Scottish vocabulary
Tenement – a type of housing in cities of Scotland. Multi-storey (usually 4 floors), tenement like buildings that are usually flats. According to my brief research into the topic they were built to deal with the influx in population Scottish cities saw in the 19th and 20th centuries, and are still around today. Depending on the area’s socio-economic standing depends on how much these flats cost to live in. In Glasgow especially they are everywhere.
Story
There’s nothing like a 2-page brochure to get your heart racing. I don’t know what I expect to happen by staring at the same words on a glossy page. My future just slotting into place? A light bulb moment where I immediately know what direction I want to take my life? Is there even any point?
We’ve been having career talks at uni, companies coming in to give us the corporate bullshite about how it’s great to be a small cog in a huge machine, forgotten and underpaid. The university itself makes it very obvious they’d love more of our money so we can get extra letters at the end of our names. More of my pals are making plans, accepting jobs, mapping out their futures, and I’ve been…watching, torn between wanting that life and knowing I can never have it. What was the point in these brochures, these talks, these job applications, when my future was out of my control? The strangest thing was that I wasn’t even that bothered. At some point in the last few years, I’d come to prefer knowing that my life wouldn’t follow the mundane steps of everyone else. And although I don’t like the methods, still don’t like the concept of the Madams, I do feel lucky to see a different side of the world than that of 9-5. I can’t imagine ever going back to full-time normal.
When the bell above the door goes, I put away the brochure, thankful of any distraction that wasn’t Fionn lurking darkly amongst the antiques. I found it difficult to hide my surprise when Reid walked in alone. I was about to make a dig, a casual “hello stranger” or “do I know you?” when Fionn beat me to it, except without the joking.
With sarcasm that I could taste on the tip of my tongue, he said that he was honoured Reid would visit the shop, snarkily reminding him that he was spending all of his time with his special pals and neglecting the people that really mattered.
Fionn and Reid used to bicker, to snipe at each other, but there was never venom in their words, never bitterness. But that was before. Reid looked as shocked as I felt at the attack, so much that he didn’t reply. Before my fox familiar had a chance to retaliate, or the wyvern gathered the energy to have another go, I proclaimed loudly that it didn’t matter. Reid and I needed to go to visit a customer that had come in the previous day about a ghost problem.
Ah, I forgot to mention that. The previous day a lassie, a few years older than me, had come in to see the Madam about a haunting she claimed was happening in her flat. Now, I’ve been at this for long enough to know there’s no such things as ghosts. Cursed objects, paintings that change themselves, people who are actually animals, but not ghosts. That’s a step too far.
Madam Norna said that she’d send someone to investigate the flat in the next few days. Since Fionn couldn’t leave the shop, and Chronos wasn’t one for trips outside either, it meant I had to wait for Reid to appear. We see him out the window a few times a week, but he rarely comes in the shop, until that day.
Recognising an escalating situation when I saw one, I steered Reid out of the door before his scowl deepened and he thought of a snarky response to Fionn’s attack. No sooner were we outside and on our way to the bus stop he asked me what the fuck Fionn’s problem was, and I didn’t know how to answer.
After a few moments of silence, I told him there’d been teething problems with Fionn’s new way of life. I reminded him that he wasn’t in the shop as much as he used to be, and we all just missed him. Me especially, but I thought that detail was best left unsaid.
We’d all made a promise not to lie to each other, but there was definitely a way to diplomatically tell the truth. A way Fionn hadn’t bothered with. There was no point in getting angry or frustrated with Reid, or attacking him for his absence, that wouldn’t get us anywhere. Even though my mind had been focused on Fionn and his changing attitude and personality, I didn’t like Reid’s sudden prolonged absences, or the endless line of “special pals” he had.
My words diffused Reid’s oncoming bad mood, and he admitted that he hadn’t been around and going forwards he’d try to be in more. I felt like there was more he wanted to say, he went to open his mouth a few times, looked at me as though I was telepathic and could read his mind, before the bus arrived and our conversation was put on hold.
Our conversation ended, because no one wants to be that person on a bus, and when it did start up again as we alighted at our stop the focus was on the reason why we were making a house call to a customer.
The customer lived with two other lassies, and recently one of them had passed away suddenly. Reid and I immediately agreed that it was probably a memory, but both of us were confused as to what the Madam expected us to do about it.
