‘Beattie?’ Atholl pulled her from her panic, holding the car door open for her and she carefully stepped out, looking around. It was nine o’clock and only just getting dark now the light spring nights had arrived.
Beatrice felt as though she’d been in hospital for weeks and the season had leaped into full bloom while she’d been away. How could it be only six days? There was a scent of cut grass in the air and warm sand too. It was all utterly disorientating.
She’d been told on the grapevine that the festival had been a huge success, even with all the locals being worried about her having somewhat taken the shine off the day.
The hospital reception had received over twenty calls asking after her by Easter Sunday lunchtime before they’d come to ask Atholl topleasering home and spread the message she was fine. She’d also heard from Atholl that the village grapevine reported Seth and Mrs Fergusson had been spotted holding hands and sharing a bag of cinder toffee in Glenda’s front row during the late showing ofSingin’ in the Rain. Beatrice was looking forward to having the story confirmed, but first she had a million things to do, if only she wasn’t so tired and in need of a long sleep.
‘Nobody’s about,’ she said, watching Atholl carefully lifting the car seat out of the taxi.
Atholl brought their daughter to the doorstep of the inn where Beatrice stood.
‘Beattie?’ Atholl said softly over the sound of the taxi driver pulling away. ‘See that step there?’ He pointed to the stone threshold leading into the reception. ‘My own faither carried me across that step when I was born, Gene and my sisters too. Now it’s our turn.’
Beatrice looked at him and then down to Willow, who’d managed to sleep the whole way home and was going to miss this momentous homecoming. His words had helped still Beatrice’s brain and she tried to be present and take it all in as Atholl unstrapped the car seat and lifted Willow out into his arms, cosy in a pink sleepsuit and blanket and white woollen hat donated by the hospital.
He held his daughter close to him, breathing her in, his hands covering her entire curled body, before passing her to Beatrice, and lifting the car seat.
He opened the reception door. ‘In you both go,’ he said softly and his eyes misted again, like they seemed to do every few minutes since Willow had arrived.
Beatrice stepped inside to be greeted by a circle of grinning, weeping family. Mrs Fergusson, Seth, Mrs Mair, Gene, Kitty, Murray, Nina, Bear and Echo, each one of them holding their hands up – or waggling their furry bottoms – and the humanfolk all silently mouthing the words, ‘Welcome Home!’
They crowded round to coo over Willow in her mother’s arms and Mrs Fergusson was pressed to the very front where she kissed her granddaughter’s head. ‘I see you,’ she told the sleeping baby. ‘I see you, darlin’.’
Atholl shook hands with everyone and had to hold Gene for a long time as he bawled heartily on his little brother’s shoulder and told him over and over again how he was now an uncle, a role he intended to takeveryseriously. Kitty eventually took Gene by the hand and said, ‘Are you not going to show her?’
All eyes fell on Beatrice.
‘Show me what?’
‘Come on,’ Atholl said, smiling. ‘This way.’
He led Beatrice through the inn to the sun room and pushed open the door so she could step inside and see it all for herself.
‘Mr Gastang, Kitty and Murray painted the mural,’ Atholl said, as Beatrice gaped at the blue sky and white clouds, the green hills and purple mountains and the white coral beach with the little white cottage above it, all painted in soft colours on what had been white walls.
‘Is that Echo and Bear?’ Beatrice asked, blinking and amazed, pointing to the dogs immortalised in the mural, running along the painted waterfront.
Everyone smiled indulgently, watching her surprise.
‘Oh my goodness, what’s this?’ Beatrice asked. Everywhere she turned there was some new thing to see.
‘That’s from the Shirlaws at the General Store,’ Seth put in. ‘Enough nappies and such like to see you through the first wee while.’
Beatrice gazed in amazement, touching her fingers to a crocheted mobile hanging over a changing table. ‘Murdina?’ she asked.
‘Aye,’ Atholl told her.
A suncatcher in the window drew her eye; delicate raindrops hanging from a cloud and all in translucent rainbow colours.
‘Munro made that,’ Nina told her.
‘And those were Nina and me,’ Kitty put in, pointing to the rail in the corner where there hung on tiny wooden hangers an assortment of sleepsuits and baby outfits.
‘We couldn’t resist a little trip to the shops in Inverness,’ Nina added.
‘And this?’ Beatrice asked, inspecting a beautiful gift basket of creams and lotions, magazines and novels, chocolates and socks, lovely knickknacks of all kinds. She read the card aloud.
To Beatrice, upon bringing home your baby. These treats are only for you, a reminder to always look after yourself too because nobody can pour from an empty cup. Love from Ruth and Mark, x
