Daguerreotype II

'Tea!' Tam said. It was loud in the chintzy room.

Sheena almost stumbled, she'd spun round so quickly. She'd written something in the condensation on the window. I hadn't seen her do it.

Coffee! I thought. Java, Cappuccino, Espresso, fucking Bird's Instant – but there was no chance of that. It would be tea: 'guid spoon-standin' tea' that Tam had learned to love as much as our father had.

'That would be nice, Sheena,' I said.

Her lips moved into what would have been a smile, if she'd tried harder.

Tam didn't even reply. The door to the kitchen closed very gently behind Sheena and he looked down at my CAT boots.

'Ye jist made it, it's tomorrow. Hev ye somethin' ..?'

'Yes, I have. Thanks for-'

He cut me off; 'It's the Crem. Over by Laburnum.'

I tried not to look shocked, 'but -'

'Ah'd hae thought ye'd want tae see 'um burn, Kirsty.'

He gave a laugh and our father was in the room.

Sheena manouevred the door open; a tray and three mugs rattling slightly as she entered.

'Is there no a cup and a saucer for ma sister?'

Sheena struggled back into the kitchen. Tam didn't bother to help her with the door. But then neither did I.

The portrait was still in my hand, I put it in my satchel, in the netbook compartment, it was snug but safe. It was the only bag I used, I loved the smell and the memories associated with its purchase, by the Rialto Bridge, in Venice.

'Ye hevnae even a decent handbag. Sheena wull lend ye wan, the morn.'

The door from the kitchen was moving, I opened it for Sheena, who gave her almost smile. On a larger silver-plate tray stood a teapot and three cups and saucers, sugar tongs, a small jug and a sugar bowl, there was still a discernible rattle. Sheena laid the tray on the table, pushing a ceramic shard to the side, the bundle of notes rolled to the floor.

'Ye'll be sorting that afore ye po-ur the tea.'

Tam's accent had not been so strong when we'd come to that house, only hours ago. It was as though the miles and years had disappeared, leaving us marooned in Coalburn. When he'd picked me up from Waverley Station, he'd greeted me in the cultured tones of a Morningside Lawyer. Now he was speaking as if the Rio Tinto was still in business just up the road, and he was doing the mining. Sheena seemed to know where everything was, it had taken a moment to find a dustpan and brush. The tea was poured and the sugar tonged. She handed Tam a cup and saucer and the roll of notes. Sheena gave me my tea and I did say thank-you, little as I meant it.

'How come he's... you know... at … Near Laburnum?'

I still couldn't believe he was being cremated.

'In Edinburgh, ye mean?' He jutted his jaw toward me.

'Well... yes.'

'We had tae take 'um at the end, he wis...'

I wanted to ask him why he was talking like that. I really did. But I didn't.

Sheena started to speak, 'He was...'

She got no further, Tam bellowed, 'Shut yer mouth, woman!'

He had even started to raise his hand. I was so shocked, I didn't follow Sheena into the kitchen, just walked over to the window to escape the quiet, pitiful sounds from the kitchen.

I looked more closely at what Sheena had written in the condensation:

'Help'

I breathed out noisily from my mouth and it was as though the word had never been there.