James Kelman was shortlisted for the Booker Prize in 1989 with A Disaffection, which also won the James Tait Black Memorial Prize for Fiction. He went on to win the Booker Prize five years later with How Late It Was, How Late, before being shortlisted for the Man Booker International Prize in 2009 and 2011. Both Dirt Road and That Was a Shiver were shortlisted for the Saltire Fiction Book of the Year in 2016 and 2017.
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 Dirt Road
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 The Good Times If it is Your Life A Lean Third
Drama Hardie and Baird: the Last Days (BBC radio & theatre) The Busker (theatre) In the Night (theatre) One, two – hey! (theatre) The Art of the Big Bass Drum (BBC radio) How Late It Was, How Late (WDR German radio) Spanner in the Works (WDR German radio) They Make These Noises (theatre) Herbal Remedies (theatre)
Essays Some Recent Attacks: Essays Cultural & Political And The Judges Said. . .
That
Was a
Shiver
and Other Stories
James Kelman
Published in Great Britain in 2017 by Canongate Books Ltd,
14 High Street, Edinburgh EH1 1TE
This digital edition first published in 2017 by Canongate Books
Copyright © James Kelman, 2017
The moral right of the author has been asserted
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available on request from the British Library
ISBN 978 1 78689 092 4
eISBN 978 1 78689 091 7
Typeset in Bembo by Palimpsest Book Production Ltd,
Falkirk, Stirlingshire
for
Gill Coleridge
CONTENTS
Human Resources Tract 2: Our Hope in Playing the Rules
OH THE DAYS
AHEAD
Andy’s hand was on her shoulder and maybe he squeezed a little, but the lower part of his body was against her and he was still hard. He had the boxers on and she wore pants but she still must have felt it, of course she would have and shifted from him. She seemed asleep but maybe not. But her breathing. She was awake. He raised the quilt and settled on his back, arms by his side. He was happy to lie there. Yes he was tired but he would hardly sleep now. That was that, and he had to go to work, sooner or later.
What did it matter? She shifted position, turning into him. Are you awake? she whispered.
Yeah.
Your eyes were closed. I thought you were sleeping
I was concentrating on your face.
Remembering what I looked like?
He turned to her, reached to brush her cheek with his index finger, tracing the cheekbone. The light glinted on her eyes. He leaned to kiss her cheek, his hand on her arm, but she was resistant. He withdrew and settled on his back. You’re not good at relaxing, she said.
He didnt reply, then was stretching as far as he could, pushing down as far as he could, feeling a reaction to this at the ankles and over the tops of his feet and lower limbs, stretching out his toes, pushing up his hips. A couple of moments later he changed position, changed it again, then moved onto his side away from her. He was wishing away the erection. His feet had come out from under the duvet so that would help. How could she even think he was sleeping! It was just ludicrous. Did she not bloody
who cares. He was tired; tired and weary and needing to sleep, he really did need to sleep. He had an early start. Why could he not sleep? Surely he was past this stage in physicality for christ sake! Maybe it wasnt a stage. Eternal erections. All these years and still governed by that bloody drive to wherever, who cares. The gap between their bodies was less than ten inches – ten