Course not, I told her, affecting a face as sour as Granda’s. But then it was time for her to go. Kitta was leaving and this time I knew what leaving was. I knew it would make her someone else, that more of her would be lost to me for always. She was leaving again and I couldn’t bear it.

Come, quinie, Ma said, and waited outside the door.

Goodbye, goodbye, Ginger Meggie mine, Kitta sang softly. She disentangled herself from me and looked around. Granda had his back to her and was saying nothing.

Hash yourself, quinie! Ma, impatient to get away.

Kitta squared her shoulders, blew me a kiss and marched out the door, turning only to poke out her tongue at Granda’s back.

Later, when Granda stumped off down to the boatie shore, I slipped into the netting shed and stroked Crusoe’s soft head, and wrapped the two of us in Kitta’s purple silk.

~

Ma was not one for crowds but her description of the ship’s leaving sounded like something from a storybook to me, a tale about kings and queens and parades. The pier thronging with a cheering crowd waving and throwing paper streamers to the girls on deck. A band playing, the girls singing, swaying arm in arm. Pedlars with pies and chestnuts and paper twists of cockles roaming through the crowds. People swarming, jostling, everywhere!

Ma seemed overawed still by the whole spectacle.

An’ when the ship steamed away, oh, the tears. Hundreds of people cryin’!

Did ye cry, Ma? Did ye cry, too?

Course not, she sniffed.

Granda cleared his throat and I wanted to tell him, there and then, to hush his mouth. I knew I wasn’t going to like what he had to say.

Godless, the lot of them. Town folk with no sense nor decency.

Well, I would, I declared. I would have cried an’ cried an’ never stopped till I could see the ship no more!

Foolish quinie, Granda grunted.

Crusoe howled outside, and it comforted me to hear it, as though the way I was feeling inside was pouring out of him for all to hear.

An’ shut that beast up, that wretched fulpie!

He was bending over the fire, puffing it with the bellows, and in spirit with my sister I showed his back my tongue.

10

Every day it seemed that Granda Jeemsie’s mood darkened a little more, and nothing could please him, if ever anything did. I was sorry for the crew of the Lily Maud—old Sailor Finney, and those boys, Turton’s Jock and Brukie’s Sandy. Sorrier still for Ma and me.

I envied Ma her tramp to the country, knowing I would be bearing the brunt of Granda’s temper alone. And I told her so when I helped her load up with her creel.

Now, just ye mind, Meggie, she said vaguely.

Who could blame her, anxious to be away?