Dirt Road

FOUR

On Sunday afternoon Dad came out to the patio carrying a book and a coffee. Murdo was sunbathing at his usual spot in the garden but closer in to the hedge for shade. The hi-fi and US Road Atlas were closeby. He lowered the volume and exchanged a wave with Dad then returned to the book he was reading, one about a guy who came back to the town of his birth after years in an army stockade for a crime he did not commit. The sheriff of the town hated him because of a thing from childhood. It was good, set in the state of Arizona.

Dad hadnt opened his book, he was just sitting there. Usually he would have been reading in the house before coming out and was carrying on where he left off. Sometimes he read while he walked. That was Dad, a major reader. Murdo reached to turn down the hi-fi volume again but would have been as well turning it off altogether. Ye wasted brain energy trying to listen and this interfered with the music. It was worse than frustrating. It seemed a lack of concentration but it wasnt concentration at all. Ye did concentrate. It was just some of it went in the wrong direction. Or else it was a different concentration; concentrating to concentrate. Real concentration was where ye didnt have to think about it, yet took it all in.

The temperature was into the eighties now. Aunt Maureen had said it was going to be hot. Her and Uncle John had gone to church. Before leaving she came downstairs to see if Murdo had changed his mind. It was awkward saying no. But he hadnt said yes in the first place so it was not like he had changed his mind.

He carried on reading. Later Dad was coming towards him, carrying a chair from the patio. Is company okay? he asked.

Murdo grinned.

Dad gestured at the book. Any good?

Yeah.

Dad nodded, he sat back on the chair, closing his eyes into the sun. This is the life, he murmured.

Neither spoke for a while. Murdo moved to lift his cowboy novel but stopped when Dad spoke. The thing with church, he said, at one time, ye would have had nay option but to go. Whether ye believed in it or not. It’s still the same in some places.

Back home, said Murdo. Stornoway and these places.

Yeah but here too son it depends on the community. Some of Aunt Maureen’s friends, if ye didnay go to church they would send round a doctor, they would think ye were ill!

Murdo smiled.

Seriously, they’re strong on the church and ye just have to watch it.

Fundamentalists…

Not fundamentalists Murdo that’s where ye’re wrong. They’re just ordinary people.

Well Dad I saw their leaflets at the Gathering and like some of the things they were saying I mean they were just kind of — kind of silly. I’m not being cheeky.

Are ye not?

No.

Good. Ye know son I’ve got to say, maybe you dont know, how proud Aunt Maureen and Uncle John are of ye.

Murdo shifted on the chair, shaking his head and breathing loudly.

Honestly, said Dad, I think that was a wee thing about church ye know, I think they were wanting to show ye off! Because of yesterday, when ye were playing the guitar. One of their friends said they were “spellbound”; that was the word. Telling ye son that’s a real compliment. It’s a good compliment. It’s the kind of one people dont say unless they mean it. Really. That was you on guitar too…! God imagine the accordeon! Ye would have blown them away!

Murdo looked at him.

Naw but ye would have! Dad grinned. I’m no kidding ye son ye would have blown them away!

Dad I’m no wanting to blow anybody away.

No

Really, I’m no wanting to blow anybody away. Murdo sat forwards on his chair and was saying, It’s only to play with them Dad not to like beat them. How can ye beat them, ye cannay beat them, it’s daft saying it. Know what I mean, it’s just daft like it’s just eh — it’s daft. Murdo shook his head. Sorry Dad. I only mean like… I’m sorry.

Dad smiled. I’m no used to being called daft. Eh?

Murdo had lowered his head, was staring at the patio floor; and the edge of the table almost was white in places because where the sun, the way the sun affected it.

Dad clasped his hands on the table. I’m no used to being called daft.

It’s just ye see it was Chess led me. Chess Hopkins Dad he’s brilliant, he is just brilliant. Him and Clara, it’s just like great great music, just great. Clara is special; she is so so special. Like playing with them Dad, just playing with them… Murdo shook his head.

Aye well you’re special too. Dad looked away.

Murdo closed his eyes.

Ye are son.

Dad it’s not the same.

It is the same. Ye are. People thought that. That is what they thought. And they said it too. You disappeared! Dad smiled. I only wish… If ye had played the accordeon son, when ye had the chance. I mean ye had the chance. The band would have let ye play. Uncle John asked them and they said aye. He asked them for you. They said aye. It was you said no! Dad sighed. I’m not getting at ye. I just…I dont understand it. Usually ye play at the drop of a hat.

No I dont.

Yeah ye do, if anybody asks.

Not anybody.

Och yes ye do. Ye’re aye ready to give them a tune. Dont get me wrong, it’s nice that ye do. Ye did it with the black family. That’s what ye did with them. Ye did. I was there and saw ye.

No ye didnt Dad.

I was there.

Murdo smiled, shaking his head.

What do ye think it’s funny?

Murdo stopped smiling.

They ask ye to play and ye play: Uncle John asks ye and it’s Oh no. No. Dad stared at Murdo. That’s what ye said to Uncle John, No. Right there on that bloody dance floor in front of his friends. He’s gone to all that trouble asking the boy on the accordeon then you turn him down! I couldnay believe it! I couldnay! You have the cheek to turn him down!

Dad sat back shaking his head then sat forwards again and wagged his right forefinger at Murdo. It’s nothing to do with being bloody black so dont start that nonsense. You played for them but not for yer own family. That’s the point I’m making.

Dad

What did ye mean to hurt them? Eh? Did ye? You hurt Uncle John. You hurt him. And when ye hurt him ye hurt me; ye hurt me and ye hurt Aunt Maureen. That was a family thing Murdo. It goes deep. The same going to church. You had another chance and ye didnay take it. Aunt Maureen was wanting to show us off. We’re her nephews from Scotland. It’s a big deal.

But you didnt go either.

That’s right.

Well?

She asked you first.

Yeah but she asked ye Dad she asked ye!

That’s right she asked me, of course she asked me. She asked you and you said no then she asked me, and I said no. If you had said yes I would have said yes.

…

Ye didnay, ye said no. If you had gone I would have gone.

So ye wouldnt have left me in the house myself?

That’s one way of putting it.

So like ye cannay trust me?

Dad gazed at him.

Murdo shrugged.

I trust ye son but things happen.

What things?

Aw never mind, said Dad. Uncle John and Aunt Maureen will be home any minute.

Murdo turned his head. I’ve got my own life Dad. If I play I play. I play if I want to play. If I dont want to play then I dont play, and that’s that.

Exactly, ye’ve summed it up. Dad sighed. Look son when Uncle John asks ye to play the accordeon ye play the accordeon. That is what ye do. This is family, it’s a family obligation. It wouldnay have been hard son, not for you. Ye play that accordeon like a champion so ye should have played it for us. Just like ye played it for the black family. I still cannay get my head round that one! The first I heard ye play since Mum died. Coming round the back of that house. The middle of nowhere and all black people. And there ye are playing for them! Dad laughed briefly, then shook his head.

Dad

Well it’s true.

Dad it isnt, it isnt true at all. I wasn’t playing for them. Not for them. I was playing with them. You only came at the end, so ye only heard me, ye didnt hear Sarah’s granny.

Dad smiled.

Dad she’s famous. She’s a famous musician. Queen Monzee-ay, she’s a famous famous musician. Ye shouldnay bring her down.

I’m not bringing her down.

Ye are.

I’m not. I resent ye saying that Murdo I really do.

She’s a great musician.

I hear ye.

She’s playing that festival I was telling ye about.

Dad groaned. Nobody’s heard of any music festival except you. LaFayette’s just a wee town. Uncle John’s drove through it a hundred times.

Yeah because it’s a different Lafayette. The one I’m talking about is in the state of Louisiana. There’s different Lafayettes. Declan told me. Declan Pike.

I know who he is.

