Page 109 of Little Wing
And then she went to pack, leaving her new anorak on top of her suitcase because you just never knew what the weather would do out there on the island.
The midges had all but gone but Gordon said themeanbh chuileag, wee buggers, had been pesky that year, which Dougie translated as meaning insanely terrible. He’d been home for a fortnight already and Nell was joining him tomorrow. He’d come home to reprise his graduation project, to track down and photograph again those islanders who’d sat for him, the locations that had always spoken to him. Some were changed. Some had changed little. Some were gone. But Dougie’s sense of home, of being a Hearach, was in sharp, sharp focus. And actually, he’d come home – two full weeks before Nell arrived – so that he could spend time, proper time, with Gordon.
‘Da,’ said Dougie, the night before Nell arrived, as he washed and Gordon dried and Ben mooched around the kitchen hunting out crumbs. ‘I’m sorry.’
Gordon did not understand. But Dougie had stopped what he was doing, turned to face Gordon full on. His eyes were soft and settled on his father, his voice tender yet serious, strong.
‘For what I put you through. Back then. And to thank you – for helping me back on my feet.’
‘Ach,’ said Gordon, brushing the air. He and his boy didn’t talk like this together, they’d always left anything of magnitude to Màiri. But Gordon was touched, intrigued even. It had been such a good fortnight.
‘And I’m sorry – truly sorry – for being an arse,’ Dougie said. ‘And not coming home often enough. And I thank you for the patience you’ve shown.’
Gordon chuckled and stroked Ben’s head.
‘No, Da,’ said Dougie. ‘Please – my apology and my gratitude – please accept them.’
Gordon regarded his son levelly. Dougie was his boy but he was also a grown man still growing and that seemed right to Gordon. He nodded. He opened a cupboard and took down the Glencairn crystal and the Balvenie and he poured a good dram for himself and his son.
‘Chan eil thu tuilleach’s sean airson ionnsachadh fhathast,’ he said.
‘Aye,’ said Dougie. And he said to himself, we are to learn as long as we live.
‘You know,’ said Gordon, ‘peace isn’t just where there is no noise, no trouble, no hard work. Peace is when you can be in the midst of all those things and still be calm.’
‘Thank you,’ said Dougie, pressing his glass against his father’s. ‘It’s taken a while.’
Gordon smiled at him. ‘Slàinte.’
‘Slàinte,’ said Dougie. Sharing a Scotch, a nod and a smile between father and son and all was well with their world.
The White Cottage had been booked all summer and was rented out now to an American couple until the end of October. Nell wondered whether she would have wanted to have stayed there anyway. Maybe on another visit. She and Dougie were with Gordon who’d put an ancient Z-bed into Dougie’s bedroom as if they were kids having a sleepover. But Nell didn’t mind. She pushed the beds close together. And Dougie fulfilled every teenage fantasy he’d ever had by having the most beautiful girl in the world slip under the covers of his single bed in the wee small hours and make silent urgent love with him. Kim Wilde and Clare Grogan remained rolled up in his bedroom cupboard with the medals and the trophies and the old letters and concert programmes and birthday cards and now just the three acid-free boxes of photographs.
On the morning of 21stSeptember, Dougie woke first.
‘Happy birthday, Nell,’ he said, and he reached out his hand still heavy with sleep down to the Z-bed to loll on her head. ‘What do you want to do today?’
What Nell wanted to do on her birthday was everything so Dougie gladly set about making that happen. Before breakfast, they clambered over the dunes and raced each other to the water’s edge, Dougie letting her win because it was her birthday. They drove to Amhuinnsuidhe Castle and put their money in the honesty box, filling a bag with smoked salmon and pâté and cheese and bread and oatcakes and also venison to go in Gordon’s freezer. They went on to Hushinish and walked the ragged trail over clifftop and moor to Tràigh Mheilein where they flopped on the sand, Nell closing her eyes to listen to Dougie recount the tale of Herr Zucker who, in 1934, launched letters from Scarp in a rocket to Harris, an experiment that failed spectacularly.
‘Anyway,’ Dougie told Nell, ‘there’s the Clach na h-Eigheach, the shouting rock, right over there – a point where the voice carries right over the water to Scarp.’
And Nell thought whatisthis magical place, this birthplace of mine? And she thought how blessed she was to be a Hearach.
They had lunch at the hotel, treated like royalty by Al who said Nell was to have the fish and chips whether she wanted it or not because he didn’t like change and they’d missed her since she’d been away and they were all very pleased to welcome her home. And in the afternoon, they drove to Scalpay, where they walked to the Eilean Glas lighthouse and gazed over the Minch to the shadowy velvet mass of the towering cliffs of Skye before visiting Nurse Keaton at teatime. Sophia suggested a walk to the harbour so she could show off her new hip and how nimble she was without her cane. Everyone said hello to her. Mrs Ross said she’d be over for a chat later. Mrs Muir reminded her that it was cards on Thursday night, not to forget. Nell linked arms with her and gave her a squeeze. As Dougie ambled a little way ahead, Sophia squeezed Nell back, nodded in Dougie’s direction and gave Nell the broadest smile which proclaimed that everything made sense, everything was as it should be.
‘Don’t think I don’t know what day it is,’ Sophia said, when they sat together having tea and biscuits later, looking out of her window to the higgledy drop to the harbour beyond. ‘Happy birthday, pet,’ she said, gazing fondly at Nell. How was she thirty-six years old? And was she too old, now, to be called Little Wing? And then Sophia thought had Flora been alive, she’d bet she’d still call her daughter that. So much had happened and yet no time had passed. And now that Nell was back, it made a nonsense of all those years that she’d been away.
‘Look,’ said Nell and she showed Nurse Keaton the photographs that Dougie had taken of the Chaffinch flock. ‘And look,’ said Nell and she showed Nurse Keaton another set of portraits that Dougie had taken. ‘This is my mum Wendy,’ she said.
Sophia looked through the photos thoughtfully. ‘Well, it’s been well over thirty years,’ she said, ‘but I recognize that smile. I do, pet, I do. And I have something for you, Nell,’ she said. She left the room and returned a few minutes later. ‘After you’d gone in the spring, while my sister was still here, we turned the whole house upside down because I knew they were here somewhere. I knew I hadn’t lost them or thrown them away. Iknewit. I just couldn’t remember where they were. Well, we found them.’
She passed Nell a small white envelope.
Inside there was a business card and also a piece of paper torn from a lined notepad. They both had names and addresses on them.
Nell studied them. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘But what are these?’
Sophia felt a twist of emotion at her throat. Oh, how she’d hoped for this over the years, prayed for it, prayed for everyone concerned and now the day had come. At last, it could be done.
