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‘So, are you for Yes in the referendum?’ I point to the spinning flag.
He plants the flag firmly back on the tray. ‘Och, someone gave it to me with the idea of flying it on the bike.’
‘So, you’re not that bothered, is it?’
He considers for a moment. ‘I’m aye bothered. It would make my day to see Scotland give the Global Establishment a wee kicking, but it’ll make no difference flying the Saltire or anything else. Them in power will fix the vote if that’s what it takes, they’ll nae let go of milking Scotland.’
‘Whoa, and people call meNegative? They can’t actually fix it, can they? As in, there’ll be a lot of scrutiny, isn’t it?’
‘Aye, they will manage well enough with their biased media. It’s no’ an even fight, for sure.’ Don finishes the last of his whisky. Sets his glass down slowly.
All the more reason to fight hard, is what I want to say, but still I’m struck by how like me he sounds with his what’s-the-point attitude.
Don pushes his stool back abruptly and stands up.
‘You’ll need to be getting to your lodgings, Gethin.’ He looks through the window. ‘The cloud’s rolling in again.’
‘Yeah, well, the thing is…?’ I get up to move nearer to him and knock the tray full of metal bits which crashes down, and I watch in Slow-Mo as its contents scatter all over the floor.
Don holds himself rigid as the last nut rolls into a corner. Then he kneels to pick up the bits, inspecting them one by one. Teeth clenched, the veins on his forehead literally fit to bust.
‘I’m sorry,’ I bend down to try to help.
‘Leave it!’ he shouts. His face all red and glistening sweat.
I retreat round the table, feeling totally useless, barely daring to breathe. He finishes picking everything up and carefully lays the tray over the sink.
‘Those pieces were in a particular order,’ he mutters. ‘It’s no good. I dinnae do visitors. Blabbing me business, never works, never…?’
‘I’ve like made a big mess of this. As in I’ve only got a few quid until this cheque clears on Monday. I genuinely didn’t realise when I set off, idiot, obviously…?’ I blurt it out, my voice thin and trembly.
Don shakes his head at me. ‘No, no. You cannae stay here. You’ve seen me, you’ve dragged out my tales. That’s it. I did some lesbian chick a favour, that’s as far as it went.’
He shoves some more wood in the stove, slams the door shut.
‘My mum is not some fucking chick!’ I lean across the table towards him, the searing heat of anger surging through me. ‘And that wasn’t “it”. You agreed you could be traceable when I reached eighteen.’
‘You want the honest truth? I didnae give it a thought. Karen left work for her teacher training and I wasn’t even sure if the chick conceived.’
‘How can you not have thought? Sperm meets egg makes baby? As in person, flesh and blood?’ I shout, shaking now. ‘Fuck you! Bastard!’
I grab my bag and sleeping bag. Sling them over my shoulder and head for the door. Blood banging in my head.
‘Don’t worry. I won’t be troubling you with my inconvenient existence anymore.’
I open the door and nearly fall down the step with the force of slamming it.
I stomp through the yard and onto the road. I’m still shaking, incandescent. Why write that fucking note for me? As if I’m just like some favour for a ‘lesbian chick’? Fucker. I head towards town. I’ll do that trying the locals in the pub thing. I’m too angry even to be worried now. Fuck him. Fuck him.
I turn the corner and I can see the houses spread around the bay. The streets look quiet as fuck, no cars, nothing. Saturday night and it’s high season. There’d better be people in the pub.
I hear the roar of a clapped-out engine, glance back to see a tatty pickup truck. It pulls in just past me and the driver gets out. It’s him, beckoning at me. I’m not moving. He hurries towards me.
‘I may no’ be the most sociable of buggers, but I’m no’ a bastard,’ he says as approaches. ‘I’ll take you to the campsite; I can lend you a tent.’ He fishes in his pocket and pulls out some notes. ‘There you go, you can pay me back on Monday. It’s enough for the campsite and some food.’
Still not moving. Don’t want his fucking tent or his money.
‘Come on, laddie. You need a place to stay. You may as well do a spot of sightseeing, now you’ve come so far.’ His accent is soft and lilty again.
