Palace of Wolves

Chapter 8 --Lang Road

I had managed to get through customs without incident. Meera kept telling me that it was a relief there were no sniffer dogs on duty because apparently dogs can sense werewolves and their reaction to me could make security think I was smuggling drugs. That was just great, I had never even liked dogs but now they could tell I was one of them.

As I walked out into the meeting point surrounded by a crowd of people returning from happy holidays I spotted two anxious individuals. The man looked more ragged than usual, as if he had not shaved in a few days, and the woman, eyes red like she had been crying was polishing her glasses in what was probably an action to prevent herself breaking down. I run over to them, tears of joy in my eyes, screaming their names.

 “Mum! Dad!” I feel into their arms, bending down so they could embrace me the way they did in my younger years. “I missed you guys so bad.”

“So did we,” cried Mum. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I can handle such technicalities,” said Meera as she walked up. “I’m Doctor Aitkin from the Royal Infirmary. I just happened to be holidaying in Egypt but was called in by the local hospital to help in Sandra’s treatment and chaperone her on the return flight. I will continue to monitor her during her ongoing recovery.”

“But she looks fine.”

“Looks can be deceiving. Don’t worry she’ll be ready to carry on with her regular life but medical check-ups will be necessary. Not to mention counselling.”

“For how long?”

“The counselling may last years but don’t worry, the NHS will cover all costs.”

“What can we do to help?”

“Nothing, we’ve decided the best way to approach this sensitive issue is to just not mention it in the household by acting as if it never happened. It’s a tried and tested method” in cases such as this,”

“But we’re her parents! We have to do something!”

“Tried and tested method! It’s often best in situations like Sandra’s for the home to be an environment free-from the trauma of the attack.”

“But—“

“Mum, just take someone else’s advice.”  I pleaded

“Okay then. For you sweetie.”

“Mum. Dad, can we go home now? I mean the new house.” I had forgotten that I wasn’t going to let myself call the new house home.

“Yes, of course.”

***

In the car I got a good view of Glasgow. As cities went it wasn’t very high: many of the highest building where still churches with steeples although there were several tower blocks in the skyline as well as cranes, pointing upwards from various building sites towards construction heaven. As we crossed the river I caught a glance of some of the most iconic landmarks: the Armadillo and the Finniston Crane, I’d heard of them but never seen them for real before.

“We’ve got most of the stuff unpacked Sandra” said Dad “We didn’t take everything. The furniture and so on weren’t needed –the house was already furnished –isn’t that great– although you might want to redecorate your room. We left a lot of books and your old toys too we locked them up in the old tractor shed.”

The tractor shed hadn’t been used for tractors since my great-grandparents owned the house, it had fallen into disrepair but it would still protect our stuff from the elements.