The Skylark's Secret(29)

‘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.

‘They’re not taught at school either these days. There’s not so much time for music in the curriculum now,’ chips in one of the mums.

‘More’s the pity – look how much they enjoy it.’ Another of the mums nods at the group of toddlers who are now enthusiastically banging on anything they can lay their hands on in an attempt to continue the singing session.

‘Maybe we could include some of the songs whenever we get together? Teach them ourselves?’

‘Great idea,’ says Elspeth. ‘Lexie can keep us right.’ She gives my arm a pat. ‘You know the tunes, after all, and you can remember way more of the words than I can. I’ve forgotten half of them these days.’

‘I’d need to brush up a bit,’ I reply. ‘But I’m sure there’s an old songbook of Mum’s at the cottage. I’ll dig it out.’

Elspeth nods. ‘Your mum was the one who really knew all the songs. I remember how she’d sing as she cooked the stovies for our tea on days when I came back to yours to do our homework together.’

Soon after that, playtime descends into chaos as the children grow hungry and tired. I scoop up my dishevelled daughter, who is now attempting to chew the head off a wooden giraffe, wiping the gummy residue of biscuit from her fingers. ‘Time to go home, Daisy-Mae.’

At the door, I thank Elspeth for the morning. She gives me a hug, closing the last few inches of distance between us.

‘See you next time. It’s good having you home, Lexie,’ she says.

And those words make my heart feel as if it were a balloon on the end of a string, lightening my steps as I turn Daisy’s baby pushchair towards Keeper’s Cottage with a final wave to the others.

As we pass the jetty, another figure waves to us from beside a pile of creels. I raise a hand in salute.

‘Bat,’ remarks Daisy, approvingly.

‘Hello, Davy.’

His long legs, clad in his usual oilskin bib-and-brace trousers, cover the distance between us in just a few strides. His Land Rover is parked outside the house beside us, I realise. It’s one of the larger homes in the village, with dormer windows below its slate roof and a well-tended garden behind a wooden gate.

‘Hi, Lexie. And hello to you, too, Miss Daisy. Been socialising over at Elspeth’s, have you?’

I nod. And realise that I don’t mind that he knows how I’ve spent my morning. For a change, it feels reassuring rather than claustrophobic, the way that this small community watches over me and my daughter.

‘Well, I’m glad I caught you,’ he says. ‘The weather’s set fair for a couple of days. If you’re free tomorrow it’ll be an opportunity to come out in the boat. If you’d still like to, that is.’

‘Bat,’ Daisy says again, beaming at him and kicking her feet in the air.

We both laugh.

‘I’ll take that as a yes, then.’ Davy grins.

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘What should I bring?’

‘Just make sure you’re both warmly dressed. It’s always a wee bit chillier once we get out on the water. Pack some extra layers too. Some juice for Daisy, maybe? I’ve got life jackets and everything else we’ll be needing. We can leave mid-morning and have a bit of lunch on the boat if you’re happy to stay out a wee bit longer. But we can play it by ear, let you get your sea legs and see how the two of you like it.’

‘Thanks, Davy, that sounds great. It’s a date.’ I say the words without thinking, then catch myself and blush furiously. ‘I mean, it’s not a date-date, obviously. I just mean we’d love to . . . we’d really enjoy . . .’ I tail off in confusion.

His grey-blue eyes crinkle in amusement, but he keeps a straight face, kindly pretending not to notice the fool I’m making of myself. ‘I’ll come and pick you up at the cottage, then, shall I? About ten-thirty?’

And I smile and nod again, thankful for the breeze from the loch that cools my blazing cheeks. As I push Daisy homewards, I find that the balloon-on-the-end-of-a-string feeling is still with me and realise that under my breath, I’m humming to myself again.



True to his word, Davy pulls up in front of Keeper’s Cottage at ten-thirty sharp. He strides up the path, whistling, and I hurry to open the door. I pull on my wellies and jacket, scooping up Daisy who is already bundled into so many warm layers that she resembles an overstuffed teddy bear, her arms sticking out almost at right angles from the sides of her well-padded body. Davy stows the bags containing extra clothes, hats and gloves, nappies, a changing mat, a double-handled cup with a spout, two bottles of milk, a carton of apple juice, a bunch of bananas and a packet of custard creams into the back of the Land Rover.