by Katie Fforde
‘OK,’ he said.
‘But can we laugh if it’s funny?’ asked Kate.
‘It’s not funny,’ said Emily, although she was smiling – Kate was so entertaining. She took a breath. ‘When I’m knitting, looking at my hands, not at the mother, I can hear better. It makes me “all ears”, sort of. If there’s even the slightest change in the sounds she’s making, I’ll know, and I’ll know if it’s time for another look.’
There was the tiniest pause. ‘Kate? Would you like to fill the billy from the burn? You know how to do it?’
‘Dad! I’ve been doing it since I was about three.’
‘I couldn’t just have the tiniest bit of shortbread, could I?’ said Emily, absolving him of the need to comment.
It was an exceptionally clear day and although the air temperature wasn’t particularly high, the sun was, and Emily lay, feeling the sun on her face, thinking how lucky she was. She had a lovely job, in one of the most beautiful parts of the world, and right now she was enjoying a picnic with a very sweet little girl and her father, who, though a little stuffy, was also very nice.
Her mental description baulked at the word ‘nice’. It didn’t really cover him. He was kind, his treatment of Maisie proved that, and he was a brilliant and lovely dad – she’d witnessed that all day. But somehow he’d revealed very little of himself. I’ll just lie here in the sun for a few more moments, Emily decided, then I’ll make an effort and find out what sort of books and films he likes. Maybe music …
‘You fell asleep, again!’ said Kate indignantly. ‘The billy’s boiling. It’s time for tea and black bun.’
‘Oh, sorry, sweetheart. I’ll do something more exciting than sleep after tea, if you like, if there’s time?’
She looked at Alasdair, who’d been reading a book in between tending to the fire and getting the billy going.
‘We ought to start heading off at about five. It’s only three now so there’s plenty of time for fun things before we pack up.’
Emily accepted her mug of tea. Alasdair had taken time to produce it, making sure the water was really boiling before adding loose leaves and boiling it again, three times (to make the tea leaves sink, Kate explained) before tipping it into the mug and adding milk.
‘OK, now the black bun. You don’t have to eat it if you really don’t want to, but the patient concerned knew I was taking you for a picnic and made it specially. She’ll want a report.’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so full of fruit,’ said Emily, accepting a piece.
‘You can’t eat a lot of it, so it’s good for picnics or walks. With a bit of that in your pocket and a burn to drink from occasionally, you’re all set.’
‘Is it OK to drink water direct from the burn?’ asked Emily.
‘Well, it’s good to check it for dead sheep or deer first,’ said Alasdair. ‘But James and I have been drinking from streams all our lives and have never taken any harm from it.’
‘You and James don’t sound much alike, do you? Your accents, I mean.’ Emily had talked about this with Rebecca but she wanted to hear Alasdair’s explanation.
‘We both speak posh or more local perfectly well, but when James went to uni it suited him better to be less regional. He worked in London for a bit afterwards so he lost the burr.’
‘I think it’s a shame,’ said Emily. ‘I like the accent.’
He hesitated for only a second but it seemed significant. ‘I’m glad.’
It was too late to backtrack; she couldn’t now say it was only Alasdair’s accent she liked. ‘I mean,’ she blundered on, ‘I think it’s nice to have the dialect of the place you come from.’
‘Where do you come from, Emily? There’s nothing in your voice to give a clue.’
‘That’s my point. I come from the Home Counties and sound as if I come from the Home Counties.’ Emily was aware she was being apologetic. ‘But I’ve been living and working in the Cotswolds for a few years now so I always say I come from there. I do in my heart. Home is where the heart is, after all.’
‘And does your heart have a home in the South-West?’
Emily frowned. ‘Is that a roundabout way of asking me if I’m single?’
He raised an eyebrow briefly. ‘I’m not sure, to be honest, but are you?’
‘Yes, and I intend to stay that way, at least for the moment.’
‘Why is that?’
She glanced at Kate who was a little way away, searching for the perfect stone to take home with her. Knowing she couldn’t overhear her, she said, ‘Why are you still single when your wife died years ago?’