Yeah well I mean he’s a musician. Murdo shrugged.

Yeah so that explains it then eh! Dad stood up from the chair shaking his head.

Dad

Dont Dad me: you think you know the world son and you dont, you dont. Dad turned from him and lifted the chair. He strode onto the patio, dumped down the chair and continued into the house.

Murdo watched the door close. He sat a little longer then collected his stuff, returned to the house, and downstairs to the basement. He closed the door and lay down on the bed; but jumped up at once, took off the shorts for a pair of joggers, grabbed a T-shirt and pulled on his trainers. He found the money in his jacket pocket, extracted a $20 note, and upstairs two and three steps at a time, needing to go fast fast fast. Dad was in his room with the door shut. Murdo passed along, heading for the back door but stopped there. He returned to Dad’s bedroom door. He called, not too loudly: I’m going a walk. Just round the block. I’ll not be long.

He didnt wait for an answer. That was that and he was glad. Down from the patio to the side driveway exit, out onto the pavement, he kept walking. Very very glad. Of course Dad would worry but it was his fault. Dad was Dad. He was angry now but would worry after.

Worry worry stupid worry, stupid stupid worry worry.

Only if he had said “Dad”. He didnt say “Dad”. He should have said “Dad”. I’m going a walk Dad, just round the block Dad, I’ll not be long Dad.

He would worry because he always did.

Murdo glanced back over his shoulder. He wasnt there! What a thought! Ye could imagine it, Dad running down the street, Murdo Murdo come back come back!

Although he couldnt stay away too long. Definitely not. Aunt Maureen and Uncle John would be home soon and would worry if he wasnt there.

A street corner ahead. He turned along it, seeking a landmark. Houses had the flags of America and Alabama, one or the other or both. The one for Alabama had the same Saltire design as Scotland but a red cross on the white background instead of a white one on the blue.

People worried. How come? Because it was a row caused him to leave the house. Oh I hope he doesnt do something daft! Ye could understand it but not too much. What would he do? Run away and never come home! It was daft. Dad was Dad so it was not like forever and ever. How could it be?

Only if he had said “Dad”: I’m going a walk Dad, Dad I’ll not be long, so then he would have known it was okay and not to worry. It was just like he needed to get out the house. Ye couldnt stay in forever just because ye worried about getting lost. Then what happens? Ye’re dead. Here lies Murdo Macarthur who never went out the house. Stupid worries. How can ye live?

I’m just going a walk. Well dont disappear! Although roundabout here it was quiet streets. Maybe nobody did walk. That was Uncle John’s joke, people were feart in case they got shot as an intruder. So they went to parks or the shopping mall. But without a car how did they get there? They had to walk. To go a walk ye had to walk. Unless a taxi. But if ye were saving money? Maybe they hitched. Some would. Poor people didnt have a choice so it was like ye had to hitch. Or else ye were stuck. Imagine being stuck. If ye were in America. How could ye be stuck! Ye would go nuts. It was like so vast, it was just like so so big!

Seeing the Weather Channel ye thought it was too big, icy wastes and summer suns. Then ye saw the Road Map book and it was like Oh I could go, I could just go. Getting to Lafayette, Louisiana would have been easy with a car. There were different roads ye could take. Imagine a driver’s licence and not using it. That was Dad. How could ye have one and not bring it? The easy route was straight south to the town of Mobile then along from there. Ye passed through New Orleans then the town of Baton Rouge. Lafayette came after that. But if ye went sideways to Allentown, Mississippi for the first stop it was still quite easy; Yazoo City and after that Jackson. The maps made everything closer; go east to Savannah or west to San Diego. But ye could if ye had a place to go. Murdo did. Cousin Calum was in California.

Jeesoh Aunt Maureen! Her relations were everywhere! That was the amazing-mazing thing. Anywhere ye wanted. Just like if ye wanted to disappear, if ye did. Sometimes he did. Life made ye think it. Money wouldnt matter, twenty dollars or no dollars, ye just went, if that was you, ye just went, if ye were disappearing. Or like — whatever.

The lawns here were right down to the pavement and didnt have any hedges. No people hardly at all. They were maybe all at church.

Murdo walked on. Walking was good. Walking was the best. Walking was just the very very best. How it quieted ye down, quieting yer brains. Brains. Murdo’s brains, quietened. Walking alone, no sound, nothing.

Sunday was church day. So is Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday and Friday if it is my class sonny boy! Milliken the maths teacher. Ye went for maths and he gave ye the bible. Compress yer head sonny boy. All days are church days. Interference does not exist, interference is data. All moments are moments of God. All time is God’s time. A right-angled triangle made of three right angles, think about that. Infinity. All circles are lines and all lines are a point. The way, the truth and the life. All points are the one point. Infinity. And God is greater than that. Plus 1. And God is greater than that. Nothing gets beyond Him. Go to the web and dive within, reach into the depths. You are the minute-most spec.

People thought he was nuts. Murdo heard another teacher call him “staunch”, Oh Mister Milliken is “staunch”, his beliefs are “staunch”. So ye had to respect him. Forgive us our sins and trespasses. Keep us from temptation and grant that we may rise each morning freed from danger whole in health. That was “wanking”, everybody knew that.

A man with a dog. The dog on an extension lead. Murdo walked to the inside in case he got tripped up; ye had to step over the lead. The man ignored him. An Alabaman, if that’s what they are called, Alabamans; Alabamans and Alabawomans. Some guy on television was making the joke, Ala Bama and the Forty Thieves. Uncle John hated it: Childish stupidity.

The guy with the dog was the first walker Murdo had passed. And he looked across at Murdo. Because Murdo was the first walker he had seen. You see them but they see you. Think of that sonny boy.

Different for dogs. Dogs are the same anywhere in the world. They just see a person; there’s a person; Scottish, Aborigine, Iceland, woof woof.

Just quiet; trees and quiet. A good place for walking. The hedges were round the back gardens but not the front; just these lawns, the grass shorn.

Ahead was a big church with a real tower. It looked old but how old could it have been? Red bricks and a square-shaped tower; fancy windows, and pillars, solid-looking. People were in the parking areas. What if Aunt Maureen and Uncle John were there and spotted him? Never.

But maybe. Maybe counts. Count a maybe.

Murdo was round the first corner. People ye see. Nobody is nothing. He continued along this street. It led to a main road, and round onto the pavement there was a bus-stop, an actual bus-stop! It had a bench for people to sit.

Aunt Maureen and Uncle John knew nothing about buses but here was a stop next to the actual church. Maybe they went to a different church.

Now Murdo recognised the road. It was the one to the mall. At the bus-stop an information board listed times, destinations and links to other bus routes.

How far had he walked? Twenty minutes or half an hour. How far was that? Not round the block anyway. Then the same back to the house. Dad would worry.

$90: forty from Dad and fifty from Uncle John. Ye could get an accordeon for ninety dollars. Or twenty, it depended on the accordeon. How much for bus tickets? That was the one thing the information board didnt list. A bus here would take ye into the main bus station, then it was from there to Lafayette, Louisiana. Then if ye came back it was the same money. So bus-fares and accordeon. Unless he got a drive from Uncle John or somebody. Dad, if Dad had his licence. Maybe he could phone Uncle Robert. Uncle Robert could go to the house and find the licence; send it express delivery. It would have been here in two days or three — Scotland to America, four maybe.

So Dad could have hired a car. That would have made it a brilliant holiday. Everything would have changed.

What a life. Murdo was glad to be walking. Shopping malls opened on a Sunday. No matter about church and everything else, people lived their life. It was their life to lead although people acted like it wasnt. Oh I thought it was my life? Oh no, it belongs to him over there, yer father. He has two, you’ve got none.

Other shops ahead. Not the shopping mall; ordinary shops in their own ground with their own wee carparks. And cars were there so these shops were open as well. Of course they were.

He stopped walking and about-turned.

