Ally began, advancing through her slides, showing them images of their town overlaid with alarming statistics she’d got from government and charity websites detailing the extent of the loneliness epidemic sweeping rural parts of the country. She talked through them as she clicked.
‘One in seven people report being lonely either some or all of the time,’ she was saying, and this was met with a good deal of agreement and concern from her listeners.
Cary Anderson listened in characteristic placid silence and yet no one in the room would have guessed he’d have counted himself amongst that number of lonesome, isolated Highland residents suffering for want of a companion.
‘What a shame for them,’ Rhona had said, unable to imagine such a state of affairs, while her sister informed her wisely that there were ‘plenty folk without the good fortune to have an older sister to stay with’.
Ally went on outlining her plan. ‘More than anything,’ she was telling them, ‘we need to reach isolated people.’
‘The crofters?’ said her dad.
‘Yes, partly it’s for them,’ Ally confirmed.
‘And some of the rangers on the mountains? They can seem lost when they come down into the town, as out-of-place as a yeti,’ said Sachin.
‘Why not? But I’m thinking about the people who might not look isolated, but actually are. People like I was, if I’m honest. People working remotely, living virtually, stuck socially or financially…’
‘Ally…’ her mum said, her mouth turning down at the corners.
‘I don’t feel so stuck now, Mum. Not now I’m making all this stuff happen,’ Ally hurried to comfort Roz who, it was only just dawning on her, hadn’t fully understood the extent to which her daughter had felt left behind and overlooked, which is precisely why Ally had to do this.
‘It’s too easy to assume a person is OK,’ she went on, ‘when underneath they’re screaming out for help. Take my friends, Jo and Brodie. They appeared to me like they were racing up all the ladders society has propped up for them, but it turns out they were discovering the ladders are covered in grease and they couldn’t stop themselves from slipping! Then there’s another pal, Mhairi, who’s feeling even more cut off than them. No family nearby, no support network. We need to reframe how we think of this repair café – it could become a place where we restore broken connections as well as fixing broken things.’
There were murmurs around the semi-circle, nods and notes taken. Ally took this as a good sign and talked on, changing slides. ‘And we have to be properly accessible too, literally and financially, with a website listing our events, and we need comfy places to sit…’
‘Are we talking… expanding the café?’ Senga cut in.
‘Probably, yes, but if that’s not an option, at least letting more people know we provide a warm, welcoming place, even if they don’t have spare money for their coffee and rock buns.’
‘Free buns?’ Senga’s lips pinched in protest.
‘I was thinking more of a pay it forward scheme, where people can choose to pay for their own drink and put money in the till for someone else’s, someone who’s not feeling so flush that week. Loads of places are doing it, look it up; some places call it suspended coffees. And we could have some items on a pay what you want arrangement.’
‘We’ve wanted to try doing toasties?’ Rhona put in, wiggling in her seat with eagerness.
‘Pay what you want toasties?’ Senga wasn’t convinced.
However, McIntyre was determined to prevent the wheels coming off his daughter’s presentation. ‘You are the best baker in the Highlands, Senga. Increased footfall will only spread that reputation further, and more than make up for any shortfall in ingredients costs to subsidise a few freebies.’
Senga looked like she might object, but then fell to thinking. ‘I am a fine baker,’ she said, cannily.
‘No disputin’ that,’ said Sachin, crumbs on his lips from the tablet.
‘I could pass those baking skills on, you know?’ said Senga, always amenable to praise. ‘In a baking basics class?’
‘How would that work without ovens on site?’ said Sachin.
‘Oh! Sweet traybakes they could mix here and take home to cook?’ suggested Rhona.
‘Or you could use our kitchen?’ said Roz, inspired. ‘The range fits six shelves. Sharing it for a few hours a week couldn’t hurt.’
‘And I’d help,’ Rhona practically bounced. ‘I’d have made a braw home economics teacher, if I’d had the chance.’
Senga, for once, pulled her lips into a smile of understanding for her too often overlooked wee sister.
‘Once a month, then?’ Senga asked Rhona, securing a nod of agreement, before turning to McIntyre. ‘If you think we can afford the extra ingredients?’
‘We’d budget for it,’ said McIntyre.
