IT’S TIME

by Rachael Dytor

  “Why can’t I just leave the past in the past and continue on with my life? I have a good life here. Why would I want to put that in jeopardy by going on a wild goose chase up north?”

  “Why indeed? Well, I’m sorry, but that’s where we have to leave it but like I say there are things you don’t know. I’m heading back in a couple of days and I’ll stay in touch. You need to address this, Thomas. You think you’ve moved on with your life, but you haven’t, you’re living a lie. Without addressing what happened in your past, you can never fully move forwards. Goodbye for now, Thomas, and we shall speak soon.”

  With that, he about turned and left me standing there. I had no new information, yet his words struck a chord with me. I’d always known deep down that there was unfinished business in Skye. I thought the best remedy was to flee and never return but in dark moments I have flashbacks to my childhood and of course that fateful day in February 1998.

  I consider the consequences of returning. Would I get closure, or would it break me? If I remain in the Borders, I would never know, but if I head to Skye who and what will I be confronting? The thought sends a shiver up my spine.

  I return to work and find myself checking my diary to see what my schedule is looking like over the coming weeks. With no prior thought, here I am checking my schedule to see how I could possibly free up some time. There are no ‘free days.’ The very efficient Susie has meetings booked out for the next six weeks or so. This was not going to be easy and what do I even tell Janey and Michael? Then there was George’s lack of information – he didn’t give me any indication as to how long I should plan the trip for.

  I buzz Susie through to discuss the matter. “I don’t like to ask but how feasible would it be for you to re-schedule some of my meetings? I’m feeling run down and the doctor has recommended that I take a couple of weeks off work.” She doesn’t do a very good job of hiding the pained expression on her face.

  “Well it won’t be easy but of course it can be done.”

  “That’s great then. I’ll come in next week as those meetings are too soon to reschedule then I’ll take the following two weeks off.”

  “No problem, Thomas,” and off she goes, clearly relishing the prospect of the numerous phone calls she had to make. I figured two weeks would be more than enough time and if it took less then I could always return to work earlier.

  This was a huge decision I’d made in what felt like a heartbeat. I only hope I have made the right decision. And what to tell Janey and Michael? I have to come up with a convincing story. I can’t tell Janey I’m going back to delve into my past, she’d only worry and undoubtedly want to come with me and there’s no way I can have that. Then it hits me, I have a plan.

  I wait until after dinner and I present my wife and son with my cover story. “So, it looks as though I’m going to have to go up north soon on business. Our Inverness branch are looking to recruit a new financial adviser and they’ve asked me to be involved. There were keen for me to help as I’ve had a lot of experience in recruiting in the past. There are two candidates currently in the running for the post and they both work on the Isle of Skye, so I’ll be based there.” I pause to hear my family’s reaction.

  The first question is from Janey. “And what do you feel about that, Thomas? Are you OK with spending time on Skye?” her voice loaded with concern.

  “Oh yes, I’m purely there on business, I won’t be seeing any family or anything.”

  The next question is from Michael; “When are you going, dad?”

  “The week after next, son.”

  “That’s really soon, dad, I hope it doesn’t clash with my football try-outs.” Oh, I’d forgotten all about that with everything that had been going on. Michael continues; “It’s OK, dad, don’t worry. If it does clash, mum will be there to see me. You go on your trip.”

  I’m so proud of him, he has a big heart. He gets up and leaves the table, leaving Janey and I to our thoughts. I gaze over at her and see her brow is furrowed, clearly she has serious doubts about my announcement. Eventually she says, “I’m not sure this is a good idea, Thomas. I’m worried about you going back there. I know you’ve never went into any great detail with me, but I know you didn’t have a happy childhood. Is there anyone else they could ask to go in your place?”

  “Don’t worry, Janey. I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I didn’t think I could do it. Yes, I didn’t have the best childhood but I’m not alone in that. Anyway, I am not there to catch up with anyone, I’m simply there on business.”

