There is no time now to seriously consideranything as Monday morning takes form and I get pulled along – an unwillingparticipant in the day already mapped out before me. Perhaps I can lose myselfin the daily tasks and there will be no time to concern myself with anythingelse.
Janey is already in full work mode,hastily showering and choosing her outfit. She doesn’t stop for breakfast, justgives me a quick embrace and kiss and she’s off, taking Michael with her. Sheis so passionate about her job as an editor at the local paper. Her passion hasgained the respect of her peers and the local community who are all avidreaders.
We met at University. She had an easy,effortlessly cool nature about her which drew you in. I didn’t go looking forlove and certainly didn’t see it coming my way.
Ours wasn’t the instant love that you sooften see portrayed in films. Rather, it was one that grew and evolved over theyears (as we grew). I was very serious and a large part of this was attributedto what I went through. But she had such a calming influence on me, so much sothat I could often forget about events of the past.
On paper we shouldn’t have worked. She wasa free spirit wanting to change the world through the written word and I, aserious, brooding individual lost in the world of finance. But we worked, wejust worked.
We had no ambition to have a huge family.I had followed in my parents’ footsteps having Michael at a young age. We knewwe wanted a child. We knew when Michael came along (albeit we were very young),what a blessing he would be and how loved he would be. How could we possiblyshare this amount of love on more than one child? No, our efforts went intodoing the best we possibly could in raising Michael and climbing our respectivecareer ladders.
I still lived in Scotland, quite adistance away from where I had been brought up and quite a different landscapefrom that of my childhood. I had to leave the area I was born and raised in,but somehow I still couldn’t leave the country of my heritage.
I love the different changing seasonswhich come to pass in Scotland; the way you know you are constantly shiftingbetween one and the next. It can be stark and bleak with driving rain andwithin the next few minutes, open blue endless sky with the landscapecontinuously unfolding out before you.
This sense of space allows me to breathand make me think perhaps anything is possible. We live in the ScottishBorders, the most southerly part of Scotland. It is a beautiful area withlow-lying hills surrounded by small towns and villages. It is often describedas the forgotten Borders with tourists more likely to flock to the Highlandsand Islands or the historic capital city of Edinburgh. I think this is why Ichose to settle here; I can remain in my beloved Scotland but still retain asense of anonymity. Add to that, people are easy going and don’t pry into youraffairs.
This was not the case growing up.Community was everything. I was born and raised on a croft in Dunvegan, a smallvillage on the Isle of Skye. You became intimately involved in each other’saffairs and not wholly through choice, partly through necessity. Withouteveryone looking out for one another, it wouldn’t have been possible to thrive.You formed friendships and allegiances which were there to stand the test oftime. This was true for my parents (to help with the survival of the croft) andfor myself. Communities were small and neighbours could be spaced far apart soyou cultivated that relationship with the boy you played with from next door.
Mother did her best, but she had her handsfull running the croft and always trying to please the master of the house.Father, I am no longer in contact with and ours was a difficult relationship.He had a presence about him. You knew when he had entered a room. Normally,there was no visible bruising to mother’s face (he was too clever for that),but she suffered greatly at his hands. She took the brunt of his sharp tongue,always trying to send us kids outside to tend to this or that whilst she wasleft to his mercy.
Memories of this time are starting to seepthrough to my conscious mind. I am at the edge of a precipice peering down,unsure whether I should start the decent or fix myself to the spot and standfirm. A ringing noise stirs me from my reverie, and I realise I am sat at mydesk at work and the caller is a very insistent one. I answer the call and makethe switch, my mask firmly back in place, back to my well-rehearsed act ofconfident, self-assured Thomas.
I manage to keep things in place for themost part throughout the day until I turn the lock in the door and enter thehouse. It is unusually quiet. Janey and Michael aren’t at home. Then somethingtells me of course, Michael has football practice and Janey will be thereshowing support. I bend down to collect the mail and make my way through to thekitchen. Just the usual bills, nothing worth even opening so I place them onthe counter and notice something has dropped to the floor, something I must’vemissed under the pile of bills. A postcard. Strange. Do I know of anyone onholiday right now? And who even sends postcards these days?
I take in the scene and, as I do, I canfeel my heart beating out of my chest; the hairs on the back of my neck standon end and my palms are sweating. It’s a postcard depicting various beautyspots on the Isle of Skye. We have the Old Man of Storr; the Fairy Pools;Dunvegan Castle & Neist Point Lighthouse. I turn it over and there are onlyfour words: ‘Wish you were here.’
Thankfully, I am on my own because there’dbe no chance of me being able to conceal the look of fear in my eyes. I losethe ability to stay erect and slump in the nearest
