10 December 2018

A Story Inspired By A Song by J.G. Harlond

guess the song
clue: flying... on an island?
“We can live off the land here.”
“On what?”
“Look down at your feet, dandelion, rocket, lamb's leaf lettuce. Look up. Blackberries. There'll be other fruits in spring and summer. Apples, strawberries.”
“You want to turn me into a new-age hippy?”
Laura laughed. “No. People shouldn't try to change people. We are what we are. I'm just saying it would be a good place to live.” She spoke without thinking. Because she knew it to be true. Because she had lived here before.
Dan looked at her hard, his eyes narrowed, sensing something. “Would you like that? To live here? A million miles from your gossipy friends and designer handbags?”
“Yes,” Laura said. Living by the water, watching the sunset from her small window before going to bed; watching the summer sun rise before she put the bread in the oven . . . The croft was dilapidated now, it would need repairs inside and out but it would keep them warm in winter . . . She peered over the gate, nobody had lived here in a long time, dog roses had crept up around the door.
“All right then. Suits me,” Dan said. “We can give it a go.”

They rented the cottage, still owned by the local inn, and created a market garden and watched the golden sunsets together from the porch on dry evenings. As mist rolled in off the sea one evening, Dan put his arm around Laura's shoulders, “Thank you,” he said. She thought her heart would burst.
First they had a puppy, a spaniel crossed with something wild and local. They called her Ginger. Then a collie with a broken paw called Scout. Then a daughter named Alba for Scotland and a son named Gregor for Laura’s other, secret, son. Dan’s parents came and talked of good schools; that children needed playmates. Laura's parents left a large empty case 'by accident' behind the sofa bed. 
“They're getting too old to sleep like this,” Laura said when Dan commented on their hints.
“Yeah,” he sighed, “me too.” He turned away from her. “I'm meeting a guy at the pub about a rotovator. It's a sort of mechanical hand plough.”
Laura knew what a rotavator was. Anything was easier than a hand plough on this land. “We haven't got any money,” she said quietly, but Dan was gone.


Laura's daydreaming started one afternoon while making the next day's bread. As she kneaded and folded, kneaded and folded, a coach parked on the edge of the loch. Tourists stumbled out oohing and ahhing. Laura imagined herself stowing away in the back seat while they took their photographs – a bit like she had before, except that had been a cart. Next time the coach stopped she saw herself get on and wave to Dan and the children as it drove away. The guilt turned her cold but the thought was there: she done it before and they had all survived – as far as she knew. She'd miss the collie with the broken paw most this time. Not that she didn't love her children, but they did squabble so . . . But no. It could never happen again. This was her test and her punishment; getting it right, making it right, would be her salvation. Besides . . . she shook her long auburn hair off her face, wiped her hands and reached into the back of the cutlery drawer for the crotchet hook her mother (that mother) had used for shell-fish, pinned it up with an instinctive twist – no elastic bands in those days . . . the children were much happier and safer here on the Mull of Kintyre than in any town. But a long holiday, somewhere with street lighting and three buses at a time, that would be good.

One afternoon, not long after they acquired a small television, Laura packed a few things in the abandoned suitcase. Clothes she hadn't worn for years – towny clothes she probably couldn't get into anymore. She put in some underwear and a nightgown. In case they could afford a holiday. There was a shout then a squeal. Gregor was pushing Alba’s pet hedgehog around the front of the cottage in a wheelbarrow. Laura went to investigate.
“Where's Daddy going?” he called as soon as he saw her. Alba joined him, rosy cheeked, cross and curious, “Where’s Daddy going?” she echoed. Ginger bounced around them, woofing with excitement. Scout watched from the porch mat and turned to look at her with wistful eyes.
Laura laughed. It was a happy sight. “To the pub I expect.”
Dan appeared from behind her. With a suitcase. A new suitcase. It had wheels. He licked his lips, looked away. The children approached slowly now, an instinct warning them something was wrong. They stared at him.



“Daddy is going to Glasgow to do some work, then he's . . .” Dan ran out of words.
Laura turned sharply, “Then what?”
“It's no good,' Dan said. “You tried to make me into someone I'm not.”
“What are you going to do?” Laura's voice was a squeak. Panic rose in her chest. This was not how it was supposed to be.
“Remember that guy with the rotavator business?”
“Yes, we couldn't afford one.”
“No. Well, now we can. He's given me a job selling them – seeing as I know about difficult land. I'll send you some money.”
With the greatest of care, Gregor lifted the hedgehog from the wheelbarrow. “Do you want to take Prickles, Daddy? So you've got a friend.”

Laura struggled back from the only local shop with a laden, wobbly pushchair. Gregor waddled behind, Alba ran ahead. Laura looked beyond her, noting the mist rolling in off the sea. There was a chill in the air. The start of the autumn term. Alba was going to school. There was a school bus now – not like it used to be, when only town children got an education. Laura let out a heartfelt sigh. Now was the moment to go back to the city. Do as her parents wanted – return home where she belonged. Return home. But she had. It had taken three lifetimes but she was back here now, she wouldn’t leave again.

