‘It’s for you, a braw new frock for the wedding.’ Peg straightened herself, waiting for the blast.

‘What wedding is this then?’ Netta fixed her piercing blue-green eyes on Peg in disbelief. ‘You’re no marrying my pa, are you?’ She rummaged through the packaging and took out the turquoise taffeta frock with its puff sleeves and stiffened underskirt, flinging it across the floor. ‘I’m not wearing that!’

‘You’ll do as you’re told, you ungrateful lassie! I declare tae God I’m no having you turn up at ma wedding in black mourning. Pick it up at once! It’s been ordered especially. Think yourself lucky. Many a wee lassie would think herself Princess Elizabeth in yon bonny goon. Try it on, I chose the shade to go with yer hair.’

‘You’re no my mammy and you cannae make me!’ Netta picked the frock off the floor as if it was a duster and flung it on the kitchen table. ‘I’m no going to yer rotten wedding! Who said you could marry my pa? He’s married already.’

‘Aye, but your mammy’s away to live with Jesus, God rest her soul, in a far better place out of all her earthly suffering. Yer faither needs a woman about the house and since I’ve been doing this job for months, we decided it was aboot time we settled things properly afore the tongues of all the Stewartry start to wag. ’

‘You’re never going to be my mammy, I don’t like you,’ answered Netta, mouth pursed tightly in defiance.

‘And I don’t like you much so that’s the truth telt and the devil shamed! We’ll both have to make the best of it.’ Peg stood firm with her arms folded over her bosom.

‘Nobody asked you to come here,’ snapped Netta, trying to fix her gaze out of the window and in the yard.

‘As a matter of record, young lady, as I recall my second cousin Jeanie Nichol herself begged me to help yous all out when she took to her bed…’

‘We’d’ve managed!’ came the fierce reply.

‘Och, aye! I didna see you soiling yer fingers in the byre or at the sink.’

‘I do the hens.’

‘And the hen money has brought you this fine dress to be my flower girl. You ought to be grateful I’m asking you. Look, this has real smocking on the bodice. I’ll treat you to some sandals with straps and long white socks…’ Peg could see the child wavering. Wee Alec had chosen well for her but Netta didn’t want to give Peg the satisfaction of acknowledging it. ‘It’ll have to do,’ she said grudgingly.

‘It’ll have to do! A good skelping is what you need, not a new dress.’ This argument was going nowhere.

‘My pa loves my mammy, not you.’