Chapter 17
Chapter 17
O nce a month, there was a big ceilidh in the village hall. There always had been, for as long as anyone could remember, and no doubt before that, and Gertie did not always go, but the KCs absolutely did and, of course, took their knitting . Gertie firmly believed in being able to knit anywhere, a bit like how you could take dogs anywhere now, but at a social event seemed a bit much. Sharp needles and speeding, turning bodies were a bad combo. They sat round, drank whisky, gossiped furiously about everyone there, and watched the dancing. If you were a woman, you were wise not to dance too close to them, as it was entirely possible they would have views on what you were wearing and whether it was appropriate and whether or not you could do with covering up with a cardigan in case you caught your death and would you like a wee cardigan? Go on, it was easy for them.
It was also a bit old-school, and not many young folk went, when it was easier to light a bonfire on the shore and drink cider amongst the rocks in the great light months of the summertime, a hobby Morag had once enjoyed as much as everyone else but had rather grown out of, and Gertie had been far too shy and nervous to ever attend.
Morag hadn’t been to the ceilidh since she’d been back. She had memories of being small and thinking it was the biggest fun in the world, when she and Jamie were up for the summertime, getting to stay up late, tearing about with the local kids in the summer evenings when it never grew dark, and the adults didn’t care what they were up to (or were, she now realized, all quite drunk). They all played bulldog and various other games that are almost certainly illegal for children to play now. Later on, she’d shyly say hi to the handsome boys who were also visiting for the summer with their parents, who had also been dragged along. She had had her first kiss, with a lad called Colin, in the dunes behind the playing fields. It had been freezing, but he’d given her his cool denim jacket to wear and she’d felt very special and hadn’t minded at all, until years later when Jamie had confided that he had also had his first kiss with Colin and it had given them both the ick for days. But Nalitha wanted to go now, and Struan was playing, and she was here now; she needed to get back into the swing of things.
“You coming to the dance?” she said to Gertie, as they sat companionably on the sofa watching old episodes of Northern Exposure , a show that was a bit of a guilty pleasure to Morag, being about a beautiful plucky lady pilot who worked in the far north, and completely new to Gertie, who liked it a lot. Gertie was knitting socks for Erno and also Morag’s grandfather, both of whom had requested a pair once they’d tried Morag’s as they worked miraculously well. The weather still wasn’t heating up; it was proving a long, cold spring.
Gertie shrugged. “I have to. Otherwise I’ll end up winding wool in a corner again.”
Morag smiled and nodded. She’d always been surrounded by men in her life: her father, grandfather, brother, all flying obsessives, and was slightly fascinated by Gertie’s entirely female existence.
“Doesn’t it make it hard to get on with men?” she asked.
“A bit,” said Gertie, squirming a little. “Basically the message is men are no good and not to be trusted.”
“Some of them,” said Morag, frowning. “But loads of them are nice.”
“I don’t think you end up in the KCs if you have a really nice man at home,” said Gertie. Then she realized what she’d just said. “Wow,” she said. “I never thought that before.”
She frowned.
“They’re just protective.”
“So what are they like with your boyfriends... sorry, you like guys, yeah?”
Gertie nodded. “Well,” she said. “I dated Murray Scott for a wee while.”
Morag screwed up her face until she remembered him. “The butcher’s boy?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Gertie told her about Murray, who worked for his dad the butcher even though he hated it and used to get upset even just seeing the lambs in the field, he found it so triggering. He was sensitive and that suited him and Gertie just fine, as they could both do quiet sensible things like try out new vegetarian recipes or go for beach walks whilst he talked about what happened to male chicks or the harsh realities of farming. It was a bit of a downer, but he was nice. The Knitting Circle on the other hand ripped into him mercilessly, often with a bacon sandwich on the go, and asking him about Big Murray. Big Murray was universally regarded as a bit tasty, which wasn’t particularly nice for Wee Murray to have to listen to either and frankly the Knitting Circle scared the living daylights out of him, and he had eventually left Carso to go to Cambridge to study poetry and write long naturalistic verses about the beauty of the countryside and the skies of his home without ever actually coming back again.
Morag laughed. “Oh, poor Murray! I do remember. He was always complaining about the vegetarian options in the dinner hall.”
“Yup, that’s him all right,” said Gertie. “So yeah, I wouldn’t say it’s that easy.”
“It’s not that easy with all boys either,” said Morag. “But I think you probably get a better feel for what boys are actually like. You know. The fartier side of life. You probably don’t get the impression of them as amazing, mythic beings. I never fancied boy bands or stuff because I knew what lads are like.”