We were buzzed into the red brick tenement where the customer and her pals had their flat. Both of us were relieved when they lived on the first floor and not the top. Our footsteps echoed up the stone stairwell as we marched up to the door and rang the bell. The flat was like any I’d been in before, I even lived in one similar, with high ceilings, white painted mouldings, and large windows that let what little light any Scottish city gets from a sun that refuses to dissipate the clouds in.
This was no student flat, this place was clean, neat and tidy, with bookshelves, coffee table, clean sink, and even cleaner carpets. There were no clothes strewn around, no empty takeaway containers, and underwear drying on any place they’d hang. Not that my flat looks anything like that…I swear.
I didn’t see anything strange in the flat, no ghostly apparition, no strange sounds. When I glanced at Reid, he also shook his head. I asked the customer where the most activity had been and she said it’d been everywhere, but mostly it was in the dead lassie’s room. Her family hadn’t been to the flat yet to pack up her belongings, so everything was where it’d been when she’d died.
I can’t explain the strange sense of wrong I felt as I went into a stranger’s bedroom. Maybe it’s because I was uninvited by the owner, or because I knew I was there to snoop and pretend I knew what I was doing. The thought that I shouldn’t be there caused my teeth to grind together and kept Reid on edge as he skittered around the edges of the room, not daring to touch anything.
Both of us were so on edge that when we heard a sneeze from somewhere else in the flat we jumped out of our skins. The customer explained that her remaining flatmate was home, but since their other flatmate’s death didn’t come out of her room much, and when she did spent a lot of time in the one we were in. We nodded in understanding and carried on with our half-hearted search, neither of us knowing what we were supposed to find or what would trigger the apparent memory to appear.
After drawing my eyes over some stuffed toys, a laptop, a few sketchpads, and plants that looked surprisingly lively considering their owner was gone, my gaze snagged on the cover of a book that was on the bedside table, bookmark slotted in the pages. It looks like quite an old book, one you’d find in a charity or used book shop, with wrinkled spine and browning pages and the smell of age and decay. The title was the biggest thing on the cover and dwarfed whatever cover art there was.
Death’s Greatest Love and other Tales.
I find my hand reaching out to touch the book and I don’t realise I’m doing it until the customer asks if I’m familiar with the story. My hand stops before my fingers can feel the battered cover and I glance over shaking my head. Reid does the same after he comes over to look at the book.
Just as the customer is about to tell us about the book with the strange title, we hear the sound of something falling to the floor in the living room where we’ve just been. All of us rush to where the noise is and finally, we see the silhouette of a lassie, the one who’s smiling in the pictures she keeps in her room. She’s not smiling now.
This lassie is as real as any human I’ve ever met, and beings not so human. She’s not translucent, she’s not floating, it’s like she’s still flesh and blood. I’ve only ever seen one memory and it looked similar, a quiet silent presence, melancholy but at peace.
This lassie, if she was a memory, was far from those things. She stood amongst the debris of the bookcase that had been standing in the corner, its contents scattered on the floor. Books fallen open, more plant pots broken with dirt spilled on the carpet, the fairy lights that hung from the edges of the shelves tangled and smashed.
I expected a full-on poltergeist moment, to be thrown across the room, to get hurt, but the memory of the lassie didn’t appear to be angry. Her brows were drawn together, and she looked frantically at the customer, shaking her head as though to say that it’d been an accident. I briefly wondered if memories couldn’t actually talk, because this one looked as though she desperately wanted to.
Instead, the customer filled the silence with their desperate plea to us to get rid of the ghost. Shite, did she think that’s what we were there to do? Had Madam Norna said that’s what was going to happen? Did I know how to get rid of a memory?
Reid and I desperately stared at each other hoping the other would have a solution to our current predicament. Once again, we were saved be something else. The third flatmate, the one who’d sneezed earlier, had emerged from her room and frantically shouted at us to stop and to not harm her pal.
It’s been a while since I’ve encountered a memory, and I forgot the most important thing about them. They only exist because someone wants them to, someone can’t let them go, so they can’t let go. In time they fade, wounds heal, and grief is lessened. If the customer had gone to the Madam in the hopes of getting rid of the memory, that could only mean that the remaining flatmate was the one who was unable to let go.
