Barra’s Angel

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Barra shivered as he remembered, and looked quickly upwards towards the summit of the trail, seeking the comfort of the small clearing. This was his own place, his best place, an open circular mound where his world lay before him; the mountains cradling him in their midst, and the shining waters of the loch reflecting all that lay above them.

He squinted into the late afternoon sun. It looked as though someone had beaten him to it, though he couldn’t imagine who. The bar was closed, and it wasn’t a place that strangers would know about. Unless, of course, Mam had got some early bedders. She didn’t usually take anyone in before Easter, but Dad had been talking about getting a new van.

Well, he’d soon find out. He set off purposefully towards the clearing, and the stranger standing in its midst.

The gate to Barra’s back garden was open, awaiting his arrival. Through the kitchen window he could see his mother’s head bent over the sink as she finished preparing the evening meal.

‘Ma-am! Mam! MAA-AAM!’

‘WHAT?’ Rose was racing towards him, her worst fears taking form in her mind, her face contorted with worry.

She grabbed him. ‘Barra!’

‘Mam …’ so breathless he could scarcely talk. ‘I just met … an angel!’

Rose dropped her hands. Turning back up the path, she trudged indoors.

‘For the love o’ God, Barra,’ she mourned. ‘What next?’