He didn’t answer immediately. ‘That’s hard to pinpoint.’
‘I’ll tell you!’ said Emily, hoping she didn’t sound too urgent. ‘It’s because it’s much easier and less stressful to live on your own, when you can order your life as you please, drink the coffee you like, leave your clothes all over the bathroom floor if you want to, without anyone commenting, or questioning, or criticising.’
‘You sound as if you’ve been in a bad relationship.’
Emily nodded. ‘Yes. Haven’t you?’
Too late she realised this was a huge assumption and this time the pause was agonisingly long and Emily couldn’t think of a way she could break it without sounding like an idiot.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes I have. And I do see what you mean, perfectly.’
‘Everyone has been in a bad relationship, haven’t they? Unless they’re ten – or like Rebecca and James. They married really young and seem fine.’
‘They are the exception, I think,’ said Alasdair. ‘Relationships don’t often work as well as theirs does. I think perhaps it’s because they work together in the same business. They’re a team: not just a married team, a working one.’
‘Mm.’ Unwillingly her mind went back to the bad relationship she’d been referring to. In her early twenties she’d been with a man who cared about her but who was also controlling; he was jealous of her life and her friends and wouldn’t join in with either. He had been heartbroken when she broke up with him and she had been devastated by his heartbreak. She had wondered often at the time, and still sometimes since, if it was better to be the one who was left or the one who left, knowing the price of your freedom was someone else’s pain and bitterness.
She was just about to ask Alasdair about Kate’s mother when Kate appeared, giving her what Emily felt was a testing look. ‘Will you come and build a dam with me? It does mean getting your feet wet and the water’s awful cold.’
‘I’ll put my boots back on and then I won’t mind cold feet,’ said Emily. ‘And I loved making dams when I was little. Haven’t done it for a while but I’m sure it’s like riding a bicycle.’
‘Why would making dams be like riding a bicycle?’ asked Kate curiously, leading the way to the burn. Although, having secured her dam-building assistant she was prepared to be relaxed about them saying odd things.
‘It’s an expression,’ Emily explained. ‘People say you never forget how to ride a bicycle and so anything that you can still do when you haven’t done it for ages is the same – like riding a bicycle.’ She paused. ‘I probably haven’t explained that very well.’
‘You haven’t,’ Kate agreed. ‘But I think I got it.’
‘I haven’t had so much fun in years!’ said Emily a little while later, soaking wet and shivering.
She and Kate had created a very lovely miniature loch, set about with suitably miniature boulders and a foreshore to rival any either had seen. A stream trickled in and out of it and Kate and Emily were very pleased with both it, and themselves. They’d broken bits of larch twigs off a larger fallen branch and created a grove of trees and pressed flat pebbles into a road leading down to it. They kept adding bits and fiddling with it until they deemed it perfect.
Ted, slightly too large for the scale, was seated next to a bonfire on the miniature shore-side which Kate was going to light as soon as she’d wrested the matches from her dad.
Alasdair, who’d been reading and birdwatching while the dam-building went on, came, matches and newspaper in hand.
‘Wow, that is amazing!’ he said, impressed enough even for the civil engineers who had created the marvel. ‘You’ve got everything in miniature, even a road.’
‘Emily’s really good at it,’ said Kate generously. ‘She made the beach all on her own. It’s for the otters to run along, she said.’
‘Miniature otters,’ said Alasdair.
‘Fairy otters,’ corrected Emily.
‘With wings?’ suggested Alasdair.
‘Yuk! They’d be like insects. No wings,’ said Emily.
‘But look at you both! You’re soaking! Kate, you’ve got a change of clothes, but what about you, Emily? I’m not saying you’ll catch a cold sitting in wet jeans all day but you’ll be extremely uncomfortable. Have you got anything else you can put on?’
Emily mentally reviewed the contents of her overnight bag. ‘My pyjamas? They’ll do. I’ll go behind a rock and change.’
‘I’ll build up the fire and see if we can dry off your jeans a bit.’
‘When we’ve lit Ted’s bonfire,’ said Kate.
