wood, as if she’d been visited by magical creatures—and she found herself gasping, then shaking her head, amazed at herself. Next thing she knew she’d be getting wellies.
SHE TOOK THE car, as she had to drive a ways out of the village to a house that GPS was absolutely no use for, as far as she could tell, because the signal burst in and out at unexpected moments. Joan had said something along the lines of “it has its own postcode,” which made no sense to Lissa at all until she’d found the road where it was meant to be, more or less, and driven up and down it several times until she’d realized that the rusty gates that looked abandoned were, in fact, exactly where she was meant to be.
She drove up the narrow one-track road, absolutely marveling at the idea of it. Vast woodlands petered away on either side of her—the bluebells had gotten here too, a magic carpet, and daffodils burst into view over the crest of a hill. Coming toward the house, she turned the car around the gravel forecourt—there was an empty fountain that looked rather sorely neglected—and stared at something glinting behind the house before finally realizing it was the loch itself. Imagine. Imagine living here. She couldn’t.
She went up to the huge old main door and could hear various banging and music happening behind it, but nobody appeared to have heard her knock. She hadn’t been in the country long enough to realize she ought to go around the back until a little voice alerted her.
“Are you absolutely going to give us jabs?”
A small boy with too-long hair was standing by the corner of the house. Next to him was an even smaller boy with olive skin and very long eyelashes. They were wearing identical short yellow dungarees and yellow T-shirts.
“We’re absolutely twins,” the boy continued.
“Are you?” said Lissa dubiously. On the other hand, she’d seen lots of unusual things and it was very rude to assume.
“Aye!” shouted the smaller boy. “We is and all!”
“Okay then, great!” she said. “Is your mother around?”
The boys froze suddenly, then they turned as one and marched around the back of the property. Slightly spooked, Lissa followed them.
A very petite dark-haired woman with a friendly, open face came out of the kitchen door with a tea towel over her shoulder.
“Hello! I forgot you were coming! Well, I thought you were coming the other day . . .”
“Sorry about that,” said Lissa.
“That’s okay,” said the woman, smiling in a friendly way. “I know what it’s like when you first get here. Isn’t everything huge?”
“I thought Scotland was meant to be a small country.”
“I know . . . Shackleton! Get the oven.”
A tall shambling teenage boy came out with a tray of cooling scones. “Chill your boots, already done it,” he said.
“Excellent,” said the woman, introducing herself as Zoe. “Want to come in? And have a scone?”
“You’re English?” said Lissa, surprised.
“Oh yes! You too! Ha, we’re invading the place. Oh God, Mrs. Murray will have a fit.”
“Is that the woman who runs the grocery?”
“Don’t mind her, her bark is worse than her bite,” said Zoe. “You could say that about a lot of people round here,” she continued, as they passed an older lady who was cleaning boots rather ferociously by the sink.
She put an old-fashioned kettle on the stove, then picked up a list from the messy sideboard. What a comforting room this was, Lissa found herself thinking. She started unpacking her kit.
“Hari needs his MMR booster, but I don’t think Patrick has had his at all.”
Lissa frowned. “But . . . I thought they were twins.”
Zoe yelped with laughter. “Boys!” she shouted. “Stop it! Nobody believes you’re twins, and you’re just confusing people!”
“We are absolutely nearly twins,” said Patrick, and Hari nodded solemnly, pointing at his dungarees as proof.
“Isn’t it clear they’re not related?” said Zoe, still smiling as she poured out tea.
“I’ve met mixed-race twins before who looked different races,” said Lissa.
“Seriously?”
“Yes, absolutely. Fascinating.”
“She absolutely thinks we’re twins, Nanny Seven,” said Patrick.
Zoe rolled her eyes. “Right,” she said. “Patrick is five.”
“And a half.”
“Five and a half, and he’s Shackleton’s little brother . . . half brother. Did Joan not explain this all to you?”
“She just said it was complicated, then went back to reading a book about cow operations.”
“That does sound like Joan,” mused Zoe. “Okay. She’s right, it’s complicated. Hari’s mine and the rest are Ramsay’s. Oh, actually, that’s not too complicated when you think