‘Thatmust be Tarka,’ Sage said in amazement. She leant around Hal and slowly, quietly, pushed the sash window up a few inches, letting in a rush of cold air along with the tangy, fresh smell of the sea.
The otter suddenly crawled completely out of the water, on slightly ungainly legs, with his long, strong tail trailing behind him, and onto a ledge in the rock. His whiskers twitched as he smelt the air, checking for danger; seemingly satisfied, he settled down on his haunches like a meerkat, revealing a cream underbelly, and continued to munch on his prickly breakfast.
‘Otters are very shy, darling – the slightest noise, and he’ll scamper off. You must be really quiet,’ Sage whispered to Hal, who nodded, looking up at her with serious eyes to show he understood. She then let out a snort of laughter. Coming out of the wooden shed at the end of the garden was Kestrel, dressed in a rubber wetsuit with enormously long neon pink flippers on his feet and a matching mask and snorkel on his blonde head. Surprisingly, Tarka did not view the extraordinary sight of the man dressed head to toe in neoprene as a threat and remained on his rock, quite unfazed.
‘However, Tarka doesnotseem to behave like your archetypal otter,’ Sage conceded, her voice full of amusement. She softly tapped her finger against the glass to get Kestrel’s attention. He looked up to the window and seeing their faces peering down at him, he stood to attention, ramrod straight, and aimed a salute towards them, his pink snorkel waggling comically atop his mussed hair. He then turned on his heel and threw something round and white onto the ledge beside Tarka, who rushed to pick it up as Kestrel goose-stepped in his flippers to the end of the garden and dived off the glistening rocks into the deep grey waters of the loch. It made Sage shiver just to watch.
‘Mumma, can we go down? Can I swim too? Please?Please?’ Hal hopped about from one foot to the other in feverish agitation.
They ran down the curved staircase, Sage pulling on a sweater over her white cotton nightdress as she descended the steps with Hal right on her heels. They dashed through thewarm kitchen and opened the solid back door. The stone steps were icy cold, the lawn was sodden with dew and a biting wind snapped at their legs. Sage hastily clamped a hand around Hal’s arm and propelled him back into the house.
‘I keep forgetting how much colder it is up here! You need to get dressed first – sorry, my love, or you’ll catch your death.’
Hal looked at her in horror.
‘Mumma!’ he wailed, staring past her and out into the garden, his eyes full of longing. Sage took his hand gently.
‘Come on. Socks. Pants. Trousers. Shirt, jersey and coat.’ Hal reluctantly conceded defeat and was off, careering back up the steps as quickly as his little legs would carry him.
Five minutes later, they were back outside, this time better dressed for the Scottish weather. Hal hurried over to where Kestrel had dived off the garden boundary wall and gazed forlornly at the empty ledge, for Tarka had retreated at the sight of strangers. Sage crouched down beside him and put a steady, warm hand on his back.
‘He’s still out there,’ she said comfortingly. ‘You just have to look hard and be still. You’ll see him again.’
Mrs M came out of the house with a cup of tea in each hand. She was wearing a neat grey dress with a clean white apron over the top.
‘This is for you, Sage,’ she said, handing her tea over with a smile. ‘And this is for you, young man.’ She took something from her apron pocket. Hal took the offering politely, and looked at Mrs M questioningly. ‘It’s for Tarka, child. He loves boiled eggs for breakfast,’ she said, laughing at his puzzled expression.
Hal’s furrowed brow cleared and he raced over to the wall opposite the ledge, the egg cradled carefully in his hands. A mistle thrush sang sweetly from a low branch of a towering, leafless beech tree, her voice piping clearly through the morningmist that was sweeping across the garden. Hal willingly bequeathed his offering, throwing it carefully across the small stretch of water and watching as it rolled into place, then sat on the wall and waited. Sage and Mrs M, each holding a steaming cup of tea, sat on a wooden bench under a dormant apple tree and watched the patient child. After a few minutes, Kestrel swam around the edge of the peninsula and into the protected cove in front of the house. Hal wistfully watched the progress of the pink snorkel, then clapped his hands over his mouth to silence an unbridled squeal of joy that burst out of him as Tarka slid tentatively back onto his rock and sidled up to the enticing, oval-shaped gift. Hal looked back at his mother to check that she was watching and, without a sound, beamed ecstatically as he vigorously pointed at the otter. Sage laughed softly and Mrs M, sitting beside her, put a finger to her lips and shook her head in amusement.
Kestrel crawled out of the water and rolled onto his back. He pulled off his flippers and mask, then got up and slouched up the garden.
‘I went to try to find Finn for Hal, but he is nowhere to be found today.’ His deep voice was full of disappointment.
‘Oh, Kestrel. This place isheaven. Such a sanctuary. Thank you for having us.’ Sage laughed, adding, ‘It’s as though we’ve escaped through time – we’ve gone through the looking glass and no one can touch us. Tarka has blown Hal’s brain – I’m not sure he could stand the excitement of a dolphin as well!’ She stood up and touched Kestrel’s rubber-clad forearm in thanks. He looked embarrassed but the shadow of gloom he had been wearing lifted, lightening his face.
‘Dippy eggs for breakfast?’ he called to Hal, who was lying flat on his stomach on top of the wall, his chin resting on his hands, his concentration focused solely on Tarka. The otter was watching him warily, his eyes fixed unwaveringly on his littlebenefactor as he nibbled on the egg. Hal shook his head distractedly, not wanting to leave his vantage point. Kestrel went over to him and, conscious not to frighten Tarka, murmured under his breath, ‘How about dippy eggs out here on the wall?’
‘Really?’ Hal looked up, unable to believe his luck.
‘Really.’
The three adults ate in the kitchen and watched through the large window as a gleeful Hal, unmoving from his perch on the wall, dipped soldiers of toast into his egg.
‘I really need to check my phone messages this morning. How long will it take me to get to the top of the mountain and pick up a signal?’ Sage was mindful of transgressing the slow, natural ethos of Rasaay.
‘That’s not a mountain!’ Kestrel guffawed, heartily slapping his hand on his thigh. ‘It should only take an hour to get to the top. I’ll come with you, if you like? I can bring one of the garrons for Hal to ride up the hill – it’s a long walk for little legs.’
‘I’d love you to come, if you don’t mind?Garrons?’ Sage asked, not knowing the word.
‘I’ll show you. Mrs M – please may you pack us some sandwiches?’
By the time morning had crept mistily from behind the pine trees that fringed the garden and the new day was filled with feeble sunshine, Sage and Hal were dressed in warm walking clothes and waiting for Kestrel exactly where he had instructed them to, on the main steps of the house that led up to the front door. Sage was feeling restless and patted her coat for the third time to make sure that her phone was in her pocket. She had at least remembered to charge it.
Hal was still chattering about the otter.
‘Kestrel says he has gone away fishing now, Mumma – but maybe he will come back for breakfast tomorrow.’
Sage was struck by how at home he seemed out here, absorbed in the natural world: he had not even asked for any screen time since leaving Newmarket, the iPad lying forgotten at the bottom of the bag. She sat down on the step beside her son and wrapped her arms around him, inhaling his delicious scent and holding him close for a moment until he wriggled away.
