(no subject)
TITLE: Homecoming
RATING: G
FANDOMS: Original Writing
NOTES: This was originally for a competition, but once finished, I realised it didn't suit the target audience of said competition, so I'm posting it here instead.
_________________________
Steam rolled from the tap in misty coils, the hot water splashing in the white basin. Elspeth MacFadgen could barely make out her reflection in the small, round mirror on the window ledge. Her face appeared quite cut away.
She lifted her hands to tease off the net around her hair. Damp with steam, it clung to her fingertips like a lavender cobweb. She slowly spread her fingers. Her own mother had worn one, she remembered. It was light blue and picked with tattered holes.
When, she wondered as she folded it carefully, had she become her mother?
Elspeth did not like to think of herself as old, even though her hair was iron-grey and twisted into the curls that marked the break from happy maternity into wise womanhood.
The lines she could usually see on her face where hidden in the steam, and for a moment, she could be the pink-cheeked sixteen year old, slipping out to meet Tam MacFadgen behind the back wall, while ma was busy in the kitchen.
Twisting the brass tap head, she stopped the water running. It would be a waste to leave it. The steam cleared slowly and Elsie was gone.
She dressed slowly. There was rarely a hurry anymore, and Tam was unlikely to say anything. Not that her Tam had ever been one for a good bit of chat, but now, he was quieter. The weans said it was because of the crash.
The crash.
It was all any of them wanted to talk about just now, and Elspeth was tired of hearing about it all. There was a house to tidy, breakfast to be made, and dear John was coming home for his holiday.
In almost fifty years of marriage, she and Tam had produced four fine children: three lads and sensible Mary, who had her ma’s eyes and her pa’s nature. Wee Tam wasn’t so wee anymore, married with his own two and living in the city. Rab was a bit of an odd one. He’d divorced twice, and Elspeth had stopped asking for details when he brought home his third wife. And there was John.
Her wee John was the surprise of her life. Fourteen years younger than even Mary, he had surprised them all. When her hair had gone grey, Elspeth was sure there was nothing left to do but wait for the arrival of grandchildren. Instead, John had arrived, tiny and gasping and blue-fingered, and her wee man.
No mother should ever say she had a favourite child. It was unfair to do so, but no one could ever deny that John was her wee man. He trailed after her when she cleaned the house and knelt beside her when she weeded the garden. It was like having a happy wee shadow sitting beside you.
Even after his brothers and sister all went off to colleges and universities and jobs, wee John was still small enough to stay at home. If her husband worked late, as he often did, she and John would sit by the fire and tell stories. She couldn’t remember telling stories with the older boys, but then they would always fight and getting them to sleep was a chore on its own.
Of course, like the others, he grew up into a fine man and went away to earn a living. He wrote often, and telephoned too, but it wasn’t anything like having him home on a holiday. He was five days late, but Tam had told her the day before he would be arriving today.
She did up the last button on her blouse. Watery sunlight was breaking through the bubbled surface of the window. The mirror was clear now, and she looked at herself, the image of her mother. Her rollers came loose one by one in fingers that seemed to get stiffer every day, and she arranged them neatly in their box.
Tam would be needing his breakfast.
He had retired seven months earlier, and they were both getting used to being in the house at the same time. At first, he had been up at the crack of dawn, just like her, but now, he would lie in bed until breakfast was made.
Elspeth carefully made her way down the stairs. The house was getting to be a trial. She could never leave it, even with the occasional leak over the stairs. It was her home, where she and Tam had lived for nearly all of their married life, but her bones reminded her that time passes with a price.
She opened the curtains in the kitchen and filled the kettle. The room was chilly as it always was in the morning. Switching on the gas ring, she put the water on to boil, making the toast for Tam. When he first retired, he had grumbled about not having a proper breakfast, but in the last fortnight, he’d settled down and accepted that if toast with blackberry preserve was good enough for her, it would be good enough for him too.
She buttered and spread the toast, then cut it into neat triangles. By the time the tea had stewed, it was all ready and she made her way back up the stairs, one step at a time, to the small bedroom she shared with her husband.
“Breakfast, Tam,” she said brightly. She set the cup and saucer on the bedside cabinet and shook his shoulder.
Reluctantly, he emerged from the blankets. His hair was as steely as her own, but not even half as thick. Thin wisps stuck out over his ears, almost like cotton wool, and the bald pink dome of his head was covered in freckles. Elspeth tried not to smile. He wasn’t the young buck who had wooed her all those years ago, and he had long-since given up his motorbike, but he was still her Tam.
“Elsie, you should have woken me,” he said sternly. He said the same thing every morning, and she never did. He needed his breakfast first, of course.
“Nonsense,” she told him as he sat up and took his toast. “You know I’m always up earlier than you.” She squeezed around the end of the bed to open the curtains, letting the sun in. Tam closed his eyes against it. “And John’s coming home today, you said.”
