Dirt Road. James Kelman
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past the patio and through into the dining area; whatever Dad would think, who cares, he would think something.
***
Uncle John returned from work near 6:30 p.m. Dad had gone to his room a while ago. Murdo was helping Aunt Maureen lay the dining table. Back home he cooked most of the weekday meals. Sausages a lot of the time or beef mince; potatoes and peas, beans. Dad did it Friday nights and the weekends. Friday night was fish and chips Dad bought out the chip shop. Most meals they ate on their laps watching television. Here Aunt Maureen laid out the dining table. Different food in bowls so ye could help yerself; meat and vegetables, piles of potatoes. If ye wanted more ye could get it and it wasnt a fuss. If ye wanted bread ye could take that too. Different from the bread back home but better-tasting than the stuff from Sarah’s shop.
During the meal Aunt Maureen flitted between the dining table and kitchen but took part in the conversation. She was a brilliant cook. She acted like she wasnt but she was. She called it home cooking but what else would it be? Ye lived in a home and ye had the cooking so it was home cooking; food ye could eat and just relax.
Dad and Uncle John were drinking wine; Aunt Maureen and Murdo had orange juice and water. Dad wouldnt have minded if he had asked for a glass. A wee one would have been fine but just now he was more thirsty than anything. Uncle John was talking about the early days and how life was okay around here even when things werent so elsewhere. Work hard live good. It’s how it’s been since I got here all them years ago. How long Mother?
Thirty-eight years, replied Aunt Maureen. I met you thirty-seven; we been married thirty-six.
She’s the brains in this family!
People got two jobs, sometimes three. Aunt Maureen pointed at Uncle John. He always had two.
Uncle John shrugged. It’s the work deal round here.
Not always it aint.
Well most always.
The boys were little you had three.
Is that not a lot? asked Murdo.
Tell him that, said Aunt Maureen.
Uncle John was aware of Dad looking too. Well sure three jobs, if that’s what it takes. Nobody comes in forcing ye; ye want to work ye work. Bop till ye drop Tommy boy ye just get on with it.
Dad smiled. Uncle John paused, about to add something, changed his mind and sipped from his glass of wine. He glanced at Aunt Maureen. I wouldnt have called that one a job now if you’re talking the bread delivery truck.
So what would you call it mister, huh? You drove all night through. Me and the boys never saw you.
One nightshift! That’s the job she’s talking about, one nightshift.
Every Saturday night Sunday morning. Twelve hours straight you worked, so dont tell me.
Uncle John grinned, jerked his thumb in Aunt Maureen’s direction.
Oh yes now you gotta make fun of it; seven days out working.
It was only for a year or two. Uncle John winked at Murdo. Young family son, your Dad knows what I’m talking about.
Three jobs, said Aunt Maureen, we hardly saw him.
Uncle John reached for his wine and gestured with it to Dad. Dad raised his own glass in reply, and they clinked them. Uncle John looked to Murdo: Sláinte mhath son.
Sláinte mhath, said Murdo.
They clinked glasses. Aunt Maureen joined them. Dad raised his glass again, and gestured to Murdo to raise his: they held them aloft. Dad said to Uncle John and Aunt Maureen: This is just to you two, from me and Murdo, thanking ye both for having us here.
Definitely, said Murdo.
Och away and behave yerself! grunted Uncle John.
Naw, said Dad.
It’s a real pleasure for us, said Aunt Maureen.
Dad was looking embarrassed. He noticed Murdo watching him and smiled. This was the most relaxed Murdo had seen him for ages. Murdo felt it himself. Here ye were free to relax. Back home ye werent. Back home was the house and everything in it. Everything. Every last thing. Everywhere ye looked it was Mum not being there and ye could not get away from that. Never. How could ye? Never ever.
Dad was looking at him. Murdo raised his head.
Uncle John and Aunt Maureen were in the middle of a conversation. Something about Uncle John not getting the time off. No need to raise that now, he said.
Yes there is. Aunt Maureen turned to Dad. He walked into that office Tommy, he confronted them. Huh! That is what he did. He let them know what he thought. After twenty-two years! Huh! They wouldnt give no proper time off! His family from Scotland! No now dont you tell me! said Aunt Maureen to Uncle John. Mister, you are hurting!
I’m not.
You are hurting.
Bloody hurting, I’m not.
Oh now!
Sorry, but I’m not.
Aunt Maureen shook her head. Them boys coming here and you not being around . . . !
I will be in the evenings.
They dont make it easier for you is what I am saying. Lord knows they could help it along, but they dont, no sir.
Why not? asked Murdo.
Why not huh? That is a fine question son. You say it to him and he might listen. I say it and I am a critical woman.
Uncle John winked at Murdo. Aunt Maureen stared at him. Finally he said: Three times I went into that office. Three times. They still didnt give it; said they needed more notice.
More notice huh!
Because it’s a busy time.
In there’s always a busy time.
I’m just saying what they told me.
The favours you’ve done them!
Eventually Dad said, It’s being here that’s important. I’m not interested in rushing around places. It’s having the break; relaxing. Sitting in the sun. We dont get any sun, where we come from!
It’s true, said Murdo.
So dont go worrying about us. I dont need to go any place except here where I am. I’m here and it’s great.
Uncle John nodded. We’ll see, he said, we’ll see. He smiled suddenly. Ever hear of the Cumberland Gap?
Yeah, said Dad.
They wrote a song about it, said Aunt Maureen.
Uncle John winked. Her family!
Now it aint my family mister but I know what you’re thinking!
The conversation continued on family matters; old people from way back. Dad knew some of their names. Back home he hardly ever spoke about his family so it was interesting to hear. Murdo knew much more about Mum’s side because she used to talk but Dad hardly ever.
They helped clear the table, passing the things to Aunt Maureen who stayed behind the kitchen counter, emptying bowls and arranging leftover food inside the fridge. She piled the crockery and cutlery into a dishwasher. Dad made a joke about back home him being the dishwasher.
They moved out to the patio before it got dark. Uncle John had returned into the house and came back carrying a tray with two beers, two tumblers of whisky and a jug of water. Before long Murdo’s arms were itchy; him and Dad both. Dad was scratching his head too. Mosquitoes. They were here first, said Uncle John, them and the Cherokee Indians.
Dusk’s a bad time, said Aunt Maureen, you got to cover up your skin. Bare arms are no good.
Uncle John shared out the drinks with Dad. You want some orange juice? he asked Aunt Maureen.
No