wanted to be out of the darkness, I wanted to be home in the light and warmth, the TV on, the kettle on, all the safe, prosaic sounds and sights of daily life around me, to bring me back over to this side of reality. I shivered, holding Maisie’s hand a little tighter.
Jamie
When I saw the lights on in my house, my heart skipped a beat. Then I remembered Eilidh was there with Maisie. I stood at the window for a second and looked in. Eilidh was standing at the stove, stirring something, her back turned, her brown hair in a ponytail. Maisie was sitting on the sofa, clutching her ponies, watching a Charlie and Lola DVD.
So this is how it feels like. To come home to a warm house, the fire on, the lights on.
And someone there.
I was exhausted. It’d been an incredibly full day with no time for lunch or even a cup of tea. All I wanted was to put Maisie to bed and sit in front of the fire, with some mindless film on, and close my eyes.
‘Daddy!’ I felt the usual rush of joy whenever I saw Maisie after a separation, however short.
I looked up from over her head as she hugged me and saw Eilidh standing there, a smile on her face, but a shy expression, slightly awkward. Like the whole scene was too domestic, too intimate, for two people who, after all, hardly knew each other.
‘The kettle’s on. What do you take?’ she said, with that soft, warm voice of hers.
And I said the wrong thing. Completely the wrong thing.
‘It’s ok, Eilidh, thanks, you must be tired. I’ll make my own tea and see to Maisie.’
Why, WHY did I say that? When what I wanted to say was, ‘Milk and one sugar, thanks, come and sit with me you both. Tell me all about your day.’
I could have kicked myself.
‘Sure. Bye Maisie, see you tomorrow,’ she said, forcing a smile.
‘Are you not going to give me my dinner?’ asked Maisie, clearly disappointed. ‘And my bath? And a story?’
‘Your dad is here now, baby, I’ll get you tomorrow at school.’
I was speechless, overwhelmed by my own awkwardness. It was as if there was this invisible thread between them and I had just cut it, and they were suffering for it.
‘See you, Jamie,’ she said and was out the door before I could speak.
I slapped my forehead in frustration as Maisie sat back on the sofa, silent. I took my jacket off and went to make the tea.
On the stove was a pot of roni cheese. She had remembered Maisie’s favourite dinner. The oven was on, too. I opened its door and a delicious smell hit me. A pasta bake, enough for one. My own dinner. My heart sank.
I went to get a mug, then I saw that Eilidh had two cups ready, each with a tea bag in.
I’m an idiot.
13
LIGHT AND SHADOW
Eilidh
Days and nights fell into a pattern, a whole new life – a gentle, unhurried one. It felt so easy and natural, like I had never known any different. The mornings in the shop, the afternoons with Maisie, the evenings at home with Peggy or, very occasionally, out for a drink with Helena, Ruth or Silke.
The last couple of weekends, I had helped Silke with the opening of the gallery, unpacking artwork, cleaning, making phone calls and all the odd jobs that needed done. I had also been convinced by Silke’s charm and Peggy’s enthusiasm to do a reading at the opening. Silke had mentioned to my aunt that they had found a harpist to do a solo and a singer to perform some traditional Gaelic songs. To that, my aunt had mentioned my reading of ‘Hallaig’ all those years ago and how it reduced half of Glen Avich to tears, or so she maintained.
Jamie had asked me to read ‘Lucy’, a poem by George McKay Brown. I had chosen the one by Sorley MacLean, ‘The Choice’, a poem about love and loss that called to me.
Once that had been decided, I had to do something very important: choose what to wear. I’d left all my nice clothes in the house that Tom and I shared and brought up only jeans, t-shirts and jumpers. I prefer to dress casually, it was Tom who liked seeing me in
Jamie
When I saw the lights on in my house, my heart skipped a beat. Then I remembered Eilidh was there with Maisie. I stood at the window for a second and looked in. Eilidh was standing at the stove, stirring something, her back turned, her brown hair in a ponytail. Maisie was sitting on the sofa, clutching her ponies, watching a Charlie and Lola DVD.
So this is how it feels like. To come home to a warm house, the fire on, the lights on.
And someone there.
I was exhausted. It’d been an incredibly full day with no time for lunch or even a cup of tea. All I wanted was to put Maisie to bed and sit in front of the fire, with some mindless film on, and close my eyes.
‘Daddy!’ I felt the usual rush of joy whenever I saw Maisie after a separation, however short.
I looked up from over her head as she hugged me and saw Eilidh standing there, a smile on her face, but a shy expression, slightly awkward. Like the whole scene was too domestic, too intimate, for two people who, after all, hardly knew each other.
‘The kettle’s on. What do you take?’ she said, with that soft, warm voice of hers.
And I said the wrong thing. Completely the wrong thing.
‘It’s ok, Eilidh, thanks, you must be tired. I’ll make my own tea and see to Maisie.’
Why, WHY did I say that? When what I wanted to say was, ‘Milk and one sugar, thanks, come and sit with me you both. Tell me all about your day.’
I could have kicked myself.
‘Sure. Bye Maisie, see you tomorrow,’ she said, forcing a smile.
‘Are you not going to give me my dinner?’ asked Maisie, clearly disappointed. ‘And my bath? And a story?’
‘Your dad is here now, baby, I’ll get you tomorrow at school.’
I was speechless, overwhelmed by my own awkwardness. It was as if there was this invisible thread between them and I had just cut it, and they were suffering for it.
‘See you, Jamie,’ she said and was out the door before I could speak.
I slapped my forehead in frustration as Maisie sat back on the sofa, silent. I took my jacket off and went to make the tea.
On the stove was a pot of roni cheese. She had remembered Maisie’s favourite dinner. The oven was on, too. I opened its door and a delicious smell hit me. A pasta bake, enough for one. My own dinner. My heart sank.
I went to get a mug, then I saw that Eilidh had two cups ready, each with a tea bag in.
I’m an idiot.
13
LIGHT AND SHADOW
Eilidh
Days and nights fell into a pattern, a whole new life – a gentle, unhurried one. It felt so easy and natural, like I had never known any different. The mornings in the shop, the afternoons with Maisie, the evenings at home with Peggy or, very occasionally, out for a drink with Helena, Ruth or Silke.
The last couple of weekends, I had helped Silke with the opening of the gallery, unpacking artwork, cleaning, making phone calls and all the odd jobs that needed done. I had also been convinced by Silke’s charm and Peggy’s enthusiasm to do a reading at the opening. Silke had mentioned to my aunt that they had found a harpist to do a solo and a singer to perform some traditional Gaelic songs. To that, my aunt had mentioned my reading of ‘Hallaig’ all those years ago and how it reduced half of Glen Avich to tears, or so she maintained.
Jamie had asked me to read ‘Lucy’, a poem by George McKay Brown. I had chosen the one by Sorley MacLean, ‘The Choice’, a poem about love and loss that called to me.
Once that had been decided, I had to do something very important: choose what to wear. I’d left all my nice clothes in the house that Tom and I shared and brought up only jeans, t-shirts and jumpers. I prefer to dress casually, it was Tom who liked seeing me in
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