“You would say that, though, you’re my mum.”
“Well, no, I mean it. She’s putting me in touch with her cousin for a summer job. Maybe you and Inary can meet up for a chat?”
“That would be amazing!” Lara loved the word amazing. Everything was either amazing or awesome.
Leo pulled at my hand. “Mummy!” He had his nose stuck to the shop window next door to La Piazza. In my mind, I called it The Shop That Sells Everything. I’d met Peggy, its owner, on my first visit to Glen Avich.
“Look! A fire engine,” Leo said reverently, like he’d seen Spiderman himself materialise in front of him. Leo had a thing for toy fire engines, especially if they had lights and made noise.
“That’s quite splendid,” my mum said. “Can I . . .” She glanced at me.
I smiled. “Okay then. But just because he doesn’t have many toys here with him. Let’s not make this a habit.”
“We won’t. Promise. Sure we won’t, Leo?”
“We won’t!” he said, having no idea what he was talking about but clearly ready to say anything that would get him the fire engine.
“Sure Nonna can spoil you every once in a while,” she said, leading us into the shop. “Hi, Peggy!”
“Oh, hello, Debora. And who do we have here? These are not your grandchildren, are they? How they’ve grown! Look at this boy!” Peggy was a kind lady, immaculately dressed and with a sweet manner.
“It’s them indeed. Leo is now three and Lara is fourteen.”
“Nearly fifteen,” Lara specified.
“Here’s a lollipop for you, wee man. And Lara, would you like one?”
Lara shrugged and smiled. “Yes, thanks,” she said. Clearly being nearly fifteen wasn’t too old for a lollipop.
“You know, my niece Eilidh has a wee one about his age.”
“Oh, yes,” I said. I’d met Eilidh and her son in passing when we first visited. “How old is Sorley now? Two?”
“Two and a half. Maybe they could get together for a play date, if you stay for a while?”
“Absolutely,” I said. “I’d love that. Leo, would you like to play with Sorley?”
“With the fire engine?” he replied, placing both hands on the box in the window but without daring to lift it. I laughed. It was a clever way of reminding us why we were there in the first place.
“With the fire engine.” My mum laughed too. “Thank you, Peggy,” she said, paying for the toy. “I see Eilidh quite a lot at the coffee shop anyway, so we’ll arrange something.”
“Righty-o, see you soon.”
Leo insisted on carrying his toy, even if the box was nearly as tall as he was. We walked on slowly, Leo waddling in front of us blindly, unable to see where he was going. Before long, he relented and let me take the box.
“Look after it, Mummy.”
“I will, don’t worry.”
Our shopping trip to the Welly was successful. Logan – Inary’s brother – kitted us out with some warm stuff for the Scottish summer. I bought an aqua-coloured zip-up fleece with flowery wellies, Lara bought a blue hoodie and a pair of bright-pink wellies, and Leo was now the proud owner of a pair of dinosaur-shaped boots and a little waterproof jacket with a hood. On the way home we stopped time and time again to greet people in the street. My mum seemed to be very well liked within the community, and people were keen to meet the children and me. I wasn’t surprised. My mum has always been so open; she makes friends wherever she goes.
“Everybody knows everybody here!” Lara said.
“It’s a small place. Many families have lived here for generations. Just like in Castelmonte,” my mum said, recalling her parents’ village.
“You never thought of moving back there, Mum?” I asked as the children walked ahead of us and out of earshot.
She shrugged. “I would have loved to. By the way, you know who moved back to Castelmonte? Your cousin Allegra. With her husband and children. I wonder how she’s getting on . . .”
“Why did you not move back?”
“Well, that was the plan, when we retired. And then your father died. It just made no sense without him, with you and Anna over here, and Laura in Australia . . .”
“And then you met Michael.”
“Yes. Michael will never leave Scotland. When his wife died, his daughter tried to convince him to move to Canada to be closer to them. She said it was absurd for him to be here alone. But he refused. He said this country was his home and that he would not go. And then we met, and here we are. We found Glen Avich and we took a leap of faith together.”
“Well, it worked out.” I smiled.
