Page 79 of Little Wing
Dougie looked at Gordon who shook his head. ‘It’s empty for the minute.’
‘Could we possibly borrow the keys?’ Sophia asked.
But Gordon had already left the table to fetch them.
‘I’m to wait in for that Roddy man to fix the car,’ Gordon said, rolling his eyes as he handed the keys to Sophia.
‘And I’m waiting on a new hip,’ said Sophia. ‘I’m not sure I could walk that far.’
‘Douglas?’
‘Dougie?’
And Dougie glanced from his father to Sophia and then he looked at Nell.
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’ll take you there.’
The wind had picked up. It was blowing thin, sharp and low. Douglas led the way; through the Munro garden and onto the machair where a scatter of sheep regarded them with momentary alarm before returning to their cuds. Along the marram-fringed dunes, they looked down on the beach where small, fractious waves hissed along the swelling sea surface and shadows of the clouds ran fast across the sands. The grasses around them shivered and shook while Nell and Dougie walked in amiable silence.
‘There.’ Douglas pointed. ‘That’s your house.’
The cottage was some way off, nestled into its plot much like the sheep around them. Nell stopped, her eyes fixed on the distant cottage, her hands cupped over her ears.
‘Wind giving you earache?’ Dougie asked.
Nell nodded. ‘It was like this at Hushinish,’ she said.
‘Ah – you’ve been to Hushinish?’
Nell nodded. ‘I’ve been everywhere,’ she said, ‘looking for Flora.’
It dawned on him just then that it was of course Nell who’d been at Luskentyre on Sunday, marching about in despair, shouting at the sea. At the time, he’d resented her presence, felt she was an intruder, believed he had priority. However, now that he knew she was Flora Buchanan’s wee girl, he felt himself to have been the trespasser. She had needed that beach to herself more than he had that day, and that was OK by him. He looked at her and she looked at him. A small smile passed between them and on they walked, the sun and the wind in a bicker at their faces. Dougie observed Nell again, saw how she was squinting, her nose wrinkling, her hands still over her ears. It was as though she didn’t want to see and she didn’t want to hear.
‘Here,’ he said, pulling a beanie out of his jacket. ‘Put this on.’
‘You sure?’ said Nell, not waiting for an answer. ‘Thank you.’ The knitted hat was warm and soft and carried the gentle scent of another person. ‘What’s it actually like, living here?’
Dougie stopped. ‘Oh,’ he said and he looked out over the bank and flow of the feather-soft dunes to the sea. It was spectacularly beautiful. ‘I don’t live here any more. Not for some time.’ He watched the spume bibble in frenetic squibs over the surface of the rolling water. ‘London now,’ he said quietly.
Nell thought about this. ‘Nurse Keaton says that many of the young folk leave the island,’ she said. ‘My mother, Flora, was here to stay.’ Her ears were warm now and because the hat was a little too big for her, it afforded her eyes some shade too. ‘I’d like to think I’d’ve stayed.’
‘Where do you live?’
‘Colchester.’
‘That’s some contrast! What do you do?’
‘I work in a café,’ she said. ‘You?’
‘Catalogues. Production side.’
She wanted to stand and gaze out to sea for a while longer before the final advance to the cottage. ‘Actually,’ said Nell, ‘it’s more than a café. It’s the beating heart of a community project – all my staff have various disabilities or challenges. We’re the definitive motley crew. Yet – somehow, it works. It’s a well-loved institution. I wouldn’t work anywhere else.’
‘Well, that’s all kinds of amazing, Nell,’ said Dougie. ‘I bet there’s never a dull moment. What’s the food like?’
‘Delicious. Comfort food with a healthy twist, I suppose.’
And Dougie stopped briefly. Thought for a moment.
