sure?” China smiled back.
“Are you?” The school teacher nodded meaningfully towards Donald who was embroiled in conversation with his father.
“Early days,” was all China would commit herself to. Taking an offered whiskey, she suddenly found herself climbing up onto a vacant table so she could be seen. Sticking two fingers into the sides of her mouth, she let off a ferocious whistle to gain everyone’s attention. To help, Morgan barked three times, and the crowded pub silenced to a hush.
“I guess you know who I am. China Stuart, spirited away aged six. I’ve only been here five minutes . . . but I wish I’d had the sense to visit whilst my aunt was alive and maybe it would have made the search for my past a little easier. But today is Aunt Bea’s day. I want you to sit me down with a drink in my hand and tell me your stories of her life. The good with the bad!” She got a little appreciative laugh for that part. “So please raise your glasses and join me in a toast. To Beatrice Victoria Stuart . . . slàinte and a fond slàn leat . Thank you all and let’s get this party started!”
There was a whoop with dozens of raised glasses chinked together, and someone started playing an accordion with great gusto. Lifting her off the table, Donald had her snatched away by Handy Andy for the first dance, where China soon found out he could be a little too handy.
“Aren’t you the linguist?” Donald laughed a little later.
“The Internet’s a wonderful thing. I hope I said, ‘Good Health and a fond Goodbye’ but who knows?”
“It was close enough. I could always give you a little private instruction.”
“I bet you say that to all your . . .” China began to give the common reply, when she caught Irene watching them from behind the bar. “Let’s park that one there, shall we? I need to do a bit of circulating.” She gave him a gentle kiss on the lips and they parted, but as she moved around the crowded room she knew his eyes were on all the time.
Well, this relationship was starting to go somewhere. How fast or how far they took it was still in the hands of fate.
Frustratingly, as the celebrations of her aunt’s life went on throughout the day and into the evening, Donald and China seemed to find themselves at opposite sides of the snug. Whenever they managed to make eye contact and nod towards a corner of the room, by the time one of them had weaved their way through the revelers, the other had become embroiled in a new conversation with someone else. For a funeral, this was the wildest affair China had ever attended.
She did get a moment or two to reflect on the seriousness of the occasion, as during a brief lull whilst some folk had wandered out to the jetty to take in the fresh air and others had escorted the younger children up and down the line of stone cottages where they were spending the night, she found herself stood by the bar next to her aunt’s picture.
It had been a nice touch, placing a photo of Aunt Bea in her happier youth with a full glass of sherry next to it, as if she were watching the whole proceedings, approvingly or otherwise. Already standing there taking a breather from the kitchen was Mrs. Baxter.
“I gather you had a word with James earlier, back at the Kirk,” the older woman opened the conversation with.
“True. He’s a bit of a contradiction, too. Charming one moment and more than a little bit threatening the next.”
“Always enjoyed playing the part did James. Him and Donald used to scrap like cat and dog when they were in the school up the hill, but there was a connection between the two of them. I wouldn’t go as far as saying it was friendship, but there was an empathy between them.”
“So James comes from West Uist too?”
“Born and bred. When my ma and da ran the Inn and I was a size 10—so that goes back a bit—James’s father spent a good portion of his time propping up this bar. I’d like to think it wasn’t just the ale that
“Are you?” The school teacher nodded meaningfully towards Donald who was embroiled in conversation with his father.
“Early days,” was all China would commit herself to. Taking an offered whiskey, she suddenly found herself climbing up onto a vacant table so she could be seen. Sticking two fingers into the sides of her mouth, she let off a ferocious whistle to gain everyone’s attention. To help, Morgan barked three times, and the crowded pub silenced to a hush.
“I guess you know who I am. China Stuart, spirited away aged six. I’ve only been here five minutes . . . but I wish I’d had the sense to visit whilst my aunt was alive and maybe it would have made the search for my past a little easier. But today is Aunt Bea’s day. I want you to sit me down with a drink in my hand and tell me your stories of her life. The good with the bad!” She got a little appreciative laugh for that part. “So please raise your glasses and join me in a toast. To Beatrice Victoria Stuart . . . slàinte and a fond slàn leat . Thank you all and let’s get this party started!”
There was a whoop with dozens of raised glasses chinked together, and someone started playing an accordion with great gusto. Lifting her off the table, Donald had her snatched away by Handy Andy for the first dance, where China soon found out he could be a little too handy.
“Aren’t you the linguist?” Donald laughed a little later.
“The Internet’s a wonderful thing. I hope I said, ‘Good Health and a fond Goodbye’ but who knows?”
“It was close enough. I could always give you a little private instruction.”
“I bet you say that to all your . . .” China began to give the common reply, when she caught Irene watching them from behind the bar. “Let’s park that one there, shall we? I need to do a bit of circulating.” She gave him a gentle kiss on the lips and they parted, but as she moved around the crowded room she knew his eyes were on all the time.
Well, this relationship was starting to go somewhere. How fast or how far they took it was still in the hands of fate.
Frustratingly, as the celebrations of her aunt’s life went on throughout the day and into the evening, Donald and China seemed to find themselves at opposite sides of the snug. Whenever they managed to make eye contact and nod towards a corner of the room, by the time one of them had weaved their way through the revelers, the other had become embroiled in a new conversation with someone else. For a funeral, this was the wildest affair China had ever attended.
She did get a moment or two to reflect on the seriousness of the occasion, as during a brief lull whilst some folk had wandered out to the jetty to take in the fresh air and others had escorted the younger children up and down the line of stone cottages where they were spending the night, she found herself stood by the bar next to her aunt’s picture.
It had been a nice touch, placing a photo of Aunt Bea in her happier youth with a full glass of sherry next to it, as if she were watching the whole proceedings, approvingly or otherwise. Already standing there taking a breather from the kitchen was Mrs. Baxter.
“I gather you had a word with James earlier, back at the Kirk,” the older woman opened the conversation with.
“True. He’s a bit of a contradiction, too. Charming one moment and more than a little bit threatening the next.”
“Always enjoyed playing the part did James. Him and Donald used to scrap like cat and dog when they were in the school up the hill, but there was a connection between the two of them. I wouldn’t go as far as saying it was friendship, but there was an empathy between them.”
“So James comes from West Uist too?”
“Born and bred. When my ma and da ran the Inn and I was a size 10—so that goes back a bit—James’s father spent a good portion of his time propping up this bar. I’d like to think it wasn’t just the ale that
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