‘Spinning the auld vinyls, eh?’ Clyde Forte put in.
This ignited Sachin’s enthusiasm. ‘Sure will! I was thinking, some nineties club and festival classics. The Shaman, Bombay Talkie, mixed wi’ a wee bit o’ Punjabi MC, a bit of Skerryvore?—’
‘You’ll kindly stick to this pre-approved list of traditional, family-friendly Scottish songs,’ Carenza corrected, handing him a list that dampened the music lover’s ardour.
Sachin scanned the paper dejectedly. ‘“Flower of Scotland”? “Donald, Where’s Your Troosers”? “Shang-a-Lang”?’ He squinted harder. ‘“Stop Yer Ticklin’, Jock”? You’ve got to be kidding?’
Carenza, however, wasn’t listening. She ticked Sachin off her list and moved on. ‘Cary Anderson?’
‘Aye?’ The carpenter lifted his brows, ready to accept his fate.
‘Litter duty.’
‘Oh.’ His shoulders dropped, but he knew better than to argue. This was his punishment for spiking the grown-ups’ cider bowl with spiced rum the year before.
‘As you know, I will oversee the drinks cauldrons this year,’ said Carenza, primly. ‘One pear and apple squash, one orange and ginger ale, both non-alcoholic.’
Rhona Gifford mouthed the words ‘Squash?’ and ‘Ginger ale?’ in Cary’s and Sachin’s directions, screwing up her face.
‘And, Cary?’ Carenza went on, pointedly. ‘I’ve confirmed with Dr Alice that she’ll be staffing the first-aid tent. At least it won’t be overrun with boozed-up partygoers this year.’
Evidently, Cary’s punishment extended to his girlfriend too.
‘And that’s it,’ Carenza concluded, adding one final check to her list.
Euan saw his grandad puffing his cheeks and blowing in relief. He’d evidently been removed from sausage sizzling duties, and it seemed Euan was still too recent an arrival to be lumbered with a job.
‘And what else will you be doing?’ Senga called across the room to Carenza, before adding under her breath for Euan’s benefit, ‘Swanning about the Knowe like Lady Muck, nae doubt. The Queen at her ball.’
‘I…’ she replied, ‘will crown the May king and queen, and make the announcements. As Beltane Celebration Committee Chairperson, it is only fitting. Besides, there’s only me and Post Office Pauline on the committee now.’
‘Only because the rest walked out when you took over. There’s nobody left to run the thing,’ Senga grumbled in response as the crowd dispersed and everyone went back to their repairs.
Euan didn’t hang around. He had to catch Peaches before his grandad wanted to go home for the matinee movie on Channel Five.
‘Peaches?’ he attempted, at exactly the same moment Carenza called for her daughter.
‘Yes, Mum?’
He watched as Peaches followed her mother to the café sofas, and he gave up on asking her out any time today, especially not when there were so many people around.
He took his bacon rolls and coffees outside to where Clyde and McIntyre were getting back to work on the sidecar. The three of them tinkered and welded, filled and smoothed for the rest of the morning.
Senga watched Euan depart, leaving the café counter with no customers for the moment. She seemed to satisfy herself that Roz was also diverted, pressing at the pedal of her noisy sewing machine once more, and she drew her sister’s attention with a jerk of her head.
‘What’s up?’ Rhona said, whispering on instinct. Senga had that look in her eye of having a morsel of gossip. Only her mouth was set in a firm line that said she took no pleasure in passing this on.
‘You know Tony?’
‘Jean Wilson’s cousin from the hop-on, hop-off tour buses?’ said Rhona.
‘That’s the one. He told Jean who told me that he spotted’ – Senga swept cautious eyes around the shed and lowered her whisper – ‘McIntyre in a parked car with A Woman.’
Rhona nodded, still waiting for the good part.
‘A woman who wasn’t Roz!’ Senga whispered emphatically.
‘And where was this car parked?’ Rhona asked, trying not to let her sister down by showing her disappointment in what sounded like half-baked gossip to her.