How long had he been gone? More than an hour. Round the block? Some block. Dad would be glad when he walked in the door. Glad, sad or mad. Everybody has their own life. If he wanted to be angry, it was up to Dad.

Murdo felt like running. Oh but never run son never run, they might get the wrong idea. That was Uncle John. Then they’ll definitely shoot ye. It was okay if ye were an athlete or like jogging but not an ordinary person.

Not one child either. That was what Murdo noticed. Not even in a garden. Where were the kids?

The mall!

Or church — the praying voices. And the kids twisting up to see the adults, wondering how come their eyes are all closed? Droning on and on and on, how come? What’s wrong with the adults? What are they doing? Oh forgive us Father, hoahh hoahh hoahh, Gohhhd oahhhhh, forgive us oh Father please please oahhh hoahhhh oahhhhh Gohdddd. What is happening what is happening? Is it the big bad wolf! Oahhhhh oahhhhh. Look out and be careful. Close your eyes close your eyes! Oahhhhh oahhhhh. Quick! Quick quick quick! Oh Father Father God Almighty thank you thank you for keeping us safe through the day that is gone and now we pray Thee to watch over us through the coming night oh God the coming night when it is all dark and shadows fall and mysterious knocks and noises if the big bad wolf comes chapping the door.

Chap yer own door!

*

He kept to the main road on the way home, remembering the turn-off to Aunt Maureen’s house. He entered by the driveway, round the side garden. Dad was there on the patio, wearing a shirt and trousers instead of jeans and T-shirt. He moved fast when he saw Murdo, coming towards him. Murdo stopped. Dad clapped him twice on the shoulder. Good son, he said, we’re going for a meal. Did ye bring a shirt?

A shirt? Yeah I brought a shirt.

I mean a proper one?

Of course a proper one.

Fine. Away and change. Dad sighed. I’m just saying.

Okay.

Uncle John and Aunt Maureen are getting ready.

Okay Dad.

Downstairs Murdo plugged in the hi-fi immediately; but didnt switch it on. He stood a moment, then sat down on the edge of the bed. He stretched out, staring at the ceiling. Of course he had brought a shirt and of course he would wear it. Going for a meal with Uncle John and Aunt Maureen: of course he would wear it. Go and put it on, is it a proper one. That was a row. Did people need rows?

Dad just had to speak. He didnt have to but he did. That was Dad. How come he even wanted to eat? He couldnt have been hungry. He didnt go anywhere except the patio! People work then they eat. Things happen and they dont eat.

Dad said a meal but did that mean best? like as if Aunt Maureen and Uncle John would notice, even if he wore a T-shirt. T-shirts were a joke. How long did Dad wear one before sticking it into the laundry bin! a bloody week? Murdo should have said it to him, Dad change the T-shirt you are bloody minging.

Murdo sat up, then was onto his feet and rummaging around to find the shirt. He had brought two: ordinary and best. Proper was best. First a wash. He jumped upstairs to the bathroom, checked his face in the mirror; ye could see the actual bristles. He peered at his eyes, again at his eyes, almost a smile. Mum; not Eilidh.

He didnt even need a meal. That was the truth; he didnt want to go. If he could just say it! What is wrong with saying it? I’m not going. I’m not going. No Dad sorry, I dont want to. I’ve got like things to do and I dont want to go anywhere. I really really dont. He said it aloud: I’m not going, I am not going. No Dad. No, I am not.

Of course he was. Aunt Maureen and Uncle John. Of course he was. They were wanting him to go, and if he didnt? Oh he was going of course he was going, he was starving. Starving.

They were waiting for him.

*

The restaurant was called the Home-Run Deli and was their favourite one. It was not like a deli the way ye would expect it in Scotland. It was a big like barbeque place full of all different kinds of food for sitting in. Vegetables ye hadnt heard of. All kinds of ribs, chops, pork, ham, lamb, chicken and steak, and one called “joints”, and a lot of fish. They had music every Wednesday from teatime until ten at night; bluegrass and country. Uncle John and Aunt Maureen liked it too but especially the atmosphere is what they enjoyed. It’s down home, said Uncle John.

They wanted Murdo and Dad to try different things and explained what some of it was, and eat whatever caught their fancy. Murdo was starving and so was Dad. Much of it he didnt know — “grits” — but they also had pizza and lasagne. “Grits” is porridge with cheese, said Uncle John.

No sir mister, said Aunt Maureen who only wanted a sandwich; she called it a hot sandwich and ordered mashed potatoes to go with it. It was Kentucky food instead of Alabama food. That was the point she was making. She winked at Murdo. He was not sure what to eat but eventually he went with lasagne and fries — chips. Dad and Uncle John had steak but with mashed potato instead of chips. Uncle John made a joke about Murdo and Italian food to go with Italian accordeons, then ordered beers for himself and Dad, orange juice for Aunt Maureen and Murdo.

Aunt Maureen’s sandwich was the best thing. Murdo would have got that if he had known. It was not really a sandwich at all but with turkey and bacon and toasted cheese; tasty-looking.

It was good with Aunt Maureen and Uncle John. They were cheery and kept things going. The usual stuff; family and Scotland and bits about Kentucky and places. Uncle John did the talking on America. Aunt Maureen listened as if he was speaking about things she didnt know. He came out with daft sayings — “A slap on the face with a wet kipper”. People laughed at that but what did it mean? Nobody knew. Old sayings from the old days. A song about Davy Crockett, born on a mountain top in Tennessee, played the fiddle at the Alamo. Scottish background. Everything was Scottish background. Aunt Maureen made faces behind his back. Let somebody else talk, she said and she nodded at Murdo. Uncle John grinned at him. Murdo said: How far is California?

What? Uncle John looked at him.

Aunt Maureen smiled.

Murdo said, Well I was just thinking like the idea of Cousin Calum like I mean driving across, if we went to see him.

Huh! said Aunt Maureen.

Uncle John sighed. Murdo son, how many miles in a day can ye drive?

I dont know.

Five hundred? Uncle John glanced at Dad. Eh Tommy? Okay. Divide it into three thousand and that is yer days.

Wow, said Dad.

Six. A minute a mile, said Uncle John. You want to go faster go faster.

Aint safe, said Aunt Maureen.

No I’m not saying to go faster, only as an estimate, just working it out a mile a minute as a guide to distance.

Six days! said Dad.

Three thousand miles. Uncle John shrugged. Then if you’re going north Tommy… Calum’s in Oakland.

Murdo would have asked about Louisiana too but not with Dad there. But knowing about California meant ye could compare it. Six days to California, how many to Louisiana? The Road Atlas book was brilliant for calculating. They had a page where the distances between places was laid out in miles and kilometres. Straight south to Mobile and turn right. Left to Orange Beach on the southernmost tip which sounded brilliant the way Aunt Maureen spoke about it; a great beach where ye could swim and just enjoy it all; the Gulf of Mexico.

For Louisiana ye continued right past New Orleans and all the way until just before Texas, that was Lafayette. The gig was nine o’clock Saturday night so that was early Saturday morning he had to leave, very very early, the earliest. Except that was for ordinary driving in a car; not like buses with all changes and connections and sitting about waiting then like what happened from Memphis if ye missed a connection so an overnight stay, so then ye would miss the gig. So it had to be Friday. It could only be Friday. Except that was Uncle John and the trip to the Tennessee Valley. So what happened there?

Nothing. He would just tell Dad. Sorry Dad.

Although Aunt Maureen was saying about the weather, it was turning bad the next few days. Maybe they would postpone the trip! If it was like a downpour why would ye want to go? Nobody would. It would just be like nightmarish boring crap, stuck in a tent looking out. The whole weekend. So they wouldnt go and it would be postponed, so then they could go to the gig. Why not? They could. They would love it! If they went they would. They wouldnt but.

They wouldnt go.

Why not?