“Yes. I never thought I could be happy again, not without your father. And not a day goes by that I don’t miss him, Margherita.”
“I know. Me too.”
“And Michael misses Edith very, very much. But we have a life left to live, and we’re living it. We followed our hearts.”
“Yes. You built something special here. And look at me. My life is falling apart,” I said bitterly.
“No it isn’t. Your life is not falling apart. It’s changing.”
Changing without Ash, I thought. The man I married. The man I used to love. The man I still loved, in a weird way. Deep, convoluted roots of what we used to have together still burrowed into my heart. Still, I wished that none of this had happened, that our family was still together, but there was no way things could revert to the way they had been. Never. It seemed impossible now, but we used to love each other very much. We used to be happy.
Nothing would ever be the same, not even if, at the end of the summer, we were back in London, and back to reality.
“Is it okay if I go for a walk around the loch later?” Lara asked, interrupting my dark thoughts. I loved the way she said loch, making such an earnest effort to pronounce it correctly.
“Is it safe?” I asked Mum.
“Perfectly safe, as long as you don’t go too near the water. The shores can be slippery.”
“Nonna, I’m not a child!” Lara rolled her eyes.
“No, that’s true. You are nearly fifteen, tesoro.”
“Exactly!” she said. And then, after a pause. “You’re teasing me!”
“Just a little. Anyway, time to take Leo home for lunch.”
“Yes, we haven’t eaten anything for the last . . . half an hour. We’ll die of starvation any time,” Lara said.
“Are you teasing me, now?”
“Just a little,” Lara said, and they both laughed, easy understanding and affection flowing between them.
At that moment, my phone chirped. “Oh. A text from that Torcuil person. Hello Margherita. Torcuil here,” I read aloud. “It would be great if you could come up to Ramsay Hall tomorrow any time and we can have a chat. I’ll show you where to kick the boiler.” I paused. What?
Mum nodded. “That’s good. But what does he mean by kicking the boiler?”
“No idea. But maybe he’ll also show me where to punch the washing machine,” I smiled, typing a reply.
“You’re not going to say that, are you? He’s a lord!” My mum was flustered.
“A what?”
“A lord. Lord Ramsay.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll curtsey when I see him, Mum,” I laughed.
Sure. See you tomorrow. Margherita.
“You can see it from here. Ramsay Hall, I mean,” my mum said. “There, beyond the loch.”
My gaze went towards Loch Avich, and there they were, nestled on the side of one of the hills, the grey stones of Ramsay Hall. Even from so far away, the place looked quite imposing. A little lump of anxiety settled in my chest, but I ignored it. I imagined Lord Ramsay to be a bumbling, pompous middle-aged man wearing a tweed jacket and sounding like he had marbles in his mouth. He was bit of a snob, probably. Not that it would be a problem. I’d quickly put him in his place.
10
Wandering
Lara
Dear Kitty,
So, this is what happened. We are in Glen Avi
ch. I didn’t write yesterday because we spent the whole day in the car and by the time we arrived my eyes were closing. My room here at Nonna’s house is gorgeous, a real grown-up room with a writing cabinet (which is like a desk but cooler – that’s where I’m writing now) and a lot of bookshelves. I even have a fireplace! Can you roast marshmallows on a peat fire? I must Google it. Here the signal is terrible, but hey, you can’t have everything. And I found we have okay reception in the bathroom, so that’s where I go when I need the Internet. I sit in the bathtub. Anyway, I met a real writer!!! Her name is Inary Monteith. She’s a friend of Nonna’s. I hope we can meet up for a chat.
Today I went to the loch (NB. it’s loCHHH, not lock. They’ll tell you off if you get it wrong and also I don’t like pronouncing things wrong). I love wandering alone, thinking about things. Just walking around with nowhere to go, nothing to do. Exploring. There was only so much wandering I could do in London, and anyway there are people and shops and cars everywhere. Here in Glen Avich there are places where there’s so much silence I can actually hear it.
My mum has a job interview tomorrow. Trust my mum to have everything organised for herself in the space of forty-eight hours. She has this thing: she sorts people out, she sorts places out, she sorts herself out. It’s like a magic wand she uses to go from chaos to order. I wish I had the same gift, but I seem to do the opposite. I go from order to chaos, usually.
