“Oh, Finn!” Blair says, laying a hand on her chest.
He grins back at her.
We drift through the festival together, the kids pulling us from stall to stall. Feels a bit like Gus isn’t the only one tugging on a lead today. Logan wins a rubber duck from the hook-a-duck, while Rosie misses every coconut on the shy but laughs like she’s won anyway. Isla spots a stall selling flower crowns, bats her eyelashes at Struan, and moments later has one on her head. Blair pauses now and then to admire the craft stalls. Hand-painted mugs, driftwood carvings, bright watercolours of the harbour. She looks at it all with the same delight she shows Finn’s drawings, like every bit of it’s worth her attention.
Before long, all four kids are clutching Irn-Bru slushies, tongues already turning orange. I know it’s a bad idea—sugar on top of sugar—but it’s one day a year, and I’m not about to be the killjoy.
Struan disappears for five minutes and comes back triumphant with plastic cups of lager for Douglas and me, a glass of wine for Blair, and a whisky for himself. Douglas takes a long pull of Golden Stag and, for the first time all day, actually looks relaxed.
The kids spot a bouncy castle and charge straight for it, kicking off trainers before I can say a word. “Not sure that’s the best plan after those slushies,” I mutter, but Struan just claps me on the shoulder.
“Relax, captain,” he says with a wink. “Drink.”
So I do.
But after a few minutes of bouncing, I remember I didn’t put any sun lotion on Finn today. “Finn, get down here a minute.”
Predictably, he ignores me.
“Would you mind asking him?” I say to Blair. “He never says no to you.”
She shoots me a grin and bumps her shoulder into mine. “Like father, like son.”
Sure enough, a minute later she’s got him standing still long enough to rub lotion on his face and arms before he clambers back onto the castle.
We linger a while longer, letting the kids bounce and shriek, then continue on to the storytelling tent. Inside, canvas walls filter daylight to a warm glow. Ellie sits in a low chair at the front, a picture book open in her lap, surrounded by a semicircle of wide-eyed bairns sitting cross-legged on cushions. Her voice is calm but animated, and every child is glued to her like she’s some kind of story sorceress.
Our lot march right in and sit down, while me, Blair, and the guys hang back at the rear of the tent with the other parents and grandparents.
It’s a Katie Morag tale, and it doesn’t seem to matter that Finn and his pals missed the start; they hang on Ellie’s every word anyway. As does Blair. Like she’s six herself.
When Ellie shuts the book and everyone claps, Blair leans close to me and whispers, “I loved those stories as a kid. Made me think Scotland was full of adventures and mischief. And it turns out it is—I just didn’t expect the mischief to come from a golden retriever and a grumpy ferry captain.”
I raise a brow at her. “Grumpy? Have I been grumpy today?”
Her smile softens. “No, you’ve not. You’ve been charming all day. Maybe I should check you for a fever.”
I grunt, trying for stern, but my lips twitch anyway.
“Right! That’s me done for now,” Ellie says, standing and smoothing down her long skirt. “But I’ll be back in half an hour with more stories.” Spotting us, she waves us over, and the kids swarm her first. “Look at these beautiful painted faces!”
Logan growls like he’s the fiercest beast to ever stalk the Highlands. Rosie flaps her arms like a butterfly. Isla beams, glitter sparkling on her unicorn horn.
Ellie laughs, admiring them all, then her gaze turns to Finn. “Oh, that otter is wonderful!”
Finn puffs up with pride. “It’s the otter from Blair’s story,The Otter and the Boy. It’sreallygood. You should be reading it!”
Ellie turns her attention to Blair. “And how is the story coming along?”
“Oh, nearing the end now. But really, it’s just something I’ve been working on for Finn.”
“But Da says it should be a book,” Finn chirps. “Like, a real one!”
“And I stand by that comment,” I say.
“Wait, Lachlan’s heard the story?” Logan says, hands on his hips. “You said after Finn, we’d be the next to hear it. That’s not fair!”
“Aye!” Rosie chimes in, never one to let her twin fight alone. “We want to hear about the otter too.” She crosses her arms like a tiny lawyer.
