player, a drummer with a bodhrán and a fiddler. They’re in full flow:
‘I’ve been a wild rover for many’s the year
And I’ve spent all me money on whisky and beer
But now I’m returning wi’ gold in great store
And I never will play the wild rover no more . . .’
The music swirls and flows, its tune as easy and as sure as the tides in the loch, rising and falling and sweeping us all along with it. Every foot taps along in time as the whole room joins in the chorus, raising the roof:
‘And it’s no, nae, never,
No nae never no more
Will I be a wild rover,
No never no more.’
As the song ends there’s a whooping and a cheering and then the band takes a break, leaving their instruments to come to the bar where they’re passed drinks on the house.
Davy pushes his way through the throng to where we sit and Elspeth shuffles along, making space for him between us.
‘So you came after all,’ he says, shouting to be heard above the din. ‘I thought you might get cold feet at the last minute and I’d be landed with Bridie for the evening instead.’
‘She’d have shoved me out of the house if I’d tried to stay. She and Daisy’ll be having a party of their own, I’ve no doubt, involving way too many chocolate buttons and very little chance of getting to bed on time.’
‘All the better for you then; she’ll sleep later in the morning. So you can have another drink and enjoy yourself. How d’you like the band?’
‘They’re good,’ I say. ‘Of course, the guitar player could do with some practice, but the others are great.’
‘Watch it,’ he replies, laughing. ‘We’ll be getting you up to sing later and then you might be thankful for a bit of guitar accompaniment.’
I duck my head, regretting teasing him, then meet his gaze and my eyes are wide and pleading. ‘Not tonight. Please, Davy, I’m not ready to sing again yet.’
He can see I’m serious. ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘We’ll let you ease yourself in gently. Tonight you can sing along with the others. One of these days we’ll get you up there though, Lexie Gordon. When you’ve music in your soul you can’t keep it to yourself forever.’
Elspeth nudges him on the other side. ‘Give her a break, Davy. She’s saving it for her new gig at the playgroup.’ She leans forward and tells me that another group over at Poolewe have heard about our music session and have asked to join in. ‘We could see if the hall’s free one morning and use that. That way more people can come and it’ll give the kids extra space to run around, too.’
Davy nods his approval. ‘There you go. What did I tell you? Music in your soul.’
The other band members are picking up their instruments again and he gets to his feet. ‘Looks like we’re on again.’
I watch him play. Despite my teasing, he’s really good. Various members of the audience step up at different points in the evening to play, backed by the band. There’s a guy with a penny whistle and a woman with a Celtic flute, a harmonica player and a second fiddler, and the girl who’s been serving drinks behind the bar steps up to sing a set, too. Davy alternates between his guitar and the mandolin and I’m impressed at how effortless his playing is, the notes flowing from beneath his fingers. The evening passes quickly and all too soon the bell rings for last orders. We sing ourselves hoarse with a last rendition of ‘The Bonny Lass o’ Fyvie-O’ and then it’s time to head home, with calls of ‘See you next time . . .’
‘I’ll chum you along the road,’ offers Davy.
‘It’s okay, I’ll be fine,’ I say.
‘I know you’ll be fine, but I could do with a walk to blow the cobwebs away. I’ll catch a lift back with Bridie, see her safely home too.’
‘There you go again, always looking after people,’ I say, teasing him again.
‘Ach well, you know me.’ He shrugs.
We walk the shore road in silence for a stretch, then I say, ‘That was a great evening. Thanks for inviting me along. Your band’s really good, you know.’
‘I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. And now you won’t be needing an invitation the next time, knowing you’re among friends.’
At Keeper’s Cottage the lights are burning in the windows of the kitchen and the sitting room, but when I peep in I