A Changing Land(41)



‘You owe them nothing, lad. Think of the money.’

The sentence was punctuated by the re-entry of his mother, carrying a white plastic tray. Her eyes met his as she placed the cups of tea on the wooden table with a slight clatter of crockery. When she sat again in the wooden rocker that once belonged to her own mother, her hands were wrapped securely around the hot tea. Her cheeks were tinged a becoming red, her eyes soft. More than a nip had been consumed, of that Jim was sure.

‘Jim’s existence has been acknowledged, surely that is enough.’ She blew carefully at the steaming tea; the rocking chair ceased its gentle sway. ‘Besides,’ his mother continued softly, ‘it is Jim’s decision.’

Robert huffed loudly, the noise of his teeth chewing at the pipe filled the room. ‘This is a will, woman. There is no decision. I know we’ve all had much to come to terms with,’ he nodded in his son’s direction, ‘but it’s past the time for waiting. It’s not fair to them –’ his large thumb pointed at the folder – ‘nor us. This is a lot of money. The whole family could benefit from it.’

‘And what happened, Robert Macken, to being happy with our life? How many times in the past have you sat at this very table and told Jim not to wish for greater things, to appreciate his life,’ she held up a quivering finger to his obvious desire to interrupt, ‘and I agreed. We have food and a roof over our heads and the things that have been most blessed to me remain so. My family, this place where I shall live and die, sleek cattle, the pungent scent of peat …’

Robert gulped at his own tea. ‘Don’t be idiotic, woman. Your son is a descendent of the Gordon clan. He is entitled to his inheritance. How, as his mother, could you possibly ask him to ignore this?’ He waved a typed letter in the air, the thick creamy paper crackling with the action.

‘The money doesn’t belong to you, Jim.’ His mother continued sipping at her tea.

Jim admired how a woman of such impoverished birth could turn down the chance of wealth, yet it also surprised him she remained so adamant.

‘Rubbish.’ Robert folded the letter carefully, placing it on the narrow mantlepiece above the fire.

Part of Jim wished that Sarah Gordon had never visited his country; for it was only through their chance meeting and friendship that they both eventually learnt of his blood ties to her family. At moments it had been too much, his wayward mother, the father who was not his father, every important element in his life had been controlled by someone, even the timing of when he should learn of his real father’s identity and the contents of Angus Gordon’s will. Jim listened as Robert and his mother argued. It was no longer just about the will, it was about lost love for his mother and the harbouring of resentments for Robert.

‘Think of the money, Jim. It is rightfully yours,’ Robert argued, gulping the scalding tea as if his mouth was lined with asbestos.

To Jim it was money borne of sadness. His clearest memory of Sarah was the day they walked in the heather, gradually ascending one of his favourite hills until, at the rocky summit, they had looked out into the distant lochs below, stringing out like small puddles of water that a child could jump. For indeed that was how he felt. On first meeting the Australian he’d experienced the most comfortable of sensations. It was like coming home after a long journey. ‘It doesn’t feel right. It’s like something the English would do, taking over something that isn’t rightfully theirs. Like here where they’ve resumed land and forced us to eke out a living on these tiny blocks; generational Scots relegated to bed-and-breakfasts and scrounging for a living.’

‘Then do something about it,’ Robert interrupted with an impatient wave of his fist. ‘The Gordons are worth millions. You’ve been offered a thirty per cent share. Get your money and come back and do something positive. Stop you and yours from bowing at the feet of the likes of Lord Andrews and his family.’

Frankly Jim could see little that was positive. He’d spent three months pining for a girl who turned out to be his half-sister. And even though loneliness had made him believe he cared for her, it didn’t stop him from feeling stupid and uncomfortable at the prospect of sharing in her inheritance.

Jim’s mother shook her head. ‘You love Scotland, Jim, almost as much as I do. You don’t need to say anything, I can see it in your eyes. You smile at the wild landscape, feel the comfort of home when you step upon her springy heather and breathe in the bracing air when the wind blows across the loch. How you feel for your country, how you worry for the people of the north is what makes you Scottish. Remember that, for if you go to Australia and take your share, you will be destroying Sarah’s home. Imagine how she will feel.’

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