‘Are you askin’?’ she replied with all her love for him showing in her eyes, and the pair kicked off their shoes before turning together to face the smouldering pyres, and they ran in the footsteps of Highlanders going back thousands of years, their bare feet drumming the earth, heartbeats and handclaps sounding in their ears and a great, rising yell burst from every throat as they reached the gap between the hot embers and they closed their eyes and jumped.
The whole town made their blessing leap that night, queuing up for their turn. One after the other, whole families, old couples, parents with babies in arms, even Finlay and Murray with their silly old dog tried their luck, hoping for a summer of abundance.
When the crowds at last had dispersed, and the band had packed away, and Cary Anderson had speared the very last piece of litter, and the sellers had left their stalls to dismantle tomorrow when the headaches would set in and no one would rise until late, the green field of the Knowe was silent.
From the town came two people, dressed from head to toe in their finest Beltane robes, far too late for the party but not minding one bit. They’d forgotten all about it when there was a new wedding anniversary ring upon Roz’s finger and a soft, devoted look in McIntyre’s eyes and they’d taken themselves off to bed, missing the whole wild rumpus on the other side of town.
Earlier, in the kitchen, Roz had confessed her secret that, in a fit of pique inspired by having to face the very real possibility that their marriage might be over, and the less dramatic realisation that it was simply time to address some neglected areas in her own life, she had filled in the application form for the job at the school, which Mrs Hoolit had been expecting, or so she’d said in her near-instant reply email. A few days’ volunteering at the school was being arranged to see if she might like to accept the invitation to a formal interview with the chair of governors and everything.
McIntyre hadn’t seemed at all put out by this news; in fact, he was thrilled. He’d told her she’d been a wonderful teacher and she’d be one again, and that’s when she’d dropped the bombshell about the online refresher course that was going to cost a fair bit and keep her away from the repair shop a few days a week, and she couldn’t say for sure, but if she was successful and got the job, she’d be gone, full time, from August, or at least during school hours and term times.
All of this inspired nothing but deep pride in McIntyre and a good deal of relief too.
‘I’ll be there to support you, I promise,’ he’d said, lifting her hand to his lips to kiss the silver band, and the pair of them had soon got lost in each other entirely.
Later, not wanting to miss their anniversary blessing, they’d woken and dressed, just as the lazy May sun was thinking about coming up, and they’d wandered hand in hand down the river path, Wayward running ahead and making the geese hiss, like always, to where the bonfires smoked and the dewdrops gleamed like jewels on each blade of grass, and they danced a slow waltz, even though there was no music, and they held hands as they walked between the need fires, even though there were no flames, and they kissed so much and said so many gentle things into each other’s ears they completely forgot about going home until the sun was high in the sky and the town was alive with traffic and chatter, and the Beltane spell had dispersed for another year.
30
MID-AUGUST
Any person inclined towards feeling a wee bit jealous of folk lucky enough to live here in Cairn Dhu can be comforted by one small fact. Smack-bang in the middle of summer when the corn is still ripening and the sun barely dips below the horizon at night before it’s back to announce the dawn, and while English and Welsh kids are still playing at home or holidaying in far-flung places, Scottish bairns are packing their pencil cases for the new school year, and none with more nervous anticipation and excitement than those embarking on their very first day in Primary One, which you might know as ‘Reception’ class if you live in an early-September-starter part of the world.
Wherever you are from, the start-of-school emotions are the same, only for some families they are heightened and tinted with a special kind of apprehension. Mhairi Sears understood this feeling only too well as she approached the school gates at eight-forty-five on this day in the middle of August.
‘Remember to collect me?’ Jolyon asked, his fingers looking tiny against the buttons of the tablet.
Mhairi had thought he’d grown so tall that summer, playing outside in the sun with Shell and some of the other kids they’d got to know on Jolly’s school trial days in June. Now, however, in his grey shorts and the tiny white polo fastened with Velcro behind a placket of buttons for easier dressing, he looked so small. She tried not to look to Dan, her husband, for fear she’d start off crying again, and they’d made a rule that summer never to show their school worries in front of Jolyon.