The air here is so damp my hair has gone all frizzy. I can’t believe I’m wearing a fleece in July, it’s just not right. But everything is beautiful here and the air smells so lovely. Nonna has been great. She is the best. First of all, she feeds me loads, because she says I’m too skinny. I hadn’t realised how hungry I was until I started eating. Risotto is my favourite. And her cakes!!! I could just eat and eat. This morning Leo had a special homemade cake called torta di Nonna Rosa for breakfast, and warm milk. Apparently, this is what Italian children eat sometimes for their colazione: cake! (That’s Italian for breakfast.) Lucky things. Oh, I’m also learning Italian. And a bit of Scots from Michael: like, today is dreich (CH, same as in loch). It means that it’s grey and drizzly.
Overall, things are good, though I heard my mum crying last night. Things with my dad are messed up. They always fought back home, every time he came round, but she misses him all the same. Weird.
Enough for now. Nonna is calling us for lunch (tortellini – si grazie) and then I’m going for a walk to the loch. Write later.
*
I’m back!
This place is like something from a postcard, a picture-perfect corner you’d expect to pop up in a fairy tale . . . but let me start from the beginning.
I went to walk across the bridge, but there was someone sitting on it. I was a bit nervous all of a sudden. There didn’t seem to be anyone around, this being the residential area and not the high street with its hustle and bustle (I’m being sarcastic). Why would anyone be sitting on the bridge anyway? Are they watching all the people pass by? (i.e. nobody.)
For a second I wondered if I should stop and change direction. I’m a bit paranoid about these things because when I stayed with my dad I had to go to the corner shop on my own to buy food because my dad never bothered, and it scared me. But anyway, enough with the memories.
I decided to walk on. This is Glen Avich, not London. And I’m nearly fifteen, not a child any more. I pretended not to look, but I kept an eye on the stranger. It was definitely a man. A young man, I realised as I got closer. He was wearing a tweed cap. A young man in a tweed cap? Where does he buy his clothes? Unless it’s ironic retro, as Polly would say.
“Hello,” he said.
Against my better judgement, I stopped and said hello back.
“There’s nobody around,” he said, and he seemed a little bit lost.
Oh. I asked myself, does he mean, There’s nobody around so I can conveniently rob you and kill you and throw your body in the river, and then my friends will set up a Facebook page for me and Ian will leave a heartbreaking tribute asking why, oh why he never realised how he truly felt for me. Or does it mean, Morning, nobody around and such lovely weather blah blah small talk?
The boy didn’t look scary. Actually, he looked a little bit lost. His eyes were flint-grey (nice expression, eh? I found it in Bride of Shadows, the first in the Shadows series. Awesome book. The hero, Damien, has flint-grey eyes) and his arms were very white, Scottish white. You’ve never seen white skin until you’ve been to Scotland, honestly. He was wearing a white shirt and dark woollen trousers.
“No, that’s true. It’s very early,” I said.
“I like it like this. It’s peaceful. But I wish I saw more people. There’s always nobody around.”
I took a second to digest this strange statement. It sounded weird, but then a lot of girls in school say I’m weird, so I can hardly be judgemental. “Do you live in Glen Avich?”
“Yes. Up that way.” His hand waved towards the loch in the distance. “Do you? I haven’t seen you before.”
“I’m just here for the summer. My nonna . . . grandma owns La Piazza, you know, the coffee shop?”
He looked at me blankly. “I’ve never tried coffee.”
“Right.”
Who hasn’t tried coffee? Maybe his mum and dad are some kind of health freaks or something and they only drink herbal teas?
“What’s your name? Who are your people?” he asked.
My people? As in, My people will speak to your people? Or as in What’s your tribe? and I should say I am Lara of the Clan Ward?
I decided I could actually be judgemental: this boy was strange. Or maybe it was a Scottish thing, maybe they ask “who are your people?” as a matter of course.
