Mo said she was quirky (25 page)

The ogler was the opposite. He had nothing.

He was so not her type, my God. And if one person felt that
way then the other must also, they must know something, if there is not a single solitary spark, just the exact opposite, the opposite of a ‘spark’. And surely if it is as strong as that my God!

Helen sighed. The Inspector would have noticed. Is there a problem? Yes, I am tired!

Split aces, doubling up. A player had halted proceedings and was waiting on her. His English was bad but he knew the game. She reached to sort out the bet. He nodded but not in approval; it was as if she had made a mistake and he had corrected it.

Between him and the ogler. And ‘wealthy woman’ had been at her table earlier. Helen called her that. It was her own name for the woman. Her man was the gambler, he played roulette and she kept out his way. She wasnt friendly. She didnt have to be.

Where did the money come from? What had her man ever done in the world? Unless it was her; she could have been something.

Then the ones who were there and werent there. That was how they acted, even like texting, and the cards were there and waiting; the game held up for them. So cool, just so cool. Money didnt matter, sitting at your table but like they were someplace else, gazing across to the other tables or over to the lounge or the bathroom or the exit, or a girl walking by with a tray of drinks or if a slot-machine was paying out. Anything at all, like they had no interest in the cards, fingering their cigarette packet. If they wanted to go out for a smoke why didnt they? Even when another player glanced at his watch, they looked at him doing it. Imagine looking at somebody looking at a watch. Was that not weird? What does that say about boredom? They wanted to be someplace else but here they were stuck in a casino, oh well, so they just had to sit at a table and gamble their money. Perhaps they were insomniacs. They only
came because they couldnt sleep and were fed up with all-night television. Where else could they go? But did they have to go anywhere? Why didnt they stay at home and read a book? Or get on with the damn housework; they could do a wash or a pile of ironing. If people needed something to do Helen would give them the key to her door and they could go and do her ironing.

She didnt smile at the thought. But if she had. If she laughed aloud. They would all wonder about that. Some wouldnt like it. Dealers laughing. It wasnt encouraged. What were they laughing at? Weeks ago an elderly man caused a disturbance about this; he didnt like ‘croupiers laughing’! You fucking smug bastards! He shouted it across the floor. All because they were laughing. And they were only laughing about something silly. It was nothing to do with him losing his money, or about anybody losing their money. Croupiers dont laugh when people lose their money, not even the ones they dislike. Anyway, not openly. And if it was an okay subject to laugh about then laugh, but quietly. Dont make a fuss. People dont want a fuss, not unless it is a jackpot, everybody crowding round, then it is okay.

The most smiling Helen did was to herself. Usually it went with what she was thinking. Or if she found something funny.

Then if other people didnt. It wasnt her fault.

Mainly it was silly things. Quirky things. Others didnt see the fun, so then if she had to explain it didnt seem funny at all. You just smiled to see it the first time. It wouldnt be funny if you were telling it because it wasnt happening, it was just you telling about it happening. Mo said she had a weird sense of humour. What was weird about that? Some things were funny and some things werent. Comedians on television were supposed to be funny but they werent. Most of them spoke nonsense. They had an easy life and brought other people
down; that was how they got their laughs. They stood on the platform acting cool like in their smart outfits, clever clever and laughing at everything, laughing at people. Helen didnt like that. It was daft actions made her laugh, clowns from the circus. They were truly funny. Really, they were, and it was like
real
fun. Old black and white films too. They showed them in the morning so if you couldnt sleep you turned on the telly and that is what it was. Sophie at school and Mo out someplace. Helen could lie on the chair and enjoy them, like with the blanket over, just doze off, it was so so relaxing. She read through the coming movies for the week in the Sunday paper and drew a line round the ones that appealed. Mo said she was ‘quirky’. Okay if she was. So that was another one, if she was ‘quirky’, she didnt care.

She stacked the deck, handed the marker to the next player in line: the ogler. Who else? Ogling her boobs. Oh well, yes, of course. Letting the gaze linger long enough for her to know what he was doing. Because he
wanted
her to know. It wasnt enough to ogle, they needed
you
to know.