Tam’s cup knocked against the saucer. “Elsie,” he said again. “You know Jonny-”
“John,” she said firmly. “He’s called John, Tam. You know he doesn’t like Jonny.”
“John,” Tam agreed quietly. “Elsie, you do know why he’s coming home, don’t you?”
Elspeth smiled, tucking the curtains back into the tie-backs. “For his holiday,” she replied, smoothing the flowered fabric down. “I did get a letter from him last week. I think Arabia is disagreeing with him, you know.” She sighed. It was frustrating that he was so far away. “I do wish that company would let them work closer to home.”
“Elsie,” Tam began again.
“You should eat your toast,” Elspeth said, turning around. No sense worrying about the distance since John would be home soon, and she could tell him her worries herself. “It’ll get cold if you leave it.”
Tam was looking at her oddly. “Elsie, have you spoken to Mary about the crash?”
Elspeth flapped a hand at him. “I do wish the lot of you would stop going on about this crash,” she said with a touch of impatience. Her husband had barely even touched the toast on his plate. “Now, eat. If Mary and the boys are coming too, I should start getting dinner prepared.”
“Elsie!” Tam protested.
She shook her head. There was nothing about the crash she wanted to hear, whether it was from Tam or from Mary, who always seemed to be crying lately. “I have an awful lot to do, Tam. You just finish your breakfast.”
She closed the door behind her, rather harder than she should have. The crash. Why did they have to keep on talking about it? It was hardly as if she needed to hear about it. After all, it had been all over the front pages of the local newspaper. They had all talked about it more than John’s letter, which had arrived two days later.
She took a deep breath. Sometimes, she found it helped. This time, it appeared not to.
The bedroom door opened behind her.
“You should eat your breakfast,” she said quietly. “It’ll get cold.”
“Elsie, love,” Tam said quietly. He rarely spoke like that and she closed her eyes. “Elsie, will you not talk to me?”
“You should eat your breakfast,” she said. Her voice was shaking and she wished it wasn’t. “I have-” She stopped and looked down at the stairs. “I have a lot to do before everybody gets here.”
“Mary’ll be here soon,” Tam said. He put his hands on her shoulders. They weren’t as broad or as strong as they used to be. “I’ll get dressed and we can have a wee cup of tea and a seat. You don’t need to do anything.”
Elspeth’s fingers smoothed the edge of her cardigan. He knew her and he loved her, but he was very wrong. “No,” she said quietly. “I need to do something.” She squeezed the end of the cardigan between fingers and palm. She stepped away from his hands. “You should eat your breakfast. I’ll tidy the living room.”
“John wouldn’t want-”
She shook her head again, once, slowly, and he went quiet. “You should eat your breakfast,” she repeated again, quietly. “I’ll tidy up the living room.”
He let her go, and she tidied. The shelves of crystal ornaments were dusted, as they were the day before. The table was scrubbed until it shone. She was vacuuming the hall with her faithful hoover when Mary arrived.
“Ma.” Elspeth tried not to see the redness around Mary’s eyes as her daughter embraced her or to hear the way her voice broke on that single word. “Pa said they would be bringing him home today.”
“Yes,” Elspeth said quietly. Her mouth felt dry. Not coming home. Bringing him home. It sounded so much worse. She put her hand in her pocket, around the letter that had arrived two days after the crash. “He said today. I think your brothers are coming too.”
Mary gave a sob and embraced her again.
Elspeth stared past her daughter’s hair, at the open door. “Do you want a cup of tea, love?” she asked. She hardly knew why she asked, but she asked. Mary nodded against her shoulder, her wee lamb again.
They went to the kitchen together. Elspeth made a fresh pot of tea.
“Are you all right, ma?” Mary asked once they were sitting with tea and a digestive in the living room.
Elspeth tried to smile. It was like climbing the stairs with no hands to hold the banister. “I’ve been keeping busy,” she said. Mary watched her, with eyes just like her own. That would be what she looked like if she wept. But she dare not start, not now. There was so much to be done. Let Mary cry for both of them.
They sat in the perfectly polished and dusted room. Mary opened her mouth to speak, but she said nothing. She barely touched her tea, and Elspeth had no heart to tell her to drink it.
The sound of a car engine outside made them both look from their lukewarm tea.
Mary’s cup rattled in her saucer.
“John,” Elspeth said. When she got up, it hardly felt like she was moving, as if she was seeing through another’s eyes.
Tam got to the door before her, but she stepped around him and out onto the front drive. Her hand clenched around the letter in her pocket as the driver climbed out of the hearse. There was a coffin in the back.
Elspeth suddenly couldn’t see, her world swimming. “Welcome home,” she whispered, “my wee man.”