“I fancied all the boy bands,” said Gertie. “I fancied the ugliest one. Because I felt sorry for them. And because I thought that gave me more of a chance.”
Morag smiled. “Well, that makes sense. What, even him out of One Direction?”
“His name is Niall and he is actually doing very well for himself,” said Gertie primly, before she could stop herself.
“Well, maybe he’ll fly with us sometime,” Morag said with a laugh. “But in the meantime, we should round up some more people for the ceilidh.”
E RNO, M ORAG’S CO-PILOT, had frowned when she’d asked him the next day.
“Is it compulsory?”
Morag rolled her eyes. “No! But it might be fun. It’s good exercise.”
Erno sighed. “But I do not want exercise. I want to watch television and to be left alone.”
“I bet your wife would like to come,” said Morag, accurately. Katrin had done a lot of worrying and nursing of Erno over the last nine months or so. She had possibly not considered, when marrying the handsome young fighter pilot in Helsinki, that she was going to end up in a tiny village in the north of Scotland, with a grumpy overweight middle-aged man. Or maybe she had, but it was probably still worth asking.
Erno sighed. “I will ask her,” he said, and was then somewhat taken aback by her enthusiastic yes, and her hurling herself at him in glee, and he made a mental note that actually he should probably take her out a little more often, so it all worked out for the best.
“W HAT ARE WE all talking about?” came the loud, confident voice as they headed back into the tin can the following day, still discussing the ceilidh. Gertie looked up. It was Calum, who had just appeared in the terminal. Gertie couldn’t stop herself grinning and was glad she’d put some lipstick on that morning. Jean had kept insisting at the KC meetings that it was what cabin crew did, and she’d finally given in.
“Why are you here?” said Morag, with an edge to her voice.
Calum nodded toward two men standing in deep conversation at the far end of the corrugated hut.
“The lads took me up,” he said, proudly.
The two men turned round and saw Morag, grinned and walked over.
“Hey,” said Morag, smiling now. It was Jim Crown and Gavin McVeigh, the helicopter pilots. They were for hire if you wanted a particularly expensive and noisy and cold way of looking at the lochs and the islands from a height, or you could learn to pilot a helicopter with them so you too could take people up somewhere very cold and noisy to look at things from far away.
They also ran the search and rescue office; fortunately they’d had a very quiet winter. There had been plenty of snow, but plenty of sunshine too, for which everyone had been extremely grateful. Although the spring was cold as all out, the snow wasn’t shifting at all at higher altitudes.
Jim and Gavin liked talking engines with Morag and arguing over what was better—planes or helicopters—and Morag liked it too; she wasn’t averse to some shop talk, particularly about something as clearly inferior as a helicopter.
“Hiyah, youse,” she said cheerfully. “Buzzed any daisies recently?”
“Landed on any beaches and sunk your vessel?” said Jim happily. They’d rescued Erno the year before, when he’d had a heart attack and they’d had to make a crash landing on Inchborn. Despite not remembering much of it, Erno was always slightly embarrassed by this fact—they’d had to cut off his trousers—so he’d slunk off to call his wife.
“Did you get that update...” began Morag, and Calum frowned. He liked hanging out with flying people, but they always seemed to have a subtle way of reminding him he wasn’t one.
Gertie noticed and found herself leaning forward.
“Did you have a good day?” she found herself asking Calum, pink as she was.
Short of anyone else to talk to, Calum turned round and saw the new staff member. She looked skittish as a rabbit.
“Oh hey,” he said. “Yeah, it was a beautiful day to be up there.”
Gertie nodded.
“How are you getting on?”
“I went up!” she found herself saying quickly.
“Uh-huh,” said Calum.
“That’s why I took the job. It was my first time up in a plane. I loved it.”
“Hang on, we hired a non-flyer for my airline?”
“It’s my airline,” said Morag without interrupting her flow of conversation.
Calum stared at Gertie, ignoring Morag.
“You’re kidding me.”
“No!”
“Well!” said Calum. “That’s amazing! Great stuff!”
Gertie grinned then. She had, as Jean never ceased remarking, a beautiful smile; her teeth were white and even, and her mouth was warm and generous.
“Thank you!”
“You should celebrate!”
“I think we’re going... I think...” Gertie almost stuttered. There was feeling bold and there was doing something completely out of character. But then again, she remembered what Elspeth had said: Live every day. Grab it. And it was working out well so far, wasn’t it?
“We’re all going to the village ceilidh on Saturday,” she said. Then, before she could think about it: “Why don’t you come?”