The Skylark's Secret(28)
He gathered her close and she pressed her hands against his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the beat of his heart through the rough wool of his jersey. And then she raised her lips to his and sealed their promise of a future together with a kiss.
After lunch, they climbed back into the boat and Alec steered a course that hugged the western side of the loch, below the white cottages at Cove where the road became a rough track. They waved to Mrs Kennedy who was pegging her washing on the line in front of her croft house, white sheets billowing like sails in the stiff breeze, and then Alec brought the boat in close to the rock arch so that they could get a look at the nesting gulls whose calls filled the air and whose droppings whitewashed the dark craggy rocks in streaks and splashes.
Finally, as the sun slipped behind the hills of Gairloch and the waters of Loch Ewe began to darken, they turned the boat homewards.
The jetty was deserted as they offloaded their belongings. Alec made the boat fast and then they made their way back to his car. As he stowed everything in the boot, Flora glanced upwards, her attention captured by the sound of tapping from a dormer window on the top floor of the Carmichaels’ house. Following her gaze, Alex grinned and waved at the sight of Stuart and Davy, who had their noses pressed against the glass. With a struggle, Stuart managed to free the catch on the window and push it open.
‘Be careful,’ Flora called. ‘Don’t lean out like that; you might fall.’
‘What are you two rascals up to?’ Alec asked.
‘Nothing much,’ answered Stuart with a shrug. ‘We forgot the time when we were fishing and we didn’t get the digging done, so Mrs C has locked us in our room with no tea. We’re starving, ’cause we didn’t get much lunch neither. Mr C and her are away out now, for a meeting at the kirk. Davy’s been crying,’ he added.
‘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.