Chapters (39)
- Title Page
- Dedication
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Epilogue
- Author’s note
- Acknowledgements
- About the Author
Anna looked at the way her baby’s fingers were still wrapped around his, the eldest and youngest residents of Crovie connected by a sliver of time that might perhaps prove too narrow for Little Bren to remember in years to come. The thought cast Anna’s mind back to the phone call she’d had with Melissa.
‘Something’s happened,’ she said.
Robert looked up with a frown. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing bad. A bit surprising, that’s all. Melissa phoned.’ Anna took a breath. ‘They’ve had an approach from a production company. They want to make a series to follow the cookbook.’
Robert’s eyes widened. ‘Wow. That’s amazing!’
Anna smiled. ‘Is it? I’m not sure. I’ve never been interested in being on camera. It’s not my kind of thing. Writing a cookbook, yeah, but—’
Robert reached out one hand to cover Anna’s. ‘Hey. You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.’
She squeezed his hand. ‘No, I don’t. And my first reaction was to say no. Melissa told me to think about it, and the thing is…’ Anna looked around at the village, slowly coming back to life around them. ‘It doesn’t have to be about me, does it? It could be about Crovie. My food would be a part of it, but there could be so much more to it than that. Local history, stories. I could talk about Bren’s notebook, cook recipes from it, go foraging the way she did. Her notes are tales in themselves.’
Little Bren murbled and Robert kissed her forehead. ‘That sounds like a great idea.’
‘I should talk to everyone else about it. See what they think.’ Anna looked at Douglas McKean. ‘What about you, Dougie? How would you feel about being on camera? I bet you’ve got a ton of stories you could tell, given the chance.’
Douglas McKean grinned, a surprisingly warm expression given his pronounced lack of teeth.
There came a shout from along the sea wall. They all looked up to see Young Robbie running towards them, helter-skelter, his cheeks red, his sandy hair flying in the wind. He was shouting.
‘They’ve done it!’ he yelled. ‘They’ve got through! They’ve cleared the road!’
Well now, my selkie lass,
Robbie and Anna have filled the house with daffodils. They bought jars of pickled beetroot, too. The house is a riot of purple and yellow, just for you.
Happy Mother’s Day, Cassie.
We love you.