‘That’s right,’ she told her son. ‘We’ll collect you at half past two. Just like on the pretend days. Remember?’
They kept walking, moving through the gathering families, some chatting excitedly at the school gate, some arriving on bikes, book bags bumping on the handlebars; some others were not to be seen, still on their doorsteps with fringes combed down, socks pulled up, and cheeks scrubbed, saying ‘cheese’ for the camera.
Jolyon did remember the trial days. He remembered the hard, red plastic chairs and a desk of his own with his name spelled out in smiling snakes all Sellotaped down. He remembered the big thick pencil held between his fingers and the mark-making he’d done on the huge sheet of paper and how interesting the scritch-scratch sound of the nib had been when he’d lain his ear on the desk to feel it better. He remembered the big white clock on the wall that had a noisy tick, which he wasn’t keen on at all, and the black rubber plimsoll scuffs all over the assembly hall floor where he’d gone to look at the older kids doing ‘gym’ and Shell had been there and they’d thrown red and green scrunchy-feeling beanbags back and forth to each other and that had been so good. He remembered trying smelly school dinners with a queasy feeling, not liking it at all, though the dinner lady had been nice and let him swap his chicken casserole for a banana and something wonderful called pink custard and iced sponge, and his mum had told him not to worry, he could have a packed lunch box instead if he wanted.
He was holding that very thing right now, with his favourite sandwiches inside, and his water bottle and the big flat rectangular book bag with nothing in it. It was a lot to manage, he’d heard his mum saying last night.
Most of all he remembered Mrs McIntyre, who he’d been told not to call Roz, even though that’s what he’d called her when she helped him with his Green Man cape, ages ago now, and when she was there on Sunday handing out the trowels at the repair shop garden project when he and Shell and some of the other kids had pulled the big carrots they’d grown out of the ground and she’d cut them up right away for a snack.
She wasn’t here now though, like she’d promised. He specifically remembered she’d said she would be waiting for him at the school gate. She’d told him and they’d made pinkie swears on it.
‘Ma?’ he said, and he stopped and held on to his mum’s legs and tried hard not to cry, but he really couldn’t help it, and he knew it would make his mum cry too, which it did.
One hour before this, and Roz had been fussing with her lanyard and what seemed like way too many carrier bags of supplies for a first day at work, as she looked in the mirror at the foot of the mill house stairs.
McIntyre was tipping the mug of coffee he’d just made her into a travel cup to take with her. She’d told him she was too nervous to drink it at home.
‘Did I definitely pack the chunky pens, and the fidgets?’ She rummaged in the bags, finding them. ‘Tissues? I didn’t bring any tissues.’
Pretty sure they’ll have those at the school, McIntyre had been about to say, but thinking better of it, he just lifted the box from the table and slipped it into one of the bags. ‘There. Time for school, Mrs McIntyre.’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ This wasn’t like her at all. The old pre-twins Roz had done this a thousand times; dressed, coffee, out the door, no problem. ‘What if I can’t do it? What if I make a mistake? Something that could set Jolyon back or cause him harm? What if I can’t tell what he needs?’
‘The fact you’re worrying about these things is the proof you’re the right person to be teaching him.’ McIntyre could have gone on. He could have reminded her of the hours of training she’d put in over the summer, all of the extra research she’d done, far beyond the course reading list, and the way she’d aced her tests, and the trial days with Jolyon, when they’d both emerged at home time smiling and exhausted and exhilarated. ‘You’re ready,’ he said, steadying her by her shoulders. ‘Come on, I’ll walk you there myself, make sure you don’t play hooky on your first day of school.’
She had to smile at this. ‘You’re right, let’s go.’
‘Oh, wait the now!’ He stopped her from opening the door and dashed for the fridge. ‘Your sandwiches!’
