Status: It's gonna be a while between chapters, folks, but please let me know what you think at any time =)
Scotch Mist
Moving Day
The car slowly shuddered to a halt on the motorway as the daily traffic jam slithered across the countryside. Seamus Faulkner was listlessly slouching in the front passenger seat staring out of the window, muttering to himself about the endless queues of complete strangers in the parallel lanes, dreaming about how their lives differed to his, and where they wished to end up if they were to move more than two feet every five minutes.
“You okay, laddie?” his father Douglas asked, pulling up the handbrake for the umpteenth time in the past hour.
“I’m fine, dad.”
“Just checking to see you weren’t away with the fairies again!” Douglas chortled.
“How long are we gonna be, Dad?” cried Seamus’ younger sister Tegan from the backseat.
“Still gonna be a few hours, pet. Keep yourself occupied – how about you play a game with Seamus?”
“I’d rather not, Dad,” moaned Seamus, glancing at the car in front, the driver of which incessantly blaring his horn in disgust.
“You’re such a grump, Shay!” Tegan yelled, and she started to kick the back of his seat repeatedly.
“Cut it out, Tegan!”
“That’s enough from the both of you!” Douglas howled; a fire erupting behind his strained, weary eyes. “If you can’t get along, just sit here in silence until we get to Kilmarnock, alright?”
Tegan folded her arms as tight as possible in resentment, and after a mild protesting groan went unnoticed, she returned to drawing in a small lilac sketchbook. Seamus made no effort in a reaction to his father, and continued to gaze out of the passenger window. About 10 minutes later, the flow of traffic gained pace, and the livid shades in Douglas’ cheeks began to fade as his shoulders loosened.
*
Seamus and Tegan’s father had finally divorced last November from their mother, Caitlin, and after she moved out of their family home in Liverpool to return to live with her mother, Douglas thought best to take the kids back to Scotland where they were born. Last week, he finally sold their house and bought a smaller terraced one in the town they left behind over ten years ago. Caitlin had re-married two months prior to this, to an affluent businessman named Nathan she had met through some estranged relation. Not that Douglas had cared for it much.
A thick, ominous blanket of grey had drifted in to mar the late August afternoon, and Seamus dreamed of being back in Mossley Hill. The cold granite pathway led his mind’s eye through the front door of his family’s old Georgian house – detached, of course, where money had been no object for Caitlin, a successful prosecution lawyer by trade – and he pictured himself running upstairs to his old room in the rear-left corner of the first floor, facing out onto the comfortably-sized designer garden.
He sprawled himself out in the seat of the car, imagining the warmth and security offered by his old bedclothes inside his head. He closed his eyes and imagined pulling the covers over his ears, shutting out the whole world, where danger and intimidation were the only certainty.
*
Two hours later, Douglas turned the car off of the motorway and they motioned towards the city where they were to roost for the foreseeable future. Seamus woke with a start to see all of the rows of houses rolling past. The clamour of horns and engines wrestled his brain from the depths of sleep, and he felt no more desire to converse with the outside world than before they had departed Liverpool.
Passing under an old railway bridge opening out to the canvas of the suburbs, he began to believe that each building thereon spoke of bleaker and bleaker histories, grey being the dominant colour of the landscape.
Five minutes later, Douglas brought the car to an uneasy halt by the kerb of a residential cul-de-sac, comprised of two short rows of terraced houses standing to attention on either side.
“We’re here,” Douglas sighed triumphantly, raking his hands through his short, coarse dark hair. He urged the driver side door open and slowly rose from the car, stretching his tired limbs and yawning from utter exhaustion. He sauntered to the dilapidated front door, emboldened with an ugly brass knocker under a worn brass plate of the number 9, and took out an unfamiliar set of keys from his jacket pocket. Delicately trying the one that seemed the most appropriate and successfully unlocking it, the door groaned in agony as it slowly swung in on its sleepy hinges.
Seamus clambered out of the passenger side of the forlorn estate, and looked square on at his new home in the light that escaped the Scottish leaden sky. Their house stood sandwiched between two others almost identical, two storeys with large bay windows above and below on the left hand side, and a paved stone pathway up to the humble step that provided the luxury of a makeshift porch.