The customer asked her flatmate if she was crazy, and that they couldn’t carry on living in a haunted flat. The ghost needed to move on. Reid, with as much grace as a bull in a China shop, told the customer that it wasn’t a ghost. I threw him a sarcastic glare, but he didn’t seem to realise his mistake.
The flatmate, a lassie a wee bit younger than the customer, still dressed in her pyjamas, confessed that she didn’t want their flatmate to move on, and that she shouldn’t have died in the first place. A few days after the flatmate had died, this lassie had found a book at the uni library. Amongst many other mischievous things, it’d told her about memories, and how they needed an anchor to hold them in place. So, the lassie became that anchor.
The customer stood stiffly, her eyes darting between the memory of her flatmate, and the flesh and blood one who’d been desperate not to let her pal go. I began to feel queasy as I watched the drama unfold, and slowly began to realise that I didn’t have a leg to stand on.
After sorting her thoughts, the customer launched into an angry tirade, calling her pal selfish for doing such a thing, and that the dead needed to find peace, not be tied to a world they’re no longer a part of. Their flatmate was dead and gone, she deserved to move on and not worry about the people she left behind. The customer demanded that the memory be let go.
My tongue felt a few sizes too big for my mouth and I couldn’t talk. Whatever arguments or observations or reasons I had died in my throat. The barbed words may not have been directed at me, but I felt the sting of them all the same.
It fell to Reid to explain that memories fade with time, no matter how hard people want to cling on. With nothing further to do, no further help to give, we left the two lassies with their memory.
We both stood at the bus stop waiting on the bus, watching as the cars drove by going about their lives as though there was no such thing as loss, or grief, or death, or deals. I stared at the ground, pretending I wasn’t weighed down by shame. Noticing my declining mood, Reid pointed out that what I’d done for Fionn wasn’t the same as what the lassie had done for her dead flatmate.
I agreed. What I’d done was worse. At least the memory would fade, she could eventually move on and find peace. I’d trapped Fionn in a cage made of antiques and history, somewhere he could never leave alive. I’d taken his freedom so I could keep him around, and to put the sour cherry on top of this awful cake I regretted what I’d done, and dreaded being around him. It sounded like a fitting punishment to me.
Reid let the silence settle before he cleared his throat and squared his shoulders, as if he was about to fight someone. Despite his posturing he was looking down at his hands, picking at his nails to ease the discomfort of what he was about to say.
In what can only be described as a sheepish fashion, Reid told me what he’d been trying to tell me earlier. I wasn’t the only one affected by Fionn’s death. After watching one of his closest pals die in his arms, Reid had begun to re-evaluate his life, began to scrutinise it, began to see what was missing. He began to feel like he hadn’t really been living, he’d been bouncing around causing trouble, and getting into it in equal measure. Then when he’d found the shop he’d been drawn in just as everyone else had.
But when Fionn had died for a few moments, Reid realised how fragile his life really was, how short it could get cut. Even though foxes, and other creatures, had a longer lifespan than humans, they were still relatively easy to kill, given someone had the will and knowledge. He didn’t want his life to revolve around the shop.
A storm of emotions swept through my thoughts. Frustration, anger, understanding. I couldn’t really be angry because hadn’t I been struggling with the same thoughts? The difference was that I didn’t have a choice. I had taken away that choice from Fionn and he was suffering. How could I expect Reid to join our club of misery?
If he had re-evaluated his life and found that it was lacking romantic partners, then he was free to have fun with however many he wanted. I wasn’t going to cling to him like a limpet onto a rock. I hadn’t been able to let Fionn go, and it’d caused pain and misery. I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.
Reid promised that he’d be around more, in the shop at least once a week. But that wasn’t going to solve my problem with Fionn. Reid looked at me then, a small smile of sympathy tugging at his lips. He told me that the only person who could fix my problems with Fionn was me, but that neither of us would ever be able to get passed this if we didn’t talk about it.
Fuck, I really hate it when he’s right.
Scots-ish language version
There’s nothing like a 2-page brochure tae get your heart racin’. I dinnae know whit I expect tae happen by starin’ at the same words on a glossy page. Ma future just slottin’ intae place? A light bulb moment where I immediately know whit direction I want tae take ma life? Is there even any point?
