Then music from Casey’s Bar ’n Grill. The door had opened and two guys appeared, lighting cigarettes and continuing a conversation. A bus pulled out from the side street across the road, turning out onto the long wide road. And Murdo ran, ran, ran straight across that road into the side street entrance round to the bus park area which was empty except for Dad. Dad was standing with the suitcase and ruck-sack at his feet. Nobody else there. He saw Murdo and started walking towards him almost like he didnt recognise who Murdo was.
Murdo felt the worst ever he had. Ever. He couldnt remember anything ever worse before. This was beyond anything. Dad wasnt even looking at him, just nothing.
Aw Dad, Dad, I’m so sorry.
Dad nodded. The next bus is tomorrow, he said. He pulled out the handle on his suitcase, headed along to the waiting area. Murdo followed him, carrying the rucksack in his hand. Only two people were there. One was a black guy holding a sweeping brush, just watching them. The other was the woman at the information and ticket desk, she was black too. I need to phone Uncle John, said Dad, I need to tell him the situation.
Dad I’m so sorry.
Dad indicated a bench next to the door, and left him the luggage to guard while he crossed the floor to speak to the woman. She listened to him and passed him coins for the old-style payphone by the entrance. He went to make the phone call. Murdo just sat, there was nothing else. He came back and that was that, they were going to a motel for the night.
Dad walked a pace ahead out the bus station. A taxi-office was round the next corner; a few taxis were parked. Dad entered the office. Murdo stayed out. A guy with a beard and a turban opened the door of a car and gestured at him to get in. Murdo shrugged but waited for Dad; for all he knew it was a different taxi. The guy closed the door and folded his arms. A few minutes later Dad came out and passed the guy the suitcase. The guy shoved it and Murdo’s rucksack in the boot.
When the car was moving Dad stared out one window, Murdo stared out the other. What he had done was stupid and there was no excuse. If he had known the time he would never have left the bus station; never gone anywhere except the bathroom. It was that guy staring at him. If he hadnt been there it would have been okay. He should have told Dad. He was not going to. Maybe he would, not just now.
A mile farther on he spotted a shop down a side street with its lights on. There was a porch and a couple of people stood chatting. Soon they were at the motel. This was a long, one-storey building with an open corridor: the Sleep Inn. Sleep in and ye slept in, it was clever. The guy at the reception office was young, more like a student working part-time; a black guy. He did the paperwork with Dad then gave him the key.
They walked by the edge of the carpark, along the side of the building. Their room was way towards the end. Only five cars were in the carpark. Did that mean only five rooms taken in the whole motel? No. He saw lights in a few of them so other people were here. Up on the outside corridor laundry hung on the rail to dry. Farther along two people sat on chairs on the open landing gazing out over the carpark. There were no tall buildings. No hills either. They would be seeing right over to wherever. An old man and old lady. The old lady didnt look at them but the man did and he called down: Howdy!
Murdo waved up to them: Hiya!
This was the first he had spoken to an actual American. Along at the room Dad could hardly open the door. The handle was shaky and about to fall off. Then the key wouldnt go in the lock. Then when he managed it the key would not turn. Now he had to grip the handle but it shook like it would fall off. Maybe he was forcing it too much. He stood for a minute breathing in and out. Then he got it to work. Bloody squirt of oil, he said, that is all it needs.
The room had double and single beds and an old-style television on top of a cupboard. One wardrobe. It only had three hangers inside. They werent unpacking so it didnt matter. Dad sat on the end of the double bed, still in his jacket and shoes.
Murdo checked out the fridge. He was starving. Dad must have been too. Completely empty inside; sticky patches and not too clean. The microwave was working but ponging. Although ye get pongs cooking food so it didnt matter too much. When had they last eaten? Maybe there was a takeaway someplace.
The cupboard underneath the television smelled of damp but contained cups, plates, plastic cutlery and an electric kettle. In the bathroom there was a shower as well as a toilet bowl and washbasin. The handle on the toilet bowl wouldnt pull properly. Murdo jerked it a couple of times but couldnt get it going. No toilet paper! Murdo couldnt find any. He didnt need it, but what if he did? No soap either. He rinsed his hands. And no towel!
He came out the bathroom wiping his hands on his jeans. Dad was lying stretched out on the bed, hands clasped behind his head and staring at the ceiling. No toilet paper, said Murdo.
Dad sighed.
Maybe people bring their own.
What a thought.
Murdo shrugged. No towels either.
Dad raised his head to see him. Just use yer own, he said. Dad paused a moment, then added: Did ye bring one?
No.
I told ye to bring one. I deliberately told ye.
I was keeping space.
Keeping space? What ye talking about keeping space? What are ye not goni wash? A two and a half week holiday?
Murdo looked at him.
Eh? Murdo, I’m talking to ye.
Sorry Dad.
How are ye goni dry yerself at Uncle John’s? Run about the house and cause a draught?
Dad, they’ll have towels.
Who’ll have towels? Who ye talking about?
Uncle John and Aunt Maureen.
Murdo, we’re visitors. It’s called “being polite”. People bring towels when they’re staying with people. That’s why I told ye to bring one: not because Uncle John and Auntie Maureen dont have any of their own. Of course they’ve got towels. We’re guests, and we act like guests. We look after ourselves. Things like towels, toothbrushes, toothpaste, that’s what ye bring; ye bring them with ye.
Dad shook his head, unlaced his shoes and kicked them off, then stretched back out on the bed.
Murdo said, Dad maybe it’s a mistake, like the guy in the office, maybe he just forgot to put the stuff in. They might keep it all in the office.
Dad’s eyes were closed.
Will I go and ask? said Murdo. I was wondering about teabags as well. They’ve got the cups and the kettle so maybe they’ve got teabags too; maybe they keep them in the office.
Dad opened his eyes.
I was thinking too if there was a takeaway roundabout.
Dad raised his head again. A takeaway? he said.
I’m quite hungry.
Aye well I’m quite hungry too but it’ll keep till morning.
There is a shop.
I never saw any shop.
We passed it in the taxi.
Forget it.
Dad it’s not far. I’ll go myself like I mean I know where it is. It’s only round the corner.