really, and yet here he was at the foot of the escalator, trapped, it was like slavery. Imagine his girlfriend, she would be so so angry, and no wonder my God such a fine musician condemned to this, is this all he would get from life?
It didnt matter about the Big Issue but she gave the woman the money, the same woman. Sometimes three nights in a week. She didnt look too grateful. Some do and some dont; different at different times. Everybody has a bad day, they cant always be cheery. ‘Have a nice day,’ and what is theirs? And if they were too grateful. For Helen it was like why? why should they have been? Did they think you were something? like if she was rich. Because people dress in a certain way doesnt mean they are rich, if they thought that. Helen might have had a job but that didnt make her rich either for God sake who would think that?
There was a wee old gypsy woman sold it too. She might not have been a gypsy. Just a wee woman and old. Where did she come from? Where did she go? What happens to people? It was like a dream or a figment. Was she ever there in the first place! A wee round woman and quite plump. How could she be plump if she had no food? sitting on the pavement; small and round and you thought about grandchildren and she would have been making a big pot of soup and kids would be home from school and having a laugh and she would make them all sit down and ladle them out the soup, that was her, near Leicester Square, her back to the wall. Big Issue. Nobody wanted it; nobody in the entire world. Helen had the image, her sitting there my goodness why was she smiling? she was always smiling and it was almost like unpleasant. Helen didnt like seeing her, and no wonder, going where she was going, gamblers gambling, and the winers and diners and money and jewellery flashing about. You saw the anger there too; sometimes you did. People just looked at you and just like oh you had money and they didnt. That was the attitude and they were so wrong, so so wrong.
Helen entered the casino via the main entrance lobby, downstairs to the cloakroom. Here the staff area was linked through a side door. The restroom was known as the ‘green room’ as though it was the theatre or television. It irritated one of the older women because she had been an actress. Helen could sympathise, but not too much. Casinos were part of the entertainment industry. And they had their own ‘uniforms’, the sexee ladee frocks, so they were actresses too. And the boys in their wee mauve waistcoats and black bowties, just silly, although they looked nice, quite manly, or else camp; both at once, appealing to the women and the men.
She was glad she had taken the tube for the extra twenty minutes; just being able to relax, my God. This evening was different, different but not different. She had no idea and no plan but something was going to happen. She knew it was. And she was going to do it, at the end of the shift. She was. She knew she was, and felt quite level-headed. If that is what it was, ‘level-headed’, just like relaxed, and her mind too, so so relaxed.
It wasnt true she had no idea or plan; only that she hadnt worked it out. She knew it was going to happen; something, whatever.
If she had walked from Charing Cross she would have got soaked. Not soaked, but wet. Only it wouldnt have been pleasant, not for a walk; walking was a pleasure and this evening it wouldnt have been. So it was a good decision. She could make them! good decisions. Not if you believed her ex, that was the last thing, any decision. You were seen and not heard, that was women. A dealer she knew so lost it with her husband she tried to stab him with a bread knife but his chest was like so so bony the knife bounced off. ‘Bony bastard’, that was what she called him. One of these ‘Glasgow women’. That was how Helen thought of them.
Although she was one herself; and felt that she was. Oh well, if that meant a fighter, thank God. But was she? Sometimes she wasnt, like not a real Glasgow woman, she was just
what was she?
Oh God, she didnt know, she didnt know, just whoever, whoever she was.
So weird. But minds are weird. Mo would have laughed at her saying that but it was true. Men acted ‘differently’. Men ‘rationalised’, women acted on ‘impulse’. Men ‘thought’ it through whereas women didnt. So they said, if you believed them because it was them saying it; at the same time giving themselves a pat on the back. That was men, stealing compliments at the slightest opportunity.
But even ‘it’, what did ‘it’ mean, they thought ‘it’ through? it was just stupid, it was like thinking of the thing before it happened but how could they? they werent God, men werent God — they only thought they were.
The door opened. Michel came in; a Belgian man, he was older, he gave a little wave, cheery. Helen was finishing a cup of tea. Others had already arrived, including Jill. Nobody was talking. A listings magazine lay on a nearby chair opened at the classifieds. Helen began browsing. She needed new curtains. They had to be thick, the ones she had werent thick enough. Old ones Mo got from somebody but so like thin a material the light came through, so how could you sleep? you could not sleep. Furniture too, if ever she got her own place and unfurnished so she could do it however she wanted, just however, her and Sophie, and real bedrooms, Sophie would have a real one, it would be wonderful, so wonderful.
An Inspector had moved in behind her chair. Helen was collecting the discards. She wished she could kick off her shoes. It was a silly rule that dealers werent allowed. Nobody would have noticed unless lying on their back beneath the table. Except the ‘odour’. Management dont care for ‘odours’. Of course the place already had one, according to a card tacked up on the ‘green room’ noticeboard: ‘essence of greedy bastard’ mixed with ‘sweaty body’.
When gambling people are forced to wait. They have no choice. Occasionally somebody shivers. Two men once bet on how long it took her to shuffle and deal the next hand. It wasnt a criticism. Now a guy was looking straight at her. Why shouldnt he have been she was the dealer and it was allowed.
She finished shuffling the cards, handed the marker to the player whose turn it was to cut. If there was a smell she barely noticed it. Most places have a smell. Such is life. Think of dogs. Not only a smelclass="underline" a look, a feel and a sound. That is what life is, if you dont like it.
Her right forefinger was tapping the baize where a bet was to be placed. She dealt:
a card a card a card, a card a card a card: and one for the bank, a ten.
A card a card a card, a card a card a card. Pause.
Card card stay, card bust, stay, card bust, stay, stay. Ten to the ten.
Helen raked in the chips and onwards:
a card a card a card, a card a card a card, and one for the bank, a seven.
A card a card a card, a card a card a card. Pause.
The same guy looking. She didnt care for the way he was doing it, that smile; no, she didnt care for it.
The Inspector had moved from behind Helen’s chair but was watching her when she glanced in his direction. Inspectors have to ‘watch’, that is their job. Dealers as well as punters. If she fell asleep! Imagine, head lolling, that would be her. There were times she got tired, and she could have slept, certainly, just like dozed off in the middle of everything. Imagine the punters, their lucky day, reaching across for the chips. Would anybody waken her up in case she got fired? Yes, some generous soul. They werent all horrors; far from it. But when had the ogler sat down? she hadnt noticed till she saw him looking.