The Youngest Son: A Tale Unfolds.

The younger son. A tale.

Clare never understood how she and Victor could have such clever children. Both had left school after the ninth year, saved only by teachers who took pity on them. Everyone has their own luck, as the saying goes: whatever seed Clare planted sprouted into a bright flower within a week, while Victors hands seemed to turn everything they touched to gold.

They had four children eldest Mary, then their daughter Ethel, and finally two boys born on the same day Sam and Paul. Paul was the orange blossom of the family, the one who seemed to shine even before he turned three. He talked better than the average Ethel, and when he started school the teachers were astonished he could read, write, and multiply before anyone else, so they pushed him straight into the second form.

It may have seemed unfair to the other pupils, but Paul occupied a special place in Clares heart. He was exempt from chores, and whatever he asked for a book, a microscope she bought it. Even when the hard early nineties arrived, a time when the country faltered and Clares own world collapsed in one year she buried her husband and her trusted housekeeper Martha she never turned her back on Paul. She kept sending him to the city for further study.

Clare, what are you dreaming about? the neighbours would say, watching Sam haul water from the pump, Ethel digging potatoes in the garden, while Paul lounged on a bench reading. Do you expect him to bring you a glass of water in his old age? Hell leave, and that will be the end of it.

Youll see, Clare snapped back. I do what I want.

Her children echoed the same sentiment.

Why should I be chopping wood while he solves equations? Sam would complain.

Sit down and try it if you think you can, Clare would grin.

Sam would pick up a textbook, stare at it for a few minutes, then slam it shut and exclaim, Nonsense, Id rather be out chopping wood!

Ethel, however, bore the brunt of the resentment. She openly rebelled against Pauls privileged status, constantly scheming nasty tricks burning his notebook, slipping a rotten egg into his shoes.

You always give him the best slice, shed shriek. And when he leaves, hell abandon you, shed repeat the neighbours gossip.

When Paul finally left for university, the house grew quieter, though a melancholy settled over Clare as she clung to her youngest son.

At first he sent long, detailed letters describing his studies, a world that seemed alien to Clare. Over time the letters grew sparse, his visits rarer the neighbours prediction proved true. It hurt Clare, but she never let it show. He did finish school and became a respectable man.

Ethel married a farmer from the adjacent village. Her husband, Arthur, never won Clares approval he was a dreamer, always concocting schemes to get rich, and always failing. His latest idea was to open a bakery, a venture the bank refused to fund.

Sam stayed at home, unhurried about marriage despite a surplus of suitable girls.

Mother, I could do with a little freedom! Im thinking of buying a car not some clappedout old thing, but a proper foreign model. Imagine me in a proper motor, eh?

Clare sighed, What sort of car, Sam? Youre dreaming like a fool, Arthur. Dreams wont put food on the table.

She meant it gently, though. Sam went off to work on his fathers farm, fixing it up so it looked pictureperfect, working as a tractor driver and finding shortcuts wherever he could. Clare never complained; she had a good son.

But Paul where was he? A whole year had passed without a word. The last note said hed gone off to earn money, but where, nobody knew.

One afternoon a sleek new car pulled up outside the cottage. Clare thought perhaps a lost traveller asking for directions, but the engine roared so boldly that hope surged in her chest. She opened the gate and stepped onto the lane.

Paul stepped out. Though two years had passed, Clare recognised him instantly he looked just like her late husband Victor: tall, broadshouldered, with a halo of golden hair. He was handsome, and the neighbours crowded their windows to watch, keen to see that he had not forgotten his mother.

Clare rushed to him, clinging him to her heart. My dear boy, it was all worth it, she whispered, tears mixing with relief.

Sam met his brother with a sour grin.

Nice car youve got, he said, envy thinly veiled.

That isnt my car, Paul laughed.

So whose is it? Sam asked, a flicker of curiosity softening his tone.

Yours, Paul tossed him the keys. Take it, Ive already sorted the paperwork, well see a solicitor later.

Sam stared at his mother, bewildered. She smiled.

Thanks, brother, Sam muttered, embarrassed. But isnt it a bit pricey?

Its not more valuable than cash, Paul replied. Wheres Ethel?

Ethels married, Clare hurried in, to a farmer in the neighbouring village. Her husband works hard, theyre expecting a raise soon

Married, you say? Then lets pay them a visit. Sam, drive us in that new car.

Ethel greeted them, flustered and roundbodied, while Arthur immediately began bragging about his upcoming bakery venture, promising theyd all be set for life.

Talk about it, Arthur, Ethel snapped. You havent even got a loan, let alone a bakery. Dont listen to him, Paul. Hes a fantasist.

Paul smiled. The bakery can wait, no problem. Tell me how much you need, Ill transfer it.

Arthur stared at Paul, distrustful. Hed already heard from his wife that her brother was a lazy, ungrateful fool.

Paul then slipped a small velvet box from his pocket and handed it to Ethel.

This is for you, Ethel.

She opened the red case gently. Inside lay exquisite gold earrings set with emeralds the exact colour of her eyes. She gasped, tried them on, spun before the mirror and declared, Thanks, Paul. Ive begged Arthur for earrings and he gave me a meat grinder instead!

Clare stood nearby, quiet and content. Perhaps Paul would bring her a present now earrings, a bracelet, maybe even a washing machine.

But no gifts came, until Ethel mentioned her mothers upcoming postnatal checkup, and Paul said, Just for a short while, Ethel. Ill take Mum with me, if she wants.

Clare stared at her son, baffled. Take me where? How?

I dont know what about the house?

What house? Sam will be living there, with a new lady perhaps. Im lonely without you, Mum. Come with me. If you dont like it, you can always return.

Clare didnt know what to think. All her life, her husband Victor, her late Martha, the graves of the past lay behind her. Yet her beloved son offered a whole new, unknown world. She wondered what Victor would say if he could see it.

She imagined his familiar silhouette at the doorway hat tipped, calloused hands folded over his chest.

Whats the point of all this, Clare? You raised him for a better life. Its time you saw it too, or youll always wonder whether it was all for nothing.

Clare smiled faintly and answered, Why not go?