Chapter 31
Chapter 31
R anald was inclined to listen to Gregor’s warning; Morag too, obviously, but although there was freshness in the air, there wasn’t any news coming over of anything worse. The clouds didn’t look ominous—she’d been caught in a horrible storm before and the air didn’t feel like that at all. Just cold. She prepped the plane just in case there was ice around. Erno looked at her very oddly. Being Finnish, he reckoned he knew all there was to know about ice. But he respected Morag, so he let her at it.
The wedding party was now at either end of the hall, glaring at each other. There appeared to be shopping bags full of what looked suspiciously like whisky bottles, and Morag wasn’t crazy about that. Gertie had arrived as Morag descended the stairs, and was efficiently arranging everything on her desk.
So they were doing two runs, one specially for the schoolchildren. They did it every year—a special cost-price addition to the schedule just for the P6s. For many of them, the plane ride was the most exciting part of the trip, even though there were fewer these days who hadn’t at least been to Spain on their holidays.
The children rolled out of the coach like little padded Michelin men, all of them in their big hoodies. They were bursting with excitement, carrying their rucksacks, which were more or less the same size as they were, and fussing madly about who was going to sit next to who on the plane.
Morag looked at them all.
“Mrs. McGinty?” she said. “Can I have a word?”
“Yes?” said Mrs. McGinty.
“It’s just... the weather forecast...”
“Yes?”
“The weather forecast says it’s going to rain...”
“Yes, I can see that,” said Mrs. McGinty. “I have a smartphone you know. We’re not total amateurs.”
“No, I realize that.”
“Nothing wrong with a bit of rain! Will be good for them! Get them off their iPads all day!”
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with a bit of rain either,” said Morag, a tad desperately. “I’m just saying, that it’s very cold, and there’s a small possibility... well some people think... it might turn into snow.”
“It’s almost May!” said Mrs. McGinty. “Don’t be ridiculous. Who are these people?”
“Well, Gregor...”
“Your boyfriend thinks it might snow? Anyone else?”
“Uh, not really.”
“A little bit of spring snow is hardly going to hurt them.”
“No, I guess not...”
“Are you still happy to fly us? Through a small amount of cold weather?”
“Of course,” bristled Morag, who had also had bad experiences of Primary 4 with Mrs. McGinty.
“Good,” said Mrs. McGinty, dismissing her.
Mrs. McGinty was wearing brand-new very expensive climbing gear that had obviously all been bought as a matching set as well as a shiny new sleeping bag. She sniffed at Struan, which he would normally have considered an incredibly rude thing to do to someone, but he had to concede with his sleeping bag that she probably was well within her rights, and he was very relieved that they wouldn’t—as it turned out—be sharing a tent. He’d be shar ing with the guy who ran the course, and she’d be sharing with the woman. The campsite wasn’t far up the mountain; they’d set up camp one day, sleep over, then make the summit the following day. It was a fairly straightforward walk, with one small sheer cliff in the middle they had to do some exciting stuff with ropes to get over.
Gertie was behind the desk of course, and gave absolutely no sign of acknowledging Struan at all beyond a professional nod, which he returned.
“Your hair is sticking up, sir,” said Anna-Lise instantly.
“Thank you, Anna-Lise,” replied Struan.
“Maybe he likes it like that,” said her best friend Bronte, who was as in love with him as a ten-year-old can be in love with anyone: that is, she couldn’t quite distinguish between how much she loved Mr. McGhie, how much she loved pizza, and how much she loved her cat, but all of those things were Very Much.
“Oh sorry, sir,” said Anna-Lise.
“Okay, you two,” said Struan. “On we go.”
When Gertie had first heard about the school flight, she had liked the notion of it very much, and made a special point of printing out all the boarding passes, inputting Special School Flight on to them as the code, and bought little plane stickers to show they’d checked in their baggage. Morag thought this might be overkill. Ranald thought it was brilliant. They were rostered together that day; Ranald wouldn’t miss the school flight for anything. He stood by the desk, gravely saluting them all as they came in.
He also answered their questions—yes, they would fly very high; no, not to space; no they couldn’t “just go to America”; no, there wouldn’t be a film on the flight nor any coloring books; no, Moss could not “have a go at flying a plane,” and Ranald did not believe him when he said he had in fact flown “loads” of times before. Mrs. McGinty quietened down the vigorous infighting in terms of who got the window seats going out.
