The days continued to lengthen – and every single one of them, Saif dreaded once again going to school pick-up. Ibrahim was refusing to play at all with the other boys, who had done what children do naturally in such situations and withdrawn from him, even for shinty.
Ash was still showing no signs of becoming less clingy, although he had begun to say a few English words – ‘dog’ had come up, and ‘sweeties’ (Saif suspected major bribery on Mrs Laird’s part, which would be correct). Saif was still so worried though. He was up all night doing paperwork he didn’t get round to in the day and he barely thanked the old ladies who brought casseroles, even though he couldn’t do without them. He also couldn’t do without Mrs Laird, who, between looking after his boys and making her incredibly popular bread for the Seaside Kitchen, was working more hours than her arthritic knees could strictly handle. But he still couldn’t get a smile out of either of the boys.
Ibrahim was only happy on the iPad, which was a terrible dependence Saif didn’t have the first idea how to break. He’d taken them for their counselling classes on the mainland but they had just sat there, completely mute, Ash with his head once more in Saif’s armpit. The psychologist had nodded and suggested that they meet by Skype from now on, which wasn’t particularly making anything better.
Neda was coming in a week to check up on them. Saif was terrified she’d see what a pig’s ear he was making of everything and take the little ones away. And his early morning walks of course had ceased, and he missed them. Now Lorna was his children’s headmistress, it felt even harder to have her as a friend, and he was privately amazed by how much he missed her.
There had been one saving grace. The locum covered his on-calls several nights a week when he couldn’t get babysitting. One wet and windy night, when she was meant to be on duty, she’d called him, having just half-severed one of her fingers in a bolognese incident.
The boys were both asleep; he didn’t know what to do. Mrs Laird was visiting her sister in the Faroes. He tried Lorna first, then Flora, only to discover that apparently they’d gone to the pub together.
‘I’ll come down if you like,’ said the friendly voice from the farmhouse, and Saif hadn’t even known which brother it was until Innes turned up five minutes later, apologetically with Agot who’d caught wind that something was up and insisted on coming with him, whereupon both the boys had instantly got up too.
‘Thanks so much for this,’ said Saif, throwing on his coat and grabbing his bag.
‘Aye, no worries,’ said Innes.
Ash had been fascinated by the little girl instantly, and put out his hand to touch her white-blonde hair. Agot in her turn tried to grab his incredibly long eyelashes, which made him cry. Agot immediately started rubbing his back suspiciously hard, saying, ‘THEAH, THEAH, DOAN CRY, DOAN CRY,’ until eventually, to Saif’s surprise, Ash repeated ‘DOAN CRAH’ and Innes and Saif swapped a thumbs-up.
‘I’ll stick on some cartoons,’ said Innes.
Saif looked at him, genuinely touched. ‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘Agot will watch anything as long as it flashes enough to give you a seizure.’
‘I’m worried Ash will get a little …’
Indeed, seeing that Saif had put his coat on had made Ash very anxious, and he ran over to his father and put his arms around his knees.
‘I’ll be back very soon,’ said Saif, trying to peel him off gently.
‘NOT GO.’
‘I’m coming back. I have to do my job.’
‘ABBAAA!’
Saif looked at Innes apologetically.
‘Ach, he’ll be fine,’ said Innes. ‘We have plenty of lambs who are exactly the same.’
‘Whom you then kill,’ said Saif, then stopped when he saw Innes’s face.
‘I am joking,’ he explained.
‘Oh,’ said Innes, who genuinely hadn’t been sure.
‘I have to stop joking in English,’ said Saif.
‘No, you should joke. It’s good,’ said Innes, smiling even as Ash started to yell and panic-breathe.
‘There, there, young man, don’t worry.’
‘DOAN CRY!’ Agot was back. ‘DOAN CRY, BOY!’
There was a moment when Saif was minded to tell the locum to stitch up her own hand or basically just go anywhere where he didn’t have to leave his family.
