maybe not. Murdo didnt know whether the guy would have sent it. Maybe he wanted to turn up and surprise her. The worst thing for the lassie was if Lachlan sent the letter and other people got it and just burnt it without telling her. So he was alive and she never knew, and he never knew that she never knew but just maybe that she didnt want to hear from him again, she had found another guy. That is what he would think. It was a sad story. Except the wee cheery ending, because nobody found the rowing boat, so that was a hope. If ever Murdo had money a boat is what he wanted, above all. Never mind a car . . . With a boat ye could take off anyplace, anyplace at all, it was up to you, just wherever. Imagine a lassie too, like a girlfriend and she was coming with ye, there would be nobody there except you and you could just like whatever, even a swim, like nude, you could just dive in and that would be that, just her body and ye would be swimming together and diving down, her floating past ye and her nude body just stretching
It was dark now and ye could see faces reflected in the windows. A couple of folk had their individual reading lights switched on. Apart from that not much, country or town. Who knows where, he couldnt imagine anything, and didnt want to anyway, it was a waste of time. Dad wouldnt do anything.
Murdo took his head away from the window. He had been leaning against it to feel the cold, then the vibrations, he would end up travel-sick.
The idea of the gig with Sarah and her grandmother. It was straightforward except with Dad it would never happen. Never ever. Ye could even feel sorry for him; sometimes Murdo did. In this life things go. What did he feel, right at this very moment? Life was ending or something. Because it was all just stupid how things happened. Ye met people then it was gone. A lassie like Sarah too. Lassies touch ye but when it’s a certain way, just a certain way, ye just kind of like . . . it’s something, ye could shiver. That was how she touched him. What did it matter anyway? It was gone and that was that. Only sometimes, Why me? That was what ye thought. Ye meet people and they have lives, but you dont.
TWO
Past midnight and deserted. They were seated on a bench at a bus-stop, luggage by their feet; the second bus dumped them here an hour ago. No bus station, just this bench at the outside wall of the drop-off point. Uncle John still hadnt arrived. There was an old payphone but Dad couldnt make it work. Maybe nobody could. He was back trying again. He managed the coins into the slot okay but whatever else he was doing it just wasnt happening. He saw Murdo watching and replaced the receiver, stepped away from it.
Dad will I try? asked Murdo.
Instead of replying Dad walked to the edge of the kerb and stared one way then the other.
But with payphones ye had to do everything in sequence. When ye put the money in and when ye dialed the number was important. Maybe Dad was doing it in the wrong order. Plus the area codes. It was only a wee town. Maybe ye needed to key in different codes like for cities closeby or else if it was a different state. Maybe it was. Then if there wasnt much light to see and there was hardly any light here; only one lamp, plus the moon!
Maybe Uncle John’s car had broken down someplace. That happens. People get breakdowns. What if he had had one in the middle of nowhere?
Dad was still staring down the road. Maybe he hadnt heard. What did it matter, it was Murdo’s fault anyway, them being here. That was missing the bus. Then disappearing this morning when he went to the shop and heard the music. If he didnt need the teabags he wouldnt have gone to the shop. So it was the teabags’ fault. But it was Dad wanted them.
Murdo settled his elbows on his knees and pulled up the hood on his jacket although it wasnt cold. It was calm and peaceful. Ye noticed the breeze, that wee whisshh, whisshh. That is how calm it was. Just sitting there on the bench. That was good anyway, having benches. It was too wee a place for a waiting room but at least ye could sit down, then leaning forwards, yer elbows on yer knees and just staring at the ground, and the ground was like anywhere in the world. Ye could forget everything.
What happens when ye get mesmerised? The way sounds connect in yer brain. Ye hear sounds. Him and Dad on a bench and nobody walking past. A ghost town. People in their houses and all the doors closed. Windows all shut. Yet sounds were here. The wind at night blows in from the hills or from the sea. Thunder miles away and the sounds. What comes in yer ears? These wee passages and tubes.
Something does. Then what happens? Connections. Memories maybe. Not just memories. Ye go someplace in yer brain. Back home they lived up a hill at the back of the town and there were no sounds except country sounds: the fields and the hills; the forest, the river and the lochs; the sea itself. Lying in bed at night and ye cannot sleep and have to close the window: how come? oh it is too noisy! But the sounds arent loud it is only because ye hear them. You: you hear them. So ye just have to not hear them, then ye can go to sleep, instead of floating off in yer head.
A science teacher played the class music to do with rain and water. Big dollops of rain on a corrugated roof; soft pattering on a shallow pond; a rushing river; drip trails on a pane of glass. People were impressed but it wasnt as big a deal as all that. The fiddle makes the sound of a train blowing in from a distance, disappearing into nothing. A mouth organ did as good a train sound as a fiddle. Trains coming and going. Ye could do stuff on accordeon too, or plucking a guitar string. It depended who was doing it and what they were doing it for. But it was always people doing it. Take away the people and there wasnay anything. That included computerised sound-systems, multi-track mixing and whatever, it was still you had to programme it in. The teacher was right about that.
But it was obvious anyway. Trains never arrive any place. Only the person. A train is there and then it is there and inbetween it is there, and there, and there it is again because it doesnt go anyplace. A person never goes anyplace, it is only the train. The train moves and the person arrives. “Doh” starts and “doh” finishes. When ye get to doh ye arrive, ye have arrived. And take off if ye want!
That was Murdo right now, he felt like that. The world moves but you dont, you are still sitting there.
Music helped ye work things out. From “rain” to “train” ye added a “t”. Then there was “tee” as in la tee doh. “Tee” is always getting someplace and never arrives, not until “doh”. “Tee” needs the “doh”. “Me” stands alone.
What sounds do people make?
The sound of Mum.
Did Dad make sounds after she died? Murdo didnt, he couldnt. Didnt because couldnt. Couldnt couldnt. Whoever could would. He couldnt. His head didnt work. Only for stupid stuff. What was a hospice? He didnt know. Imagine that. Ye have to be dying. The doctor tells ye, Oh ye have to go to the hospice.
But I dont know what a hospice is.
It means you are dying.
Oh.
Dad told Murdo the night he heard the news. Murdo had a night off from hospital and was fooling about with a couple of pals. He came home before eleven o’clock, intending to make toast and tea then skip upstairs to his room except Dad was waiting by the door, waiting for him. They sat down at the kitchen table. Dad wasnt looking good. He was trying to be okay but wasnt good at all. It was just like jeesoh ye knew something. Eventually Dad spoke. Mum’s being transferred to the hospice. He stared at Murdo then gave a wee smile.
Oh Dad that’s brilliant!
That is what Murdo said: brilliant. The exact opposite from what it was. He thought hospice was good. He thought it the next thing up from a hospital. He thought a hospice was where the patient went as the next stage in the recovery process. Go into a hospice and then go home after.