Because it didnt happen. People didn’t do things like that. Imagine they did but. And Dad was like Oh Uncle John the weather is too bad for the Tennessee Valley, maybe we can go to Queen Monzeeay’s gig instead!

Ha ha right enough.

But why not! if it was his own son playing? Wouldnt that be something? That would be special. Here we are in America and Murdo’s playing a gig. Aunt Maureen would love it! So would Uncle John. He just needed an accordeon. So he had to get one, and he would get one, and knew where to get it.

Aunt Maureen and Uncle John were enjoying the meal. Just being there was a good thing and occasionally they stared around the place as if they hoped to see somebody they knew. It would have been nice if they had; here’s our relations from Scotland, showing them off.

$90 wasnt enough. Dad would give him more if he asked. Maybe he would. Although what did it matter, if he wasnt going. Instead it was the Tennessee Valley. It was all arranged. Uncle John was getting the day off especially. So dont waste yer breath son totally impossible and if something is impossible it is just not possible so why even talk about it dont bloody talk about it it is just a waste of breath. Fine for you wasting your breath, but not for other people, not if ye’re a guest, and that is what you are son a guest! So shut up.

They were going up country, mountains and rivers and boats, fishing and just everything — friends coming with them, all for a good time and like overnight and whatever, tents or else a what-do-ye-call-it, bungalow thing made out of wood, sort of cottage, logs

just everything, everything.

So he had to go. Although he was not going to. He couldnt. The gig was on and he was playing it. He said he would and had to. He gave his word to Sarah so like breaking yer word, how could ye if it was like manners, good manners, that was ha ha ha, breaking yer word. It was fine when it suited Dad, not when it didnt.

Queen Monzee-ay was expecting him and had her set worked out for the two accordeons. So that was that.

Unless the weather. Torrential rain. Maybe it would be postponed. But if it was they would just go someplace else. It was their last weekend together and Uncle John had wangled the day off. So Murdo couldnt not go. That would have been the worst of all for Dad. Everybody doing things for ye, and then ye say no, just like a slap in the face. A family matter, the same as the Gathering and not playing the accordeon. Family comes first. Being a guest. Not knowing what guests do. What is a guest! Are family guests? Family is do as yer told. Same with guests. Murdo had to go with them. Otherwise

Otherwise nothing.

Dad was asking a question. He was going to the bar and was asking him what he wanted to drink. A big pint of lager Dad ha ha ha.

Please, he said, maybe an apple juice.

Did he even want an apple juice! Why not a glass of wine! A jack and coke, guys drank that.

Dad had got up from his chair, going to the bar or else to find a waiter. He stood there looking about. Uncle John pointed to the other corner of the large room: the Men’s room. Over there, he said.

Dad headed across and as soon he had gone Uncle John was up and over to the end of the bar, and to the cashier’s desk where a wee queue had formed. He was still there when Dad exited the Men’s room. He saw Uncle John. The two had a disagreement. It was in good spirits; not loud enough to embarrass people. Dad wanted to pay the bill but Uncle John was insisting and insisting. Uncle John won. When they returned to the table he led the way. Dad followed with more drinks which included two whiskies. Uncle John was speaking to Dad over his shoulder. That’s how we do it here, he said.

I wanted to pay something, said Dad.

Huh! said Uncle John.

Aunt Maureen looked from him to Dad, then to Murdo. Uncle John and Dad were sitting down now. Dad taking the drinks off the tray. Uncle John said to Aunt Maureen, He’s the guest. I dont want him paying.

Dad smiled. Well Uncle John I have to pay something.

Uncle John immediately sat forwards, almost up off the chair, and he glared at Dad: You paid the goddam tickets!

The force of this shocked Dad, and Aunt Maureen cried: Oh now mister!

Sorry. Uncle John closed his eyes.

Murdo looked again at Dad who was staring at the table but now had raised his head, gazing at Uncle John.

Uncle John said, Sorry. I’m sorry. He clasped his hands on the table and was still. He glanced at Murdo and smiled a moment but not cheerily.

Whatever it was, not paying the tickets, what tickets? Not the plane tickets, Uncle John paid the plane tickets. What other tickets? The bus tickets?

Uncle John shifted on his chair and said to Dad, Sorry about that Tommy.

Och! Dad shrugged. Not at all.

Aunt Maureen sighed. She smiled, looking around, and said to Murdo: You like this place son?

Yeah.

You want to come for the music now, they have some fine musicians play here.

Murdo nodded. Eventually Uncle John raised his whisky glass and paused with it. After a moment Dad raised his. Uncle John said to Murdo, What is it ye say again son is it slàinte mhòr or slàinte mhath?

Eh… Usually just slàinte, or slàinte mhath.

Some of them here say slàinte mhòr.

Do they?

Yeah. Uncle John glanced at Dad. Slàinte mhòr, it’s just one of these things that they say.

I dont know it, said Dad. Mhòr is big.

Yeah, said Uncle John. Big whisky eh!

Yeah. Dad smiled, sipping the whisky. It’s a nice one.

I like it, replied Uncle John.

Aunt Maureen said to Murdo, You’re thinking about the drive home son huh? You worrying about that? Aunt Maureen was opening her purse; she withdrew the car keys. This what you’re worried about? She jerked her thumb at Uncle John, and snorted: You think I’d let him drive huh? You want us to land on top of Old Smokey?

Murdo grinned. I wasnt thinking that at all!

Oh yeah! Uncle John chuckled.

I wasnt!

This guy sees everything! laughed Uncle John.

Dad smiled, looking from one to the other. Aunt Maureen closed her purse. Dad said, I knew ye were a driver Aunt Maureen but not the 4x4, I didnt know ye drove the 4x4.

Oh you didnt huh!

No!

Aunt Maureen touched Dad on the wrist.

Murdo said, You liked driving the wee car Aunt Maureen.

Yes I did son thank you for saying. Scoot here and there huh.

Uncle John smiled, but didnt say anything. After a moment Aunt Maureen glanced at him: Dont go blaming yourself now mister we had to sell it.

Yeah.

We didnt have the choice.

No.

Aunt Maureen nodded, and said to Murdo, He dont want me going on buses Murdo.

Murdo smiled.

But Aunt Maureen frowned at Uncle John: So how am I to get any place huh? Cant go on a bus and aint got no car.

I know, replied Uncle John.

You dont know mister: stuck in the house. What happens when these boys go? Huh? What happens then?

We’ll miss them. Uncle John sipped at his beer.

Sure we’ll miss them. Sure we’ll miss them.

You’ll go down in the dumps. Uncle John winked at Murdo.

I wont, said Aunt Maureen.

Is that a promise!

Oh now you want to promise to phone Springfield, Missouri? she asked.

Uncle John gazed at her.

After a few moments she winked at Dad, jerking a thumb in Uncle John’s direction and she said, He thinks I dont know about walking Tom! I walked them mountains when I was a girl and I can keep walking them.

Uncle John frowned, I’m not saying a word.

No sir, she said.

On the road home Murdo sat in the front passenger’s seat. He was not sure whether to speak to Aunt Maureen or not and was wary of disturbing her concentration. Her gaze rarely strayed from the road ahead and it seemed like her preference was silence. In the rear seats Dad and Uncle John didnt speak hardly at all.

*

Be sociable.

What is “be sociable”? There was nothing wrong with lying down. That is what bedrooms are for, ye go to relax and just like escape. Sometimes ye needed that. Not having to talk to people. Putting on the music. Reading a book or anything at all. Nothing at all. Why has it got to be something? Think about nothing. So what if it was the afternoon? Ye need yer own space. Bedrooms are a space. Dad was annoyed because Murdo was lying down but so what if he was lying down if it was his room? Surely he could be in his room? Dad went to his and Aunt Maureen went to hers so why couldnt Murdo? It had been raining the last couple of days so what else was there to do? Ye couldnt go in the garden. Ye had to stay in yer room or else go to the lounge, except if ye did somebody else might be there so ye had to say hullo and start talking. And obviously ye couldnt play the music: obviously.