Innes nodded. ‘They’ll be okay,’ he said roughly. ‘You have to go sometime.’
‘They need a dad.’
‘The island needs a doctor. You’re going to have to be both.’
Saif did the fastest stitching job of his life and handed over some painkillers to his wildly embarrassed locum, then drove at eighty miles an hour along the deserted country roads to get back to the house, his heart beating. How would Ash have coped? Would Innes have managed the screaming? What would they have done without him? Would they feel abandoned all over again? How much would this set him back? And the horrible, clawing thing at the back of his mind: could childhood trauma turn a grown man into …
Well, there was no point focusing on that now. None. He just hoped things weren’t too …
As he entered the gloomy, foreboding house, a strange noise met his ears. Was it screaming? His heart rate surged and he ran forwards into the sitting room … There was nobody there. He turned round, in full flight or fight mode. Where was he? Where were they?
He followed the noise to the top bedroom, the spare room he’d earmarked for the boys, and entered.
There they were, bouncing furiously on the beds: Ash, on his injured foot, and Ibrahim, throwing himself about in an ungainly way, and Agot, who was screaming, amid fits of laughter from all three of them, ‘BOUNCE, BOUNCE, BOUNCE!’ and the boys were shouting ‘BOUNZ! BOUNZ!’ and then Ibrahim fell off and they all collapsed laughing.
Saif looked around for Innes, who was sitting in the corner, half asleep even through the racket.
‘Hey,’ he said, as the three noticed him.
‘ABBA!’ Ash was back in his arms immediately – but panting, out of breath. Ibrahim looked up, then his face shut down as he saw his father. Agot carried on bouncing.
‘Well, I am guessing you are all fine,’ said Saif, half cross, half delighted.
‘MIDNIGHT FEAST?’ suggested the little pagan Agot, but Innes carried her, complaining madly, down the hill, and Saif tucked the boys back into bed, and he lay sleepless until morning time contemplating the school uniforms he’d bought them that hung over the chair, which were made for ten-and six-year-old Scottish children, and made them look as if they were wearing sleeping bags.
Flora and Lorna had missed all this, propping up the bar in the Harbour’s Rest.
‘Crap,’ said Flora, necking a gin and tonic. ‘And now I’m apparently throwing a huge party I can’t afford for Fintan and Colton to celebrate their perfect love.’
‘He’s still here though,’ pointed out Lorna. Flora nodded. ‘He is. Mark doesn’t think it’s a good idea we have a relationship till he’s … well. Till he’s recovered.’
‘Do you recover though?’
‘Dunno,’ said Flora. ‘I think I shall also eat some peanuts. You know, Lorna, you can’t miss what you never really had.’
‘I do,’ said Lorna crossly, accepting a handful of peanuts. They sat closer on their chairs.
‘How are the boys doing?’
‘Also awful. I am failing in every conceivable way.’
‘You’re fabulous!’
‘I am getting older and older every single second, waiting for something to happen. And nothing’s going to happen. I have to snap out of it.’
‘More gin …’ Inge-Britt sorted it. ‘Ooh!’ said Flora.
‘What?’
‘You know who else is brilliant and single at the moment who isn’t Saif?’
‘This better not be one of your brothers.’
‘It’s … Oh.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Come on. Innes is handsome. Apparently.’
‘Innes? Seriously, Flora. I’ve known him since I was four.’
‘So, you know he’s a decent guy.’
‘It’s icky. Like Joey and Rachel in Friends.’
‘Or maybe Ross and Rachel in Friends …’
‘Which is also icky.’
‘Oh yeah. Come on, let me marry off my brothers.’
Lorna thought about it. ‘Flora. I’ve lived on this island thirty-two years. Innes has lived here thirty-five.’
‘Ooh, you know how old he is! You must like him!’
‘No, I’ve just been at every single birthday party he’s ever had.’