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“He was a wild child,” Shona said. “Remember the time he stole the Paterson cow and tried to ride her like a rodeo bull? Poor cow sat there mooing, wondering what the hell was happening.”
Jean laughed. “And the time he was going out with the McLean sisters—all of them. Three sisters at one time and they didn’t know about each other. It’s a town record.”
Heather shook her head. “I thought Robert McLean was going to shoot him when the girls found out.”
Abby stared at the women. “How could he do all this stuff when he was in London? Wasn’t he sent away when he was thirteen? He told me he was with Arsenal by then.”
“Aye,” Heather said. “But he wasn’t sent away. He was desperate to go. He went down there just before his thirteenth birthday. My sister-in-law cried for a month. She was worried sick about him, but it was his dream. What was she supposed to do? Stand in his way? Harry was only nine at the time, and such a shy wee boy. The only person he ever really talked to was Magenta. We were terrified if Harry was taken away from the security of his routine, he’d become one of those antisocial computer guys who sits in a shed and builds bombs.”
Margaret nodded. “It was touch and go there for a while. Magenta was the only one who kept the boy in the real world. Flynn always seemed so much more capable. Nobody worried about him the same way as they did Harry.”
“I think that’s why he started acting out,” Shona said. “Seeking attention. Feeling neglected.”
Heather shook her head. “He got plenty of attention. His dad’s brother kept a close eye on him and the family went down every chance they got. Not to mention he came home every break. He wasn’t neglected. The problem is his brain.”
Abby swallowed awkwardly and coughed. “His brain?” Fear rushed through her, sounding like wind in her ears. Was there something wrong with him? Memories of her husband struggling with tumours assaulted her.
“Oh, no.” Margaret patted her hand again. “It’s not like you’re thinking. All Heather means is he was a smart boy and when he wasn’t occupied he became easily bored. And when he’s bored, he gets into mischief.”
“That’s putting it mildly.” Heather reached for another slice of cake. “The boy is too clever for his own good. He’s fine when he’s playing and thinking about playing, but honestly, it wasn’t enough of a challenge for him mentally. He calmed down a little when he was studying, but what he really needs now is a challenge. Something he finds hard. Those two boys are blessed with intelligence and good looks. Things come easily to them and they hate it. Luckily Harry always loved programming, which kept him out of trouble. But Flynn hasn’t found his thing yet. He will, though, I’m sure of it.”
“He’s always thought he was stupid because Harry’s IQ is off the charts. But Flynn’s no dummy; he came top of his class in everything he studied. It just doesn’t mean anything to him because he keeps comparing his efforts to Harry’s,” Margaret added.
Comparing himself to Harry didn’t sound like the action of a smart man to Abby. Arguing from the direction of the living room drew her attention.
“Excuse me,” she said wearily.
She pushed back from the table and went to investigate.
“You can’t like the pink uniforms best,” Flynn was saying. “They’re the referees. They aren’t even players. They wear pink so the players can see them. There are no football teams with a pink uniform. Stop being such a girl and pick one of the proper teams.”
Katy folded her arms and glared at him. “I want to support the pink men.”
“You can’t support them, you numpty, they aren’t a team.”
“Don’t care. They’re pretty.”
Flynn threw his hands in the air. “How about you support Holland? You like orange, right? Orange is a pretty colour too.”
Katy thought about it, then nodded. “Okay, I can support orange. But there should be a team with pink T-shirts. What about all the girls who watch football? I bet they’d like to watch some pink shirts.”
Flynn grunted as he tapped on his iPad. “Trust me. The girls who are watching football aren’t looking at the players’ shirts. Right, enough rubbish.” He pointed at the screen. “This is the international between Holland and England in...”
Abby backed out, a strange tightness in her chest as she left them to it.
“Everything okay?” Heather said as she returned to the kitchen.
“They’re fighting about pink football shirts.”
The women looked at each other then burst out laughing. Abby asked everyone if they needed more tea, and when they didn’t they got down to business. The women were working their way through her patterns and had some suggestions and feedback. Meanwhile, Abby updated them on the suppliers she’d found and the progress of the website. They would be doing a lot of their selling online initially, but one day she’d love to open a store in town.
“About names for the business.” Jean pulled out a legal pad. “We’ve been thinking and we have a few suggestions.”
“Okay,” Abby said slowly.
Jean cleared her throat and started to read. “This is what we have so far: Woolly Wonders, Kute Knits—with a K for cute. Highland Originals—but I think that’s a bit bland—Fibre Fancies, Get Your Knit Off—I came up with that one. You know, as in Knit instead of kit? I thought it was sexy.” She looked really proud. The oth
er women were less impressed. “Then there’s Purls of Wisdom, Knit Picking, Knit Tonight Josephine, To Knit or Not to Knit...”
