‘February’s not exactly the best month for exploring, though,’ Ruaridh pointed out.
‘After our Midwest winters, this feels like kinda gentle weather you got here,’ laughed Ralph, undaunted. ‘We’re more used to snowdrifts as high as your head. And we’ve been cooped up on that ship for weeks. It’ll be good to stretch our legs on dry land for a coupla days.’
In the corner, Mairi sat next to Roy, who seemed a good deal quieter than his exuberant younger brother. But they soon discovered a mutual interest in dairy cattle – Roy and Hal having lived on their parents’ farm in Wisconsin before volunteering for the Merchant Marine when America joined the war – and were deep in conversation by the time Hal and Stan fought their way back to the table with the second round of drinks. The farm boys had grown up surrounded by an ocean of land. Mairi and Flora were fascinated as Roy described the endless prairies with their seas of waving wheat. ‘We’d never seen so much water as the day we embarked from New York. We thought Lake Michigan was big until we saw the Atlantic! There were days when I thought we’d never see land again.’
‘You must miss the farm,’ Mairi said.
‘Sure do. But we have a job to get done, helping you Brits keep the Russkies supplied so they can stop Mr Hitler in his tracks. Besides, when Hal here volunteered, there was no way I could let my baby brother pull such a crazy stunt on his own. I promised Mom and Pop I’d keep an eye on him for them.’ His face grew serious as he described what it meant to them to be playing their part. ‘My grandparents emigrated to the States from Norway. So it’ll be good to sail past the old country, even if it is occupied by the Nazis now. All the more reason to do our bit to free them again. Those are our people, right there, and it hurts real bad to know they’re suffering.’
Late in the evening, the revellers began to disperse back to their ships and their homes. Hal and Roy insisted on walking Bridie and Mairi home, even though Flora and Ruaridh were passing their doors on the way back to Keeper’s Cottage. Ruaridh had promised to walk up to the lochan to fish for grayling the next day with the brothers and whoever else was free.
Flora glanced back after they’d taken their leave at Mairi’s gate. In the darkness, she could just make out the figures of Mairi and Roy, still deep in conversation.
She smiled to herself as she walked on. Because she couldn’t have sworn to it, and maybe it was a trick of the shadows, but it looked as though Roy had reached out and taken both of Mairi’s hands in his, his fair hair gleaming pale in the moonlight as his head bent towards hers.
Lexie, 1978
We’ve all arranged to meet at the bar tonight and Davy and the band will be playing as usual.
Bridie comes to babysit. ‘Have fun celebrating,’ she says as I pull on my jacket.
‘Celebrating what?’ I ask.
‘Och, Lexie, have you forgotten? It’s Elspeth’s birthday today.’
Of course. I should have remembered. It was a date I’d always known when we were at school. I’d made her cards and spent my pocket money on bath salts or make-up or sweets for her （knowing she’d share them with me anyway）， and she’d done the same when it was my turn.
I’m kicking myself as I walk along the shore road to the village. I can buy her a birthday drink, at least, but that hardly seems enough of a present for someone who’s been a friend through thick and thin.
The bar’s packed out and the skirl of the music seems more joyous than ever this evening. As I pick my way back to our table, carefully carrying a large round of drinks on a tray, I stop to have a quick word with Davy, handing him the pint I’ve got in for him.
My heart is pounding with nerves as I sit through the next set, and then Davy steps up to the mic and calls for quiet. ‘Tonight we’re saying Happy Birthday to our very own Elspeth McKinnes.’ Raucous cheers and whoops fill the room and Davy raises his hands, waiting for them to subside. ‘And a good friend of Elspeth’s is going to join us now, to say Happy Birthday in her own way.’
I get to my feet and walk across to the band, swallowing hard, wondering whether anything is going to come out of my mouth at all as it’s suddenly gone so dry. My throat seems to close in on itself, tightening with the fear that I’m about to make a complete fool of myself. I take my place beside the fiddle player and he nods, raising his bow. All of a sudden I feel myself sway as a wave of dizziness washes over me, panicking as I remember the voice coach shaking her head when she listened to me try to sing again after my operation. ‘I’m sorry, Alexandra,’ she’d said. ‘It’s just not working. I think the damage you’ve done is permanent. You won’t sing on the stage again.’