Chapter 52
Chapter 52
T wo weeks later, Gertie had a spring in her step as she entered the old tin can, settled her special guest, shared out the coffee she always brought, smiled at Mackintosh and Pete, and hummed Struan’s songs to herself as she tidied up the check-in desk.
Calum was in with the helicopter boys, and saw her out of the corner of her eye. Had he really never noticed what fantastic legs she had?
He sidled over.
“I just wanted to say,” he said. “I’m sorry... I think I was a little hasty.”
One of Gertie’s scarves was being featured in Vogue , just a little bit on a page, with a picture of the children, pink-faced and happy to be rescued, wearing her designs and calling her the hessian heroine, even though she didn’t actually knit in hessian—that was stupid. Anyway, it was quite the chat of the knitting circle. Even Tara had considered ordering some wool that wasn’t yellow.
“Uh-huh,” said Gertie politely, but carrying on.
“I mean, I know I’m rich and always go for women for... reasons. But maybe I just want someone to get to know me for myself?” he said. “You know, someone who can be honest with me, maybe? Who gets to know the Real Me?”
“I like the Real You,” said Gertie mildly. “I just don’t really think it fits with the Real Me.”
Calum sighed. She was suddenly as out of his reach as flying a helicopter.
“Can I... can I at least have the tie back?” he muttered, despondent.
“Sure,” said Gertie, who smiled and turned her attention to the next customer.
T HE P 6S EN route to the Mod were as full of excitement and cheer as ever, even as the story of their daring night on the mountain had become ever more fanciful and now included the SAS, machine guns, and the occasional dinosaur.
Gertie looked around happily, supporting the very old woman she was bringing along for the ride—Elspeth, on her first trip out of the house together.
“Not you lot again,” she said, beaming at them. “What’s it going to be this time—shipwreck?”
She didn’t look at Struan until she’d fastened Elspeth in securely, front row, window seat.
“Och,” said Elspeth peering out. “The people look like ants.”
“They are ants,” said Gertie. “We haven’t left the ground yet.”
“I’m still not sure about this,” said Elspeth in a small voice.
“You’re going to love it,” said Gertie. “The plane knits it all together: the earth, the people, the sky, the sea.” And she squeezed the old, worn, nimble hand.
Then she nodded up the narrow aisle to Struan at the back. They were still, technically a secret, particularly in front of the children, so she nodded at him and he nodded back and Gertie was fine with that. Love wasn’t about grand gestures and showing off; like stories or daydreams. Sometimes love was just about joy, and togetherness, and itself.
She turned back to give the safety announcement she was now qualified to do, and, at the last moment, she opened her bag.
“One last thing,” she said, smiling her lovely smile. “MacIntyre Air appears to be carrying a stowaway.”
And she pulled out Oksana’s bear, now cleaned, stitched up, and wearing a brand-new pullover knitted in MacIntyre Air colors.
Oksana gasped, her eyes wide, and Gertie grinned even more handing it back to the girl, as her new friends exclaimed, and admired it.
That was too much for Struan. He couldn’t help himself. He strode on his damaged feet to the front of the plane, grabbed Gertie in full view of everyone, and kissed her full on the mouth, to a loud OOOH from the children.
“I KNEW she was his girlfriend,” said Wee Shugs.
“Excuse me, the fasten seatbelt sign is on?” yelled Morag from the cockpit.
“I thought we were taking this slowly,” said Gertie.
“Ach well,” said Struan.
“It is what it is.”
“Listen to the wind upon the hill until the water abates.”
“èist ri gaoth nam beann gus an traogh na h-uisgeachan.”
T HE CHILDREN HAD just all deplaned when Morag’s radio buzzed. She came back to the cabin, where Gertie was unbuckling Elspeth.
“Ah,” said Morag. “Not so fast.”
Gertie looked up enquiringly.
“Air ambulance wants to know if we can take a job on for them, they’re at a road crash. A17 is blocked out of Carso. And a heavily pregnant woman needs a transfer.”
“Oh my God!” said Gertie, staring. “Is it Nalitha? Is she okay?”
“She will be, apparently, if we get a move on,” said Morag, heading up front.
“Oh, Elspeth,” said Gertie. “I was going to take you to the Mod.”
“Don’t you worry,” said Elspeth, settling back. “I haven’t had so much fun in years. Now, what color am I knitting for this baby?”