Breaking up the croft hurt more than selling the tenancy itself. Nobody wanted, or nobody could afford, the whole seventeen acres, so in the end Malcolm had sold three acres of in-bye to Ross Johnston to become part of his own croft, and the rest to Robert, who had the largest farm on the island and wanted to expand his herd of Shetland cows. The land would be absorbed into their own, just as if it hadn’t been worked by Malcolm’s family for generations. Malcolm would have given it away almost for nothing, so distressed was he by the whole process, so keen was he for it to be over, but Heather would not have it. “You’ll need money to live on, Mal,” she told him. “Especially when you get older.” It broke his heart that she said “you”, and not “we”.

“And besides,” she went on, “it would be nice to have a little something left over, at the end, for Tommy. God knows he won’t get much, but it would be nice to leave him something, wouldn’t it?”

And as always, Malcolm gave way to her, as always knowing she was right. He got a fair price for the land (a high price, Ross was heard to say in the bar afterwards, but without any real rancour), and would have a bit of money left to fall back on in his old age, as well as a small sum to be left to Tommy, should Tommy ever return.

6

A shock, inevitably, being called Tommy again. And then no longer a shock, which perhaps was worse.
He didn’t know what to do with himself, alone in the cottage all day. Malcolm had gone out early to work on somebody else’s farm (both of them skirted round the subject). In the silence after his uncle had left, Tom took some time going from room to room in the cottage, laying his hands on things only half consciously. He brushed his fingers along the backs of chairs, touched worktops absentmindedly, trailed his hand up the banister as he climbed the stairs.