Missing mum

Today’s wee story is a tiny wee story, which might just mean that you’ve time to read a few other pieces while you’re here. Go on, hang around for a while and enjoy reading.

Missing Mum – by Fiona Dorchester


Dad says hanging round the harbour on ferry days is doing me no good at all, but it’s better than hanging round the house. It’s too quiet there. It’s weird because Mum always was quiet. Sometimes you’d not even know she was there. But she was there.

Staring at that photo’s not doing Dad any good. It’s him and Mum in Glasgow before they got married. Mum looks happy.

The boat’s just a dot in distance now, so I tuck my hands under my armpits, and make my way along to Killorran Bay.

The last time I was here with Mum she told me about the Selkie; about the beautiful woman trapped on the island after a fisherman hid her pelt.

‘Did she not love her husband and her son?’ I asked.

‘Oh, she loved them more than anything,’ she said. ‘But her soul belonged to the sea. Love’s a powerful thing, but it can’t compete with what’s in a person’s soul.’

A family of seals dip in and out of the waves, coming closer and closer to the shore.

‘She’s not coming back, son.’ Dad’s rough hand lands on my shoulder as I inch towards the water’s edge.

‘But her coat,’ I say. ‘It’s still in the cupboard. She could come back, couldn’t she?’

He hunkers down and looks right into my eyes. ‘No,’ he says. And he wipes the spray and the tears off my face with his big strong hands. I wipe his with mine.


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