  She considers this. “OK, if you’re sure. Would it help if we came through with you even for part of the trip?”

  “No, not at all, I’ll be fine. You need to be here; I know how crazy busy your work is right now and Michael can’t afford to miss out on his schooling or this football try-out. Don’t worry, it’ll all be fine.” I get up and go to her side and we embrace.

  The following morning, I wake early and consider whereabouts on Skye I should find accommodation. George has given me no clue, but I reason that Portree would be a good idea. It’s the main town on Skye and would provide a good base for my trip. Being almost in the centre of the island everything is accessible from there and there are plenty of amenities. For a brief moment I wonder about staying at Dunvegan then think better of it, I don’t want to be a mere stone’s throw away from the croft. Also, mother’s care home is situated in Portree so it seems like the best option all round.

  I search for some time then settle on a quayside apartment which sounds perfect. ‘Industrial chic meets Victorian charm at this luxury harbour-front apartment overlooking Portree’s picturesque harbour’, so the advert boasts. It looks cosy and has a large wood burner so that’ll be perfect and the view out to sea looks lovely. At this time of year, the weather can be wild so it’d be quite something staring off to sea should a storm hit, watching the waves crashing into the harbour.

  I reflect on how quickly things have moved along. There is a distinctly tight knot in my stomach but interestingly mixed in with that there is also a tingling nervous anticipation. I marvel at the impact George’s presence has had. He knows only too well my reluctance at venturing anywhere near the Isle of Skye and yet here I am only a matter of a few days after his visit having arranged the time off work, broke the news to my family, and sorted out accommodation. I wonder how much of this I have control over and how much I am getting pulled along. Well, there’s no going back now, I knew that when I told Janey and Michael about my plans. Does George think I will remain in the Borders or venture to Skye? I am tempted to contact him then think better of it. He has been in control the whole way along, why not wait until I am ready!

  George

  I realise I have enjoyed my stay (albeit brief) in the Scottish Borders. It has a landscape made up of undulating hills and arable farmland. With such green lush fields, it’s perfect for farming. Skye doesn’t provide such fertile ground with farmers and their livestock alike having to adapt to the often harsh and unforgiving climate.

  However, I know that I could never leave Skye. This is where my heart belongs. I am planning to retire in the not-too-distant future, and I can already feel the mountains beckoning me. I will avoid those well-trodden places where all the tourists congregate, choosing instead to go off the beaten track into the wild and remote corners of the island. These are the moments I truly come alive when I am immersed in the rugged terrain using my senses to navigate my way around. It is a truly magical island where mountains meet the sea; the Cullin mountain range providing an awe-inspiring backdrop. The colours are remarkable, and no two days are ever the same. The Cullins tower over the land and, when they’re not covered in snow, they’re inky black; dark and foreboding.

  Then you have the dramatic coastlines. To the north-west of the island, it resembles a Jurassic coast with the huge cliffs and boulders at ground level all jutting out at different angles. You see a good example of this at Neist Point Lighthouse. The wildlife too is in abundance and,
if you are lucky, you can spot seals, whales, dolphins, and red deer. It is wild and dramatic and beautiful, and I struggle to find the words to best describe it as it truly has to be seen to be believed.

  I pause as I think about how my chat went with Thomas today. He looked somewhat bewildered when I left him. I’m not surprised, it’s a lot for him to take in. He’s bound to be wondering what to do for the best. However, he needs to take my advice and take a leap of faith and head back to Skye. I can’t go into any great detail with him about everything at this stage. He just needs to trust me as he once did many moons ago.

  I know how Thomas ticks and he is not easily won over. Turning up at his house in the middle of the night was pretty dramatic but I had to get his attention. The other tactics as well were genuinely a little over the top, but I was feeling positive that my plan had worked. I truly believe he has listened to me and pray that he is in the process of planning a return visit.

