Candles and Roses by Alex Walters Page A

one where they do chicken nuggets and beans.’
    Silly question, Craig acknowledged. Fraser was four years old, nearly five, and, as far as Craig could recall, this was the first time he’d told an outright lie. His mother might know differently, of course. Perhaps this was some significant point of development, a rite of passage to be celebrated. Certainly, it was likely to be the first of many, and Fraser would no doubt become more adept at ensuring their credibility.
    While Fraser played, Craig lay back enjoying the sun on his face. It was good to get a spell of decent weather, and it was lucky they’d been able to take advantage of this one. Craig had been owed a couple of days in lieu after working some evenings. He’d been hoping Jules could take the time off too but that hadn’t worked out, so he’d come up here with Fraser on his own. Jules’s mother had been pleased to be relieved of childcare for a day or two, and Craig himself had welcomed the opportunity for what he’d jokingly told Jules was ‘father and son bonding’. ‘Bond all you want,’ she’d said, ‘as long as you don’t spend a fortune. I know you. You’ll spoil him rotten given half a chance.’
    The truth was that he rarely got even half a chance. He was having to work every hour just to make ends meet. They’d already laid off a few people this year. Craig was probably safe enough, given the time he’d been with the firm. But you never knew. They said that the economy was recovering—but they’d been saying that for years and it didn’t feel like it up here.
    So he wanted to make the most of today. They’d brought Fraser up here a few times at weekends for a day out. It was a place Craig remembered from his childhood. The big suspension bridge had only just opened in those days, and it was a novelty to be able to get over to the Black Isle without having to take the ferry or traipse the long way round through Beauly.
    Even now, he thought of it as a slightly magical place. There was the long stretch of unspoiled beach around the bay, backed at the eastern end by woodland and crumbling cliffs. On a clear day like today, the firth was a rich blue, stretching from the open sea in the east to the jutting headland of Chanonry Point.
    Craig knew that if he tried simply to drag Fraser away from his sandcastle there was bound to be a scene. He’d no desire to end up as the stereotypical father unable to calm his screaming son. The trick, he’d found, was to distract Fraser with some other, potentially more attractive option.
    ‘Wondered if you fancied a walk along the beach?’ he asked, casually.
    ‘Doing a sandcastle,’ Fraser said, still carefully digging away at one of his trenches.
    ‘It’s very impressive. I just thought we might go and look at the secret cave.’
    Fraser’s attention was caught. ‘Secret cave?’
    ‘Up there at the far end of the beach.’ He held a finger to his lips. ‘But don’t tell anyone.’
    ‘Can we go and see?’ Fraser was already on his feet.
    ‘Well, it’s very secret. I’m not supposed to let anyone else know where it is.’
    ‘Show me!’
    Craig began, with apparent reluctance, to stand up. ‘Well, as long as you promise not to tell anyone—’
    ‘I won’t! Promise!’
    Which was probably Fraser’s second lie, Craig reflected. ‘OK, then. Let’s go see.’
    They collected their possessions, including Fraser’s precious bucket and spade, and stuffed them into Craig’s rucksack. Fraser seemed already to have forgotten about his sandcastle.
    As they walked east, the beach became rougher, with more rocks and stretches of shingle. Woodland rose up the hillside to their left. At high tide, this area was reduced to a barely passable strip, but the sea was currently far out and they had no difficulty in walking further round the bay.
    The walk to the cave was longer than Craig remembered, but he kept Fraser entertained with searches for sea-creatures in the rock pools. They still had