Letters that bind together

The moment Mike walked into the hall he was overwhelmed by the feeling of home, of the sensation of coming home. Such an evocative word that brought tears to his eyes and made his heart ache. He was home, but he wasn't home, it wasn't his home. Yet it was home, it would always be his home. His feelings tumbled round him, washing over him and enveloping him in sensations so deep he coulld hardly breathe.

He walked into the sitting room and on into what his mum had always called the garden room, way ahead of her time, everyone else had a conservatory but she had a garden room. The house had its own smell as all houses do, this was the smell of home for him. A mixture of sunwarmed wood, furniture polish and his dad's Afterhsave. Mike smiled to himself when he though of his dad's hypersensitive nose. How when his mum used a new perfume or air spray and his dad would sniff the air looking puzzled, 'who's died ?' he'd say, causing his mum to giggle.

His dad had passed on nearly twenty years ago and his mum four. It had taken ages for his brother Tom to sort out all the legal aspects and last year when Mike had come to visit he'd shoved a piece of paper under Mike's nose with some numbers on it. 'Here Mike you can have the money or the house and its contents.' Mike had tried to hide his dismay. It reminded him of a game show on the television when he was a boy, 'Take the money or open the box.' The audience would call out their preference, He thought what he could do with all that money. He and Janet were frugal people, they led a simple life, their children were grown up and independent with children of their own. Mike hadn't hesitated

'I'd like the house Tom, if that's ok with you. Since moving to Scotland it's all I've got to call home in England.. Maybe I could do it up and rent it out and then one day come here with the grandkids and show them where grandad grew up.'

Tom had nodded and then suggested Mike got in touch with a friend of his who could do it up like a buy to rent. Mike hadn't got much time to clear out the house before the work started. 

He thought he would start in the downstairs.

There was a noise from the kitchen, Mike went to look and  he saw his sister-in-law going towards the back door holding what looked like a tray. He looked closely and saw it was his mum's tray for carving the Sunday joint, covered with spikes. One Christmas the dog had licked it sparkling clean, his little tongue carefully avoiding the spikes, the memory made Mike smile and he relaxed.

'Hello June, would you like a coffee''

She held the tray behind her back and shrugged, 'No thanks Mike I've got to go, it's couple's day we're going to the river for a picnic.'

She turned to go, 'Wait? called Mike, 'Is there anything else you'd like? Please feel free. Ask Chloe and Jack too if they'd like anything'.

June had the grace to blush, 'I'll ask them,' she turned to him ' thanks Mike.'

Mike went to switch on the kettle and gazed down the garden waiting for it to boil. This view had been his father's pride and joy. He loved watching the seasons change as the daffodils and tulips gave way to the roses and the beautiful trees he'd planted changed colour. The copper beech, the acacia, the Japanese cherry, the stunning magnolias. It was good to think a family would soon be enjoying it again but somewow it would still be his, it would still be a part of him.

He took his coffee into the garden room and opened up his mum's writing desk. She'd always called it her bureau. He felt like his dad was slapping his hand, 'don't go snooping around lad!'

It was hard to even think about looking through his parents' things. He felt like an intruder. He wished Tom had wanted to do it with him. Since their mum had died, Mike had had fantasies of him and Tom looking through his parents' things, maybe sharing a whisky from his dad's cabinet, looking at photos and laughing, hugging each other, sharing memories. Tom had never been interested though, never had time and now it just had to be done to be able to do the work, new bathrooms, new kitchen, new carpets.

Mike had moved to Scotland when he was eighteen, he'd gone to Aberdeen uni and met Elaine on the first day.Tom was already living next to their parents with June and working in his dad's factory. If Mike was honest with himself he'd always felt excluded, left out from the magic circle of his mum and dad, Tom and June, but he'd loved them and then Elaine had never wanted to leave Scotland. She was in total harmony when striding over the heather strewn moors, the wind in her hair and their two sons were the same.

His phone rang and he saw' Elaine', his heart leapt as it always did at the sound of her gentle Scottish burr.

'How's it going Mike? If you like I could get the night train?'

He was tempted to say yes, to feel her comforting embrace,

'I think it's something I must do on my own, I want to do it, but something's holding me back, I feel... sort of nosey.'

Elaine laughed, 

'Oh you dear man, you are never capable of being nosey. Think of yourself as the guardian of their memories. Think of yourself as caressing their lives, of treating them with respect and love. Do you remember that lovely poem ? Something about 'Tread softly because you tread on my dreams'?

'Yes ' said Mike, it was one of his favourite poems.

Elaine carried on, her voice warm and reassuring.

'Well keep that in your head, tread softly, move gently, do it with love. I'll Facetime this evening and we'll have a wee dram. Your dad's got a secret supply, I know, I gave it to him.'

Emboldened by Elaine's advice and comforting words he opened the bureau. His heart ached as he saw his mother's writing paper with the address printed in the top left hand corner. How much comfort he had got from the letters she wrote him. He had them safe at the back of his wardrobe in a box. Even now he would read them her witty observations of every day life, her intense pleasure at the beauty around her, the goodness she saw in everyone she met.

His hand moved to the back of the drawer, it touched something sharp.He tugged. There was a chest. Carefully he eased it out and laid it on the floor. He lifted the lid, his heart beating.

'Tread softly' he repeated to himself.

There inside were letters, letters he had written, tied with a blue ribbon. He took out the top bundle.  He gasped as he realized there were about thirty years of letters there. He'd always imagined them being thrown away, never imagined them being kept, so lovingly too. Each bundle tied with a different coloured ribbon.  

MIke sat down on the sofa which faced down the garden. He took out a letter at random. It was dated April 1985. That was when his son was born. His wonderful, son, born with a smile on his face, as the song goes, his brave and handsome son who now worked as a Paramedic in the hospital in Glasgow. He read the letter so full of joy and pride from the moment of his birth.

He took another one from another pile, this dated Novemeber 1999, he was scared, he'd had a health scare, didn't know if he'd make it to the Millenium. In the letter he'd tried to cover his fears but he knew his mum had understood. She'd rang him every day even though the phone bills then were astronomical.

He put the letters back, pushed them back into the box and sat looking at the twilight descend on the garden.

Mum and Dad's letters were safely in his home in Scotland, his letters to them were safely here. Their lives had always been entwined by the letters, the distance between them united by an invisilble thread.

He went to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a whisky, Elaine was right, it was a special one. He Facetimed his wife and when he saw her lovely face, held up his glass. the setting sun was turning the whisky to pure gold. She looked back at him, holding up her glass,

'Here's tae us' she spoke softly.

'Them like us,' He replied with a grin.

Elaine raised her glass, they drank in silence, savouring the flavour of the whisky, feeling it warm their hearts. The strong deep emotions settling into their rightful place in their hearts.

Afterwards Mike walked round the house, remembering. Coming home from school, coming home

from holiday, coming home from work, coming home from uni, growing up, playing in the garden,family meals, family fun. This house and home had made him a good husband, a good father.

There was one thing he wanted to do. He went back to the bureau and took out his mother's writing paper. He sat down and started to write a letter to all the people he loved.