  My only regret (and it is a regret which niggles away at me) was that I involved his mother in all of this. Mentioning her in that text to Thomas was a mistake and it has weighed heavy on my mind, the call I had with Bert. The man is unhinged. I told Bert about my plans to take Thomas to see Mary when (and if) he comes to Skye. After ending the call, different scenarios started playing out in my mind. What if he went to pay her a visit? (This only occurred to me after I had spoken with him, so I was anxious to hear how she was, hence the text messages to Thomas). I accept that I went about it the wrong way. Thomas (probably rightly so) was very defensive when I asked after her. It was also ridiculously late to send a message. He is bound to be un-nerved. It had seemed like a good idea at the time but, with hindsight, I am not so sure. Anyway, I can only hope enough has been done to lure him to Skye. We shall see …

  I pack the last few belongings into my case and set off out the door. My heart soars as I jump into the car and set the satellite navigation for the Isle of Skye.

  CHAPTER 7

  June 1998

  T

  he days are long as Spring bows its way out and surrenders to Summer. The sun rises around 4.30 a.m. so my friend the rooster is sounding his morning song very early now. That is fine with me, I love this precious time on my own before the rest of the house wakes up.

  I draw my curtains and gaze up at the sky. There is still quite a lot of cloud cover but if today is anything like yesterday it’ll only be a matter of time before that burns away. Since I was a small boy, I’d been fascinated with clouds. My imagination runs wild as I picture different scenes and objects. Although I’m now 13 and I’ve been told you lose your imagination as you grow up, I can’t say that has been the case with me. As I look up at the clouds, I have played out a whole scene before me. It’s quite fanciful! I see a huge elephant dancing and leaping around; a crown adorning his head and his master atop his back getting swung along. The clouds change in shape and form and the elephant drifts awa, giving rise to a child’s face, a very expressive face, and I consider whether this child resembles anyone I know.

  We only have a few days left of school before Summer break. Is it too much to hope that I might get at least a few days to take off on my own? How I would relish that prospect of free time to myself! There are endless possibilities, but I know exactly what I’d do. I would take off on my bike. The freedom I feel as I pedal faster and faster is intoxicating. It’s as though I’m taking off into the unknown and I’m very much at peace with no one to bother me and only adventures to be had. I allow myself to dream, why not!

  I rise early as always on father’s call and the morning passes uneventfully. (I appear to have completed my chores around the croft to father’s liking since I hear no word of complaint, so this is looking promising.) I get the bus to school and settle behind my desk ready for the school day to begin. It felt as though everything was going well so I am surprised when the teacher asks me to stay behind at the end of the class.

  I notice the normally composed Miss Davies looks somewhat flustered. This has me confused. She takes some time before she says anything, and I sense she is struggling to formulate the words.

  “Thomas, this is a little bit sensitive.” OK where is this going? “Is everything OK with you?” This has completely thrown me off guard. What could she possibly know about my personal life and how I am feeling? I start to panic and hope she doesn’t know about my situation at home, then I reason with myself, but how could she?

  I use a predictable default response, “Yes, I’m fine”, hoping that it’s case closed and I can disappear out the door. No such luck; a somewhat flustered Miss Davies now looks downright downtrodden, and the colour has risen in her cheeks.

  She carries on, “It’s just that a few of us have noticed that you’re not quite yourself. I have to ask, is everything OK at home?”

  Oh, now we get to the crux of it. And how do you know what it’s like for me at home Miss Davies? Do you have any idea? And am I likely to tell you? Not a chance. I shudder involuntarily at the thought of father finding out about this chat if I were to give her any kind of an insight. To face his wrath is a fate worse than death so I go with, “Yes, everything’s fine, can I go now?” Please let me go, this is excruciating.

  She persists, “Well I have noticed changes in your behaviour and your grades are starting to slip. We can leave it at that for now but if things don’t change, I’ll have no other option than to speak to your parents.”

  What does she mean by she has noticed changes in my behaviour? I don’t dwell on it. With a green card to go, I’m out of there quick as a flash. There are only a few days to go before the end of term, so I’m not overly concerned about her speaking to my parents either so off I go.

