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"What, dad?"
"What was the job, dad?"
"He had to make brooms."
"Brooms?"
"Old fashioned brushes made from bundles of twigs tied to a wooden handle. You know up in the forest you sometimes see those things for beating out fires?"
"The big flappy things?"
"Yes; they're big bits of rubber — old tyres — attached to wooden handles, for beating out fires on the ground. Well, in the old days, those used to be made from twigs, and even longer ago people used to use brooms like that to sweep the streets and even to sweep their houses. Not all that long ago, either; I can remember seeing a man sweeping the paths in the park in Gallanach with a broom like that, when I was older than either of you are now."
"Ah, but dad, you're ancient!"
"Ha ha ha ha!"
"That's enough. Now listen; about these brooms, right?"
"What?"
"What, dad?"
The man who had been a rich merchant, and who was now a beggar, had to make brooms for the town. He had a little hut with a stone floor, and a supply of handles and twigs. But to teach the man a lesson they had given him a supply of twigs that were old and weak; poor twigs for making brooms with.
"So, by the time he had made one broom the floor of the hut was covered in bits of twigs, and he had to use the broom he'd just made to sweep the floor of his hut clean before he could start making the next broom. But by the time he'd cleaned the floor to his satisfaction, the broom had worn right away, right down to the handle. So he had to start on another one. And the same thing happened with that broom, too. And the next, and the next; the mess made making each broom had to be cleared up with that same broom, and wore it away. So at the end of the day there was a great big pile of twigs outside the hut, but not one broom left."
"That's silly!"
"That's a waste, sure it is, dad?"
"Both. But the people had done it to teach the man a lesson."
"What lesson, dad?"
"Ah-hah. You'll have to work that out for yourselves."
"Aw, dad!"
"Dad, I know!"
"What?" Ke
"Not to be so damn silly!"
Ke
"Dad," James said from the lower bunk. "What happened to the merchant?"
Ke
"Aw, but dad…»
"But one thing's definite."
"What, dad?"
"It's light-out time."
"Aw…»
"Night-night."
"Night, dad."
"Yeah; night."
"Sleep tight."
"Don't let the bugs bite."
"Right. Now lie down properly; noddles on pillows."
He made sure they were both tucked in and went to the door. The night-light glowed softly on the top of the chest of drawers.
"Okay… Dad?"
"What?"
"Did the man not have any family, dad?" Prentice asked. "In the story: the merchant. Did he not have any family?"
"No," Ke
"Aww…»
"Aww…»
He smiled, padded back into the room, kissed the boys" foreheads. "But then he was a silly man, wasn't he?"
They left Margot to look after the children and set off in the car, heading for Gallanach. Ke
"What are you gri
"Just that sign," he said. "The one that goes with the Slow Children sign at the other end of the village."
"Huh," Mary said. "Slow children, indeed. I hope you weren't telling my bairns horrible stories that'll keep them awake all night."
«Na» he said. The Volvo estate accelerated down the straight through the forest towards Port A
"Hmm," Mary said. She snapped the glove-box closed. "I heard Lachy Watt's back in the town; is that true?"
"Apparently." Ke
They had spent Hogmanay at home, welcoming the groups of people roaming the village as they came round. The last revellers had finally been seen off at nine in the morning; they and Margot had done some cleaning up before going to bed, though Ken had anyway had a couple of hours" sleep between three and five, when he'd fallen into a deep slumber on the wicker couch in the conservatory. The boys had gone out to play on the forestry tracks with their new bikes on what had proved a bright but cold day; Mary had got three hours" sleep before they came back, noisily demanding to be fed.
"Haven't seem him for… what? Ten years?" Mary said. "Has he been away at sea all that time?"
"Well, hardly," Ken said. "He was in Australia, wasn't he? Settled down there for a while. Had some sort of job in Sydney, I heard."
"What was he doing?"
"Don't know; you could ask him yourself. Supposed to be coming to Hamish and Tone's shindig tonight."
"Is he?" Mary said. The Volvo hissed along the dark road; a couple of cars went past, holes of white light in the night, scattering spray which the water jets and wipers of the Volvo swept away again. Mary took a perfume spray from her handbag, applied the scent to wrists and neck. "Fergus and Fiona are coming tonight, aren't they?"
"Should be," Ken nodded.
"Do you know if Lachy and Fergus still talk to each other?"
"No idea." He laughed. "Don't even know what they'd talk about; a member of the factory-owning Scottish gentry and a second mate — or whatever Lachy is these days — who's spent the last few years in Oz. What is there to say; aye-aye, captain of light industry?"
"Fergus isn't gentry, anyway," Mary said.
"Well, good as. Might not have a title, but he acts like he does sometimes. Got a castle; what more do you want?" Ke
The lights of Lochgilphead swung into view ahead, just as rain started to spot the windscreen. Ke
Mary shook her head.
"Going to the dogs, if you ask me."
"Fergus, people like you have been saying that since somebody invented the wheel. Things get better. They're always looking up."
"Yes, Ke
Ke
They stood in the lounge of Hamish and Antonia's house, watching the others help themselves to the buffet Antonia had prepared. Neither of the two men had felt hungry.
"You might not be saying that when the refugees come back from Australia," Fergus said sourly. Ke