He didnt want to read anyway he was sick of it.

Uncle John spoke about an Indian village they visited, a real one someplace where they had wooden houses. Indian descendants showed them historical things and they felt it creepy but not the ones showing them, they didnt bat an eyelid.

So what, that would have been Murdo, exactly the same.

That prayer on the leaflet at Mum’s funeral. The minister read it out. Oh Thou who are present in every place and from Whose love no space or distance can ever separate us. Grant us to know that those who are absent from one another are still present with Thee. Ha ha. Was Murdo supposed to cry? Memories memories. Ye cry about the past and memories are the past. If the person is with ye then she is with ye so how come the tears? No tears. That is crap. Let Jesus take the strain. Ha ha.

Screams from the basement. Tortured screams. Dig deep beneath the floor, going down beyond the foundations, way way down, down into the dark earth that used to be lush fields and dirt trails; the black soil ye rub between yer fingers where the maggots are, places where Indians camped, where they buried their dead.

Dad didnt cry either. People felt sorry for him. Why not Murdo? If things were tough for Dad, it was the same for him. Poor Dad. What about Murdo! Grant us to know that those who are absent from one another are still present with Thee. That is like ha ha.

Rows, moans and grumbles all the time having to think about him. Why not him about Murdo? Who was the father and who was the boy? Murdo was the boy and Dad was Dad. How come he was to feel sorry for him? It was bloody nuts. The son shouldnt have to feel sorry for the father. Jesus didnt feel sorry for God.

The son wants to get there but the father is there already. The father is always there and the son never is. That was Dad, Dad Dad Dad. He sat beside Murdo at the funeral and listened to the minister. Everything the minister said Dad heard like it was a real conversation and not just a sermon. Murdo didnt listen at all. It was Dad the minister was saying it for anyway, and when people listened they listened for the poor man, the poor poor man, what is going to happen to him? Is he going to be okay? Or else go mad! Maybe he will. People do go mad. Mum was there in the coffin. Imagine that. People fling themselves on the coffin. Imagine Dad. Dad could have done it, he could have jumped on the coffin. And Murdo saving him, it would have been Murdo: Dad Dad dont jump, dont jump, come back, come back. All the people looking, Oh look at Tom Macarthur, he’s mad; that is grief, he is mad with grief. So who is going to save him?

Bloody Murdo that’s who. Dad took pills. Unless he had stopped. Maybe he had. People take pills to calm down. Then they forget them and go crazy. Dad didnt. He just had silences. His silences went on and on. He went to his room. What did he do in his room? He read books. Anything else? Stared out the window. Dad could sit at the window and see out. He was at the front of the house so he saw the street. If Murdo wanted to see out he stood up on a chair and reached higher. All he saw was the sky. Although he liked the sky. The sky was good in Alabama.

A chap at the door.

Murdo got up and opened to Aunt Maureen. Brought you something! She passed him a muffin on a plate and a mug of tea. Low pressure all over, she said, right from the coast. All along they got it torrential.

Oh well.

Aunt Maureen nodded, and smiled. Murdo held the muffin and the mug of tea. Thanks Aunt Maureen!

He placed them on the bedside table and made to close the door. But Aunt Maureen wagged her finger at him. Now son you ask good questions and I got one for you: you reckon they could cure cancer?

Cure cancer?

They go spending millions on weapons and guns going into other people’s countries. So why not look after their own huh? Shouldnt that come first? Whoever will do that? You think there is someone but there aint; no sir, black, brown or white. That aint their prerogative. Forget medicine. That aint what they do with our tax money. That’s for something else huh. Well, I get cross about that son, I do. We were talking about it in church. Things just aint right. That’s what people are saying. That was the talk, like a discussion? that is what you would call it. You enjoy a talk son that was a talk.

Aunt Maureen reached to grasp him by the wrist. Her hand was light and he could have brushed it away. She had a thin hand, thin fingers and the flesh felt silky. She said: That is one beautiful name, Eilidh. That the old language of Scotland Murdo?

Yeah, it’s Gaelic.

Well it is beautiful, it is beautiful. Aunt Maureen nodded then she smiled and shook her head slowly. You maybe think about next Sunday son huh?

…

If you want to come with us to church you would be so very welcome.

Oh.

Your Dad is coming.

Dad! Is he?

Aunt Maureen smiled. It’s a welcoming church Murdo. She touched him on the wrist: Now do I get a hug from you or what!

Murdo stepped to her and they hugged. She returned upstairs.

Murdo closed the door. No matter what she was the very very best. Life was just like whatever, who cares, except Aunt Maureen. Whatever else happened.

*

The rain teeming down. Murdo was up in the chair peering out the window. It was the sky. The rain was there but sometimes it seemed to merge. Aunt Maureen said it got in everywhere. Talking about the rain. The roof wasnt good any more but she didnt want Uncle John clambering up to mend it. He was good at jobs about the house but she worried about him falling off and breaking his neck. All the time she worried about him. Oh I’m not going to bed until he comes home. Same as Mum. It was Dad she waited for.

She did! Oh Murdo here’s yer meal. Where’s yours Mum? Oh I’m waiting for your father.

Ha ha.

That was something. It was great seeing. He loved seeing it. Dad walking in the door and Mum seeing him walk in the door. And she always did. That was her in the hospice. She always saw him walk in the door. How come?

She was watching for him. While Murdo was there. Murdo was talking to her and she was watching for Dad. Is that not something? What is that?

What it was. Murdo didnt know what it was.

Although he did. Mum loved Dad. Ha ha. She loved Murdo too.

Listening to stuff. No music and the sounds. Inside yer head like gas pipes, zzzzzz.

Thoughts go back thoughts go back, way way back. It was true but. That was a family.

The worst for Dad was Murdo dead and him alive. That was the worst of all. For Dad it was. The very worst imaginable. He wouldnt want to be alive.

But as soon as they got home he was leaving school. Dad had to understand that. If he didnt then he didnt understand anything. Murdo was not staying for one last year. He was not staying for one last day. He was not doing good and was never ever going to. Never ever. How come Mum thought he could? That was Mum. Mum was Mum, she was a mother. She thought he was brainy. He wasnt. People were good at their lessons. He wasnt! He was just bloody hopeless, he needed other stuff or the same stuff done different. That was it with teachers: Oh I think I know what it is but it’s different to what ye think.

Oh God, like gas pipes inside yer head, that last time when he was leaving, he didnt look, at Mum, he didnt look at her. He was not able to. He walked out the room.

He needed away, to get away. Leave and love. I leave but I love.

Oh hullo son, how are ye? Fine. How’s yer Mum? Fine. Fine fine fine; everything

*

He had $90. Uncle John and Dad gave him it to spend. He didnt. He kept the lot. He got through the whole day at the Gathering without spending a penny. It couldnt have happened without Clara Hopkins. She gave him like two meals for the price of one, and he didnt even pay for that. Dad was supposed to give him pocket money but didnt. This was not because he was mean. Maybe he was mean but that wasnt why he forgot the pocket money. He just forgot. Murdo should have told him but didnt.

That $40 was food money. If ye took away the food money how much had Dad given him? Nothing. Uncle John’s $50 was the pocket money. If there was emergencies, that is what it was for, like Lafayette and buses, how to get there, that was an emergency. Take away that and he had nothing.

Not in the whole world. This is why he had to leave school. He needed his own money. Not to buy toys. To get by in the world. Ye couldnt get by without money. So if yer parents didnt give ye it. Ye had to work or else rob a bank. Uncle John and Aunt Maureen were ordinary people. They had a nice house but that was like from years ago when they bought it; three jobs and all what they did. Murdo knew that. He wasnt daft. All that stuff about growing up. Ye wanted to but people didnt let ye. Ye had to find it all out yerself. Murdo knew about saving money. Everything was saving money. That was poor people the wide world over.

