Remedy is None by William McIlvanney

considered that the weather was still cool enough for a coat.
    Below Charlie and near the bottom of the slope there was a group of factory girls sitting on the grass. They would be from the mill just across the river from the park. They sat wearing buttoned-up coats and head-squares, tonight’s waves foretoldin curlers. They gestured freely, raucously dismembering reputations, blobs of primary colour against the pastel shades of the park. Some of the remarks they threw at each other splashed as far as Charlie.
    ‘Aw her! A wee spew!’
    ‘Thinks she’s goat a catch wi’ thon yin.’
    ‘If ye skint ’im, ye widny get a poat o’ soup oot ’im.’
    ‘The wey she speaks tae!’
    ‘Ah ken. Needin’ her tongue scrapit.’
    ‘Ah canny stick ’er! She’s that bloody common!’
    On the terrace above Charlie, a young woman was pushing a large new pram, airing her baby. She leaned forward frequently, mouthing into the raised hood and fussing with the covers. On a bench along from him, a schoolboy sat in pubescent conclave with a schoolgirl. They had grown together furtively. The boy’s left arm was 4 draped casually round her shoulder, innocent as a frond, but the hand to it disappeared under the collar of her blazer, rooted in something more serious. Her right arm was invisible beneath his blazer. Their heads touched fractionally and from time to time they kissed quickly when the park wasn’t looking. Watching them tied in their secret love-knot, Charlie remembered the exquisite agony of adolescence as if he was as old as the man beside him. Condoning their conspiracy, he was careful to look away.
    Down in the bowl of the park, some apprentices were playing football. The game had been going on for some time and was beginning to lose its impetus. It had reached the stage where one of them, having been beaten in a tackle, lay down, plucked himself a piece of grass, and started to barrack the others. One of his team-mates went over to try to hector him to his feet and was pulled down himself. They wrestled on the grass, a thresh of boilersuits and tackety boots. There were other signs of a certain lack of team spirit until somebody shouted, ‘Next goal wins!’ and the game was galvanized briefly into mock intensity. The wrestlers jumped to their feet. There was much shouting and running and pulling ofoveralls. Just when one team was running in for a certain goal, one of the opposing defenders brilliantly saved the day by running ahead to steal the jackets that served as goalposts. He re-established their goal a good thirty yards from the danger zone, and half-way up the hill. The game came to an end when somebody booted the ball out of distance of their energy. They sprawled in a sweating huddle on the grass, talking. One of them said something and they all looked towards the factory girls, laughing. There was a short consultation and two of them rose, stretching casually. They walked away to retrieve the ball and returned at a jog-trot, passing it between them. As they drew level with their friends, one of them kicked it very deliberately into the group of girls. They squawked and raised their legs as if there was a mouse among them. The apprentices, watching proceedings from ground-level, cheered. One of the girls jumped up, seized the ball angrily, and threw it away as far as she could, only to see it roll back down the hill to the feet of the boy who had kicked it, symbolizing how effective her indignation was. The apprentices cheered again. Then they struggled to their feet, disputed the ownership of jackets, and went off, throwing the ball among them and laughing at unheard comments.
    Charlie watched them until they were out of the park. Something about their casual assurance fascinated him. Recently he had developed an almost awe-struck admiration for the trivial encounters between people that he witnessed. They seemed so certain about everything. On street corners, in cafés, in cinemas, he had become an