The Shadow of the Sycamores by Doris Davidson

to be more precise, he shared her bed because sleep did not come to him. Even knowing that he might lose his job, he simply could not leave her on her own at such a time and he was plagued by the worry of what the future would hold for them. Doctor Michie had offered to let his father know what had happened but he had pleaded with the man not to tell anybody.
    ‘You need a man here, Henry, lad. The burden of arranging a funeral and all the other things that have to be done after someone passes on is too great for a boy your age to carry. Whatever went wrong between you should be forgotten and I’m sure Willie would want to attend to what has to be done. She was his mother-in-law, wasn’t she? And she looked after the family for some years after your mother died.’
    The boy couldn’t deny this. ‘But he threw her out when he took another wife.’
    ‘Threw her out? Surely not. Asked her to leave, perhaps?’
    ‘It was Nessie Munro’s fault but my father didn’t stop her.’
    ‘Ah, well, my boy, a man does not argue with his bride.’
    Recalling the doctor’s expression when he left, Henry knew what would happen and he wasn’t in the least surprised when his father walked straight into the spare bedroom without knocking at seven the next morning, with Nessie following in behind him – her obvious reluctance becoming outrage when she saw the boy with his arms round his sister.
    ‘Would you credit that, Willie?’ she shouted. ‘They’ve been … you know, with their grandmother lying lifeless in the next room!’
    ‘Haud your wheesht, wumman!’ Willie snapped. ‘They’re only bairns, for God’s sake!’ Striding over to the bed, he took his bewildered children into his arms, soothing them as they burst into tears.
    Before that day was out, all arrangements had been made for the funeral, most of Isie’s neighbours volunteering to bake or cook something for after the burial. Willie had registered the death with John Gow’s replacement utterly sober and without a thought to the last shambolic time he had been there. (Willie’s second marriage had been conducted and registered at Nessie’s own kirk in Corrieben, five miles away.)
    A steady stream of Isie’s friends and acquaintances and the keepers of the shops she had used called over the next few days, each with only complimentary things to say about her, each stressing how much they would miss her. Abby and Henry were overwhelmed by it all and it was not until after the funeral, after all the mourners had left, that they were alone with their father and stepmother. Nessie was so quiet, so receptive to all that was suggested, that it was glaringly apparent that Willie had given her a good talking-to but Henry was not in a forgiving mood towards either of them.
    ‘You’ll have to come home now, the two of you,’ Willie said, not as an order, more of a tentative question.
    Before Henry could say a word, Abby astonished them all. ‘No, Father, I’m not going home with you. Gramma let me do what I wanted, within reason, and I’ve discovered I can make a living with my sewing – not a great living but all I need. I’llsoon be sixteen and I’m able to look after myself. And Henry’s welcome to come back and bide wi’ me if he’s lost his job.’
    Clearly rattled, Willie got noisily to his feet. ‘I could take you both back, you ken,’ he ground out. ‘You’re still minors till you’re twenty-one.’
    Ignoring him, Abby turned to her brother. ‘What about it, Henry? Will you come and live here with me? You could get a job somewhere near and, if you wanted to get married sometime, there’s plenty room.’
    He was torn between compassion for her and his own need to be independent. He wanted to make something of himself – he wanted to have a wife and bairns … but not in a house he would be sharing with his sister. He didn’t, however, want to upset her tonight and especially not in front of the other two. ‘I’ll have to think about it,