  I think no more of the matter and put it to the back of my mind. However, later in the day father is shouting on me to “Come here now, Thomas.” I feel the all too familiar hairs on the back of my neck start to prickle and stand on end; my system already in a high state of alert with both pulse and heartbeat quickened. I reason with myself – calm down, you’ve done nothing wrong, there’s no need to panic.

  Juliet is in the room with me and, as always, she has comforting words of reassurance; “Don’t worry, Thomas, it’ll be nothing, he’s probably just wanting help with a job or something.” Her beautiful big doe eyes staring up at me do offer some solace.

  “You’re probably right, I’ll go and see what he wants.”

  “Come on, lazy arse, get here now, son!” I pick up the pace and stand to attention in the front room, assuming my submissive position of eyes downcast to the floor. “Well, what have you got to say for yourself?” I’m confused! What is he talking about? To the best of my knowledge, I’ve not made any mistakes with my chores around the croft, and he can’t possibly know about my chat today with Miss Davies, so I’m baffled but extremely anxious none the less.

  “Sorry father, I’m not sure I know what you are talking about.”

  “Father, father?! You know full well you should address me as Sir.”

  “Sorry … Sir.”

  “Let’s get that lazy bitch in here as she’s part of this. Mary, Mary… move it! Get in here NOW!!”

  I don’t know where mother was in the croft as I couldn’t hear her but in no time at all she’s flanked by my side. I swear she’s never far away, ready for her summons at the drop of a hat – she knows better than to keep him waiting. “Right Mary, you take it from here, tell that good-for-nothing son of ours what he’s in trouble for this time. I swear he gets it from you. There’s not so as much as two brain cells in that thick skull of his to rub together to figure out why he’s stood before me right now.” There is a momentary pause whilst mother gathers herself. She is clearly not used to taking the lead and he can’t stand it. “Well spit it out, woman, we’ve not got all day.” The tension in the room is palpable. When he says the words ‘spit it out’ some spit actually projects from his mouth and lands on the top of my nose. I feel my stomach heave at the thought of his spittle on my body, but I know
better than to even shift in my position, so I stand strong and steadfast.

  Eventually mother responds and in a small timid voice we hear the words “there was a note.” I can’t see his face as I’m still staring at the floor, but I sense that he is less than satisfied with her input.

  “Fuck sake, Mary, you can’t even do the simplest of things! ‘There was a note’,” he mimics in her quiet voice. “No more of it,” he bellows, “it takes a man to get things done around here. Well son, here’s what went down. You did a shite job when you hung your coat and bag up because a wee note fell out of your bag and drifted its merry way to the floor. This pathetic excuse for a woman here went to pick it up and no doubt would’ve destroyed it had I not been watching. You see, I am never far away. I’ve got eyes on the pair of you and don’t forget it! So, Thomas, let’s start again, what have you got to say for yourself?”

  A note, a note?! What note? I am completely baffled! Has someone at school put a note in my bag?! This is not good. I don’t have a clue what he’s talking about. I can only respond with, “Sorry Sir, I don’t know anything about it.” He pauses and I feel the veins in my neck throbbing and beads of sweat starting to form on my forehead. He takes a couple of steps towards me and I can smell his stale breath on my face, a disgusting cocktail of whiskey and cigars, vile! “Look me in the face, Thomas.” I was hoping this could be avoided and I can sense the contorted features before my eyes gaze upon his face. I raise my head to meet his eyes and he is mad. His face has turned a dark shade of red with visible purple thread-like veins darted over his cheeks and his eyes are staring to bulge in their sockets.

  “Correct, Thomas, you won’t know anything about this. Why? Because the note is addressed to Mr and Mrs Taylor.” Oh God, this could only be from the school! What has she done?! She told me she wouldn’t say anything to my parents for now! He carries on, “Well, don’t you want to know what it says?” With that he slams the note at my chest, winding me and knocking me backwards, my arms flailing. I hear mother gasp inwardly. “Read it then, stupid.”