Thomas had done an excellent job over theyears of putting a brave face on and burying things, but I know him better thaneven he realises, and I can see the cracks and chinks in his armour. There havebeen many occasions over the years when I’ve seen the little lost boy look comeover his face; when he’s completely left the room lost in his own world. Healways snaps back to reality, a false smile scrawled across his face for mybenefit, with him thinking he has successfully covered any momentary lapse inhis otherwise happy demeanour. I’ve also heard him cry to himself (and, onoccasion, talk to himself), always when he thinks I’m out of earshot. He doessuch a masterful job of trying to cover this up when I approach him after suchan incident that I don’t have the heart to push him and then the moment passes.
Ifthis was the explanation and he was finally going to confront his demons, thenhe’d need my support. Either way I reason I’ve made the right choice in goingthere but decide for now to keep my visit a secret from him until I have moreinformation. Thomas is not the only one with secrets, perhaps he might find outmore about his wife than he bargains for when we re-acquaint in Skye …
CHAPTER 11
October 1998
T
he long days of Summer have been replaced with shorterdaylight hours. But with it, Autumn has brought the most spectacular sunsets Ithink I’ve ever seen; a result perhaps of the intermingling of the two seasonsbefore Summer lets go of her grasp completely in surrender to Autumn.
You are never quite sure what weatherOctober will bring on Skye. We have had Autumns where the rain is relentless,flowing down the mountains and hillsides and saturating everything it comesinto contact with. This is particularly difficult on the croft. The soil ispredominantly peat based and when it’s saturated there is backbreaking work todo to ensure the ditches and drains are clear for the ‘run-off.’ Mercifully,October thus far has been mostly dry, which is unusual as we normally expect tosee a fair bit of rainfall. Instead, we have the start of cool crisp days andthese mesmerising sunsets and for that I’m grateful.
I had completely forgotten what day it wasuntil I sat down at the breakfast table. There was a card sitting there for meand as a special treat mother had made pancakes which I devoured in no time. Iopen the card and it simply says, ‘Happy 14th Birthday Son, love Mum.’There is no pile of gifts waiting to be opened but she whispers in my ear andtells me that she has bought a bar of my favourite chocolate and put it in myschoolbag. When you don’t have much in this world your expectations are low andlittle gestures like this mean a lot, I know I’ll savour every mouthful.
Our happy moment isshort-lived as I hear the thud of his heavy footfall approaching. I’m not quickenough to remove the card from the table and with a flourish he snatches itaway. “Lots of love, mum?! Aah, right enough, son, you only have one parent, itonly took one of us to bring you into this world, didn’t it, Mary?! Did yousimply forget about this, Mary, you simpleton, or are you trying to belittle meon purpose?” He doesn’t give her a chance to answer as he ploughs on “No, youtwo are as thick as thieves, always conspiring together, I never quite knowwhat the pair of you are up to and I don’t trust either of you. You have yourown ‘thing’ going on, don’t you, and you seem to have forgotten about littleold me! Well, I will not be cast aside. Perhaps it’s time to make my presencetruly known!”
It occurs to me thathis fiery temper and episodes of emotional abuse (especially towards mother)were escalating. Before it was every so often he seemed to need to let offsteam and you prayed you weren’t in the firing line. Now it felt as thoughthere was no escape. He was so volatile, prone to an outburst at any time,often with no provoking required. I had noticed he was drinking more too,whisky being his tipple of choice so perhaps there was a link between the two?
Anyway, by now I knew the drill. Do notgive him eye contact and under no circumstances, ever answer him back unless hespecifically asks you to do so. We were at stage two now; the interlude afterthe initial outburst where he collects himself in a relative silence, ponderingour destiny. This I realise is always the worst stage, where we are left to sitand conjure up what weird and not so wonderful fate he has in store for us. Iwonder whether I’ll be involved in this punishment today. He is angry at motherfor not including his name on the card and it’s my birthday so perhaps he’lllet me off? Then I chide myself for wanting mother to face his wrath alone.
I wish there were some way we could standup to him but each time I let my mind drift towards ways we could ‘get our ownback’ I am reminded of what life would be like then, it would be completelyunbearable. Would he then resort to physical violence too? If he did, motherwould be number one target and I couldn’t have that. I’ve seen it in his eyesand the colour of his face; that anger he has is barely under control. He looksas though it’d take nothing for him to reach that tipping point. I couldn’tbear the thought of him using mother as a punchbag. Her life wouldn’t be worthliving.
I feel a burden ofresponsibility as far as mother and my siblings go. I do all
