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!