RATING: G
FANDOMS: Original Writing
NOTES: This was originally for a competition, but once finished, I realised it didn't suit the target audience of said competition, so I'm posting it here instead.
_________________________
Steam rolled from the tap in misty coils, the hot water splashing in the white basin. Elspeth MacFadgen could barely make out her reflection in the small, round mirror on the window ledge. Her face appeared quite cut away.
She lifted her hands to tease off the net around her hair. Damp with steam, it clung to her fingertips like a lavender cobweb. She slowly spread her fingers. Her own mother had worn one, she remembered. It was light blue and picked with tattered holes.
When, she wondered as she folded it carefully, had she become her mother?
Elspeth did not like to think of herself as old, even though her hair was iron-grey and twisted into the curls that marked the break from happy maternity into wise womanhood.
The lines she could usually see on her face where hidden in the steam, and for a moment, she could be the pink-cheeked sixteen year old, slipping out to meet Tam MacFadgen behind the back wall, while ma was busy in the kitchen.
Twisting the brass tap head, she stopped the water running. It would be a waste to leave it. The steam cleared slowly and Elsie was gone.
She dressed slowly. There was rarely a hurry anymore, and Tam was unlikely to say anything. Not that her Tam had ever been one for a good bit of chat, but now, he was quieter. The weans said it was because of the crash.
The crash.
It was all any of them wanted to talk about just now, and Elspeth was tired of hearing about it all. There was a house to tidy, breakfast to be made, and dear John was coming home for his holiday.
In almost fifty years of marriage, she and Tam had produced four fine children: three lads and sensible Mary, who had her ma’s eyes and her pa’s nature. Wee Tam wasn’t so wee anymore, married with his own two and living in the city. Rab was a bit of an odd one. He’d divorced twice, and Elspeth had stopped asking for details when he brought home his third wife. And there was John.
Her wee John was the surprise of her life. Fourteen years younger than even Mary, he had surprised them all. When her hair had gone grey, Elspeth was sure there was nothing left to do but wait for the arrival of grandchildren. Instead, John had arrived, tiny and gasping and blue-fingered, and her wee man.
No mother should ever say she had a favourite child. It was unfair to do so, but no one could ever deny that John was her wee man. He trailed after her when she cleaned the house and knelt beside her when she weeded the garden. It was like having a happy wee shadow sitting beside you.
Even after his brothers and sister all went off to colleges and universities and jobs, wee John was still small enough to stay at home. If her husband worked late, as he often did, she and John would sit by the fire and tell stories. She couldn’t remember telling stories with the older boys, but then they would always fight and getting them to sleep was a chore on its own.
Of course, like the others, he grew up into a fine man and went away to earn a living. He wrote often, and telephoned too, but it wasn’t anything like having him home on a holiday. He was five days late, but Tam had told her the day before he would be arriving today.
She did up the last button on her blouse. Watery sunlight was breaking through the bubbled surface of the window. The mirror was clear now, and she looked at herself, the image of her mother. Her rollers came loose one by one in fingers that seemed to get stiffer every day, and she arranged them neatly in their box.
Tam would be needing his breakfast.
He had retired seven months earlier, and they were both getting used to being in the house at the same time. At first, he had been up at the crack of dawn, just like her, but now, he would lie in bed until breakfast was made.
Elspeth carefully made her way down the stairs. The house was getting to be a trial. She could never leave it, even with the occasional leak over the stairs. It was her home, where she and Tam had lived for nearly all of their married life, but her bones reminded her that time passes with a price.
She opened the curtains in the kitchen and filled the kettle. The room was chilly as it always was in the morning. Switching on the gas ring, she put the water on to boil, making the toast for Tam. When he first retired, he had grumbled about not having a proper breakfast, but in the last fortnight, he’d settled down and accepted that if toast with blackberry preserve was good enough for her, it would be good enough for him too.
She buttered and spread the toast, then cut it into neat triangles. By the time the tea had stewed, it was all ready and she made her way back up the stairs, one step at a time, to the small bedroom she shared with her husband.
“Breakfast, Tam,” she said brightly. She set the cup and saucer on the bedside cabinet and shook his shoulder.
Reluctantly, he emerged from the blankets. His hair was as steely as her own, but not even half as thick. Thin wisps stuck out over his ears, almost like cotton wool, and the bald pink dome of his head was covered in freckles. Elspeth tried not to smile. He wasn’t the young buck who had wooed her all those years ago, and he had long-since given up his motorbike, but he was still her Tam.
“Elsie, you should have woken me,” he said sternly. He said the same thing every morning, and she never did. He needed his breakfast first, of course.
“Nonsense,” she told him as he sat up and took his toast. “You know I’m always up earlier than you.” She squeezed around the end of the bed to open the curtains, letting the sun in. Tam closed his eyes against it. “And John’s coming home today, you said.”
