Lauren doesn’t have official lessons like the others but their teacher, Sandy Ross, comes to her father’s now and again to play guitar with other men. He usually teaches her something on those nights and she is allowed to stay up later and listen. The songs they play most are about travelling round the world and missing Scotland and learning things the hard way. Songs that bring most men to the brink of tears, before they belt out a chorus to stop themselves. Lauren will sing along too and let her feelings ride high. Just as certain songs are only played at certain midnights in Scotland, particular emotions are only permitted in particular circumstances such as these. Whenever the men grow rowdy with drink, she takes herself to bed.

Lauren has stopped recognizing the songs Rachel is playing, so when she pauses, Lauren asks, ‘What was that? After “Merry Boys O’ Greenland”?’

‘“Da Full Rigged Ship”. Are you still playing.’ This sounds like a challenge rather than a question.

‘Now and then.’ Lauren is determined not to feel small.

‘Can you play “Mairi’s Wedding”?’ Rachel replies. ‘I just learned it.’

‘No. I can play “Bonnie Tammie Scolla”.’ This is the second song you learn on the fiddle after ‘Baa Baa Black Sheep’. It’s respectable, Lauren thinks, it means you’re not a baby. She thought it was called ‘Bonnie Tammy, Scholar’ at first and imagined a girl who was pretty and cool walking around with a pile of books.

Where have you been all the day,

Bonnie Tammie, Bonnie Tammie?

Where have you been all the day,

Bonnie Tammie Scolla?

Her father had soon put her straight, explaining that Tammie was a boy’s name, the same as Tam or Thomas, and Scolla was a Shetland surname. It was disappointing. Boys are not bonnie, in Lauren’s view, not bonnie enough to sing about.

Rachel does not think ‘Bonnie Tammie Scolla’ is respectable. ‘Oh, that’s easy,’ she says, cocking her head to one side.

Lauren wants to tell Rachel her gel pens smell like hot puke, but instead she says, ‘And “Donald Blue”.’ This is a lie. ‘Donald Blue’ is a complicated tune, like lots of bright boats bobbing at different times. She always imagines Donald Blue at the helm of one of them, wearing a navy Guernsey.

‘Are you serious? You want to play it?’ Rachel holds her fiddle out, calling her bluff.

‘Nah. Play “Mairi’s Wedding” then.’ This song is one of Lauren’s favourites, one of the most advanced for kids their age, and Rachel plays it faultlessly. Her fingers dance over the neck of the fiddle, so fast Lauren can hardly follow. While she plays, Rachel’s eyes stare ahead vacantly.

You learn fiddle tunes by watching what your teacher does, again and again, until your body knows the music without thinking. If you do stop to think, you usually make a mistake. The lyrics run through Lauren’s head: