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Chapters (142)
  1. About the Author
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. NOTEBOOK 1
  6. Brukie’s Sandy
  7. April 1972
  8. 1
  9. May 1972
  10. 2
  11. 3
  12. June 1972
  13. 4
  14. July 1972
  15. 5
  16. 6
  17. 7
  18. 8
  19. October 1972
  20. 9
  21. 10
  22. 11
  23. October 1972
  24. 12
  25. December 1972
  26. 13
  27. December 1972
  28. 14
  29. December 1972
  30. NOTEBOOK 2
  31. Brukie’s Sandy
  32. January 1973
  33. 1
  34. 2
  35. 3
  36. 4
  37. 5
  38. 6
  39. March 1973
  40. 7
  41. 8
  42. 9
  43. 10
  44. April 1973
  45. 11
  46. 12
  47. 13
  48. 14
  49. June 1973
  50. 15
  51. July 1973
  52. 16
  53. 17
  54. 18
  55. 19
  56. August 1973
  57. 20
  58. 21
  59. August 1973
  60. 22
  61. 23
  62. 24
  63. August 1973
  64. 25
  65. August 1973
  66. 26
  67. August 1973
  68. 27
  69. NOTEBOOK 3
  70. Brukie’s Sandy
  71. March 1974
  72. 1
  73. 2
  74. 3
  75. 4
  76. 5
  77. April 1974
  78. 6
  79. 7
  80. June 1974
  81. 8
  82. July 1974
  83. 9
  84. August 1974
  85. 10
  86. August 1974
  87. 11
  88. October 1974
  89. 12
  90. October 1974
  91. 13
  92. October 1974
  93. October 1974
  94. 14
  95. October 1974
  96. 15
  97. 16
  98. November 1974
  99. 17
  100. November 1974
  101. December 1974
  102. CODA
  103. Brukie’s Sandy
  104. 1
  105. 2
  106. 3
  107. 4
  108. 5
  109. 6
  110. 7
  111. 8
  112. 9
  113. 10
  114. 11
  115. 12
  116. 13
  117. 14
  118. 15
  119. 16
  120. 17
  121. 18
  122. 19
  123. 20
  124. 21
  125. 22
  126. 23
  127. 24
  128. 25
  129. 26
  130. 27
  131. April 1975
  132. Brukie’s Sandy
  133. 28
  134. 29
  135. 30
  136. 31
  137. 32
  138. 33
  139. Glossary
  140. Note
  141. Acknowledgments
  142. Works Cited

Because the rabbit is racing towards the edge of the Knab and the little boy is running after it and there is no-one stopping him, no-one to stop him as he keeps running after the rabbit, straight for the space where the Knab ends, straight for the wide blue sky, and I know I canna stand by and do nothing, it will not be me who stands by, and I keep running to catch the boy, to catch him by his shabby blue gansey, his skinny leg, to pull him down to the earth, just one more step, one more …

And I am downed from behind, crashing down, chin in the marigold earth as the little boy sprawls into the wide blue sky like a clumsy fledgling bird.

~

I dream of flying …

~

Ca-co-pho-ny, I say to myself. People shouting, weeping. A screeching of gulls.

I am on my back, looking up at Clementina Slater’s face and the blue of the sky. She is kneeling over me, shaking my shoulders. Her face is red. She is crying. Clementina Slater, crying, splashing me with tears.

Stupid, stupid quinie! Ye would’ve gone over with him! Ye were headin’ right to go over, ye were, ye were goin’ over too.

I was going over? Frown. I was …?

With a great thump of panic, I remember. And I twist around, out of her grasp, to see the sky as blue as Magnus Tulloch’s eyes. I am searching for the lift of wings, for something miraculous.

There is nothing. Nothing but air.

NOTEBOOK 3

Notebook 3

1910–1932

EARTH

Brukie’s Sandy

Made hardly a splash at all, that boy, Brukie’s Sandy, when he lost his balance, reaching with the grapplie hook for a message from the sea. He toppled from the stern of the Lily Maud in his gansey layers, his long oilie, his great hulking seaboots.

As he fell, a rope from the stern. Snagging an arm.

A lifeline …

March 1974

March 1974

Dearest lambsie, another new book, but your twenty-first birthday has come and gone. I pictured giving you these notebooks in a wooden box, a wee kist, but things got in the way of that. This tiresome disease … I’d to settle for the silver earrings and cashmere coat. She chose well for me, your mother did. Kathryn has always had an eye for beautiful things. An artist’s eye, I suppose that’s it.