Page 74 of Scotlander

Filled with love, laughter and joy, Balcraigie Castle would be a thing of wonder.

He knew what he wanted. The end game. He’d known it all along. He’d simply had no idea how to get there.

Now, he allowed himself a sliver of belief. A flicker of hope that it might just be within reach.

One of the grannies beckoned to him to join them at the wool-waulking table. Her face was as wrinkled as her eyes were bright. ‘C’mon, laddie! Get yourself over here. We’re all on our way to being fair puckled.’

He smiled at the auld Scots word meaning knackered.

‘This’ll no’ end well if we don’t get some extra muscle into it,’ she chided.

As he walked towards them, he felt the music physically surround him. Songs of love lost and found lifting and rising up and above the shed where they worked out to the sprawling landscape that stretched off into the North Sea beyond them. He squeezed himself in amongst the women, across the table from Willa. It felt strange and perfect all at once. Being here. Gathering strength from the eyes of a woman who’d helped open his much wider. Flanked by women whose ancestors had sung through the creation of countless reams of cloth that still hung in cupboards round the land. For the first time in over a decade he felt he was exactly where he was meant to be. At home.

A weird sound hummed through the atmosphere. Weird because it was the theme song from Jaws. He scanned the table, seeing if anyone else heard it, when he saw Willa dipping into her bodice, pulling out her phone, looking at it, grimacing, then climbing out from her spot on the bench, apologising to everyone and, if he wasn’t mistaken, actively avoiding eye contact with him.

A few hours later, some of the guests were singing folk songs from their own countries (or, in Fenella’s case, Kylie), round the campfire. Finn had yet to catch up with Willa and ask her if everything was okay. He wasn’t sure whether she was avoiding him, but each time he looked for her, she veered off and joined in someone else’s conversation. Right now she was talking with ChiChi and Alastair about light pollution in Los Angeles (‘we literally do not see stars unless they’re on a red carpet’). It was bittersweet hearing her talk about her life there because, stupidly, he could only picture her here. Or maybe it was the only place he wanted to picture her.

Though Orla was obviously the heart of this project, Willa’s efforts today had made her part of it too, and now, with the fire crackling and Rosa’s beautiful voice swirling round them, the place felt properly atmospheric. As if anyone stepping through the stone passageway and into the courtyard might genuinely think they had stepped back in time.

All of which was a moot point if the spare parts for the harvester didn’t arrive on Monday. Two more nail-biting days to wonder if they’d get the potato crop in. It was their biggest chunk of income of the year, and the only way to keep the bank happy.

He’d accounted for repair time, harvest time and then, two weeks from now, the end game when the weather window for getting the crop closed. At that point, the driech Scottish weather took over and consumed the Highlands until spring.

If the parts didn’t arrive, Finn had assured Orla he’d sell a portion of his soul to the agricultural college in order to use their harvesters overnight, at a breathtaking cost, but . . . the harvest would come in.

It wasn’t the best of plans, but, strangely, Finn was feeling optimistic. As Willa kept reminding him, ‘bending like the willow’ was the only way to survive with your sanity intact. As if the thought had conjured her, she appeared by his side.

‘Hey,’ she said.

‘Hey, yourself. Everything okay?’

‘A few of us are going up to the doocat to stargaze,’ she said instead of answering his question. ‘Interested?’

Chapter Thirty-One

‘So, when we’re looking up at the sky,’ ChiChi was saying, ‘we’re looking back in time.’

‘Look, Mum.’ Jules pointed up to the heavens. ‘That’s you before you married Dad.’

‘Jules . . .’

‘ChiChi, can I borrow your pointer thingy? I want to show Mum what she looks like when she’s happy.’

‘All you need is to look at my face, love. I’m here with you. What more could a mother want.’

‘A divorce?’

‘Shush. We’re interrupting ChiChi’s astrology talk.’

‘Astronomy.’

‘If anyone wants, I brought my tarot deck. I can do readings later.’

‘Hush.’

‘And what we’re seeing here . . .’ ChiChi whirled her laser pointer round a yellowish glow ‘. . . is a star that is dying.’

‘Which star are we—? Oh! The one with the laser on it. How sad.’