We’ve been having career talks at uni, companies comin’ in tae give us the corporate bullshite about how it’s great tae be a small cog in a huge machine, forgotten and underpaid. The university itself makes it very obvious they’d love more of our money so we can get extra letters at the end ae our names. More ae ma pals are makin’ plans, acceptin’ jobs, mapping oot their futures, and I’ve been…watchin, torn between wantin’ that life and knowin’ I can never have it. Whit was the point in these brochures, these talks, these job applications, when ma future was oot ae ma control? The strangest thing was that I wasnae even that bothered. At some point in the last few years I’d come tae prefer knowin that ma life wouldnae follow the mundane steps ae everyone else. And although I dinnae like the methods, still dinnae like the concept ae the Madams, I do feel lucky tae see a different side ae the world than that ae 9-5. I cannae imagine ever going back tae full-time normal.
When the bell above the door goes I put away the brochure, thankful ae any distraction that wasnae Fionn lurkin’ darkly amongst the antiques. I found it difficult tae hide ma surprise when Reid walked in alone. I was aboot tae make a dig, a casual “hello stranger” or “do I know you?” when Fionn beat me tae it, except withoot the joking.
Wi’ sarcasm that I could taste on the tip ae ma tongue, he said that he was honoured Reid would visit the shop, snarkily remindin him that he was spendin all ae his time wi’ his special pals and neglecting the people that really mattered.
Fionn and Reid used tae bicker, tae snipe at each other, but there was never venom in their words, never bitterness. But that was before. Reid looked as shocked as I felt at the attack, so much that he didnae reply. Before ma fox familiar had a chance tae retaliate, or the wyvern gathered the energy tae have another go, I proclaimed loudly that it didnae matter. Reid and I needed tae go tae visit a customer that had come in the previous day aboot a ghost problem.
Ah, I forgot tae mention that. The previous day a lassie, a few years older than me, had come in tae see the Madam aboot a haunting she claimed was happenin’ in her flat. Noo, I’ve been at this fae long enough tae know there’s no such things as ghosts. Cursed objects, paintings that change themselves, people who are actually animals, but no ghosts. That’s a step too far.
Madam Norna said that she’d send someone tae investigate the flat in the next few days. Since Fionn couldnae leave the shop, and Chronos wasnae one fae trips ootside either, it meant I had tae wait fae Reid tae appear. We see him oot the windae a few times a week, but he rarely comes in the shop, until that day.
Recognisin’ an escalatin’ situation when I saw one, I steered Reid oot ae the door before his scowl deepened and he thought ae a snarky response tae Fionn’s attack. No sooner were we ootside and on our way tae the bus stop he asked me whit the fuck Fionn’s problem was and I didnae know how tae answer.
After a few moments ae silence I told him there’d been teethin’ problems wi’ Fionn’s new way ae life. I reminded him that he wasnae in the shop as much as he used tae be, and we all just missed him. Me especially, but I thought that detail was best left unsaid.
We’d all made a promise no tae lie tae each other, but there was definitely a way tae diplomatically tell the truth. A way Fionn hadnae bothered wi’. There was no point in getting’ angry or frustrated wi’ Reid, or attackin’ him fae his absence, that wouldnae get us anywhere. Even though my mind had been focused on Fionn and his changing attitude and personality, I didnae like Reid’s sudden prolonged absences, or the endless line ae “special pals” he had.
My words diffused Reid’s oncoming bad mood and he admitted that he hadnae been arouod and going forwards he’d try tae be in more. I felt like there was more he wanted tae say, he went tae open his mouth a few times, looked at me as though I was telepathic and could read his mind, before the bus arrived and our conversation was put on hold.
Our conversation ended, because no one wants tae be that person on a bus, and when it did start up again as we alighted at our stop the focus was on the reason why we were makin’ a house call tae a customer.
The customer lived wi’ two other lassies, and recently one ae them had passed away suddenly. Reid and I immediately agreed that it was probably a memory, but both ae us were confused as tae whit the Madam expected us tae do aboot it.
We were buzzed intae the red brick tenement where the customer and her pals had their flat. Both ae us were relieved when they lived on the first floor and no the top. Our footsteps echoed up the stone stairwell as we marched up tae the door and rang the bell. The flat was like any I’d been in before, I even lived in one similar, wi’ high ceilings, white painted mouldings, and large windaes that let whit little light any Scottish city gets fae a sun that refuses tae dissipate the clouds in.
