Home from home

The woman whose clothes were pristine in their presentation despite the countless repairs and obvious signs of excessive wear grabbed hold of the young boy and dragged him towards the roadside. They each carried a small bundle, she paused for a second to tuck her hair under her shawl as the rain began to fall, she flashed a sad smile as she dragged him sobbing along the road.

Both mother and child were becoming wetter and wetter as the town shrunk behind them and they moved further and further into the wilderness of the Scottish countryside. She looked ahead along the road desperately trying to find somewhere that they could safely rest for the night there was nowhere so they continued as the sun dropped below the horizon and the rain continued unabated. The dark clouds hid the stars and the moonlight leaving their passage along the sodden road more treacherous. Eventually their tiredness overtook their need for shelter and they rested underneath a large tree. They huddled together to stay warm but their soaking clothes worked against them and deepened their misery.

The woman took a small handful of bread from one of the bundles and shared it between herself and the boy. This was the third day they had been walking since they left Glasgow on their way to her father's home she did not know how many more days it would be as she had never needed to walk this route she had always been carried by horses or in richer days by coach. She had not slept the previous two evenings despite the places they had found being far more comfortable but as soon as she felt her son fall into a limp and pathetic slumber she wrapped him in her body and joined him.

The forth day brought a huge stroke of fortune. A farmer returning from a successful market trip spotted the pair making their way around the puddles in the rutted road. He could take them a large part of their journey and was acquainted with the area they were headed towards, he even knew of her father and his reputation. While the woman and the farmer talked the boy sat watching the incredible colours wobble past him. He had lived his entire short life in the city. He lived in a world of greys, green greys, brown greys, white greys. This sharp clean world of colours entranced him and the restful jog of the cart made him feel like this was more like the adventure his mother had promised him before they left their large Glasgow townhouse all those days before.

The farmer had insisted that the pair stayed at his home rather than pressing on into the night, and courtesy of him and his welcoming wife their clothes were dried, their bellies filled and they slept soundly in a bed for the first time in days.

It was over breakfast the following morning that their story was revealed, in part, for the first time. She had been the wife and he the son of a successful lawyer named William. They had lived in relative wealth and luxury in Glasgow. Her humble beginnings had irked the decidedly precious family of William but his happiness, success and the birth of a bright and lively son had put many of their concerns to bed.

Life had been serene until William’s enjoyment of cards overtook him. His debts to increasingly unsavoury opponents grew and his ability to hide them from his wife diminished. The knife in the neck he received on that dark October walk home ended his woes but passed them onto his wife and son with the added weight of the shame he had avoided. Once the debts had been taken from his estate there was little left for his bereaved family who turned to William’s wealthy parents. It was now at this late point their ugly snobbery rose its head. They would offer a life of comfort to their grandson but not to his lowly born mother.

The agonies of the decision had wracked her but it was the day she had chosen to let him go that she decided to keep him with her. The depth of his sobbing when she told him shattered her heart and she knew it was the wrong decision so that night she grabbed what she could and headed north to beg for shelter with her father.

Now, so close to her childhood home the folly of her decision struck her. It had been so long since she had corresponded with her father she didn’t even know if the cantankerous old widower was still alive.

After they ate and said their goodbye the pair found their way to the coastal path and began their walk into the icy sea wind that rattled across them tugging at their clothes. During the first hour of their trek they saw no one, during the second they briefly exchanged pleasantries with a young man heading home from a failed business deal. By the third hour they were both tiring and in need of a rest but finally there was a sign of their destination stretching itself to peer over the horizon. After all these years she was home. Within another hour the pair arrived on the outskirts of the coastal village she had never imagined returning to, in another five minutes they were stood outside her father’s small inn.

She waited for a moment to collect her thoughts.

“Well are you not coming in then?”

Her father had been standing at the side of the building watching in disbelief.

“I’ve come home dad.”

“That I see, and who is this young man?”

“This is your grandson William, William Lambie.”