Return of the Sun - 2. Chapter 2

Scott leapt awake, retreating up the bed as fast as he could, recoiling from the light touch. He must have made it halfway up the wall before he realized where he was and what was happening. And as he blinked away the sleep, he looked around him at the small room and the old woman who was looking as shocked as he was.

"I'm sorry..." she began, setting the mug of tea down beside him on the bedside table.

Scott took a deep breath and steadied his heart as he sat down cross-legged on the pillow. How long had he been asleep? He could barely remember how he had gotten to the bedroom. He was still fully clothed, and feeling slightly the worse for wear.

"Wha-?" Scott asked, as he struggled for that last ounce of consciousness.

"I thought I should probably wake you up," Gran said with a smile as she pulled open the curtains on the bright sunlight sweeping in from outside. "You slept all day yesterday and last night as well. You must have been really tired."

Scott worked at rubbing his eyes as he looked about him at the tiny room with all its fifties-style furniture, painted wallpaper and his bags laid out with care on a rickety-looking wooden chair in the corner. Everything was real, but subtly wrong from his perspective. He had been away from England for too long to acclimatize in a few minutes.

"Thanks," he said as he picked up the cup of tea, wishing that it was a cup of coffee. But real coffee was a luxury in a nation that prided itself on its instant-coffee consumption and its broad selection of teas.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked, choosing not to mention the fact that when he had awoken he had tried to literally climb a wall.

Scott nodded as he wrapped his hands around the mug of tea and sipped at it graciously, "Yeah, look I'm sorry we didn't have much time to talk yesterday..."

"You were exhausted," Gran said as she picked up the suitcase and opened it, already sorting out the dirty clothes from the clean ones and hanging the latter in the old-styled wardrobe. "I have a shower in the bathroom, I know you are probably more used to taking one than having a bath. I set some towels out for you on the side, and when you're done I should have some breakfast waiting for you."

"I... don't eat breakfast," Scott admitted after a pause, almost hesitantly. He usually skipped the most important meal of the day, preferring a cup of coffee from the campus coffee shop to anything else.

"Nonsense," she sniffed as she continued to putter, "I'll have sausage and eggs waiting for you."

Scott knew better than to try to argue with her, you just couldn't do that with Gran, she had a way that simplified things, and a voice that made you feel like an idiot if you tried to complicate them. It was an effective way of currying obedience.

The shower was a totally new experience. The gadget on the wall was plugged into an electrical socket, had a pull-cord and was connected to the pipes by an intricate system of bendy hoses. He stared at it, with its big dial threatening to electrocute him. Who put an electrical device in a shower anyway, let alone turned the shower into one. It was needlessly complicated, and any decent North American plumber would make a mint with just a couple of strategically placed pipes and water pressure.

He eventually figured it out after his Gran had shown him how to work it, and while showering he could actually take a moment to think about where he was. Scott was home, more or less. Gran's house had been quiet since Granddad had passed away; it had a large garden that was in need of some care, and there were various other odd jobs he could do here and there to say thank you to her. But that didn't change the fact that he was nearly broke; he had about a hundred pounds to his name, and that wouldn't get him very far.

The overwhelming instinct to go home had overpowered every other rational thought he had. Scott hadn't been able to give real thought to what he was going to do once he got there; it was about the journey, about retaking a piece of his life; and yet as the water ran down through his hair and he stared at the strange water heater/shower device he knew that he had to come up with a plan.

When he emerged from the shower, towelling off his hair, the house was filled with the smells of a good old-fashioned English breakfast, that bacon smell that just made the mouth water. And he realized that all he had eaten in the last few days was airline chicken, never the most wholesome of eating. So he slipped into a pair of battered khaki Dockers and threw a cotton shirt over his Yankee's tee-shirt, before he darted down into the kitchen in time to find his Gran piling a plate high with an assortment of greasy delights.

She gave him a knowing look as he sat down at the breakfast bar, and she set the plate down in front of him. "I suspected you were hungry so I made a little extra," she offered as she set about washing the pan in the sink while he began to attack the food with the ferocity of a ravenous nineteen-year-old.