Finally all twelve children and two teachers were belted in, some kicking their legs with excitement. Most had flown before, but flying in the tiny twin otter was always exciting, and they could feel every bump and piece of stone on the runway surface; the super short take-off of the small engine, and the immediate, precipitate rising, straight into the blue. There was an audible oooh of excitement from the cabin and Morag and Ranald swapped glances, smiling at each other.
Struan looked apprehensively at the weather app on his phone before they took off. It was still saying rain. Very heavy rain. Or, “it’s only a bit of rain” as he kept hearing parents and other people say in his presence. The trip never got canceled for rain—if you start canceling things in Scotland for rain, you are not going to get many things done. Apparently the tents were “heavy duty” and there was a cave, and the kids would have a “great time whizzing around in the mud” which sounded to Struan like an ideal situation to get some arms broken, but he didn’t mention it. More than one person had asked if he was taking a hip flask.
But as they circled the town, all his dreary thoughts and his tired brain lifted. He couldn’t help it. The children’s faces were in awe. All their phones were gone, locked away in one big bag; instead, they were staring out of the window, pointing at the houses, jostling to see their own; staring at the mummies all frantically waving in the gardens, often with baby brothers and sisters being held up too to wave at the little plane. They did circles in the sky, round the playground where every other class was watching, the Primary 7s with superior smiles from having already done it; all the others in an agony of anticipation for the incredibly far off time when the Great Day of the Camping Trip would be bestowed upon them.
Then, amidst encouraging shouts to “dive bomb” into Inchborn Abbey, where Morag had already discharged the fractious wedding party, or loop the loop—a perennial favorite (Ranald’s dad had once done it with him in it as a young lad and he would tell the story at a moment’s notice, vomit and all)—Ranald pointed the plane up to the sky and broke through the cloud cover into the bright white sunshine beyond. After a long hard winter even just feeling the sun on their faces through the windows was a joy and relief.
The flight didn’t take long at all before they were coming in to the strip at Archland, the towering height of the Mermaid’s Spyglass looking thin and small from on high then, as they pushed on over the sea and pounding waves, taking on a more sinister aspect. The children looked at it with interest.
Waiting in the tin shed at the end, waving frantically as they touched down perfectly were the Outward Bound mentors: Skellan and Denise. They were beaming widely.
Morag watched the children descend, a little quieter, more tentative and nervous now they could see the mountain up close and their parents were far away. “It’s awfy big,” seemed to be the genuine consensus, and their eyes were wide. A lot of the earlier confidence had gone, although not all. Moss, the one who had thought he could easily fly the plane, also loudly opined that he could run up to the top and back before tea. Wee Shugs talked about looking forward to killing some rabbits which may not, considering Big Shugs, have been bravado. Morag grinned, and looked at the teachers. Mrs. McGinty was already talking to the Outward Bound staff in that way of hers, as if everyone was five years old, and a particularly dumb five at that. Even from up in the cockpit, Morag could see their smiles becoming increasingly fixed.
Meanwhile Struan was looking around as if he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing there. His guitar was surgically attached to him as usual. Morag smiled at that too. Same old Struan. She knocked on the window and gave him a wave, and he waved back, easily.
Everyone got their bags right there outside the tiny hut, and Ranald prepared to make the big circle round to take off back the way they’d come. Morag checked the cabin. It did feel cold through the open door, Gregor had been right. Very cold for this time of year. But who knew what the weather did these days? Morag was very sensitive to weather, having been caught in a fair storm or two up these parts. But you wouldn’t meet anyone who flew, sailed, or walked around the northern isles of Scotland who didn’t have some very hairy stories to tell; that was for sure. Nonetheless, it was chilly out there and she let Ranald take the controls whilst she went and heaved the door up, helped on the other side by Skellan from Outward Bound, who knew what he was doing, thankfully.
The kids on the sidelines waved furiously at the twin otter as it pootled along, taking off quickly straight up into the sky. Ranald was unable to resist twisting right round the top of the Mermaid’s Spyglass and buzzing down over the hut, in the hopes of the shock making the head teacher jump, which she did.