So it was rob a bank.

Where would ye go if ye did? There were good places to hide in Alabama; the same back home. Guys talked about that. For Murdo the best place wasnt England or Ireland. For robbing a bank the best escape was sailing a boat around Ardlamont Point and up by Crinan. That is how Murdo would go because who would expect it? Nobody. They would all think oh Glasgow and then like a train to England. For Murdo it was like get past Islay but not to Ireland, it was Canada or Greenland. The Atlantic Ocean. All ye needed was a boat and ye could get a boat.

Oh but $90 wasnt enough. Lafayette was bus tickets and an accordeon; snacks and juice, bottles of water. That was what it meant for going. Ye needed money. A lot of money. How much was an accordeon was a daft question. Ye could get a cheap one or an expensive one, or something inbetween. The pawnshop in Allentown had one that was not bad-looking. Ye would only know when ye played it, if the reeds were damaged or whatever. If he went on the Friday he could meet with Sarah and the family and get a lift down.

These were the thoughts.

*

He wandered upstairs to see what was happening. Aunt Maureen was in the kitchen. Murdo stood with her watching the Weather Channel. Rain’s off, she said.

Murdo hesitated then returned downstairs, lifted his jacket and headed back up, knelt at the front door to put on his boots. Dad appeared from out his room. Where ye off to? he asked.

Eh just round the block Dad like I mean I was eh…

Okay if I come with ye?

…

Eh, is it okay?

Of course.

Murdo waited for him to get ready. Aunt Maureen appeared from the kitchen. You boys going out a walk huh?

Yeah.

Good thinking; rain’s coming on later.

You could come? said Murdo.

Thanks son. I got things to do.

It would be good if ye did.

Oh now I would Murdo but I just dont have the time now huh I got things to do.

Dad had arrived and stood to the side while she was speaking. Now she opened the door for them and waited until they were beyond the garden path onto the pavement then she waved to them. Farther along the street Murdo turned to see her still there by the door. She waved again and he waved in reply. Dad also waved. Dad said, She likes to see us getting out!

Yeah. Murdo smiled.

Which way?

I was just going eh… Murdo pointed to the next corner and shrugged.

Anywhere in particular? asked Dad.

No.

They continued walking. Pools of water lay around but it was warm and quite a stuffy feel to everything. Before long Dad took off his jacket and walked with it slung across his shoulder. He had noticed a certain smell. Might be hickory or maple, he said, ye get them here. Different types of plants and trees. Different wild life too. Quite an interesting place Alabama.

Yeah, said Murdo.

Dad seemed cheery. Maybe something nice had happened. What was nice for Dad? Unless going home next Tuesday. Maybe he wanted to go and was glad it was coming. In some ways it was okay but in other ways not.

In most ways not.

Was there even one was okay? A horrible day here was better than a good day there. The truth is there werent any good days back home. Even if there were so what? If they were good what happened? Nothing. Good days and bad days were the same; just like nothing at all.

So if Dad had emigrated back when he was a boy then they would have been here and Murdo wouldnt have had to go home because this would have been home. Except Murdo wouldnt have been here because Dad and Mum would never have met and married, so bla bla bla, him and Eilidh: a different mother means different children and they would have been American, whoever they were. Dad would have married an American woman like maybe Linda so that would have been them.

Murdo was going to say something to Dad about it but didnt. It was good just walking, and Dad was enjoying that too. He was noticing wee things in walking and drew attention to the flags on houses and the similarity of the gardens and garages. He was interested in the actual houses and when they were built then he seemed to be guessing the number of rooms in particular ones, and the idea that most houses were on the level like what ye called bungalows back home, maybe with basements; so if a basement might have had two rooms, three rooms or whatever, maybe just one big games room with things like pool tables or their own wee bars or whatever. There werent as many “add-ons” as back home, said Dad, where people had added extensions to their houses to make them bigger.

He spoke about other stuff too but Murdo didnt catch it all, something about his job and the kind of job Uncle John did, and things to do with working, and he also spoke about next year and how it would be “life after school” for Murdo. It was funny the way Dad said it but there wasnt anything he could say back. The truth is he didnt hear much at all because he was not listening, not to everything. Things were calm and that brought its own sound. Hardly a breeze at all, no traffic. Peace and quiet. This was a great place for walking just like for yer head so ye didnt have to really think. It was weird how ye felt yer own walking made echoes, although it didnt make any echoes.

Maybe the dampness, a kind of dampness, it maybe had something to do with how calm it was. Maybe calm before the storm. Rain was due later. Water deadens sound. Or changes it. The rain dampening the earth and a noise becomes more thudding or thick. Rain on a roof, heavy rain, not heavy but not going away, insistent, incessant. In a garden towards the end of the street an elderly woman was bent over tending plants inside plant-holders; she was wearing a large straw hat, an apron and trousers tucked into wellington boots. Puddles of water. She raised her head to see them properly. Murdo thought Dad didnt notice her but he called, Hullo.

She didnt respond. Murdo wasnt surprised but it was a wee bit disappointing too like as if she knew they were foreign and wasnt interested in knowing about them. She returned to what she was doing.

It would have been good if Aunt Maureen spent more time in the garden. She mostly worked about the house. “Pottering” is how she described it. Gardens were open air and would have been better for her.

When they reached the red-brick church with the square tower and the pillars there were younger women and small children by a side door entrance. Round the corner was the bus-stop listing information on times and destinations. Probably a bus from here would connect to the downtown area where they had a main bus station. Murdo had wanted to check this out but Dad tagging along made it awkward. When they approached the bus-stop Murdo said, Look Dad a bus-stop. I wonder where the buses go?

Dad also was interested. They paused by the information listing. Shuttle? Murdo asked, What is that Dad “shuttle”?

A shuttle bus, it shuttles ye from one place to the other. Back and forth.

Yeah but where?

Downtown probably, or else the shopping mall — this is the road.

Murdo scanned the information for a few moments longer.

Dad was looking at the sky and checked his watch. Okay? he said.

Yeah, it’s just interesting seeing the buses.

It’s going to rain later.

They continued walking. The traffic was heavy; big long trucks that tooted and had flags and fancy decorations round the driver’s cabin. Some traveled the length and breadth of the whole country.

The actual cars were like back home, and not like television or the movies where ye saw the straight-line ones with the big long bonnets. One difference here was the different styles of pick-up trucks. Dad was looking at them too, maybe thinking about his driver’s licence and if he had brought it what would have happened?

Lafayette, Louisiana! Ha ha.

No chance. Even if Dad had brought it. He would never have hired a car all that time. Although for one weekend, yes, maybe. He could have afforded that. Leave Friday, back Sunday. Or else Saturday, if they picked up the car early Saturday morning, did the gig Saturday night then delivered it back Sunday morning. They would have managed that. The route was dead easy and like straightforwards, Dad would have done it no bother at all. It would have been brilliant. How brilliant, ye could imagine, just amazing! It didnt matter anyway. Although it did, in a way.

The Tennessee Valley in a couple of days. Dad talked about it like it was exciting, and it was exciting. Friends of Uncle John and Aunt Maureen were going with them too; an older couple who were at the Gathering. If possible they would all stay overnight. Be nice if we did, said Dad.

Yeah, said Murdo. Although he wasnt going with them. Really. That was that. He wasnt. And it was relaxing to know.

Imagine horses and a wagon train.

Car after car after car, trucks followed trucks. But that traffic was okay, wherever it all was going: nowhere; round and round, back and forward; who cares where it was going except the people inside, the ones doing the driving, their families all waiting for them to come home.

It was true but. Murdo was not going with them: the Tennessee Valley, he was not going. That was that.

Dad was talking away. I felt a couple of drops, he said.