"I have to make a short run into town," she said, methodically cleaning everything and setting it to dry in the rack, "I wasn't expecting you and I need to buy some extra food for you." There were no questions about how long he was going to stay, as if she just knew he needed to be there with her. There would be plenty of time for him to get himself sorted out; for the time being he was welcome home.

Scott felt a pressure leave him, which was his chief worry right now, and she had just eased it with understanding. He was going to have to face some tough decisions, but for the moment Scott could just be the little seven-year-old who had sat at the same stool he now sat in, with a cut knee needing her to kiss him better.

She had been happy when he had volunteered to walk with her into town. Gran refused to drive; that was a man's job in her mind, and having lived with Granddad for so many years she had never had to learn. So when he had passed away, instead of learning, she had just decided to walk. It was healthier, she thought; men were too fond of their cars anyway.

It was a beautiful July day, sunshine beaming down upon them when they left to walk to the town centre. It gave Scott a chance to see the little town he had spent the first few years of his life growing up in, before moving with his Dad. He had spent so much of his life there, playing on the recreation ground when he was little.

They passed the same swing set he had played on when he was three. They walked past the soccer goal posts where he had scored his first goal, and past the public library where his gran had taken him to read his first book. Places he had taken for granted when he was little now held such significance to him. It was all so familiar, but in between the familiar buildings were new ones. It was a sign that once again, Scott had been away too long.

Downtown was no different. The stores had all changed, or had new signs on them. It was like being suddenly thrust into the past, but a different past. Scott didn't say much as he walked, instead he chose to just listen to his Gran ramble on about Halisham and all the modernization it had gone through. She had to know he wasn't really listening to her, and yet again, she didn't seem to mind it. She seemed to realize that he was suffering culture shock and just left him to sort it through on his own.

To Scott, even the grocery stores were different. It was like walking into something typically American and finding nothing he recognized. Where was the Kraft Dinner? The hot dog wieners? The bologna? Instead there were real sausages, pre-prepared macaroni and cheese made with real cheddar and fresh-cut meats. The concept of anything other than 'student food' was frightening to him. Back stateside he could never afford this stuff, a student loan only stretched so far. And he felt guilty for her footing the bill when she was a pensioner.

That was until he actually looked at the prices; 7p for a loaf of bread... that was like 14 cents American. It had cost Scott a buck for the same loaf of bread back in the US. Wasn't that backwards? Wasn't the cost-of-living supposed to be higher in England? Scott had to admit, he was impressed that everything in the grocery store was so cheap.

It was when he was in the freezer aisle of the food store that Scott first realized how much he had changed since leaving. He had been fishing for something Gran had specifically requested in the freezer, when he heard an all-too-familiar shrill voice that even after all those years, still made him cringe."

"Hello, Mum!"

Aunt Christine. She had a voice that belonged on a school bus, and still would drown out all the kids. It wouldn't have been so bad, in moderation, but Aunt Christine was unaware of moderation when it came to expressing herself. It was an unending torrent of consciousness that left a person cross-eyed and bleeding from the eardrums as she switched topics so fast that you could barely keep up with her. Just when you had a grasp on one subject she was on to a whole new one."

He was surprised to be shoulder-checked aside by the short woman as she tried to get to Gran, not even stopping to offer an apology to the stranger. Since she didn't recognize him, he was beneath her notice. Scott stood there a moment in complete shock, as Gran tried to get a word in edgewise around Christine's complaints about the price of milk, the firmness of her apples and the fact that Prime Minister Tony Blair had seen fit to make her pay for something called "New Deal".

Scott stared at her a moment as Gran looked? past her at him. It took a moment before Aunt Christine registered that the man she had pushed out of the way was still there, holding a bag of frozen peas and eyeing her warily.

When she finally paused, Gran took her chance, "Guess who that is."

It was cruel; Scott was sure his Gran must have done it to see Aunt Christine speechless, and even he had to admit that it was a blessing. Scott had forgotten how peaceful the last eight years had been not to have to deal with specific relatives.

"Is that one of your neighbours' sons?" Christine asked slowly.

"No," Gran said with an air of smug triumph, "it's one of John's boys."

