There was enough milk for a bowl of cornflakes. But he did not make coffee or tea. He margarined a slice of bread then put some jam on it. He found a plastic wrapper to stick it into. Back in the bedroom he unzipped the side pocket once more and stuffed it in. He stepped to the window and stared out for a time.
It was cold but dry, and there was only a breeze. At the closemouth he struck a match and lighted the cigarette. He swung the bag up on his shoulder while stepping out onto the pavement. There had been eleven 10 pence coins in the meterbowl, plus some coppers in change lying on the mantelpiece. He had taken the lot and left a note for Margaret.
When he reached the corner of the street a bus approached. He carried on walking, heading along towards Argyle Street. He kept on walking, passing through the centre of the city, on along to Bridgeton Cross, passing the turnoff to Shawfield and on towards Celtic Park. A transport cafe had lights on inside but its doors were still locked shut. He walked maybe two hundred yards beyond the Auchenshuggle terminus, and then put down the travelling bag and lowered himself down next to it.
A car was coming. He watched it pass, seated on the heels of his boots. And another was coming. He watched it too. Then a big lorry in the distance and he got up smartly, grabbing the bag and striding on, the thumb out. But the lorry did not pause at all. The next one did, it slowed to a stop some fifty yards ahead and Tammas started trotting after it, the bag swinging at his side. A big articulated lorry. He opened the cabin door and the driver nodded. Thanks a lot, he said. And he gripped the bar by the door and climbed the couple of steps up and in.
The driver was moving on now, his gaze to the rearview mirror. And as he increased the speed he was reaching into the top pocket of his shirt and bringing out a packet of cigarettes. . Smoke?
Aye. Thanks.
The driver passed him one and lighted his own with a gaslighter. Tammas struck a match for his. The driver glanced at him: Going far?
Eh, how far you going yourself?
Me Jock? London.
London?
Yeh. . The driver nodded, his gaze returning to the road. Yeh, home and see the kiddies. Four days I been away Jock, four days — four days too long!
Tammas nodded.