‘Oh, don’t do that until I’m there to see,’ said Emily. ‘Maybe do it now. I’ll be OK wet for a bit longer.’
Emily got out her camera and looked through the viewfinder. ‘He needs a billy,’ she said. ‘Otherwise he’s just sitting by the fire warming his toes. Ah, I know: we had KitKats! KitKat paper will be ideal.’
Luckily the silver paper hadn’t been screwed up into too tight a ball and Emily was able to flatten it out and create a perfect little billycan. She used a piece of grass to make a handle.
‘OK, this will burn when we light the fire but if we’re quick we can take photos before it does. Have you got a camera, Kate?’
‘No,’ said Alasdair. ‘She hasn’t.’
‘OK, use mine. I’ll use my phone,’ said Emily. ‘I’ll set the camera up for you, Kate. Then, when we’re all ready, Alasdair will light the fire and we’ll click away.’
Kate was beside herself with excitement and took dozens of photos of Ted by the fire as the billy was gradually demolished by the fire.
They all took lots of shots and showed each other the results. ‘I declare Alasdair the winner,’ said Emily. ‘He got the last shot while the billy was still recognisable. Now I must get out of these wet things.
Emily had bought substantial, decent pyjamas before she came to Scotland, knowing she would be sharing the accommodation and a bathroom with others. Thus, although it was a little odd wearing them in front of people she didn’t know that well, she didn’t mind too much. But since her jersey was also quite wet she was still shivering a bit.
‘Here,’ said Alasdair, throwing her a jumper. ‘Put this on. It’s spare. Becca taught me to always take spares. I’ve got socks, too, if you want them.’ He felt around in his rucksack and tossed her a pair.
Emily took the bundle gratefully and went behind a rock to change.
‘Wool is the only fabric that still keeps you warm even when wet,’ she said on her return, finding a perch next to the fire. ‘The same cannot be said for denim.’
‘Indeed not,’ said Alasdair.
‘I don’t suppose we’ll get these dry before we have to leave,’ Emily went on, shaking out her jeans, ‘however much you build up the fire. I’ll have to spend the rest of the day in my jammies.’ She didn’t mention she was also wearing damp knickers. He didn’t need to know that.
‘Well, we’ll get them as dry as we can. We can finish them off later.’
He rigged up a washing line with a length of rope he had in the rucksack and soon it was hung with steaming clothes, Kate’s and Emily’s.
‘They say fire and water don’t mix,’ said Emily, warming herself by the flames. ‘But actually, they mix rather well. I’ve had so much fun today thanks to them – and you both.’ She encouraged Rupert to come a little nearer to her, for extra warmth.
‘I think it’s oil and water that aren’t supposed to mix,’ said Alasdair.
‘And chalk and cheese?’ suggested Emily.
‘I think that’s different,’ said Alasdair.
‘Grown-ups talk a lot of nonsense sometimes,’ stated Kate, addressing Ted and Rupert, who wagged his tail in agreement.
‘You are not wrong, sweetheart,’ Emily was forced to agree. ‘Now find me a piece of tablet to make my happiness complete.’
They had packed up all their things, which seemed to have multiplied somehow, loaded them into the boat, and been rowed by Alasdair back to the mainland and the car. Loading the things into the car also seemed more time-consuming, especially as most things were now damp. They had driven for about half an hour when Alasdair said, ‘Now is the point of no return. We’ve reached a crossroads. I can take you back to the puffer or you can come back with us and have a sleepover.’
Kate was fast asleep in the back of the car. She wouldn’t notice the car going the wrong direction. Emily did wonder if spending the night with Kate and Alasdair would make her too involved with them as a family. But she was already pretty involved with them. ‘I promised Kate I’d stay, and having been sleeping in something roughly the same dimensions as a coffin since I’ve arrived, the thought of spreading myself all over a proper bed is far too tempting to turn down.’
‘You haven’t found a day of being with me and Kate too much for your good nature? You could cope with another few hours?’
‘I think I could.’
Alasdair smiled and set the car in motion again. ‘I’m glad. I could have made it all right with Kate but she would have been very disappointed.’
