‘You’d be greetin’， too, if your belly was hurting something cruel like mine is,’ his brother retorted. Then he leaned on the windowsill again, craning his neck to get a clearer view of the couple. ‘That ginger beer was awfy good,’ he said wistfully. ‘Is there any left?’
‘Sorry, no. I’m afraid we drank the other bottle. Tell you what, though . . .’ Alec rummaged in the hamper. ‘There’s a corned beef sandwich here, and a hard-boiled egg. We just need to find a way to get them up to you.’
‘Wait a sec,’ shouted Stuart, excited now. ‘I’ve got my fishing line here.’
A minute later, the line descended and Alec was able to catch the end without snagging himself on it. He wound the line around the neck of a paper bag containing the remnants of their picnic and secured it with the hook. ‘Easy does it! Wind it in slowly, that’s it.’
Triumphantly, the boys hauled in their catch with a cheer.
‘Don’t you go telling on us now,’ laughed Alec. ‘I wouldn’t want to have Mrs Carmichael after me.’
‘And just you remember to make sure you do as she says next time, boys,’ Flora warned.
‘We will, I promise. And we’ll not say a word. Thanks, Miss Flora, and Miss Flora’s sweetheart. You’ve saved us from proper starvation,’ Stuart called back.
‘His name’s Alec,’ she told him, smiling.
As they pulled away, Alec remarked, ‘So I’m officially Miss Flora’s sweetheart now, am I? Well, this certainly has been a red-letter day, despite the best efforts of Signalman Gordon.’
By way of a reply, she rested her head on his shoulder and he drove her back to Keeper’s Cottage in contented silence.
Lexie, 1978
Daisy enjoys herself thoroughly at Elspeth’s when we go to the playgroup. To my surprise, so do I. I feel a little awkward at first when Elspeth introduces me to the others, my years away making an incomer of me and a stranger in my own community. But children are a great icebreaker, and by the time Elspeth brings through the mugs of coffee on a tin tray we’ve already bonded over the sharing out of toys and a packet of sponge fingers. Daisy sits regally in the middle of a tartan rug, sucking the sugar from her biscuit, while Jack hands her a series of wooden animals from his Noah’s Ark. She sets each one carefully in her lap, unsure of what to do with them but pleased with the gifts nonetheless.
The other children are a little older, three self-assured toddlers who push cars up and down the ramp of a wooden garage and build towers of plastic blocks that can be knocked down with cries of glee.
‘Typical boys,’ smiles Elspeth. ‘It’s nice to have Daisy here to tip the balance a bit.’
One of the other mums pats her belly, which is swollen with pregnancy. ‘Maybe this one’ll be a lassie, too,’ she says. Then she turns to me with a grin. ‘It’s about time. I’ve three boys already.’
I kneel on the rug to remove a lump of soggy sponge finger from Daisy’s curls, and Jack – ever the perfect host – brings me a brightly coloured xylophone. I take the sticks that he proffers with it and pick out the opening notes of ‘The White Cockade’。 He looks surprised at first, then grins as I softly hum the tune for him and Daisy beats time with the sticky remnants of her biscuit.
When I hand him the sticks to have a go himself, he passes them back to me. ‘More,’ he says, firmly.
‘Okay,’ I say, and sing the opening lines of ‘The Skye Boat Song’。 It doesn’t seem to matter to Jack and Daisy that my voice is a little rough around the edges. One by one, the other mums join in with the familiar words, ‘Speed, bonny boat, like a bird on the wing . . .’ And their boys put down their cars and bricks and come to listen.
‘Would you look at that?’ exclaims Elspeth when we finish a repeat of the final chorus. ‘It’s said that singing will charm the seals from the loch but I never thought it could bring the wee boys away from their games. They love it.’
‘Och, all kids love music,’ I say, passing the xylophone to one of the toddlers who is showing a keen interest in the sounds it makes.
‘It reminds me of how we used to hear those songs sung when we were wee. Our parents’ generation was brought up with them – playing, too. My dad learned the fiddle when he was tiny but somehow he never had time to teach me, or if he did, I didn’t have the inclination to learn.’ Elspeth rummages in the toy box and brings out a tambourine, which she hands to Jack.