Chapter 8 #2
Back in the car, JB was quiet, pensive rather than moody.
He was looking out of the window as Taylor drove.
He spotted a small gathering of rowan trees and felt soothed by the sight of them.
They were tough, wiry little trees. He thought of them standing their ground defying the weather barrelling in from three thousand miles of Atlantic ocean.
‘My father – my family – we’re renowned for making money from money,’ JB said quietly. ‘We don’t make anything, just money. I guess our business is glorified gambling. If you think about it, that’s a pretty crap way to make a living. It isn’t real – it’s just numbers. And greed.’
‘My dad doesn’t design what he wants – just what he’s told to do.
Mostly, these days, the computer does it for him.
’ Taylor thought of his father’s drawing board.
When was the last time he used that? No doubt it was headed for the dump too.
‘It doesn’t make his life easier, it makes him depressed.
He thinks AI will take over completely and no one will need him.
’ Taylor wondered if his dad thought he didn’t need him either.
Just then, Taylor wasn’t sure whether he did or didn’t.
‘My mom has worked three jobs my whole life,’ Drew was saying. ‘Money is just this stuff that she needs. I guess it’s her waking thought. She saved and saved for my college fund since the day I was born – then I go and get a full scholarship.’
There was pain in Drew’s voice. Taylor glanced at Drew from the rear view mirror. JB turned right around to look at him.
‘But Drew—’
‘—she must be so proud of you?’
‘She cried and cried she was so proud. Her determination to put me through college all by herself – her sacrifices - and then my stupid brain goes and takes that from her.’
The briefest look passed between Taylor and JB.
‘I told her to rent a bigger apartment, buy a new car, treat herself,’ Drew said. ‘But no, she’s still working all the hours and now she’s saving so I can buy a house someday.’
JB thought about how gamely his mother spent his father’s money-from-money on frippery. New stuff every day of the week. She’d made a career out of spending money. How many jackets does someone need? Well, if you’ve all that closet space just go ahead and fill it.
‘I don’t know what I want to do,’ JB suddenly said. ‘I’m all set to follow in my father’s footsteps – my grandfather’s footsteps. A golden road if ever there was one. But I’ve never really thought about what I want to do.’
‘I want to write a novel,’ Taylor said with quiet determination and Drew and JB let his dream float about the interior of the little hire car as it pootled along the Golden Road and onwards to Tarbert.
They parked at the Harris Hotel but didn’t get out.
Although fairly sure that they hadn’t broken anything there, that they hadn’t thrown up or behaved too badly on that first night, in daylight and sober they felt a little embarrassed.
Instead, they chose a small restaurant by the harbour and the man who brought the menu insisted on shaking their hands.
‘How’s it going, boys – ready for the big day?’
Was there anyone who didn’t know?
‘When is it?’
‘Two days’ time,’ Taylor told him.
‘I’m going to recommend that you have Lorna’s Cullen skink – it’s a traditional soup with smoked haddock, potatoes, onions – it’s like rocket fuel,’ he kissed his fingers and scribbled on his pad.
‘Then how about burger and chips – a good dollop of protein and carbs. Your legs’ll thank me. Any questions?’
‘Sir,’ Drew said. ‘Is it possible to swim over the water to Taransay? The short route – from Luskentyre? Obviously, if it’s a calm day. You know – like a kind of beach to beach challenge?’
The man looked at the three of them with their earnest faces, not unlike his dogs waiting for his say-so to leap into the water. Perhaps not quite as bright as his dogs.
‘Well now, why not try a wee run around our island first,’ he said, ‘and then we’ll chat about a paddle over to Taransay, hey?’
Drew nodded. He was happy with that.
‘And you’ll eat up everything I’m to bring you, aye?’ he said. ‘Rocket fuel, remember. You’re going to need it.’
‘Aye,’ said Taylor.
‘Aye,’ said Drew.
‘Sure thing, bud,’ said JB.
Once again, Taylor drove from the halfway point of the marathon near the distillery and, once again, the long, steep drag out of the town made itself known.
Taylor shuddered a little; what a brutal final ten miles it would be.
Drew, though, felt his legs twitch and yearn to be out there.
Taylor suggested they drive on to Borve and check the lay-by where they’d be leaving their car.
And then he said why didn’t they continue to Leverburgh, to the community shop and pick up some stuff?
But Drew pointed out they had plenty of rice and chicken for their supper so there was no need.
JB said he was tired, that he needed to elevate his foot and that he was done with junk food anyway.
And Taylor just couldn’t find a way to say perhaps they could go to the store anyhow, because there was a girl there and he just wanted to see her again.
But he had no voice for it so he turned right for Luskentyre and the twisting lug back to Flora’s House.
When they arrived, there was a man inside and that man was vacuuming.
The cushions had been picked up from the floor, plumped and returned to the sofas and chairs.
The kitchen counter, which they’d left as a warzone, was now a place of peace.
The three boys just stood in the threshold and stared.
The man smiled over at them, held up a finger to signify just a minute please, and continued the last of his vacuuming.
He picked up a pair of boxer shorts from the coffee table and held them aloft with a wry expression.
Automatically, and a little shyly, JB raised his hand.
He was maybe late forties, early fifties, but fit looking and friendly, with a ponytail which was actually pretty cool and not ironic.