‘She’s a lovely girl. I’ve had such fun spending time with her.’
‘But not so much fun playing with her dad, though?’
Emily laughed. ‘No. He’s not nearly so much fun.’
Emily’s wet clothes were put in the tumble drier and she was given fresh thick socks and slippers to wear as well as the jumper she already had on. Glancing at herself in the mirror as she went through to the kitchen Emily was glad she wasn’t trying to impress Alasdair. She looked a fright, with her hair all over the place and profoundly unflattering clothes.
‘Can I help with anything? Kate’s watching telly and doesn’t seem to need company.’
‘Well, I don’t need much help but would be glad of company. Glass of wine?’
‘Oh, yes please. Are you sure I couldn’t peel the spuds? I’m really good at it. I’ve had loads of practice lately.’
‘That’s why you shouldn’t peel them. You need a break from cooking. Just sit there and drink your wine. I’ll put some music on.’
She suspected he wanted the music to avoid having to make conversation but she was perfectly happy. It was gentle and sometimes a bit haunting with a Celtic feel she found she loved.
‘This is nice,’ she said. ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s a local band. I play with them sometimes.’
‘You play an instrument? And sing?’
‘Bit of both. I’m a fiddler. Play a bit of penny whistle if the need arises.’
‘Oh, wow! That’s – I don’t know – not what I expected.’
‘From the dour Scottish GP?’
She had to laugh; it was so close to what she’d been thinking. ‘That’s it.’
‘Us Celts, we’re like icebergs, there’s a lot more under the surface than there is showing.’
Eventually Alasdair declared the meal ready and Kate was dragged away from How to Train your Dragon.
‘Pheasant casserole – without the bones, Kate – mashed potato and cabbage,’ he said, taking two hot plates out of the oven and one cold one for Kate.
‘This is delicious!’ said Emily, having taken her first bite. Alasdair added wine to her glass. ‘Did you make it? Or was it a patient?’
‘I made it, but it was a patient who gave me the pheasants. It’s been in the freezer a while, it not being pheasant season,
but none the worse for that I don’t think.’
‘It’s wonderful. Especially with such buttery mash.’
‘My daddy puts a lot of butter in mashed potatoes,’ said Kate. ‘We like it like that.’
‘And so do I!’
Later, after Kate had bathed and gone to bed, Alasdair came into the sitting room where Emily was going through his DVD collection.
‘I know it’s a bit rude, but I don’t suppose we could watch a film, could we? I’ve wanted to see Local Hero again ever since I’ve been up here.’ It wasn’t like they were on a date or anything.
‘Good idea! I’ll get the fire going. It’s got chilly.’
‘Probably because it’s such a clear night,’ said Emily.
‘Here, wrap yourself in a blanket till the fire gets going. There’s a dribble more wine left in the bottle. Shall I open another one? Or would you prefer whisky?’
‘A dribble of wine but don’t open another bottle.’
Halfway through the film she said, ‘This has been such a lovely day. Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome,’ he said, and pulled her to his side.
She closed her eyes. His closeness felt natural, right – and very, very lovely.
Chapter Eight
EMILY HAD ONLY just got off to sleep. Lying in the sun with her eyes closed during the day had made her less sleepy than usual. She was awoken by Kate rushing into her room. ‘They’re here! They’re here! The Merry Dancers! You must come!’
Emily followed the little girl out of the room at speed, not sure if they needed to evacuate the house.
Kate led her into the sun-room, where the huge picture window gave a view over the bay, with the Paps of Jura in the background. Alasdair was there. Emily calmed down – there was no emergency but something else.
‘Hey!’ he said softly. ‘Come and see. It’s the Northern Lights – terribly rare in these parts at this time of year.’
‘Have I time to go back and get a jumper?’
‘Possibly not. Here, wear this.’ He handed her a pullover so soft if felt like fur. She recognised the slight feltiness of much-washed cashmere. She put it on and it smelt of him. It could have been expensive cologne or fabric conditioner but either way, she liked it. ‘You do seem to have an endless supply of jumpers,’ she commented.