They look at you and do what they want, if they want to smile and laugh at you they can. It is the easiest thing in the world because like you are trapped. Except you have your clothes on so let them look and just get on with it. Contempt is what Helen felt for them. And any women at the table because if they see it happening why do they not help? If one man gets you they all can.

She needed away. This is what she needed. She had too much going on in her life anyway, what did it matter, horrors like him, she had just so much, so so much, being stuck here, she didnt want to be and even thinking about home and sighing at the table, apropros nothing, just sighing. Sophie was asleep long ago. Azizah too, home in her own house, long ago; she remembered things and was responsible, and a bright girl
and just really responsible, she was, they were so so lucky to get her.

The bugger was pretending to be caught like with his hand to his chest, Who me? Infantile behaviour, yes, but more than that he was in control, and she was the one being controlled. Exactly, of course, so so obvious, so so obvious, she was a woman and she was the employee; so there it was twice; he was not only a man but a customer; he had bought the right to control. She would have been as well a prostitute. Bought and sold by Mr Ogle. Mr Ogle. He was whispering into his mate’s ear. Guys like him usually had mates. Otherwise he wouldnt have been doing it. It was a show-off sham and that is all he was.

He whispered loudly enough to be heard by her and the other players. He used a stagey Scottish voice to make a fool of her and make a fool of Scotland. She ignored it. Once upon a time she smiled at that stuff. Not now. Others would have slapped his face and criticised Helen for letting him get away with it. Mum was one; oh yes, Mum. Although ignorant of the entire proceedings. Nothing about any of it. That is what she knew, nothing. Bloody damn all, except how to be critical, if it was Helen. Oh yes, if it was Helen, Mum would have given her the ‘look’ with that tut tut thing she did then the sigh. That was her like just so so – and she knew nothing at all about casinos, and about working in England, nothing, nothing at all. Had she even been in England? She didnt know a single solitary thing about any of it but when it came to being critical my God, if it was Helen, that was a bandwagon. Helen was sick of it. If that was ‘family’, what did it mean, blood and water, it was just nothing, only what you made it like if you made it important it was important, if you didnt you didnt. What kind of family did they ever have? Dad was Dad and oh God

you could never escape

And her tummy. She just felt – horrible, why did she feel so horrible? and suddenly too. She hadnt been feeling it before. Because of him, it was him, dirty ogling thing that he was. He shifted on his chair, swivelling to speak directly into the ear of his mate who stood a little to the rear and was craning his head forwards to listen. They laughed quietly, heads bowed.

What else but her? Their little snidey comments. What did it matter? horrible comments, it didnt matter. Because she didnt care. She
so
didnt care, like if they were who they were and she was who she was, really she just did not care, she really didnt, she so so didnt, if she lost the damn job she would just lose it, putting up with this, she would slap his bloody face, in a minute she would, what did they think she couldnt fight? she was from bloody Glasgow, she would just bloody

dirty ogling thing.

So if the Inspector was watching, so what? she would still slap him. Helen knew exactly what he was up to because men like him made sure of that. She was only a poor wilting female under the power of these so truly dominating powerful men like they were so so very powerful, they just reduced her to a shrinking violet, my God, if it was not so pathetic; she would have, she would have laughed in their face, it made you so angry; sometimes it did. Because it was always there, that was girls, having to put up with it, having to cope with it, how do they cope with it? however do they cope with it?

She gathered in the discards from the last round, raising her head for a moment; the ogler was in her line of vision. Know thine enemy.

‘Louts’ was a good word. Thinking of this pair as opposed to somebody like the mad doctor, as a for-instance. He ‘looked’. Of course he did. Jill was wrong about that. Perhaps he didnt look at her but he did look at Helen and it was not boasting to
say it. What did she care if he looked or not? Not if it was like normal man and woman. He was a gentleman and it was only a natural thing. Men did look, of course they did. And that was nice, it was nice they did, if it was only that. Who is going to worry about that? Never. Men look. So do women. Women look too. So ha ha there. If men dont think they do, they do, women look at men.

