I’d not be that if I stayed here for the rest of my life! I told her. I had come to know how Lerwegians feel about these things. But … I’m not a Buchaner either. No more. I don’t belong anywhere now.

She’d laughed her best barking, snorting Clementina laugh. A flibbertygibberty bird—that’s what ye are!

And I think: Aye, I could be a bird.

Clementina and I rest awhile halfway up to watch the puffins. A scatter of them flying about the cliff face below, coming in to land, huddling in clusters by their scrubby burrows dug among the rocks. Bonxies circle, blunt and brown, their eyes sharp for unprotected eggs.

When we reach the top of the world, we sit on the grass with our jeely pieces. Clementina throws a few crumbs to a gull, and soon there are four of them waiting for the next. Rabbits dart about among the marigolds.

So, Clementina says, all no-care nonchalant, he has a lass, then, has he?

Who?

That Stivvy Ratter, of course.

Ooo-hoo! I whistle and she gives me a punch on the arm.

Two young boys clamber up the path, pushing and jostling and throwing clods of earthy weed at each other. A third, younger, stumbles behind.

Stivvy Ratter’s a free loon, far as I know.

Eh, well. And she glances at me sideways and laughs.

An uprooted clump of campion lands beside Clementina, showering her with earth. She jumps to her feet, shaking her skirt.

Oi, young mannie!

The two boys look aghast as the bulk of Clementina Slater heads their way. It’s the third little boy who catches my eye. Now level with us, he is steadier on his feet and excited at seeing so many rabbits diving around him. He runs, clapping his hands.

Clementina is Having Words and, surprisingly, the boys are listening. Run away, lads, I think to myself, that’s what I’d do.

I glance back at the little one. He is running towards me now, his eyes on a small black rabbit. I smile. No chance of catching a bunny, little loon, they’re too quick for you. It dives left to right, the boy following, then back the other way to give him the slip. And the little one turns, too, running.

And I scramble to my feet.

And then I am running.

Running, shouting …