The Skylark's Secret(51)

‘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.’

But then I look over and see Elspeth’s smile, which stretches into an even wider grin as Davy hands me the mic. His hand squeezes mine for a second, steadying me. Elspeth nods encouragingly and I close my eyes for a moment, telling myself to pretend I’m singing to the toddlers at the playgroup or the seals in the hidden bay.

The fiddle starts to play the lilting notes of the introduction and, taking a deep breath, I begin to sing.

‘Oh rowan tree, oh rowan tree

Thou’ll ay be dear to me

Entwined thou art wi’ many ties

O’ home and infancy . . .’

The other instruments join in, and my voice rises, growing in confidence as the familiar strands of the tune weave themselves in and out through the accompaniment. I can hear that my singing is a bit scratchy, the words a little rough around the edges, but that only seems to add depth to the simplicity of the song. And then, one by one, all the others in the bar begin to sing along softly until our individual voices blend to fill the room.

When the final notes die away, there’s a moment of complete silence. And then the cheers and whoops erupt.

‘Will you sing another?’ Davy asks, leaning close to be heard above the din.

I smile and shake my head. ‘Not tonight. That was for Elspeth. I’m leaving the rest of the evening to you boys.’

When I get back to the table, Elspeth hugs me hard. ‘Best present you’ve ever given me,’ she says.

‘What, even better than the bright green eyeshadow and the quarter-pound of treacle toffees?’ I say, referring to the last present I’d bought for her.

‘They come close.’ She smiles. ‘But that song was beautiful.’

As I sit back down and take a sip from my drink, I reflect that I seem to have been singing quite a lot recently, for someone who’s supposedly lost her voice.

Catching my eye across the room, Davy raises his glass to me and then picks up his guitar, and the band swings into the next set.



Bridie comes for tea as usual the following Wednesday, and I show her the brooch I found in the pocket of Mum’s coat.

Her face lights up when she sees it. ‘Alec gave her that. It’s a sweetheart brooch – belonged to his mother originally, I believe. Soldiers and sailors used to give them to their girlfriends and wives so they could keep their loves close to their hearts even when they were apart.’ She takes her hanky out from the sleeve of her cardigan and gives the brooch a rub. ‘See, it’s silver. Just needs a bit of a polish and it’ll come up like new. Your mammy always wore it or carried it with her in her pocket.’

I decide to tackle her elusiveness head-on. ‘Bridie, what happened with my mum and dad? You’ve told me bits and pieces, but I want to know everything.’

She glances up at me, startled.

‘There’s something you’re not saying, isn’t there?’ I persist.

‘Well now, Lexie, there’s a story there, all right. But I’m not sure I’m the right person to tell it on my own.’

I can’t help but let my exasperation show. ‘If not you, Bridie, then who else?’

‘Mairi would be the one.’

‘But she lives in America!’

‘She does.’ Bridie calmly reaches for another biscuit. ‘But she’ll be here soon enough. She always comes back once a year to visit her sisters and brothers. I’ve told her you’ve come home. She’s looking forward to seeing you.’