Bright like Quartz

Dad’s arm is so tight around Sara I can see her shoulders squashed under the pressure of it. The two of them walk together in front like they always have; their half of the family undisturbed. Wind blows across the south side of Resipol whipping Sara’s pigtails into her face as she makes her way towards its peak.

Mum’s voice plays in my ear telling me to crush bog myrtle between my fingers to keep the midges away.

...Rub a wee bit of it on yourself, Benny. That’ll do it...

Dad glances back at me and I look at the floor, holding the baby rowan out in front of me like I’m trying to be careful.

“We mustn’t damage the roots,” he told me, fussing with the protective plastic around the plant, and I closed my eyes so he wouldn’t see the disappointment in them when I looked at his face.

“Your mum would have wanted you to plant it,” he whispered to me later when Sara had gone to bed.

I look down at the plants I’m trampling on as I climb up the side of the mountain, listen out for Mum’s voice, always teaching.

...They’ve been using bog myrtle to keep midges away for as long as Loch Sunart’s been wet...

I pick another stem and stick it in the fold of my woolly hat.

“Come on Benjamin,” Dad shouts and I realise I’m standing still, waiting for her voice. Dad and Sara are looking for rocks to sit on, to wait for me, but I shout for them to go on ahead.

I shift the rowan to lean across my other shoulder and walk slowly towards their backs, listening out over the noise of the wind, my heart beating harder every second I don’t hear her. The young branches of the rowan scratch my neck, stretching out of the top of the plastic like they’re reaching for something.

...Lady of the mountain, the rowan...

I force the air out of my lungs with relief.

...She’ll give you psychic powers, you know...

“I know, Mum, you’ve told me.”

Just ahead, Sara stops to have a rest, her yellow raincoat bright against the damp green of the mountainside. Dad stands with hands on thighs, blinking against the wind and I stop too, not wanting to catch them up.

...Be nice to your sister, Benny, won’t you?

“I am nice to her,” I say back, the familiarity of these sentences as soft as the bun moss in the woodland below.

“You alright Benjamin?” Dad shouts.

I move off by way of a response but the weight of the rowan mixes with the dread in my stomach, building as I get closer to the two of them, as we get closer to Resipol’s peak, and I have to put it down.

Dad shouts again but I ignore him, trying to hear the voice I want.

When I look up he’s helping Sara to her feet. They climb steadily upwards, the final and steepest part of the ascent, then they disappear from view and it’s just me and the mountain. Me with my eyes closed, trying to think what Mum would say to me now; the mountain cold and silent, looming above.

I think of the two of them at the top, relieved to be together, but when I look up their heads are poking over the ledge, searching for me. Sara’s face is blotchy from fresh tears so I pick the rowan up and lift one foot then the other until there’s no higher ground.

Dad nods at me then walks ahead by himself, turning a few degrees at a time to take in the mass of land and water that unfolds all around us. The slowness of his steps reminds me of the way he walked with Mum through the corridors of the hospital in the evenings, when her arm was draped around his neck and her drip squeaked along just beside them.

Sara catches him and grabs his hand and he blinks, bends down to kiss the top of her head. The white points of her knuckles are bright like quartz sticking out of heather where she’s holding on so hard and I think about her little skeleton underneath that rosy flesh. I think about bones that won’t catch fire being ground into dust.

Dad is on his knees now, using his hands to dig out a hole in the dark, peaty earth and Sara’s kneeling next to him, tears dropping off her chin as she claws at the ground. I force myself forwards, scared that every step I take towards what’s left of my family is another one away from her voice.

Dad and Sara look up at me from the edge of that growing hole, that dark mass of torn roots and crawling insects that we’re going to pour the last of my mother into and I think of the thousands of worms flicking in and out of cavities deep underground.

“You plant it Benjamin,” Sara says and her voice is small and sore as she looks up at me.

Dad nods as I pull the packaging off the rowan, hands shaking as I drop the green plastic to the floor, and no one anywhere says anything as I hold the tree out towards the two of them, soil dropping off its hanging roots onto all of our hands as we push it into the ground together.

A tiny triangle of blue sky stands out against the mass of grey clouds above and I stare up at it, waiting for Mum’s voice to rise above the sounds of the wind and my heartbeat and my sister crying but nothing comes and eventually Dad leads us back down the mountain to our empty house.