He traced his father’s footsteps towards the door, remarking to himself at the lack of grass on the front lawn, where instead lay brick-coloured gravel; the garden itself was surrounded by a foot-high whitewashed wall.
As he entered the ground floor corridor, he instantly spotted each imperfection, no matter how minor. Small patches peeling from the hideous aged wallpaper, burns in the fitted charcoal carpet, cracks in the paint on the ceiling; Seamus shuddered with contempt. He ascended the stairs immediately to the left of the entrance and headed for the first floor, looking for what else lay in store.
Peering into each room along the landing, he saw two linear, cramped bedrooms possessing the ability to have a person touch both sides of the room whilst standing in the centre, a modest bathroom shaded the most sickening of blues, and what he assumed would be his father’s bedroom; the only room furnished with a double bed along the far wall, with the large bay window forming a crude balcony overlooking the street outside.
Thinking ahead, Seamus walked back out onto the landing and wandered into the rightmost of the two former bedrooms facing the back of the house, and began to survey the atmosphere of the room. A skeleton of fixtures welcomed him in – a bare, beech effect cabin bed sidled the wall that adjoined the house to the one next door, a matching, empty wardrobe stood proudly against the opposite wall, and a seemingly out of place, rustic wooden chair was tucked under an unassuming desk of a similar lightly coloured wood to the other furnishings, rested beneath the only window offering little of a view to little of a back garden.
“This will do,” he whispered to himself.
He listlessly walked back downstairs and headed back to the car where he knew his father would be ushering in their few belongings. He began to approach Douglas who, as if he knew Seamus was already walking towards him, pulled out a plain navy suitcase not much larger than a toddler’s bicycle, and a black rucksack branded by a rather menacing rock band Douglas had never heard of, and placed them on the ground beside him.
“The rest is all mine to sort, laddie,” Douglas shouted to his son. “Take your stuff upstairs for me to the room you want, there’s a good boy.”
Seamus threw his backpack on, and winced slightly at the weight of his suitcase as he carried it back up to the room he had claimed for himself only seconds ago. He placed the suitcase under the desk, dropped his rucksack to the floor and shut the door behind him.
*****
"And I know that it's a wonderful world, but I can't feel it right now,"
James Morrison
“You okay, laddie?” his father Douglas asked, pulling up the handbrake for the umpteenth time in the past hour.
“I’m fine, dad.”
“Just checking to see you weren’t away with the fairies again!” Douglas chortled.
“How long are we gonna be, Dad?” cried Seamus’ younger sister Tegan from the backseat.
“Still gonna be a few hours, pet. Keep yourself occupied – how about you play a game with Seamus?”
“I’d rather not, Dad,” moaned Seamus, glancing at the car in front, the driver of which incessantly blaring his horn in disgust.
“You’re such a grump, Shay!” Tegan yelled, and she started to kick the back of his seat repeatedly.
“Cut it out, Tegan!”
“That’s enough from the both of you!” Douglas howled; a fire erupting behind his strained, weary eyes. “If you can’t get along, just sit here in silence until we get to Kilmarnock, alright?”
Tegan folded her arms as tight as possible in resentment, and after a mild protesting groan went unnoticed, she returned to drawing in a small lilac sketchbook. Seamus made no effort in a reaction to his father, and continued to gaze out of the passenger window. About 10 minutes later, the flow of traffic gained pace, and the livid shades in Douglas’ cheeks began to fade as his shoulders loosened.
*
Seamus and Tegan’s father had finally divorced last November from their mother, Caitlin, and after she moved out of their family home in Liverpool to return to live with her mother, Douglas thought best to take the kids back to Scotland where they were born. Last week, he finally sold their house and bought a smaller terraced one in the town they left behind over ten years ago. Caitlin had re-married two months prior to this, to an affluent businessman named Nathan she had met through some estranged relation. Not that Douglas had cared for it much.
A thick, ominous blanket of grey had drifted in to mar the late August afternoon, and Seamus dreamed of being back in Mossley Hill. The cold granite pathway led his mind’s eye through the front door of his family’s old Georgian house – detached, of course, where money had been no object for Caitlin, a successful prosecution lawyer by trade – and he pictured himself running upstairs to his old room in the rear-left corner of the first floor, facing out onto the comfortably-sized designer garden.