This was no student flat, this place was clean, neat and tidy, wi’ bookshelves, coffee table, clean sink, and even cleaner carpets. There were no clothes strewn aroond, no empty takeaway containers, and underwear dryin’ on any place they’d hang. No that ma flat looks anythin’ like that…I swear.
I didnae see anythin’ strange in the flat, no ghostly apparition, no strange sounds. When I glanced at Reid he also shook his heid. I asked the customer where the most activity had been and she said it’d been everywhere, but mostly it was in the deid lassie’s room. Her family hadnae been tae the flat yet tae pack up her belongings, so everythin’ was where it’d been when she’d died.
I cannae explain the strange sense ae wrong I felt as I went intae a stranger’s bedroom. Maybe it’s because I was uninvited by the owner, or because I knew I was there tae snoop and pretend I knew whit I was doin’. The thought that I shouldnae be there caused ma teeth tae grind together, and kept Reid on edge as he skittered aroond the edges ae the room, no darin’ tae touch anythin’.
Both ae us were so on edge that when we heard a sneeze fae somewhere else in the flat we jumped oot ae our skins. The customer explained that her remaining flatmate was home, but since their other flatmate’s death didnae come oot ae her room much, and when she did spent a lot ae time in the one we were in. We nodded in understandin’ and carried on wi’ our half-hearted search, neither ae us knowin whit we were supposed tae find or what would trigger the apparent memory tae appear.
After drawin’ ma eyes over some stuffed toys, a laptop, a few sketchpads, and plants that looked surprisingly lively considering their owner was gone, ma gaze snagged on the cover ae a book that was on the bedside table, bookmark slotted in the pages. It looks like quite an old book, one you’d find in a charity or used book shop, wi wrinkled spine and brownin’ pages and the smell ae age and decay. The title was the biggest thing on the cover and dwarved whatever cover art there was.
Death’s Greatest Love and other Tales.
I find ma hand reachin’ oot tae touch the book and I dinnae realise I’m doin it until the customer asks if I’m familiar wi’ the story. Ma hand stops before ma fingers can feel the battered cover and I glance over shakin’ ma heid. Reid does the same after he comes over tae look at the book.
Just as the customer is aboot tae tell us aboot the book wi’ the strange title we hear the sound ae something fallin’ tae the floor in the livin’ room where we’ve just been. All ae us rush tae where the noise is and finally we see the silhouette ae a lassie, the one who’s smilin’ in the pictures she keeps in her room. She’s no smilin’ noo.
This lassie is as real as any human I’ve ever met, and beings no so human. She’s no transluscent, she’s no floatin’, it’s like she’s still flesh and blood. I’ve only ever seen one memory and it looked similar, a quiet silent presence, melancholy but at peace.
This lassie, if she was a memory, was far fae those things. She stood amongst the debris ae the bookcase that had been standin’ in the corner, its contents scattered on the floor. Books fallen open, more plant pots broken wi’ dirt spilled on the carpet, the fairy lights that hung fae the edges ae the shelves tangled and smashed.
I expected a full on poltergeist, tae be thrown across the room, tae get hurt, but the memory ae the lassie didnae appear tae be angry. Her brows were drawn together and she looked frantically at the customer, shakin’ her heid as though tae say that it’d been an accident. I briefly wondered if memories couldnae actually talk, because this one looked as though she desperately wanted tae.
Instead, the customer filled the silence wi’ their desperate plea tae us tae get rid ae the ghost. Shite, did she think that’s whit we were there tae do? Had Madam Norna said that’s what was goin’ tae happen? Did I know how tae get rid ae a memory?
Reid and I desperately stared at each other hopin’ the other would have a solution tae our current predicament. Once again, we were saved be somethin’ else. The third flatmate, the one who’d sneezed earlier, had emerged fae her room and frantically shouted at us tae stop and tae no’ harm her pal.
It’s been a while since I’ve encountered a memory, and I forgot the most important thing aboot them. They only exist because someone wants them tae, someone cannae let them go, so they cannae let go. In time they fade, wounds heal and grief is lessened. If the customer had gone tae the Madam in the hopes ae getting’ rid ae the memory, that could only mean that the remaining flatmate was the one who was unable tae let go.
