‘I’ve been bagging a Munro with the lads and thought I’d drop in on you on the way back,’ he says amiably.
Heather glances at her watch. ‘It’s like twelve thirty in the afternoon,’ she says. ‘When did you leave?’
‘Around five.’
Heather does a quick calculation in her head. ‘This morning?’
‘We wanted to nab the best of the weather. The idea was to be on the summit at sunrise.’
Heather wonders if this rise-at-dawn approach would help her tackle the mountain of paperwork demanding her attention, but she can’t quite picture herself as a member of the 5am club.
‘Did you make it?’ she asks.
Fraser hands her his phone and indicates a stunning photograph showing the black imprint of the Scottish Highlands against a glorious orange and pink sky.
‘Oh wow! That’s amazing.’
Fraser sits on her sofa and begins untying his walking boots. Small puffs of dust dance from the laces as he works.
‘Got any food?’
Heather does a quick calculation in her head. She can afford to take an hour or two with her brother. The work might come more easily to her after a nice distraction.
‘I can do you a fry up,’ Heather says, looking in her fridge, ‘with mushrooms?’
‘Amazing.’
Fraser pulls the socks from his feet, wiggles his toes and allows them to sink into her carpet. Heather knows what’s coming next.
‘You get yourself into the shower. There are clean towels in the cupboard. I’ll get on with the food.’
Fraser leans forward and plants a kiss on her cheek.
‘You’re the best,’ he says.
***
‘Mum’s been asking after you,’ a fresher smelling version of Fraser says as he piles a square of potato scone and egg into his mouth.
Heather’s arms clench. She stands and begins to tidy dirty crockery into the dishwasher. The plates clatter as she placesthem on the ceramic worksurface. She remembers her mother’s frailty when she picked her up from the hospital, so isn’t perhaps surprised to hear this. But she also remembers her mother's response when she offered to help her into the house: ‘Perhaps best not to this time, pet.' Her mother’s struggling, she gets that and she’s sorry about it, but what is she in all honesty expected to do? And to hear that she is asking after her after all these years evokes such a mix of emotions – frustration, anger, sadness, grief – that Heather doesn’t know what to say.
‘Heather?’ Fraser looks at her intently. Heather’s heart sinks. A look like this from Fraser generally only means one thing. He’s on a mission.
‘Uh, huh?’
Fraser folds his napkin into a tiny triangle, opens the shape up, then starts again.
‘Mum was saying how nice it was to see you. That there was so much more she wished she’d asked,’ he says, finally.
Heather allows herself a deep inhalation and a slow, re-grounding blink.
‘Okay. And?’
‘And I told her a bit more about Georgia, her course and whatnot. I hope that’s okay. I thought … I dunno … I thought she deserved to know.’
Fraser’s face deepens in colour as he speaks. Heather imagines her mother, mining Fraser for news, grappling for any titbit of information, but never having the guts to seek the answer from Heather herself. She feels a stab of compassion for her brother, who’s been caught in the crossfire for nearly twenty years. She reaches across the table and clasps his hand.
‘That’s okay, Fraser. I agree. She should know. And I know I haven’t said it enough in the past, but I’m so glad you’ve kept in touch with them and seen them right all these years. It really does make a huge difference.’