"Scott?" Christine asked, turning back to regard him with a critical eye that said she remembered all too well who he was. It wasn't a good look; there was a deep-seated anger there. When he had been younger his gran had raised him with his brother when his dad had been divorced the first time. To Gran, Scott was more of a son than a grandson, the baby boy. That meant the other grandchildren would always come second, despite Gran's attempts to treat everyone fairly and the same. The resentment was evident on her face.

"Aunty Christine," Scott said with an incline of his head as he dropped the peas into the shopping cart and looked over at his gran. "Need anything else?"

Gran nodded her head, "Could you get me some chips, Scotty dear?"

Scott stared at her a moment and nodded, returning a few aisles to where they had the bags of chips and selected a nice plain bag; it looked vaguely like the variety he used to buy in school, and he hurried back with the bag tucked under his arm. Though he slowed when he heard Christine talking to Gran.

"What's he doing here?" she asked. With a voice like hers there wasn't a possibility of whispering.

"I don't know Christine," Gran replied as she rested on the shopping trolley. "He arrived yesterday morning, and we haven't had a chance to really talk about it."

"I thought he was in university or something," Christine sniffed. "Well, how long is he staying with you?"

Gran seemed thoughtful, "Probably not that long; however long he needs to take to get back on his feet."

"Does his father know he's here?"

"They had a falling out," Gran said in reply, "I'll telephone him tonight and talk to him about it."

Scott decided that it was probably an opportune time to walk up to the cart, "I hope these are the kind you like," he said as he held up the bag of chips.

Gran shook her head in bemusement, "No, no dear, chips." She walked to the freezer cupboard and pulled out a bag of thick-cut French fries. And Scott felt sheepish as he went off to return the bag of "Crisps" as they were called there.

Scott thought about Aunt Christine's words, what was he doing there? He couldn't exactly move forward with his life while he was staying in Halisham. It was a nice little town, but 'little' was the opportune term for it. It was tiny, an afterthought on the A-22 to London. All the action happened in Eastbourne, and at that point he decided that he should consider moving there as soon as he could. It shouldn't be too hard, after all what could go wrong?

He stuck his hands in his pockets and trailed along behind the trolley, wondering if, in his rush to get home he had really thought all of it through. He was essentially a stranger, and even his own family didn't recognize him. It was going to be hard to try to find a niche for himself.

He glanced about the grocery store at all the local people, and he felt different. He was dressed differently, his hair was cut differently, even the way he slouched along behind the cart was different. Compared to everyone else, he just felt out of place.

"Get back here!" a booming voice rang out, as a small shape dodged past him, and Scott dodged back to allow the little monster who was now clinging to his pant leg to peer around him.

He looked down at the bespectacled face of an eight-year-old, who gave him an unruly grin before he tried to dash off again. Scott on instinct caught him before he could take two steps.

"Put me down mister...!" the lil'monster complained.

The tall blond man walked along the line of checkouts looking grateful, "Cheers, mate, you just saved me having to chase him all over the store." He flashed one of those smiles that sparkled, and he accepted the pre-offered monster graciously, "Alright sprog, no more running off."

Scott grinned, "I have a little sister, loved doing the same thing to me." He was enjoying just looking at the angular features of the blond young man; he was probably a year or two older, but certainly not old enough to have an eight-year-old.

The "sprog" was currently wriggling to escape the blond's arms, and he adjusted his grip to hold on. He turned and nodded to Scott's gran, "Mrs Walker."

"Dickie," Gran said with a smile, "I see young Master Jasper is being a handful."

"When isn't he," Dickie stated as he switched the fuming "sprog" from one arm to the other, "Well I should..."

Gran gave him a smile, "Alright then, just make sure your brother Joel comes by to mow my lawn Saturday morning."

"I'll do that," Dickie stated, tucking the kicking boy under his arm, and offering a final nod to Scott, returned to his own checkout line.

Christine sniffed her disdain, "I don't know why you put up with them," she said in her most arrogant voice. Scott actually balked at that.

"Christine," Gran intoned her warning, "that family has been through a lot recently, and Jan was a friend of mine."

Scott furrowed his brow, wondering what that exchange meant, and he glanced across the store to the handsome guy unloading his cart. Noticing the look, Dickie tipped a salute back at him as he continued to unload.