Homecoming

 The latest short piece written for my creative writing class.

Homecoming

The excitement was tangible as though it could be physically touched as I climbed out of bed that morning. It was like a tingling in the air as though we were on the brink of a thunderstorm. Unlike most mornings, Mum insisted my sister and I had a bath. When I returned from my bath, mum had laid out my Sunday best clothes on the bed. While we were eating our breakfast, Mum was humming and smiling as though her world was now a happy place.

At ten o’clock, mum made me stand in front of her while she inspected me making sure my knees and hands were clean. She brushed my hair and straightened my clothes. Together with my sister we went out to the front gate. All the neighbours were there standing across the road under a banner which had been stretched from a house to a pole on the green. 

Although I could not read very much I knew the banner read “ Welcome Home Fred.”

I stood holding my mother’s hand with my sister on her other side. Through her fingers I could feel the shivers and her thigh close to my face was also shaking slightly. My hands were sweaty from the tension. I could feel the excitement running through the crowd of our neighbours all standing waiting looking up the road.

I heard the sharp intake of breath as a lorry with a kaki canvas cover over the back drew up on the main road across the junction with our road. A man in kaki uniform jumped out and caught the kitbag thrown from the truck. He straightened, heaved the kitbag onto his shoulder and waved to the occupants of the truck before starting to walk down our road. There were tears in my mother’s eyes and she gripped my hand even tighter than before. The man’s white hair shone in the sunshine and even at this distance and at four years old I could see he looked embarrassed at the attention.

As he got closer, I recognised the man from the photo on the mantelpiece. Mummy kept telling me this is your father. It was hard for me to connect the photo to the man. Then my mother let go of my hand and a started to walk up the road. My sister cried daddy and ran after my mother. They reached the man and he was putting his arms round them, hugging them tight.

“ Who is this big man hugging  my mother and sister,” I asked myself. He looked over their shoulders straight at me his expression serious. 

That look was too much. I turned and ran back through the passage between the houses, my heart pounding and tears running down my face. I went into the toilet and slammed the door pushing home the bolt.