The customer asked her flatmate if she was crazy, and that they couldnae carry on livin’ in a haunted flat. The ghost needed tae move on. Reid, wi’ as much grace as a bull in a china shop, told the customer that it wasnae a ghost. I threw him a sarcastic glare but he didnae seem tae realise his mistake.
The flatmate, a lassie a wee bit younger than the customer, still dressed in her pajamas, confessed that she didnae want their flatmate tae move on, and that she shouldnae have died in the first place. A few days after the flatmate had died, this lassie had found a book at the uni library. Amongst many other mischievous things it’d told her aboot memories, and how they needed an anchor tae hold them in place. So the lassie became that anchor.
The customer stood stiffly, her eyes darting between the memory ae her flatmate, and the flesh and blood one who’d been desperate no tae let her pal go. I began tae feel queasy as I watched the drama unfold, and slowly began tae realise that I didnae have a leg tae stand on.
After sorting her thoughts the customer launched intae an angry tirade, callin’ her pal selfish fae doin’ such a thing, and that the deid needed tae find peace, no be tied tae a world they’re no longer a part of. Their flatmate was deid and gone, she deserved tae move on and no worry aboot the people she left behind. The customer demanded that the memory be let go.
Ma tongue felt a few sizes too big fae ma mouth and I couldnae talk. Whatever arguments or observations or reasons I had died in ma throat. The barbed words may no have been directed at me, but I felt the sting ae them all the same.
It fell tae Reid tae explain that memories fade wi’ time, no matter how hard people want tae cling on. Wi’ nothin’ further tae do, no further help tae give, we left the two lassies wi’ their memory.
We both stood at the bus stop waitin’ on the bus, watchin’ as the cars drove by goin’ aboot their lives as though there was no such thing as loss, or grief, or death, or deals. I stared at the ground, pretendin’ I wasnae weighed doon by shame. Noticin’ ma declining mood, Reid pointed oot that whit I’d done fae Fionn wasnae the same as whit the lassie had done fae her deid flatmate.
I agreed, whit I’d done was worse. At least the memory would fade, she could eventually move on and find peace. I’d trapped Fionn in a cage made ae antiques and history, somewhere he could never leave alive. I’d taken his freedom so I could keep him aroond, and tae put the sour cherry on top ae this awful cake I regretted whit I’d done, and dreaded bein’ aroond him. It sounded like a fittin’ punishment tae me.
Reid let the silence settle before he cleared his throat and squared his shoulders, as if he was aboot tae fight someone. Despite his posturin’ he was lookin’ doon at his hands, pickin’ at his nails tae ease the discomfort ae whit he was aboot tae say.
In what can only be described as a sheepish fashion, Reid told me whit he’d been tryin’ tae tell me earlier. I wasnae the only one affected by Fionn’s death. After watchin’ one ae his closest pals die in his arms, Reid had begun tae re-evaluate his life, began tae scrutinise it, began tae see whit was missin’. He began tae feel like he hadnae really been livin’, he’d been bouncin’ roond causin’ trouble, and getting’ intae it in equal measure. Then when he’d found the shop he’d been drawn in just as everyone else had.
But when Fionn had died fae a few moments, Reid realised how fragile his life really was, how short it could get cut. Even though foxes, and other creatures, had a longer lifespan than humans, they were still relatively easy to kill, given someone had the will and knowledge. He didnae want his life tae revolve aroond the shop.
A storm ae emotions swept through ma thoughts. Frustration, anger, understandin’. I couldnae really be angry because hadnae I been strugglin’ wi’ the same thoughts? The difference was that I didnae have a choice. I had taken away that choice fae Fionn and he was sufferin’. How could I expect Reid tae join our club ae misery?
If he had re-evaluated his life and found that it was lacking romantic partners, then he was free tae have fun wi’ however many he wanted. I wasnae gonnae cling tae him like a limpet ontae a rock. I hadnae been able tae let Fionn go and it’d caused pain and misery. I wouldnae make the same mistake twice.
Reid promised that he’d be aroond more, in the shop at least once a week. But that wasnae gonnae solve ma problem wi’ Fionn. Reid looked at me then, a small smile ae sympathy tuggin’ at his lips. He told me that the only person who could fix ma problems wi’ Fionn was me, but that neither ae us would ever be able tae get passed this if we didnae talk aboot it.
Fuck, I really hate it when he’s right.