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.