Page 86 of Little Wing
Sophia blew her nose. ‘At Luskentyre,’ she said.
Nell thought back to the cemetery, peaceful in pasture, that she and Dougie had walked by. Nell had passed Flora without knowing, passed right by.
But Sophia was taking Nell’s chin between finger and thumb.
‘Three and a half weeks,’ she was smiling. ‘For three and a half weeks after that you were Harris’s baby. You stayed with Iain Buchanan and we came to see you every day. All of us. Everyone who’d known Flora. Every day. You were our baby. But then, from the mainland, came the news. The instruction. The legals. It was all set. Iain and I took you to Glasgow. We weren’t to know your surname would change and they weren’t to know that you were known as wee Flora Buchanan’s wee Nell. It was all rushed and emotional and the station was busy and noisy and dirty. I placed you in Wendy’s arms and there we said goodbye. And your mother’s sister became your mum. We hadn’t an address. We lost our island baby to England.’
There was no more talking to be done. There was no more listening possible. Nell took Nurse Keaton into her home and hugged her long and close. She drove slowly back to the hotel, relieved that reception was empty and she could return to her room unnoticed. She slept, deep and dreamless.
Wednesday
‘Next time, Da – next time we’ll go to Berneray.’
Dougie had checked his room, stripped the bed, checked the bathroom, taken his towels down to wash. He never found it difficult to leave the house because he never doubted that the house would always be here, quiet and steady. There would be peat stacked outside to keep it warm, water in the taps, food in the fridge, a dog by the hearth called Ben. And his room would always be his, with its cupboards guarding his history and keeping his secrets until the next time.
‘Next time.’ Gordon raised an eyebrow at his son.
‘Maybe the summer,’ said Dougie, glancing away. ‘Unless you fancy a trip back down to London.’ They both laughed at that but the truth was that neither of them knew when they’d see each other next.
‘Aye,’ said Gordon. ‘Now, you’ll have your breakfast before we leave.’
Dougie wasn’t really hungry, it was a good hour before he normally rose, but he sat at the table with his father. They ate in convivial silence and then loaded the car.
‘Bonny day to fly,’ said Gordon, passing his son the car keys.
The sea was millpond calm. They didn’t see another car all the way into Tarbert, where the road to Lewis, to Stornoway, then took them past the hotel. Nell’s hire car was bright red and one of only three vehicles in the car park. They both noted it.
‘Amazing,’ said Gordon. ‘That the wee girl came back at all – never mind that we were here, for her to find.’ He glanced at Dougie. ‘Amazing, too, what you could remember.’
Dougie nodded. ‘I don’t think you ever forget memories,’ he said. ‘Seems to me you tuck them away until they are needed.’ He crunched the gears badly.
‘Easy, son – I’m not wanting to see Roddy for quite some time!’ Gordon laughed.
‘What happened, Da? What happened to Flora – to Nell’s mother? I only know that a young woman died there.’
As the road climbed and fell and swung around hairpins, Gordon told Flora’s story.
‘The baby wasthere?’ Dougie asked. ‘Nell?’
‘Aye. Wee mite.’
‘And Fire found them both?’
‘Aye, so she did.’
‘Jesus Christ.’
Gordon shot his son a stern look. He wouldn’t have that language in the house, nor in the car.
‘Sorry, Da.’
Gordon nodded.
Dougie crunched the gears again. ‘Sorry.’
And then, on the stone track to someone’s farm Dougie swung the car in, turned it around and headed back the way they’d come.
‘Sorry, Da.’