Tam’s cup knocked against the saucer. “Elsie,” he said again. “You know Jonny-”
“John,” she said firmly. “He’s called John, Tam. You know he doesn’t like Jonny.”
“John,” Tam agreed quietly. “Elsie, you do know why he’s coming home, don’t you?”
Elspeth smiled, tucking the curtains back into the tie-backs. “For his holiday,” she replied, smoothing the flowered fabric down. “I did get a letter from him last week. I think Arabia is disagreeing with him, you know.” She sighed. It was frustrating that he was so far away. “I do wish that company would let them work closer to home.”
“Elsie,” Tam began again.
“You should eat your toast,” Elspeth said, turning around. No sense worrying about the distance since John would be home soon, and she could tell him her worries herself. “It’ll get cold if you leave it.”
Tam was looking at her oddly. “Elsie, have you spoken to Mary about the crash?”
Elspeth flapped a hand at him. “I do wish the lot of you would stop going on about this crash,” she said with a touch of impatience. Her husband had barely even touched the toast on his plate. “Now, eat. If Mary and the boys are coming too, I should start getting dinner prepared.”
“Elsie!” Tam protested.
She shook her head. There was nothing about the crash she wanted to hear, whether it was from Tam or from Mary, who always seemed to be crying lately. “I have an awful lot to do, Tam. You just finish your breakfast.”
She closed the door behind her, rather harder than she should have. The crash. Why did they have to keep on talking about it? It was hardly as if she needed to hear about it. After all, it had been all over the front pages of the local newspaper. They had all talked about it more than John’s letter, which had arrived two days later.
She took a deep breath. Sometimes, she found it helped. This time, it appeared not to.
The bedroom door opened behind her.
“You should eat your breakfast,” she said quietly. “It’ll get cold.”
“Elsie, love,” Tam said quietly. He rarely spoke like that and she closed her eyes. “Elsie, will you not talk to me?”
“You should eat your breakfast,” she said. Her voice was shaking and she wished it wasn’t. “I have-” She stopped and looked down at the stairs. “I have a lot to do before everybody gets here.”
“Mary’ll be here soon,” Tam said. He put his hands on her shoulders. They weren’t as broad or as strong as they used to be. “I’ll get dressed and we can have a wee cup of tea and a seat. You don’t need to do anything.”
Elspeth’s fingers smoothed the edge of her cardigan. He knew her and he loved her, but he was very wrong. “No,” she said quietly. “I need to do something.” She squeezed the end of the cardigan between fingers and palm. She stepped away from his hands. “You should eat your breakfast. I’ll tidy the living room.”
“John wouldn’t want-”
She shook her head again, once, slowly, and he went quiet. “You should eat your breakfast,” she repeated again, quietly. “I’ll tidy up the living room.”
He let her go, and she tidied. The shelves of crystal ornaments were dusted, as they were the day before. The table was scrubbed until it shone. She was vacuuming the hall with her faithful hoover when Mary arrived.
“Ma.” Elspeth tried not to see the redness around Mary’s eyes as her daughter embraced her or to hear the way her voice broke on that single word. “Pa said they would be bringing him home today.”
“Yes,” Elspeth said quietly. Her mouth felt dry. Not coming home. Bringing him home. It sounded so much worse. She put her hand in her pocket, around the letter that had arrived two days after the crash. “He said today. I think your brothers are coming too.”
Mary gave a sob and embraced her again.
Elspeth stared past her daughter’s hair, at the open door. “Do you want a cup of tea, love?” she asked. She hardly knew why she asked, but she asked. Mary nodded against her shoulder, her wee lamb again.
They went to the kitchen together. Elspeth made a fresh pot of tea.
“Are you all right, ma?” Mary asked once they were sitting with tea and a digestive in the living room.
Elspeth tried to smile. It was like climbing the stairs with no hands to hold the banister. “I’ve been keeping busy,” she said. Mary watched her, with eyes just like her own. That would be what she looked like if she wept. But she dare not start, not now. There was so much to be done. Let Mary cry for both of them.
They sat in the perfectly polished and dusted room. Mary opened her mouth to speak, but she said nothing. She barely touched her tea, and Elspeth had no heart to tell her to drink it.
The sound of a car engine outside made them both look from their lukewarm tea.
Mary’s cup rattled in her saucer.
“John,” Elspeth said. When she got up, it hardly felt like she was moving, as if she was seeing through another’s eyes.
Tam got to the door before her, but she stepped around him and out onto the front drive. Her hand clenched around the letter in her pocket as the driver climbed out of the hearse. There was a coffin in the back.
Elspeth suddenly couldn’t see, her world swimming. “Welcome home,” she whispered, “my wee man.”