Seacliff

Chapter fifty-six: Home, sweet home

1939

Home was always freedom, Aidan mused, as the train sped through the countryside. He could take refuge there at any time, no matter what. He could be himself without any fear of repercussions.

He'd grown up with Jemmy in that home.

Their mothers had been comrades in arms from the day Auntie Maggie had to be rushed to the hospital for a Caesarean birth. Jem had even shared Saoirse's milk when his mum had trouble breastfeeding. It was a point often brought up, whenever either of the boys would throw a tantrum because of some silly playground mischief.

"I've had you both at my teat," Saoirse used to say, "we'll have none of that! now shake hands and make up. Chop-chop!"

This latest fallout wouldn't be cured by a handshake alone, though. How could Aidan even tell his mother what had happened? She'd find just the right thing to say, no doubt, but he felt humiliated that he'd allowed his trust to be so profusely breached.

There had been warnings as Jemmy's behaviour deteriorated in the city. Aidan had chalked it up to the drink and the opium, but maybe something else entirely had been lurking under the surface all along. How couldn't he see it until now? They'd been inseparable as children.

What had gone wrong since?

Tears pricked at Aidan's eyes again. The train screeched to a halt in North Berwick and he hopped out, absent-minded. Someone recognised him on the platform and offered to drive him home. One of his mother's many acquaintances, whose name he couldn't recall. Aidan shyly accepted.

"Yer a city boy now, eh?" the man joked. "Yer ma says ye're going to university?"

"Um..." Aidan cleared his throat. "Yes, I am."

"And what d'ye do there?"

"I study. History, mainly. Classics."

"Ye won't be a doctor, like yer da?"

Aidan twitched. Da was strictly reserved for the man who had sired him. James was father, dad, or papa.

"No," he managed to reply. "No, but it seems my little sister might follow into his footsteps."

The man laughed, incredulous.

"She has the mind of a scientist," Aidan argued. "She's cleverer than I was at her age. Doesn't show it as much, because most people would rather she played with dolls or sewing things. But tell Aoife she ought to start sewing and she might just sew your eyelids shut."

A hint of awkwardness lined the man's laughter now. He dropped his passenger off on the side of the main street, just ahead of the Seacliff road junction. Aidan enjoyed the twenty minutes' walk to the Lodge. He'd tamed some of his thoughts into a precarious order by the time he reached the house and rang the bell.

Hurried steps shuffled inside, then the door swung open and his mother froze in her tracks at the sight of him.

"Aidan!" A confused frown-smile split her countenance in two. "What are you – what happened?"

"What do you mean?" he pouted. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

"Oh, of course I am!" She wiped her hands on her apron and hugged him, pulling him into the house. "How come you didn't telephone ahead? I could have picked you up from the station. Where's Jemmy?"

The question everyone asked whenever the boys weren't together. Where's your other half? And there would always be an answer. Except today. Today, Aidan didn't answer. His body went rigid in anticipation of a more probing query which never came. He breathed out a stealthy sigh of relief.

"And your father?" Saoirse asked next. "I haven't heard from Dr Mortimer today."

"Oh, he... he said to tell you he's paying a home visit to some Lord or other this weekend."

His mother rolled her eyes. "Of course, he is. But then, all these home visits are paying for your university, so I suppose we should be grateful."

She mustered a crooked smile, half jolly, half... anything else but.

His father never spent much time at the Lodge these days. After Aoife was born on the heels of the stock market crash, James had finally taken Sir Alexander up on his offer and moved to the city for better-paid work. He usually returned weekends to his wife – unless wealthy patients came up – or for brief overnight stays during the week.

"He said he'll try to make it home for Sunday supper," Aidan added, dropping his bag on the floor. He collapsed on the settee in the front room and put his feet up on the coffee table, only for his mother to shove them off. "Where's Aoife?"

Saoirse sat down beside him. "Your sister's gone riding with your da. They're hoping to spot some deer in the cornfields."

Aidan nodded and fell silent, his head drooping backwards.

"My sweet boy," his mother murmured. "What bothers you, my love?"

Renewed tears pooled in his eyes at the sound of her worried voice. He fought to restrain them, to no avail, prompting Saoirse to envelop her son in a suffocating embrace. Aidan clung onto his mother, the woman whose faith in him never wavered, and set his sorrow loose in her arms.