Alba turned and raced towards her. “Daddy’s home!” she called.
“I didn’t think you were coming back,” Laura said as she opened the garden gate.
Dan pulled her into his arms, reached out for the children to join the hug. “People shouldn’t try to change people,” he mumbled into Laura’s hair.
“I didn’t do that,” she replied.
“No. That’s why I’m back. You belong here and I can’t change how I want to be with you.”

© J.G. Harlond


about the author:

Originally from the south west of England, J.G Harlond (Jane) studied and worked in various different countries before finally settling down with her husband, a retired Spanish naval captain, in rural Andalucía, Spain. Her historical fiction, set in the 17th century and the first half of the 20th century, features many of the places Jane has lived in or visited – along with flawed rogues, wicked crimes, and the more serious issues of being an outsider. Apart from fiction, Jane also writes school text books under her married name. Her favourite reading is along the Dorothy Dunnett lines: well-researched stories with compelling plots and complex characters.

J.G.Harlond is a reviewer for Discovering Diamonds


Read our review 

Read our review
Website: www.jgharlond.com


Note: There is copyright legislation for song lyrics but no copyright in names, titles or ideas
images via Pixabay accreditation not required


Liked this story?
Scroll down to leave a comment. Thank you



please share on Facebook  and/or  Tweet : #DDRevsStorySong

The Full List of Authors

December
1st        Philip K. Allan     
 2nd      J J Toner         
 3rd       Catherine Kullman    
 4th       Helen Hollick              
 5th       Richard Tearle    
 6th       Barbara Gaskell Denvil
 7th       Nicky Galliers
 8th       Angela Macrae Shanks          
 9th       Katherine Pym  
10th      J G Harlond    
11th       Anna Belfrage
12th      Richard Dee
13th      Inge H. Borg
14th      Annie Whitehead
15th      Louise Adam
16th     Charlene Newcomb
17th      Alison Morton                         
18th      Kathryn Gauci
19th      Helen Hollick 
20th     M.J. Logue
21st       Helen Hollick 
22nd     Cryssa Bazos               
23rd      Jennifer Wilson                       
24th      Elizabeth St John  writing as Julia Darke                         
25th      MERRY CHRISTMAS 
26th      Helen Hollick
Leave your comment here

21 comments:

  1. I guessed the song but it still didn't spoil the story for me. Makes me yearn for a holiday in the Scottish isles. Well done, Jane.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I've never been to the Isles.... I guess I ought to rectify this some time soon!

      Delete
    2. I was there this summer - the story almost wrote itself.

      Delete
  2. How wonderful, Jane!!! I used to have a dream that Kenneth McKellar and Moira Anderson ran off to run a croft on the Western Isles, singing all the time, of course! I hope Laura and Dan live happily ever after

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I'll take the high road and . . . I think they do live happily, although not so comfortably, ever after.

      Delete
  3. Angela MacRae Shanks10 December 2018 at 12:14

    A lovely story Jane, I can totally identify with Laura. I hope she and Dan stay on in the wild and wonderful Mull of Kintyre. Hadn't heard that song for a long time, it brought back lots of good memories.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I had a great grandmother from Caithness who was fey - something has come down the generations I fear. It's not to be sneered at, either.

      Delete
  4. Oh my, there is sooo much more to tell in this story. I want to read the full version!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. There is indeed - and I am quite tempted to tell the full tale one day.

      Delete
  5. Laura is keeping a dark secret. What is it? Another son? Is he still on the island? I truly hope their idyllic dreams won't be shattered. Great story, Jane - and leaving one to wonder. Loved the song, too.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. As I mention above, I had a great grandmother from Caithness who had the 'second sight'. Most call secret histories 'imagination', but I think there is more to it than that.

      Delete
  6. OOh takes me back. Can just see Paul & Linda McCartney gazing out to sea on the ancient cradle of Scotland. The beaches there are fabulous - golden, sandy and deserted. Love a story with secret and second sight even more.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks, Marie. Part of me must belong somewhere there - sometime in the past.

      Delete
  7. What a story of mystery! I think you must write the full vein and put us out of our misery!
    Great pairing of story and song.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks Alison. Very tempted to have a go at a time slip.

      Delete
  8. Oh I loved this song when it was released, and what an intriguing story to go along with it! Wonderful start to my week!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks Liz. Anything to escape a Monday is good.

      Delete
  9. Love that last line... but wait, shouldn't there be more? :) I guess I live in the Dark Ages - I hadn't heard this McCartney song before. It's beautiful!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Oh, there's more, so much more behind this story. Maybe I'll have to write a whole book now.

      Delete
  10. That last minute HEA came as a major, major relief! Most enjoyable!

    ReplyDelete
  11. She deserved HEA after all she's been through!

    ReplyDelete

Thank you for leaving a comment - it should appear soon, but Blogger sometimes chucks its teddies out of the cot and has a tantrum. My apologies if you leave a comment and I do not respond - blame it on Blogger Bloopers. If you are having problems, contact me on author AT helenhollick DOT net and I will post it for you. Sometimes a post will appear as anonymous instead of your name or avatar - I draw attention to this being another Blogger Blooper and NOT of MY doing... That said ...SPAMMERS or distasteful rudeness will be stamped on, squashed, composted and very possibly cursed - if you spam my blog, next time something nasty happens to you just remember that I DID warn you...

Helen