Bruar's Rest

districts. ‘This city is as big as the sun,’ she thought. ‘How will I ever find him?’
    After a while, as she gazed thoughtfully into the rippling water of the river, she turned as someone called to her. ‘Hello!’ A man sitting with a fishing rod dangling over the water had been watching her. ‘I hope you don’t mind me talking, but I couldn’t help notice how unhappy you look.’
    Megan didn’t wish to speak to strangers unless they wore a uniform, yet it was a fairly busy riverbank. Little children fed ducks, while couples sauntered along under parasols. Surely if this stranger meant any harm to her, he’d picked the wrong place to do so.
    ‘Some place in this mass of mortar and stone is my long lost man, and I can’t find him,’ she told him.
    ‘My wife will swap places with you,’ he laughed, and instantly she lowered her guard. They chatted and shared stories for ages. It seemed this middle-aged man knew London like the back of his hand, but like others he’d never heard of the place which she searched for daily.
    ‘Horton Home, you say, are you sure it’s called that?’
    ‘Yes, look—I’ve got it written down.’ She gladly put the piece of paper that Mrs Sullivan had given her into the stranger’s hand. He read it, then said, ‘I think whoever copied this read it wrongly. There is a place I know of that is run jointly by the Army and the Church. Now, if my memory serves me right, I’m sure it’s called Morton Home. The H and the M have got mixed up. It’s in Kingston-upon-Thames, not that far from where we sit.’
    Her mouth fell open, prompting him to say something about flies, but she didn’t hear him. Flashing like bright stars in her mind were the last words of the Seer from Durness to her: ‘Find him in the town of the King.’
    ‘Whoever you are, my friend, there is no amount of money can pay for what you tell me this day. I feel it in my heart and soul, my man’s there.’
    ‘Now, don’t you go getting your hopes up, there’s a lot of places filled with broken soldiers. Many have now been closed down and this might be one of them. If I were you, I’d be prepared for this.’
    She threw her arms round this man who held all her hopes and said, ‘It might close tomorrow, but not today. He waits there for me. See, feel my heart.’
    Before he could stop her, she’d put his hand against her breast. ‘Yes,’ was all he could mutter, withdrawing his hand in case a passer-by thought he was molesting her, and added, ‘Best of luck, and Godspeed.’

     
    The horse-drawn taxi stopped outside the tall grey building. She stepped down and made her way towards two iron gates. All kinds of emotions swept through her as she surveyed the ominous building with its shutters closed and barred.
    ‘One could imagine Bull Buckley locked in a place like that, not poor broken laddies who gave everything for their so-called country,’ she thought. Nerves trembled down her arm and tingled at the fingertips. Holding her bag nervously to her chest, she went through the gate and knocked on a double-sided door. Ages went by, or at least it seemed that way, then eventually the door was opened. A middle-aged gentleman asked what she wanted.
    Her voice low, yet barely containing her eagerness to get inside, she said, ‘Where’s my man?’ Not waiting for an answer, she pushed past the closing door and the man. Inside she found a seat in a large waiting-room and sat nervously down. Sniffing the air like a bloodhound for her husband, she blurted out, ‘Come on then, take me to my Bruar!’
    The man at the door seemed a decent sort and sat next to her with a notepad in his hand. He held a pen dripping with fresh ink and asked what her maiden name was.
    ‘It’s my man’s name I’ve given you. Now, do you have a soldier here by the name of Bruar Stewart—he’s from Scotland? If so, get him so I can take him home. London stinks like a sow’s arse.’
    Her dry throat hurt, three times she repeated her question, swearing and cursing in her anxiety. There was whispering and shaking of heads from others who were in the waiting area. If they only knew how much pain and time her quest had taken then they might have been more understanding. The man still persisted asking her questions until she could take no more. She left him abruptly and ran up the main staircase. Through an archway she saw a long corridor lined with narrow doors. In each was a small opening through which she peered. There