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“Well, seeing as I’m here . . .”
“That’s the attitude! Hot or cold food?”
“Cold. Something that will last until lunch.”
“We’ve got salads, filled rolls, and quiches, but personally, I’d recommend one of our pies. They can be eaten hot or cold. I’ll talk you through them. Do you eat meat?”
I shake my head. “Vegetarian.”
“Well, that rules out a few of them, but you still have options. This here is our classic vegan pie, and I’ve recently launched a new sweet-chilli-chickpea pie, which is also vegan. And then there’s our mac-and-cheese pie, which is vegetarian and very popular with the locals.”
“A mac-and-cheese pie? As in . . . macaroni and cheese, in a pie?”
She smiles, her eyes crinkling. “You got it in one.”
“Well, that’s not a combination I’d have expected, and yet I like the sound of it. Count me in, I’ll take that.”
“A very good choice.” She pops the pie in a bag. “If you don’t mind me asking, are you staying in Bannock or just passing through?”
“I’m staying at the Bannock Hotel, just down the road.”
“I know it well. And in that case, seeing as I’m looking for some feedback on my new pie, I’m going to go ahead and pop one of them in too, on the house. You can nip back in at some point and let me know what you think.”
I can’t help but smile. I’m aware this is a ploy: asking for feedback ensures I’ll be back, and when I am, I’ll no doubt buy something else. I don’t mind, though. In fact, working my way through every cake this bakery has to offer could be a pleasant way of spending my month here.
From out the back comes a dark-haired, lanky boy of maybe seventeen carrying a tray of sausage rolls.
“Colin, once you’ve put them out, please pop this young woman’s order through the till,” Morag instructs. “A mac-and-cheese pie, a cream bun, and a snowball. She’s got a sweet-chilli-chickpea pie too, but that one’s on the house.”
“Aye, Granny, I’ll get right on that.”
With her grandson handling the rest of my transaction, Morag rests her arms atop the cabinet and leans closer to me.
“So, you’re staying in the Bannock Hotel. Are you that guest I’ve been hearing about who’s here for a month?”
My face must give away my surprise because she laughs.
“Oh, word gets around in this town. Besides, the McIntyre lads are regular customers here, and they always stay for a wee blether. Well, except Jamie: he’s a quiet one, that one, but no less handsome than his older brothers, eh?”
“Er . . . right.”
I wonder if Morag is at least partly responsible for news getting around Bannock quickly. I can imagine her having a little chat with everyone who comes in and then passing on each person’s news to everyone else, her bakery functioning like an old-fashioned form of social media.
“The lads try hard, they really do,” Morag goes on. “Especially Ally: he’s forever stressed, and that can’t be healthy. But I’m afraid to say the Bannock Hotel isn’t what it once was. It used to be such a fine establishment. It’s a shame to see what it’s become.”
“Hmm,” I say.
Last night, I’d have jumped at the opportunity to moan and complain about the hotel, but after the excellent breakfast, I’m feeling the best I’ve felt since before the wedding. This good mood may not last, so I don’t want to put a dampener on things by gossiping about the brothers behind their backs.
Perhaps sensing I’m not going to take the bait, Morag changes tack. “A month in Bannock, eh? I’m desperate to know what brings you here and for so long?”
“Er . . . well . . .”
Jamie warned me I’d get asked this, and I’ve not yet come up with a good response. I may have shut him down when he asked, but I was in a worse mood then. Besides, such a reply would be too extreme and too rude for the smiley, albeit gossipy, Morag.
“That’ll be eight pounds exactly,” the boy says, saving me. He gives me an apologetic smile, no doubt familiar with his grandmother’s ways.
“Thank you.” I pay up then say to Morag, “I needed to get out of London for a while, and I have fond memories of this place. Now, I’m going to head off and do some exploring. I’m looking forward to my picnic lunch. Thanks again!”