Helen had shuffled the cards. The ogler grasped the marker. Helen had given him it. She had had to look at him directly. That was fine, that was easy. He tried to hold her gaze while inserting it into the deck of cards, thrusting it in. As unsubtle as a horse. He even resembled a horse. An ugly one, some are nice; horses.

She split the deck, returned it to the shoe, ruffling and smoothing down the cards; even individually cards could stick, they didnt always slide; why was that? dirt or grit, sweat; sweaty palms; or just bending the cards. Helen didnt like to see that. Although it was nervous, punters got nervous and
fiddled
. A dealer she knew in Glasgow gave them a row: Dont fiddle, you’re bending the damn cards! Management gave the dealer into trouble. The money they lose they could buy the whole damn card factory.

The ogler was still watching her. Cool, he said.

So he was only admiring her expertise. Helen turned her head from him in a move, almost as though she hadnt heard him. His mate had the decency to look away. It would have been nice to laugh in his face. But it wouldnt stop him staring. ‘Leering’ was a good word. He had bought the right because he was at her table. He was a ‘leerer’. No, ‘ogler’ was better.

He even had sweaty lips! Imagine! Helen couldnt, thank God. Why would she want to? Sweaty lips. It made her
groo
, the very idea. How ridiculous they were, some of them anyway, just so ridiculous; gross. Helen smiled. She would have
called it a smile. She thought of it as one, like smiling without smiling, without moving a muscle. It was her own smile, it was only for herself she was doing it. Her actual face was expressionless. She wouldnt have allowed them the satisfaction, that was how little the oglers of this world meant to her. Although it could irritate. Of course it could. She concealed the irritation but not herself feeling it because she did feel it and she did think about it; so it did get to her

oh God, she was tired.

Although it was true, these people tried to hurt you. And they succeeded. They did. With her they did. Nowadays they did. All they had was money and they spent it gambling. Okay, a surgeon, he was different. But other ones? They werent scientists or faith healers or whoever, great actors, statesmen, they hadnt done anything, yet expected to act however they wanted, just like how they
felt
, like they had the right, going into a casino and treating everybody who worked there as though they were nothing. So so arrogant. They looked down on you. Some did. In their eyes you were funny; even they mimicked your voice. Oh it is just fun. Yes for them, nobody else. Mo didnt like her talking about it and he was right. It should have been water off a duck’s back but it wasnt. It used to be. Not now. Now it was everything, she felt everything. That was the problem. Helen’s problem. Too sensitive. She was. She should have been more of a tortoise. Was it the tortoise had the big shell? Something anyway, like with tough skins. That was what she needed, a leather skin, a hide. That was good, a ‘hide’, so you were hiding underneath it. It was an attitude people adopted in casinos. They thought they were something, and what were they really? Not anything. Only they acted like they were. The women were as bad, if not worse. Some of them. They had that hardness about them, they were tough. Helen had forgotten how tough. Perhaps it was worse in London.
They would eat you up then crunch your bones, just like whatever, they would crunch them. It was like

what?

What was it like?

Her brains were scattered. This happened dealing cards, you were in your own wee world till something dragged you back. It could be a simple matter like a man looking at his watch. Or the way he was looking at you – not ogling, looking – choo choo, where was your head and where your brains? scrambled, the train of thought. ‘Real’ gamblers are not supposed to ‘look’: not at dealers. All they see is the cards. Nothing else interests them. People say that. But it isnt true, not in Helen’s experience. They sip at their drink and above the rim of the glass their eyes glint, watching. Not dirty old men either like if they happen to be old at all, and a lot arent. The ogler wasnt. He was early thirties, at the most.

Women watched too, and it wasnt freaky. They saw how you reacted to males. If it was a guy like the ogler, how did Helen handle him? There was a woman from Eastern Europe or someplace and she had that interest. Helen imagined her a spy or an undercover detective; she had quite a sharp demeanour and like her eyes too, seeing everything, they did, you felt that, and she never smiled. Even if Helen smiled she didnt smile back, and it wasnt a ‘professional’ smile like if she thought it was, perhaps she did think that. People have strange ideas. She acted as though she had never sat down at Helen’s table before. Some were like that. They didnt want you thinking they were regular gamblers.