‘Yes, of course.’ She sipped her tea, shifting on the rock to make space for Niall. He perched next to her. ‘This is good tea, Butler. And speaking of wee beasties, there don’t seem to be any midges here.’ Carli loathed Scotland’s version of the mosquito: pesky little flies that bothered more remote areas of Scotland during the spring, summer and early autumn. Did we get lucky?’
‘Hope so.’ Clearly, he shared her disdain. ‘I’d rather not share the campsite with those wee fuckers.’
‘Your accent is getting more Scottish.’ She elbowed him gently.
‘Is it? That’s weird. I’ve been back less than a week and I’m in the company of an Aussie.’
‘Must be the general vibe of the place soaking into your bones again.’ Carli didn’t know the version of Niall that lived in Australia, but there was something about him out here, like the landscape was a piece of art he’d been painted into. He belonged here.
‘So, what’s your favourite memory of your mum?’ heasked her. He’d never known her mum, although he’d remembered her from around the village, but always listened intently when she’d talked about her, never appearing bored. This question was vintage Niall: cute with a curious sensitivity.
‘There are so many things,’ she said, ‘although sometimes I wonder how much I’ve forgotten and wish there was some way to get the missing memories back, like hypnosis or something. But, if I had to pick one thing, I’d say being hugged by her. She was kind and soft and she’d say things like “Och, away, Carli, it’s never that bad,” which it mostly wasn’t, but when itwasbad she’d say, “It hurts now, but have a wee cry and you’ll perk up”. And sometimes she’d say nothing, and I’d lean into the warm wool of her jumper and smell the old granny perfume she wore because it smelled like her mum, and made me feel safe too.’
Tentatively, Niall curved his arm around Carli’s shoulder and stroked it for a moment. ‘I’m sorry you don’t have that now,’ he said. ‘You shouldn’t have lost it when you were a kid.’
‘Thanks.’ Carli wanted to ask him to keep holding her, but he was already politely pulling away. ‘I was lucky to have such a great mum, but I could have done with her sticking around for longer. Not her fault, though. She was on the wrong bit of road at the wrong time.’
‘Aye,’ he said. ‘Is the bloke who did it still in prison?’
‘Nope. He was out after five years. It’s a joke, and I can’t even think about it because it makes me so mad.’
‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought him into it.’
‘It’s okay, it’s not like I haven’t thought about him… “it”.’
‘It?’ Niall’s eyes widened. Was he surprised that part of her was hardened to the man responsible for her mother’s death?
‘It’s hard to humanise someone like that. Although holding onto anger isn’t healthy at all.’
‘Jeez. I’m sorry you even have to make that choice.’ His gaze lingered on her, the regret almost tangible on her skin.
She shoulder nudged him. ‘You don’t need to keep being sorry. You weren’t there, and you helped me through some tough times.’
‘Aye, but I am sorry you went through that.’ Niall tipped the last of his tea onto the surrounding pebbles. ‘Look, how about I get the other tent up and we can chat some more?’
‘Sounds good. So you’re putting up the tent and I’m watching?’
His voice took on a playful tone that was a welcome distraction. ‘If that’s what makes you happy, Cass, then I’ll take up and put down the tents all night.’
‘What’s your favourite Scottish phrase that you remember?’ Niall asked as Carli tended the campfire and he hammered in tent pegs, the glow from the flames highlighting him beautifully.
‘Oh, now you’re taking me back. Um… there is one phrase I still use to this day because it’s so handy.’
‘Oh aye? What’s that then?’
‘Do you want to guess?’
‘Ha. We could be here a while. Okay, let me think.’ Niall stood up and absentmindedly tapped his palm with the mallet.
‘It’s something I picked up from you,’ she hinted. ‘You used to say it all the time.’
‘That narrows it down. Um… did I call myself a bam?’ He pointed the mallet at her. ‘I did; that’s it.’
‘Well, you did, but it’s not that.’
‘Oh, wait!My heid’s mince.’
‘Yes!’ Carli exclaimed. ‘That’s the one. Sometimes when my brain feels like sludge, I’ll say that my head’s mince. Guess I heard it so much that it stuck with me.’ She remembered Niall often chastising himself at school when he couldn’t get something right or focus on his work. At first she’d found it amusing, but deep in her heart, she didn’t like the way he put himself down. She had a distinct belief that the teachers should be helping him more and stopping the negative discourse.
