I chuckle inwardly to myself when I recallthe fascination he had with horses and being a cowboy. It began at an earlyage. He would pester our parents to buy him a horse. But money was tight, andwe were already stretched with the livestock we had. This did not deter James.He wanted a horse and he wanted to look the part, so he set about fashioning asaddle from the cushioned seat left over in an old rusty tractor sitting outback. I didn’t see the finished product but what I witnessed is one of thefunniest things I think I’ve ever seen even to this day … there he was in hishome-made saddle with father’s hat on, riding our tup Bruno full pelt acrossthe field and up the ridge. Give him his due, the boy was holding on, but itlooked like a scene that could only end badly! Where are you now, James, andwhat are you up to? I cannot begin to imagine what a thirty-something-year-oldversion of James could possibly be like. Had he settled down or was he stillthe spirited character I remembered?
I must have fallen into a deep sleepshortly after because the next thing I knew, the alarm was ringing in my ears.After gathering myself I make my way down to breakfast and I am surprised tosee Janey still sat there as she is normally out the door long before me.
“I found something curious,” she says. Iam caught off guard and unsure where this is headed.
“What, love?”
“In your trouser pocket, Thomas … I wentto do the washing and picked up the trousers you had dumped next to the bed anda postcard fell out of them. It was a very odd card as it was hand-deliveredwith only the words ‘wish you were here’.”
I manage to stand firm and simply say, “Ohthat, I meant to put that in the bin. Yes, I thought it was strange too, but itmust’ve been put through the wrong letterbox, nothing to worry about.”
I turn my back to her to indicate theconversation is at an end and go about fixing breakfast but when I turn backaround and make eye contact, I see an altogether unconvinced Janey staring backat me. She doesn’t pursue the subject so for that I’m grateful and give her aquick kiss and make my way to work.
Morning passes in a blur of meetings. Ipause for a brief lunch, wolfing down my sandwich, and set about analysing theperformance of my client’s investment portfolio. My assistant Susie knows notto interrupt me just before a client meeting so I suspect this must be anurgent call when she buzzes through to me.
“Thomas, I know you’re busy, but I’ve gota Mr Smith on line one and he says it’s urgent. I tried to put him off, but hewas very insistent. Sorry! Is it OK to transfer the call?”
“Yes, no problem,” I reason, thinkingwhoever this is, I’ll get rid of them.
“Hello,” No reply. “Hello, Mr Smith?”Again, no answer.
Just as I was about to place the receiverdown, I hear, “Did you get the postcard?” OK so this was no Mr Smith, GeorgeTraynor had also tracked me down at my work! Let’s play along and see what hehas to say …
“You know I received the postcard, George!Now tell me, what is it that you want. You show up at my house in the middle ofthe night, deliver a random postcard to me, and now you’re phoning me at work.I will not be harassed by you!” Time stands still as I wait for his response.He appears to be in no hurry as I listen to nothing but a faint sound of staticon the line. Impatiently I cajole him, “Well?”
He responds, “Thomas, the time has come foryou to go back to Skye. You can’t run and hide from this any longer. Let’s youand I take a wee trip home, son, back down memory lane.”
I’m confused, I can’t tell if he’s beingmenacing or friendly with that last comment.
“Look, George, I can’t just up and leavemy business and family just because you show up out of the blue and demand thatI go on some random trip with you! Now please just leave me alone. Do notcontact me again. Do not show up at my house or my work, just go back towherever it is you came from and leave me alone!” I am about to slam the phonedown when I hear laughing on the other end. What the…?! I can’t help myself.“Exactly what part of all this do you find so amusing? If you carry on, George,I’ll be forced to contact the Police.” With that the laughing ceases.
“Do you really expect me to believe youwould go to the Police? This is no matter for the Police, it is personal,Thomas.”
With no response, he carries on, “You needto come back, son, there’s things you need to know.”
I respond, “What things?” but I realise myquestion will remain unanswered because the faint static has been replaced witha dull tone. George has hung up.
I am late for my 2o’clock as I take time out to gather myself and find that my usual enthusiasmhas waned, the stuffing literally knocked out of me. The meeting went ahead anddragged on for longer than I would have liked. I realise I have no idea whattime it is as I stare outside and notice that not only is it now pitch black,but it’s also snowing. It starts as a little flurry but gains momentum quickly.
The little flurry had deceived me for itmust’ve came on heavy when I’d been in the meeting. I see only mine and anothercouple of cars left in the carpark, everyone else must have left for the night.As I set foot outside, I marvel at
