The Skylark's Secret(62)
He nodded, shouldering his duffel bag, and she took his hand in hers, walking with him through the pines to Keeper’s Cottage, hoping that he’d gain strength from a few last moments with them all.
After he’d taken his leave of Iain and Ruaridh, he held Flora in his arms at the door and they stayed like that, in silence because there were no words to be said, as the final moments ticked away with the beating of their hearts. She wore the brooch he’d given her, pinned to her gansey. And she thought it might just be the only thing that was holding her heart together, stopping it from splintering into a thousand pieces as she watched him walk away.
Lexie, 1978
I hesitate before pushing open the door of the hall. It’s the first time Daisy and I have come back to the playgroup since her accident and I wonder how she’ll cope with the noise and the excitement. We’ve been home for about ten days now, but everyone’s been giving us time and space to recover. I’ve not seen anyone, apart from Bridie and Mairi who’ve been to deliver bread and milk and a large pot of home-made stew.
If I’m honest, I’m also feeling a twinge of defensiveness, wondering how the other mums will judge me. I can just picture them tutting, saying they’d never have let their own children run loose on the jetty like that.
But I needn’t have worried on either count. Daisy wriggles in my arms, keen to be let down to join the other kids, and wee Jack immediately comes over to give her a shy hug and a tambourine, both of which she accepts with a grin.
Elspeth hurries across to envelop me in a hug of her own before the other mothers surround us, saying how much they’ve missed us and how glad they are to have us back. If anything, they seem more supportive than ever. Perhaps I only imagined that they’d be judging me; perhaps it was only ever my judgement of myself that I feared. Maybe Davy was right and I do need to cut myself a little slack, not be so hard on myself.
‘It wasn’t the same without you, Lexie,’ says Elspeth. ‘I did my best to fill in, but I don’t remember the songs the way you do.’
‘What are we going to be singing today?’ asks someone else. I reach into my bag and pull out Mum’s old songbook.
‘I thought perhaps “The Bonnie Lass o’ Fyvie-O” would be a good one.’ I leaf through to find the page I’ve marked and then settle the music on to the piano. The children gather round expectantly and their mothers hand out the instruments we’ve cobbled together between us, which range from the makeshift (plastic jars filled with macaroni that can be shaken to make a satisfying rattle, and saucepans that can be bashed with wooden spoons), to the more conventional (several xylophones and a triangle). Elspeth settles Daisy on her lap and I smile my gratitude as I begin to pick out the notes. It feels good to be back with the group, after all, and there’s not a hint of condemnation from the others. Instead, I feel their support surrounding me, welcoming us. Our voices meld together, mingling to fill the room with the music handed down to us by our parents and their parents before them, as we begin to sing the songs that bind us to our shared past and to our children’s future.
After the session, I help Elspeth carry some of the paraphernalia back to her house, hanging a bag of instruments from the back of Daisy’s pushchair. She rescued it all from the jetty when I abandoned it there on the day of the accident and it makes more sense for her to continue to store it at her house, where there’s more space than in the cottage, and it’s nearer to the hall.
‘Will you come in for a bite of lunch?’ she says when we reach the yellow door. But Daisy is looking worn out after the morning’s excitement, so I tell her we’d best be getting back so I can feed her and put her down for a nap.
Elspeth nods. ‘The sunshine and fresh air will do her good on the walk home, put the roses back in her cheeks again. Take care of yourself, Lexie. We’ll be seeing you again soon.’
Daisy waves a chubby hand and I turn the pushchair, heading back in the direction of Keeper’s Cottage. As we go, I sing to try and keep her awake, not wanting her to be lulled off to sleep before I’ve given her lunch, and she joins in here and there, happily kicking up her feet when we get to the chorus.
When we reach the house by the jetty, our voices are joined by the sound of whistling, the tune tone-perfect and each note as clear as birdsong. Daisy stops singing and chuckles instead as Davy’s head pops up from behind the tangle of honeysuckle that scrambles over the fence in front of his house. He’s on his hands and knees, picking wild raspberries from the canes that have woven themselves into the hedge.
Our meeting is a little awkward, as we haven’t seen each other since the accident. Perhaps he’s been avoiding me. Or perhaps I’ve been avoiding him. I’ve been intending to call to thank him properly, but haven’t quite got around to it yet.
‘Hello, you two,’ he says, getting to his feet and brushing the earth from his knees. ‘Jings, it’s grand to see the pair of you back safe and out and about again. Been busy making music, have you?’
I reach over the hedge and hug him tight, lost for words for a moment. ‘Davy, I . . . Thank you. Thank you so much for what you did.’
He smiles at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and shakes his head, making light of my gratitude. ‘I’m so sorry it happened. I should have been watching more carefully.’