I didnt, said Murdo.

I think we should head for the mall.

Just now?

Yeah, said Dad, it’s not too far. We could grab a sandwich and you could check out the music store. D’ye fancy?

Eh…

It’s definitely going to rain. If it’s very heavy we can get a taxi home. Dad shrugged. Be nice to look about, get a coffee. Fancy it?

Eh…

You’re not that bothered! Dad smiled.

No I mean if you are eh just like if you think.

If I think?

Yeah well…

So you’re not bothered?

No but Dad if you are then fine, fine. If you want to go. I mean I dont mind. Murdo stopped walking.

Dad had stopped before him, and he said, So it’s not yer preference?

I dont mind.

So will we head back or what? I take it you’re happy to head back? Your preference son, what is your preference? Obviously ye’ve got a preference.

A preference?

What do ye want to do? Dad sighed. I’m asking what ye want to do?

Just whatever.

Right, okay. Dad smiled with his eyes closed. Okay, he said, and that was that, they headed back.

Close of day. Nothing. Murdo was glad. Not close of day but nearly. Close of day was Thursday evening when Uncle John returned from work, and after the meal, when everybody had gone to bed: that was close of day. The day after was Friday. Friday was Friday.

*

Early that Thursday evening Murdo was downstairs studying the Road Atlas book. Uncle John had phoned to say he would not be home until seven o’clock. So they wouldnt be eating until half past, at least. Aunt Maureen would have served the evening meal before then but Dad and Murdo were happy to wait. She worried about him. Not because he was ill but the life he led at sixty-eight years of age: up by 6.30 every morning, out the door by 7.15; a fifty-mile drive five days a week and every other Saturday, plus emergency call-outs. But that was that and if ever he retired what would he do? He laughed about it but Aunt Maureen didnt.

Most of the Tennessee Valley preparations had been done by her during the past couple of days. They planned to leave early and were prepared for an overnight stop; perhaps even two, Friday and Saturday, depending how things went. Dad told Murdo to pack extra in case they did. Of course he was packing extra but for where he was going himself. So when he said, Okay Dad, it wasnt ordinary conversational talking it was like a lie, an actual lie, each time Dad spoke to him.

Except the only thing: it was right what he was doing. He was not going with them. If he did that was him for the rest of his life. For everything. Although he was telling lies to do it, it was the right thing. So so right it was not even a decision. It fitted.

The route from Allentown to Lafayette missed out Mobile altogether. The road went down the side of the Mississippi River down through Vicksburg, small roads to Jackson where Sarah’s father wanted her to go to college. Maybe he could hitch some parts and save money. No. He just needed more money. $90 was not enough. He needed more, a lot more — another $100, maybe $150 like if it was an accordeon on top of the bus-fares. If he could save money he would but how could he do that? Unless if he hitched part of the way. Why not? People did. At home they did. They did here too; ye saw it on the movies although then it was like the Horror Channel; chainsaw massacres and vampires ripping ye limb from limb. It depended on Allentown. Everything was fine if he got a lift down with Sarah’s family, and the loan of an accordeon too; maybe the turquoise if Queen Monzee-ay thought it was okay. If not, it was just money, he needed money.

But like pocket money anyway. Imagine the pocket money Dad owed him! He never gave him any! Ha ha.

It was true but. Dad forgot. He wasnt mean, he was just like forgetful. It was a bloody fortune! Ever since Mum died. When ye thought about it. He would pay it back anyway. However much he took, it was borrowing, Murdo was going to borrow. It was just like a loan.

He shut the Road Atlas book. He stretched out on the bed. No music. Maybe he didnt want any. Not just now.

Aunt Maureen too, jeesoh, whenever he passed her she smiled or said something cheery about tomorrow. It was hopeless, acting like it meant something. And what did it mean? Nothing. He was just lying. Looking and speaking. Just everything. He lied and lied. Really, he was just a bloody liar. And the greatest people in the world, that was Aunt Maureen and it was Uncle John too.

He got up from the bed and opened the door, waited for the all-clear then upstairs to the bathroom. He shut the door and snibbed it. The bathroom mirror.

He didnt mean to see his face but he did. So he had to look, to really look and really just

jeesoh, his stomach. He splashed cold water on his face and the back of his neck, to get fresh.

He didnt like his eyes. What was his eyes? He didnt like them. His eyes were not, they were not something. He needed to smile. It wasnt a smile. Ha ha. Not a smile.

Strange about lips, that wee bit on the upper one shaped like a V and that wee valley bit up to between the nostrils. That was yer body and how it worked. Things fitted. That was like tunes and how ye made one up, this note came before that note, and ye just went with it and then looked at it later and shaped them all out, making it smooth, making “it” smooth. “It” was one urge all the way through.

Maybe he needed a shave. Maybe he didnt. He didnt have to, unless he thought so. Seeing his face. He wanted Eilidh and Mum to be there.

He made a smile. It was his smile.

He didnt have as many pimples. Probably the sun. His face and neck were red but hardly any suntan on his body. Maybe he had a body that didnt go brown. Some people’s bodies stayed white, or else just red.

He did a thing and everybody else was affected. Ye look in the mirror and see other people. They are seeing you. Ye see yer own face but these other folk too, how come they are all there? You make a decision but it is their life too.

They know what you are thinking. They say it to ye: Oh I know what you’re thinking. Nothing gets hidden. Nothing can be hidden. Ye cannay even tell a lie because the truth is always there and somebody knows, somebody knows. Dad is close and Mum is closer, yet both are further because Eilidh is inside, she is inside, so ye cannot hide, nothing ye can do is hidden, like no private access for anything, damn bloody anything, stupid nonsense shit and porn sites, and any damn anything not caring because who cares if everybody knows, ye just say it and do it like life if that is how ye live, who cares, who hears, everybody is nobody. Except the person left behind, always a person left behind. That is the plus one.

Then about lies too, how ye could say it wasnt a total bunch of lies never-ending, not like an infinity, because if ye took away that one most basic lie, then nothing else was there, it all just disappeared. A tissue of lies. One lie made the tissue. Take away the one and there wasnt a tissue. That bigger and bigger pile of lies was really just the one: he said he was going and he was not going.

He heard a door closing. Uncle John had come home from work.

*

They didnt start eating until 8 o’clock. Uncle John opened a bottle of wine and included a wee one for Murdo. Dad just smiled. They were going home next Tuesday. Murdo’s head was so full he had forgotten. He sipped the wine, it was tasty. Wine could be tasty although never quite like what ye expected. Beer was better.

He hoped Dad and Uncle John would go the last hour to the pub but they were too busy with packing and stuff; Aunt Maureen too, dotting between the house and the driveway. It suited Murdo because he could stay downstairs. Later Dad sat in the lounge by himself watching television. So that was Murdo’s chance: Will I go and tell him now?

When he told Dad Dad would tell Uncle John and Aunt Maureen. They would think he was ill. Viruses were everywhere. Uncle John made jokes about medical care in America. It cost ye a body part to pay for the medical bill. Ye went in with a broken leg and the operation cost ye a liver. They would worry then come downstairs and like Oh what’s wrong with ye son are ye ill? No. What’s wrong? Nothing’s wrong I’m just like eh

whatever.

They would see he wasnt ill. Maybe he is coming down with something. He isnt ill just now but tomorrow he might be. Maybe it is a mental issue. Too much stress. Would they be upset? Yes. But not a big bit. Dad would still be going. They had other friends that were going too so they wouldnt call it off. They would just wonder.

Murdo stayed in the basement. Whatever time it was. Then Aunt Maureen had been in her own room for ages. Murdo was wanting to say goodnight to her. Maybe she was in bed reading a magazine. So it was too late.

It was, it was too late.

And Dad and Uncle John were in the lounge, probably with a beer. It would have spoiled everybody’s night.

