“Well, she’s lived on it for nearly thirty years,” said Lorna mildly. “I think she’s probably allowed.”
“Would have died if we hadn’t found her.”
“I so wouldn’t have,” said Flora crossly.
“Those mountains are dangerous.”
“Yes, I know that, thanks, seeing as I was born and bred here.”
Jan sniffed.
“Really? Because you look like a city dweller to me.”
“Oh thanks,” Flora said, then was annoyed because she’d taken it as a compliment.
“Are you having a good trip?” said Lorna quickly.
“Well, obviously we have huge responsibilities to our less fortunate friends,” boomed Jan. “Which of course is why we were thinking . . . have you thought any more about taking some of the children on at the school?”
“I’ve explained before,” said Lorna. “We’d be absolutely delighted to have any of your children. But they need to live here. Their parents or guardians need to apply.”
“They can’t!” said Jan. “They don’t have the capability!”
“Well, how can I take them, then? Be reasonable. I can’t run a boarding school.”
“It would do them a world of good.”
“I’m sure it would. But Scotland doesn’t have state boarding, and even if it did, we don’t have the facilities, and even if we did, we can’t find the staff . . .”
Lorna was looking increasingly dismayed.
“Jan, anytime you want to bring them over for a week in term time, we’d be more than happy to welcome them.”
“They need more than that,” said Jan.
“I’m sure they do,” said Lorna. “I’m just sorry we’re not able to provide it.”
“Another door slammed in their faces,” Jan said, and left with an aggrieved sniff.
“She seems mean,” said Flora.
“Oh, she’s all right,” said Lorna. “Runs Outward Adventures for underprivileged children. Thinks it gives her the right to bully everyone who doesn’t do that.”
“I know, I met her other half.”
“Charlie? He’s all right. And pretty hot for a Wester. Jan just feels that anyone who isn’t trying to save the world all the time is morally lacking.”
“That must get tiresome.”
“She’s good at what she does, though.”
“Maybe I should get her to take the boys,” said Flora gloomily. “Teach them how to look after themselves for a few days.”
“Are you making dinner again?”
Flora sighed.
“If I don’t do it, nobody does,” she said. “They just eat sausages every night. They’re all going to die of coronary artery disease. So. Can’t say I’m looking forward to it, though.”
Lorna smiled. Her own mother had tended toward the Findus Crispy Pancakes end of things. The best present she’d ever received was a chest freezer. Lorna had always loved going to the MacKenzies’, Flora’s glamorous, otherwordly-looking mother puttering about with steaming dishes on the go; perfect pies turned out of glass tureens; always a little bit of shortbread to go with the warm, frothy milk that came straight from the dairy.
“I don’t know,” said Flora. “I thought maybe I could try a pie.”
“When’s the last time you did that?”
Flora laughed.
“Don’t. I’m sure it will come back to me. Mind you, I thought that last night.”
“Do you want me to come up?”
“And cook for my family and show them how much better you are at everything than me? Not likely. They already like you better than me as it is. Are you sure you can’t marry one of the boys and move in and just take over? Come on, everyone fancied Fintan at school.”
Lorna smiled.
“Not bloody likely. No offense—I love them dearly.”
“Plus you’re still trying to cop off with that doctor.”
“Sod off.” Lorna blushed deeply. She had a huge crush on the local GP, so big, it was actually mean of Flora to tease her about it, and she apologized immediately.
“Sorry. And I do know what it’s like, I promise. My boss . . . you might meet him, actually.”
Even saying this much made Flora extremely pink.
“What?”
“I think he’s going to come up, try and chivvy Colton along.”
“You like him?”
“He’s . . . he’s attractive. That’s all.”
“You do! Is he single?”
“Hard to say,” said Flora. “He always seems to be with a tall, skinny blonde, but I can’t tell if it’s the same girl. Like Leonardo DiCaprio.”
“Hmm,” said Lorna. “Doesn’t sound like your type.”
“He isn’t!” said Flora. “In fact, when you see him, tell me how disgusting you think he is.”
“Okay.”
“Do you want me to do the same thing with the doctor?”
“Don’t you dare,” said Lorna loyally, and Flora laughed.
“God, it’s nice to meet someone worse than me. Right. I’m off to buy pie stuff. Wish me luck.”
“Humble pie stuff, more like.”
“Yeah yeah yeah,” said Flora.
But as she trudged off, the sun warm on the back of her neck, the breeze lifting her hair, she felt undeniably cheered by spending time with her friend; not a work friend, or a passing friend, but someone she’d known as long as she could remember.
Chapter Fourteen
Flora worked up a sweat marching up the hill carrying her shopping bags, and was hungry again by the time she got home, but with that nice tiredness that comes from exercise and the feeling you always get when you wake up after a bad day—that things can’t be quite as bad as they were yesterday. And there was still no word from London. She wasn’t sure quite what was going on. It was utterly peculiar not being at work and yet not being on vacation either—neither feeling she ought to be filling up her time better nor feeling slightly sunburnt and hungover (it took Flora about fifteen minutes slathered with sunblock 50 to get sunburnt, and not much longer to get hungover).
Bramble looked up as she came in, and his heavy tail beat a rhythm on the old flagstones. Obviously he’d forgiven her for his terrible day. She checked his bandage—it had gone on pristine, but was already getting gnawed. He was going to need one of those cone-shaped collars, she thought. She always thought dogs looked embarrassed in those things.
The house was empty, of course; the boys would be out at all four corners of the farm.
She tuned the Internet in to Capital FM—which downloaded at a speed that would have made a snail sad—so she could cheer herself up with the London traffic reports. The trains had all been canceled again. The Blackwall Tunnel was closed. It helped knowing that not everyone was having a fabulous time all the time.
“And be careful, temperatures will hit the high seventies by four P.M., so it’ll be a sticky commute home for you guys,” said the smug mid-Atlantic DJ, and Flora rolled her eyes.