‘Oh, Dad. I’ve missed you.’ Marion put her arm around his shoulders.

‘And me you, lassie, me you.’

Maggie came out of the back door holding a tray. ‘Robert, take your trowel off the garden table! You know we are having tea out here.’

‘Sorry, dear. Pull me up, will you, Marion.’

As she helped him up and he went to collect the offending trowel, Marion noticed a stiffness in his walk.

‘Are you all right, Dad?’

‘It’s his hip,’ Maggie told her. ‘Arthritis. But will he go to the doctor?’

Robert ignored her and sank gratefully into his old deckchair.

‘Maggie! Dundee cake.’ He smiled. ‘My favourite.’

‘Don’t change the subject.’ Maggie shook her head. ‘Anyway, I made it for Marion, not you.’

‘In that case, I’m even happier to see Marion home.’ He picked up the cake knife. ‘Shall I be Mother?’

The tea was poured and the cake was eaten and Marion felt the comfort of being home again. ‘So, tell me, Mother, what’s the latest gossip?’

Maggie was a great talker and over the next hour she managed a constant stream of words. Marion heard but didn’t listen. She had only asked her mother about local gossip because she knew it would please her.

‘Oh, and your father has a friend coming over for his tea tomorrow. A very nice man.’ She looked intently at Marion. ‘He would suit you very nicely.’

‘Oh no.’ Marion laughed, ‘I don’t think so. No thank you, Mother.’

Maggie couldn’t stop herself. ‘Why not? Have you met someone?’

‘I’ve met plenty of people.’

‘But not this one.’ Maggie nudged Robert. ‘Tell her about him.’

‘Please don’t,’ begged Marion, only half joking.

‘Shush,’ Maggie told her. ‘Go on, Robert. Tell her.’

Robert did as he was told. ‘He’s a nice chap. Ex-Army. Dabbles in motor car sales.’

Maggie interrupted. ‘They met at a rally. You know how your dad loves cars?’

‘Aye, and we got chatting and it turns out he’s newly returned to the area, living on his own. I felt a bit sorry for him and I thought, with you coming home, it might be nice to invite him over. A new face for us all.’

‘I smell matchmaking.’ Marion raised an eyebrow at her mother. ‘And I am not going to fall for it – or for a stranger Dad picked up at a car rally.’

Maggie tutted. ‘You’re twenty-six, Marion! You shouldn’t be leaving it so late!’

Marion looked pained. ‘I am enjoying my work. I like my life. There’s plenty of time for a husband.’

‘Aye, but—’

Robert threw Maggie a warning look. ‘That’s enough. Leave the girl be.’

Maggie twisted her lips and said huffily, ‘Oh, so you don’t want to be a grandfather then?’

With gentle diplomacy, Marion stepped in. ‘One day, I promise, I shall get married and have a wee girl and a wee boy and you two can spoil them rotten. But not yet. Now, I will wash this up for you and, if you don’t mind, I would love a bath. It was awful hot on the train.’