“My name is Lara. My people . . .” I giggled a bit. “My mum’s name is Margherita Ward and my dad’s name is Ashley Ward, and I have a little brother called Leo. I also have three aunts, two uncles, several cousins and two sets of grandparents. They are my people.”
“I’ve never heard of any Wards in Glen Avich.” He looked about eighteen, but he sounded like Nonna’s eighty-year-old neighbour. Apparently, when Nonna moved up to Glen Avich she said, “We’ve never had any Italians in this village” (pron. Ayetalians.) “Well, you missed out,” Nonna had answered diplomatically.
“We are brand new here,” I replied. “So, I’ll just go, I guess . . . I’ll see you around.”
“Yes,” he said, and his face lit up all of a sudden and he didn’t look that bad. “I’m looking forward to seeing you again.” He took his cap off and his hair was very dark, almost blue, and curly. A bit messy, in a nice way. “Maybe up at the loch. I’ll show you my favourite places, if you like.”
I shrugged in an attempt to look unconcerned, but I was kind of happy. “Sure.”
I walked on across the bridge, and as I stepped off it I turned around for a second. He was still sitting there, looking at me. He raised a hand and waved it in the air with a sweet smile, the sort of smile I’ve never seen on Ian or any of the boys I know. It was then I realised two things: that I’d forgotten to ask his name, and that he wasn’t wearing any shoes.
11
Dust
Margherita
Lara, Inary and I walked along the loch shore towards Ramsay Hall, its grey stones appearing and disappearing from view as we advanced, like an enchanted castle from a fairy tale. It was my first time near Loch Avich since I’d arrived and I was bewitched by its calm beauty. The afternoon was chilly and clear, and the water was shining green, rippling softly in the breeze. It was worlds away from my suburban home in London: another world, another life.
“Look! There’s a little island there,” I pointed out to Lara. In the middle of the loch sat a little mound of land covered in larches and pine trees, like something out of a mystical vision. “That’s Innis Ailsa,” Inary said, with her delicate Scottish accent. “But we call it Ailsa.” I was still to get used to the local lilt – everything people said sounded like a song. The name of the island so
unded something like “Eylsa”, in that beautiful, mysterious language that is Gaelic. Gaelic was completely foreign to me and it wasn’t in my blood; and still, there was a sense of weird familiarity to it, like I’d heard it somewhere before, in a distant past.
Lara smiled. “It sounds like a spell,” she said. “Like something out of Harry Potter.” She branded an imaginary wand, “Innis Ailsa!”
We walked on, the grass still wet and shiny with morning dew, mist slowly rising from the hills. The perfect silence was only broken by the noise of the water lapping the shore and the rustling of birds in the trees. It was so peaceful. Flashbacks of my life in the run-up to the summer hit me all of a sudden – busy days, packed schedules full of chores that somehow seemed all-important. When had my life become so frantic? For months, years even, it had felt like everything had to be done now, everything needed seen to at once.
I took a deep, deep breath, letting this new calm fill me up. It’s only when you put your burdens down, I considered, that you realise how heavy they were, how hard it was to carry them for all that time.
“Here we are,” Inary announced. We were in front of a stone arch with an iron gate at its centre; ivy-covered stone walls continued at both sides of the arch as far as the eye could see, semi-hidden by trees. There was a heavy chain threaded between the gate’s halves, holding them together, but Inary opened it without a key. Lord Ramsay was expecting us.
We stepped onto a gravelled space with Ramsay Hall at its centre. Lara gave a little oh, and I looked around me in awe. Inary was smiling silently, aware of our admiration.
Ramsay Hall was built of beautiful grey stone, with a square central building and two wings at its sides, and ivy climbing up its walls. Its structure was symmetrical and harmonious, a jewel of perfect proportions. A copse of oak trees surrounded the house like a garland, and endless fields of grass rolled gently beyond them before turning into pine-clad hills. My stomach churned a bit, but I resolved not to be daunted by the mansion’s size and by the title of its owner. After all, a bumbling old man in a tweed jacket could never intimidate me. I imagined him calling me dear. Maybe he had a moustache. And a cravat, and knickerbockers. Okay, now I was getting a bit carried away.
Set Me Free Page 9