He sprawled himself out in the seat of the car, imagining the warmth and security offered by his old bedclothes inside his head. He closed his eyes and imagined pulling the covers over his ears, shutting out the whole world, where danger and intimidation were the only certainty.
*
Two hours later, Douglas turned the car off of the motorway and they motioned towards the city where they were to roost for the foreseeable future. Seamus woke with a start to see all of the rows of houses rolling past. The clamour of horns and engines wrestled his brain from the depths of sleep, and he felt no more desire to converse with the outside world than before they had departed Liverpool.
Passing under an old railway bridge opening out to the canvas of the suburbs, he began to believe that each building thereon spoke of bleaker and bleaker histories, grey being the dominant colour of the landscape.
Five minutes later, Douglas brought the car to an uneasy halt by the kerb of a residential cul-de-sac, comprised of two short rows of terraced houses standing to attention on either side.
“We’re here,” Douglas sighed triumphantly, raking his hands through his short, coarse dark hair. He urged the driver side door open and slowly rose from the car, stretching his tired limbs and yawning from utter exhaustion. He sauntered to the dilapidated front door, emboldened with an ugly brass knocker under a worn brass plate of the number 9, and took out an unfamiliar set of keys from his jacket pocket. Delicately trying the one that seemed the most appropriate and successfully unlocking it, the door groaned in agony as it slowly swung in on its sleepy hinges.
Seamus clambered out of the passenger side of the forlorn estate, and looked square on at his new home in the light that escaped the Scottish leaden sky. Their house stood sandwiched between two others almost identical, two storeys with large bay windows above and below on the left hand side, and a paved stone pathway up to the humble step that provided the luxury of a makeshift porch.
He traced his father’s footsteps towards the door, remarking to himself at the lack of grass on the front lawn, where instead lay brick-coloured gravel; the garden itself was surrounded by a foot-high whitewashed wall.
As he entered the ground floor corridor, he instantly spotted each imperfection, no matter how minor. Small patches peeling from the hideous aged wallpaper, burns in the fitted charcoal carpet, cracks in the paint on the ceiling; Seamus shuddered with contempt. He ascended the stairs immediately to the left of the entrance and headed for the first floor, looking for what else lay in store.
Peering into each room along the landing, he saw two linear, cramped bedrooms possessing the ability to have a person touch both sides of the room whilst standing in the centre, a modest bathroom shaded the most sickening of blues, and what he assumed would be his father’s bedroom; the only room furnished with a double bed along the far wall, with the large bay window forming a crude balcony overlooking the street outside.
Thinking ahead, Seamus walked back out onto the landing and wandered into the rightmost of the two former bedrooms facing the back of the house, and began to survey the atmosphere of the room. A skeleton of fixtures welcomed him in – a bare, beech effect cabin bed sidled the wall that adjoined the house to the one next door, a matching, empty wardrobe stood proudly against the opposite wall, and a seemingly out of place, rustic wooden chair was tucked under an unassuming desk of a similar lightly coloured wood to the other furnishings, rested beneath the only window offering little of a view to little of a back garden.
“This will do,” he whispered to himself.
He listlessly walked back downstairs and headed back to the car where he knew his father would be ushering in their few belongings. He began to approach Douglas who, as if he knew Seamus was already walking towards him, pulled out a plain navy suitcase not much larger than a toddler’s bicycle, and a black rucksack branded by a rather menacing rock band Douglas had never heard of, and placed them on the ground beside him.
“The rest is all mine to sort, laddie,” Douglas shouted to his son. “Take your stuff upstairs for me to the room you want, there’s a good boy.”
Seamus threw his backpack on, and winced slightly at the weight of his suitcase as he carried it back up to the room he had claimed for himself only seconds ago. He placed the suitcase under the desk, dropped his rucksack to the floor and shut the door behind him.
*****
"And I know that it's a wonderful world, but I can't feel it right now,"
James Morrison
♠ ♠ ♠
There's the scene set, hopefully I can properly introduce you to Seamus and the rest of his family very soon. All comments would be very much appreciated :)