Finally, he unplugged the vacuum, stepped on its tab and the flex zipped its way back into the chamber, as if it was on best behaviour for the man.
‘Hey boys,’ he said and he approached with his hand outstretched. ‘I’m Dougie – and this is my place.’
They were mortified and shuffled in, made much of taking off their shoes and lining them up neatly, hanging their coats on hooks by the front door which they had not noticed until now.
The truth was the place had been a bombsite, but Dougie had seen worse.
He’d only popped by to say hello, to drop off some fresh towels and to check that they had everything they needed.
But he wouldn’t be telling them that. Their discomfort was endearing.
‘Don’t worry lads, I only poked my head into the bedrooms – you know, check there were no women hidden up there,’ Dougie said.
Oh the look on their faces! He chuckled.
‘I’m pulling your legs.’ He paused and regarded JB and the crutches.
‘Well, not your leg, I wouldn’t be so cruel.
But I did want to ask why there are boot prints on one of the pillows?
’ He let that hang and, after a while, a shamefaced Taylor tentatively raised his hand in confession.
‘But then I remembered my neighbour, Murdo, telling me that he’d brought you home after you drank the hotel bar dry. So I put two and two together.’
The boys flopped into the chairs around the table, unsure whether they were being reprimanded or whether this guy had a twisted sense of humour. Taylor glanced at the kettle.
‘We’ll not talk about the kettle,’ Dougie said.
‘Um, would you like a drink, Sir?’ JB asked. ‘We have coke, beer, juice?’
‘I’ll have a beer, thank you very much,’ Dougie said and JB limped over to the fridge. ‘How are you boys feeling? The marathon is the day after tomorrow, aye?’
It was the first time that this marathon of theirs had not been met with laughter or disbelief.
‘I run,’ Dougie shrugged. ‘I’ve done eighteen marathons and counting.’
‘We’re going to do your official half marathon route – and then back again,’ Taylor said.
‘Have you run it, Sir?’
‘Dougie – please.’
‘Have you run it, Dougie?’
‘My parents always said I could run before I could walk,’ he told them.
‘I’ve run all the island’s roads and paths countless times over the years.
I’ve run the mountains and the beaches and my own routes cross country.
Aye, so it’s a beautiful run, the Harris Half, but adding a return—?
’ he whistled slowly. ‘May the wind be at your back, boys.’ He took a thoughtful sip of beer and turned to JB. ‘How’s that leg of yours?’
‘Yeah,’ JB shrugged, ‘you know.’
‘I do know,’ Dougie said. ‘It happened to me two days before the London Marathon. I’m fair gutted for you. You must be pretty upset not to be running?’
‘Yes sir,’ JB said quietly, running his fingers around the pattern of the table mat. ‘I sure am.’
Taylor and Drew shared a millisecond’s glance. JB had told his father he was running. If anyone could tune in to the power of determination, it was JB. But of course he wasn’t running. They’d been blithely overlooking the fact all day.
‘So,’ Dougie was saying. ‘How about I pick you up first thing Friday and drop you two at Borve. Then JB you and I could stop various places along the route, cheer these two meaban – scallywags – on? The weather’s set to be fair – which is more than can be said for tomorrow.
After all, this is spring in Harris.’ And with that, Dougie finished his beer and stood.
‘Well, I’ll leave you to your evening. I’m just over the way there, if you need anything.
And I’m only teasing – it’s just a cheap kettle.
And the muddy pillow? Well, as my wife says, things always come out in the wash. ’
They sat as they were, long after Dougie had left.
‘Perhaps Flora is Dougie’s mom?’ JB said. ‘At least he was cool about the cottage, thank Christ.’ He paused. ‘Nice guy.’ He performed a quick drum solo on the table edge with his index fingers. ‘And he took the recycling.’
‘JB—’ Taylor said and he wondered how best to proceed.
‘Harris in springtime!’ JB whistled a little tune.
‘It’s ok, you know,’ Taylor said. ‘Everything’s ok, buddy. Just make some shit up for your father.’
JB stared at Taylor and looked to Drew.
‘You know what – give your father my time,’ said Drew. ‘Whatever time I do – you can have it.’
‘He doesn’t need to know,’ Taylor said. ‘We’re on an island in the middle of the sea.’
‘And a different time zone,’ said Drew. ‘We’ll back you. That’s what friends are for, right?’
JB however stared at the pair of them; a steady look of disbelief underscored with offence and, lurking behind it all like the hiss of a rattlesnake, fury.
‘There is no marathon,’ JB announced, calm and cold. ‘So screw you – and you!’
He stood, clenched down on the pain, balanced his weight.
‘What happened to team spirit? To brotherhood? To all for one and one for all and all that crap? I can’t believe it, seriously, I cannot believe it.
If I’m not running, you’re not running – simple as.
If the shoe was on the other foot, would I run?
Would I? I need to spell that out to you?
Would I hell!’ Then he wheeled on Drew. ‘No way would I give my father your finish time, Drew. I’m no cheat!
Yeah I may lie to him, time to time. Sure, I might invent a hurricane or landslide or a blizzard or some fucking war between the clans, I haven’t decided – but that’s for me to do. So don’t you tell me what to do.’
JB limped away from them, took the stairs gingerly, yelled over his shoulder. ‘The marathon is cancelled. Get over it.’