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Quick glance down the line of bikes in the window. The VMax outshines them all, but there are a few nice-looking smaller bikes. I turn to see Martin pull his helmet on and switch on the ignition.
‘Martin, I’m sorry, I was out of order,’ I tug at his sleeve.
He pulls his visor up. ‘Just leave it, Jez.’
‘No, listen, maybe a smaller bike? Just big enough to get me away?’
He purses his lip. Flips his visor back down, revs his engine.
I lean to face him. Pull my hands in to mimic a really small bike. ‘Pleeeeze!’ I mouth over the roar.
Martin looks at the shop window and back at me. Cuts the ignition and lifts off his helmet.
‘You want me to swing for you, I swear.’
I stand wide eyed. Don’t dare say a word.
‘We’ll have a look,’ he says.
Welcome to Scotland – Gethin
I wake with a jolt as the coach pulls into a city bus station. Orange glow of streetlamp on rows of empty shelters. Is this Inverness? The clock says 01:10. Still seven hours to go. Idiot.
I stretch my legs into the space in front of the empty seat next to me, and rub my neck, stiff from leaning against the window. There’s a smell of stale food, sweat and failed Febreze adding to the skank of my armpits. Fuck’s sake, I haven’t even got a clean T shirt.
And I’m I hooked straight back into the panic that grabbed me out of nowhere when I was literally high just from getting on the coach. Repeating scenarios of not finding Don, or Don not wanting to know; huddled in a dank Scottish ditch in a howling Scottish gale. Drifting into a sleep that was just a messed-up version of the same. Waking to find I’m on a night bus to nowhere, my mouth dry and sour and in desperate need of more than tepid flat Coke.
When I get a down on myself it’s like an addiction. Yeah, there’s this tiny voice that pipes up, Chrissakes, you’re only going to Inverness…. but then other one hits back even stronger. As in, I’ve fucked up big-style, Mum hates me, Fran hates me, Ben thinks I’m a waster and he’d be right. Jumping on the first bus I see because it’s maybe heading in the direction of some dude who wanked off for my mum?
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. Jesus, I need water. I head for the toilet with the Coke bottle. The coach lights are out, and I bump into a woman slouched into the aisle. She glares at me, lurid in the streetlight, all streaky make-up and clumps of red hair. Pokes her tongue out when I’m about to say sorry.
Suit yourself.
I get to the toilet and fumble for the seat to take a quick slash. The flush doesn’t work, at which point it hits me the electrics are off because the coach isn’t running. I squeeze soap onto my hands then discover even the water pump doesn’t work. Total Idiot. Wipe my soap-slimed hands on some bog-roll and shuffle out still thirsty as fuck. That went well.
Back to my seat and there’s a guy all settled with a can of Foster’s in the seat next to mine. Why the hell did I leave it unguarded?
He stands to let me past, big fucker, buttons too tight on his shirt. I’m forced to get a bit close, catch the escaping wisps of greying chest hair.
‘Craig.’ He offers his surprisingly small neat hand as we sit. I give it a half-hearted shake and pretty much feel I have to tell him my name.
‘Going far, Gethin?’ Craig settles his beer belly and takes a long swig from his can. He’s got a Scottish accent, but it’s not right hard Glasgow.
‘I’m probably heading for Lochgillan, after Inverness?’ I try to sound as dull as possible.
‘Ah, west coast. You do right. I’m heading up the Moray Firth. My sister’s got a B&B there.’
I nod, though it could be another planet for all I know.
‘It’s a nice enough place, but she’s not doing so good.’ He pauses and I make a show of looking through my bag, but he drones on about how his sister and her hubby took on this crumbling B&B and the hubby dropped dead from exhaustion within the first year.
‘But she’s a stubborn lassie,’ he adds. ‘Reckons she’s going to run a gallery now. What does she know about art?’
He nudges me as I pull out my iPhone and stick the earphones in.
‘My mum’s an artist,’ I say without thinking.
‘Oh aye, anyone I’ve heard of?’ He licks his bottom lip.
