500 Miles from You (Scottish Bookshop #3)(44)

“Shackleton’s nae greetin’,” said Hari in his low growl.

“Shackleton isn’t greetin’,” said Zoe automatically. “I mean crying. Shackleton isn’t crying. Seriously. Your dad isn’t going to be able to understand you.”

“Naw, he willnae.”

Patrick had pulled up his T-shirt sleeve and was presenting his arm with the air of a doomed soldier facing the firing squad.

“I will absolutely not cry,” he said, screwing up his little face.

Hari watched with interest, then, after it was done, went up and gently wiped away the tear from Patrick’s eye then, curiously, licked it.

“Hari!” yelled Zoe, as Lissa reached into her bag and presented Patrick with a sugar-free lollipop.

“Ooh,” said Patrick, and Hari’s eyes grew wide.

“Oh,” said Shackleton quietly. “Only you see I didn’t get a lollipop.”

“You’re thirteen!” said Lissa. The child was enormous; he looked old enough to drive a car.

“I didn’t realize there was a legal limit for lollipops,” said Shackleton.

Lissa smiled and brought out another one.

“I don’t want one,” said Mary loftily.

“Can I have two?” said Shackleton.

“No!” said all the adults in the room simultaneously.

Hari might well have cried, even though he needed only his booster, had not Patrick stood in front of him, letting him lick on his lollipop as the needle went in. Mary withstood it with barely a flinch, which made Zoe sad at how used the child was to pain, and she hugged her strongly afterward. And then they were done.

“Okay,” said Lissa, straightening up. “Possibly a few cold and flu-like symptoms, but don’t worry about them unless they last for more than forty-eight hours.”

Patrick immediately started to cough loudly.

“Or are completely made up.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” said Zoe. “Come on, Patrick, straight to bed with you.”

“Actually I think I am absolutely fine,” said Patrick, eyes wide.

“It was nice to meet you,” said Lissa, a tad wistfully. Obviously they lived in a big mansion and were terribly busy and everything, but Zoe seemed like the kind of person Lissa would have liked to have had as a friend.

“Thanks!” said Zoe, and Lissa was halfway to the car before she turned around to find Zoe there.

“Sorry,” said Zoe. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Sometimes I still have my London head on, where you never talk to strangers. It’s an old habit. Also, young people like you I’m sure wouldn’t be remotely interested in hanging out with someone else’s billion kids. But, listen, would you like coffee sometime? Or we’re all going to the fair when it comes . . .”

Normally Lissa would have shut down—smiled politely, backed away—desperate not to reveal that she was dreadfully lonely. But she made a decision, as she went to open the car door, to try something new.

“Yes, please,” she said. “Yeah. I’d really like that.”

And they swapped numbers, and as Lissa drove away she found she was smiling and decided, being on a roll, to head into the village square and treat herself to a book.

There were a few people gathered around the book bus in the village square, and she went up to have a little look. A pretty woman smiled hello as Lissa poked her head around the door. The bus was like a little TARDIS, far bigger than it looked from the outside, and crammed with every type of book imaginable. It even had, Lissa was amazed to note, a tiny chandelier swinging from the ceiling.

“Hello!” she said. “Oh, you’re the English girl! Hello again!”

“The locals think we’re invading, one person at a time.”

“I know, I met Zoe.”

“I’m Nina, by the way. You know, three is definitely enough for a coven,” she said. “It’s really going to scare the wits out of Mrs. Murray.”

“Why the influx?”

“Well,” said Nina, smiling quietly to herself, “the men round here are . . . well, some of them.”

Across the square, Wullie, who haunted the pub, and Eck were sitting outside on an absolutely ancient bench, enjoying the sunshine, even though they were still wearing their flat caps and overcoats and high tied scarves. They waved to Nina, who waved back cheerfully.

“My investors,” she said, completely bamboozling Lissa. “So, how are you settling in? Are you going to the fair?”

“That’s all anyone talks about,” said Lissa.

“We don’t have so much going on,” Nina said, looking mildly wistful for a moment. Then her face changed and softened, and Lissa followed her gaze to a tall, sandy-haired man crossing the cobbles with a long stride. In a carrier on his back was a round-eyed baby about six months old, already stretching its arms up in gleeful anticipation of being held by its mother.

“And,” she said, “the babies up here are very ginger.”

She kissed the man and picked up the wriggling infant as his dad unbuckled the sling.

“Hello, John,” she said, rubbing the baby’s tummy. “How’s my best little man?”

“He tried to eat some straw,” the man reported.

“Good sign,” said Nina. “Moving on from dung. Lennox, this is . . .”