*

Next morning people were up and about on the final preparations. It was the last chance. He didnt want to see Uncle John and Aunt Maureen and waited downstairs until it was Dad in the bathroom, then waiting for him to come out, the door to open, just that moment. He didnt feel bad, just his stomach and nerves nerves nerves, that jumpiness ye get, having to do it, do something, whatever. When it did open Murdo was upstairs quietly. Dad held the door for him but Murdo said: Dad can I speak to ye a minute?

What’s up? said Dad.

Nothing, just eh

Is there something wrong?

No Dad I just eh Dad I need to speak to ye. Sorry Dad I just eh… Murdo sniffed and returned downstairs.

Dad followed. Inside Dad closed the door over. Murdo was standing by the foot of the bed, maybe four yards away, and he felt better there and even like limbering up, like running on the spot, that was how felt. The most stupid thing but just silly silly and he had to breathe in, standing as still as he could, put his hands in his pockets and was going to start crying, Oh Dad

he was going to start crying, Oh Dad.

What’s up? What’s up?

Dad I cant go. Murdo shook his head. Dad…I cant go. I cant go. I just cant. I cant. Dad I cant.

Why not?

Dad I cant. Murdo closed his eyes, lowering his head and he breathed in deeply.

Son what’s up? Dad made a movement towards him and hesitated.

Dad I’m so so sorry.

Calm down.

Murdo breathed in.

What’s wrong?

I just cant go Dad I’m sorry like the thought of it Dad, being away and just like being with people and the whole day and everything, just sitting there and everything like all the talking and everything, everything, Dad I dont eh I dont… Dad I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry; but I just feel I need to opt out, I need to opt out.

Dad was nodding his head.

Dad I’m so sorry I’m so so sorry. Dad…

Dad put his arm round Murdo’s shoulder. Dont worry, he said.

I’m so so sorry.

Dont worry.

They stood for several moments; Murdo gazing at the floor, shoulders hunched and his hands in his pockets and it was like he couldnay raise his head, not able to look at Dad, he felt so bad like just going away forever, just forever.

Take it easy, said Dad. He patted Murdo on the shoulder. Ye okay?

Yeah.

They’ll be disappointed.

I’m so sorry.

Dont worry. If ye change yer mind…we’ll, be another half hour. Okay?

Murdo nodded.

Dad left the room and it was over. Everything. Murdo listened to his footsteps.

Aunt Maureen would be upset especially. But so would Uncle John. Dad was going but, that was something. They wouldnt have to worry either like how sometimes Murdo and Dad like if they werent talking or there was bad feeling between them. Without Murdo it wasnt a worry.

But he didnt want to see them right away, and he sat down on the edge of the bed. Soon after he heard the 4x4 doors slamming shut and rushed upstairs, but they were still packing stuff into the boot. Uncle John called to him: Alright son!

Yeah, thanks.

Uncle John smiled, he continued the packing. Murdo went between the door from the dining area into the patio and the driveway outside the house, helping Dad pass him various bags and items. At one point Dad seemed irritated but maybe he wasnt. Aunt Maureen arrived with her last two bags which she put in on the floor by the rear passenger seat, then made to enter. She looked twice when she saw him. Hey Murdo! she said. She brandished her right fist: You’ll wish you had come!

Murdo smiled.

Dad said nothing but was looking straight at Murdo. Uncle John walked to the driver’s door. Now Dad looked set to say something but didnt.

Murdo returned the look, before shifting stance. He folded his arms. Dad walked to the front passenger side and pulled open the door. Uncle John gave Murdo a short salute: Be midnight the time we’re home Murdo boy. If we’re staying on we’ll phone.

We’ll phone either way, said Dad.

Murdo nodded.

Aunt Maureen had opened the rear passenger window. You know where there’s food son huh!

Yeah.

Dont burn the house down! Uncle John chuckled.

Dad was inside now, and closed the door. Murdo walked forwards. Once Uncle John had switched on the engine Dad let down the window to say, Don’t lock yerself out. Whatever ye do!

No.

I mean if ye go out a walk.

Murdo nodded. Have a good time, he said, then stepped back.

The 4x4 pulled outside onto the street. Murdo walked to the side then behind, waving, then returned up the driveway. He watched the car until it disappeared round the bend towards the main road. He stood there an extra moment. Maybe they would have forgotten something. The longer they didnt show the more unlikely it was.

How much distance does a car travel in five minutes? Thirty miles an hour is fifteen for a half hour, is seven and a half for fifteen, is five for two and a half: two and a half miles in five minutes.

Murdo returned downstairs and sorted through his clothes and essentials, packing quickly. Past eight o’clock and he needed to move fast. The buses was the problem. The thing with America was how big it was. Ye dont think that until ye see it on the Road Atlas book pages and work out the time it takes to get from place to place. Jackson looked quite near but it was hours away passing through Birmingham then change up to Allentown, he would have to change someplace. A car would go faster because ye could choose yer roads and drive as long as ye wanted without having to stop at wee towns to let people off and on, or else change buses. He packed the two CDs, the USA Road Atlas plus a book for reading.

That was him now. He lifted his jacket, had a last look round then went upstairs to the bathroom. Would he need a towel? Yes but the one Aunt Maureen had given him took up a lot of space. He went into her linen cupboard and lifted a small one for hands.

He knew where Dad kept the emergency money. Six hundred dollars. Murdo took four $50 notes which was the very very minimum. Everything depended. $200 was not enough if he didnt get any lifts and had to pay full bus-fares there and back. Plus accordeon. But he couldnt take anything more.

From the fridge he used the cheese and cold meat to make four sandwiches. Aunt Maureen wouldnt worry. She would be glad he took it. As many slices as necessary. He gathered some fruit together and found her store of brown paperbags.

Next was Aunt Maureen’s notepad to write a letter to her and Uncle John, and one to Dad too, just apologising and saying about the gig, and he would be back on Sunday but would phone and not to worry. Then the telephone rang, it kept ringing. Murdo walked to the hallway but didnt lift it. Maybe Dad from Uncle John’s cell phone. Probably it was. Jeesoh. It rang again. He went to lift it this time but left it, he just left it. He couldnt speak to anybody. When he checked the time it was after half past eight. How many miles was that?

Maybe he should have answered the phone. So now they would worry. If it was Dad. Maybe it wasnt, but if it was. If it was he would worry. He would ask Uncle John to turn back, to see things were okay. He would need to. That was Dad, that is what he would do. No he wouldnt. Maybe, maybe he would. Murdo wrote down the telephone number and house address in the back page of the Road Atlas book, and again on a scrap of notepaper which he put into the rucksack, and a third time on another scrap of notepaper which he stuck into his jeans pocket.

He positioned the two letters on the kitchen counter, propped up against mugs. He checked the patio door was locked and drew the curtains, then last call to the bathroom, last look round the house. He opened the front door. Nothing else. He stepped outside and closed it.

The street was quiet. Murdo walked quickly to the corner and all the way along past the red-brick church, and to the bus-stop on the main road.

He was the only one there. Five minutes and a bus arrived. The doors opened and he stepped up, and held coins at the ready. The driver ignored him. The doors closed and the driver continued to ignore him, then jerked his thumb back the way. So Murdo was not to pay money, or what? The driver accelerated, still ignoring him. Grumpy drivers, that was like home. Murdo walked to the nearest empty seat. Only two other people were on the bus but more got on eventually, and a few who looked like students.

The bus went right into the downtown area. Murdo ate a banana while crossing the road to the bus station. On a wall inside was a large map marked with the main bus routes which he studied, working it out the best way, tied into the route to Allentown, Mississippi.

He was prepared for expensive tickets but it was extortionate, and even more extortionate if he had gone west to begin with. The trouble there was keeping sideways rather than going north to Memphis; he did not want to go back there. It felt like bad luck or something; although what was luck, ye make yer own in this life. People said that.