about to make a complete fool of myself. I take my place beside the fiddle player and he nods, raising his bow. All of a sudden I feel myself sway as a wave of dizziness washes over me, panicking as I remember the voice coach shaking her head when she listened to me try to sing again after my operation. ‘I’m sorry, Alexandra,’ she’d said. ‘It’s just not working. I think the damage you’ve done is permanent. You won’t sing on the stage again.’
But then I look over and see Elspeth’s smile, which stretches into an even wider grin as Davy hands me the mic. His hand squeezes mine for a second, steadying me. Elspeth nods encouragingly and I close my eyes for a moment, telling myself to pretend I’m singing to the toddlers at the playgroup or the seals in the hidden bay.
The fiddle starts to play the lilting notes of the introduction and, taking a deep breath, I begin to sing.
‘Oh rowan tree, oh rowan tree
Thou’ll ay be dear to me
Entwined thou art wi’ many ties
O’ home and infancy . . .’
The other instruments join in, and my voice rises, growing in confidence as the familiar strands of the tune weave themselves in and out through the accompaniment. I can hear that my singing is a bit scratchy, the words a little rough around the edges, but that only seems to add depth to the simplicity of the song. And then, one by one, all the others in the bar begin to sing along softly until our individual voices blend to fill the room.
When the final notes die away, there’s a moment of complete silence. And then the cheers and whoops erupt.
‘Will you sing another?’ Davy asks, leaning close to be heard above the din.
I smile and shake my head. ‘Not tonight. That was for Elspeth. I’m leaving the rest of the evening to you boys.’
When I get back to the table, Elspeth hugs me hard. ‘Best present you’ve ever given me,’ she says.
‘What, even better than the bright green eyeshadow and the quarter-pound of treacle toffees?’ I say, referring to the last present I’d bought for her.
‘They come close.’ She smiles. ‘But that song was beautiful.’
As I sit back down and take a sip from my drink, I reflect that I seem to have been singing quite a lot recently, for someone who’s supposedly lost her voice.
Catching my eye across the room, Davy raises his glass to me and then picks up his guitar, and the band swings into the next set.
Bridie comes for tea as usual the following Wednesday, and I show her the brooch I found in the pocket of Mum’s coat.
Her face lights up when she sees it. ‘Alec gave her that. It’s a sweetheart brooch – belonged to his mother originally, I believe. Soldiers and sailors used to give them to their girlfriends and wives so they could keep their loves close to their hearts even when they were apart.’ She takes her hanky out from the sleeve of her cardigan and gives the brooch a rub. ‘See, it’s silver. Just needs a bit of a polish and it’ll come up like new. Your mammy always wore it or carried it with her in her pocket.’
I decide to tackle her elusiveness head-on. ‘Bridie, what happened with my mum and dad? You’ve told me bits and pieces, but I want to know everything.’
She glances up at me, startled.
‘There’s something you’re not saying, isn’t there?’ I persist.
‘Well now, Lexie, there’s a story there, all right. But I’m not sure I’m the right person to tell it on my own.’
I can’t help but let my exasperation show. ‘If not you, Bridie, then who else?’
‘Mairi would be the one.’
‘But she lives in America!’
‘She does.’ Bridie calmly reaches for another biscuit. ‘But she’ll be here soon enough. She always comes back once a year to visit her sisters and brothers. I’ve told her you’ve come home. She’s looking forward to seeing you.’
Flora, 1942
It was a crisp morning, the air as pure as the water in the burns that ran off the hills, when Mairi and Bridie met Roy and Hal at the jetty to show them the way to Keeper’s Cottage.
Flora was pleased they’d be able to spend time together that day, although she couldn’t help missing Alec all the more. As she tidied away the things she’d used to bake a batch of scones, she tried to shake off her own preoccupations, smiling at the sound of