Keepsakes from the Cottage by the Loch (Loch Cameron #6)

Chapter 11

ELEVEN

‘We found something,’ one of the men said, pointing at the hole in the ground. ‘Looks like a metal canister of some description. It’s not piping, or anything attached to the building.’

‘What d’you mean, a canister?’ Emily walked to the edge of the hole and looked down.

‘That’s my guess. Something metal that sounds semi-hollow when you tap it with a spade.’ The man shrugged. ‘We have to dig it out, anyway, to get down further. So, you might as well look at it now.’

‘Fair enough. Dig it up.’ Emily tucked her hands under her armpits and exchanged a look with Tara. ‘Do you know each other, then?’ she whispered as Ramsay turned away. ‘I sense an atmosphere.’

Tara nodded. ‘I’ll tell you later,’ she murmured.

‘Intriguing.’ Emily raised an eyebrow.

‘Nice to see you, Tara.’ Ramsay appeared at Tara’s elbow as the machine brought up a small metal box.

‘Hi,’ she replied, not knowing what to say. ‘So, you’re… you work on the building site?’

‘No. I’m involved with the planning. Just popped in to see how they were getting on. Looks like I chose the right moment,’ he said.

‘I guess it’s not every day that there’s an exciting discovery in the grounds of a school.’ Tara tried to think of something neutral to say.

‘I mean seeing you, actually. But, sure.’ He shot her an unreadable look.

‘Oh. Right.’ Tara desperately wanted the earth to swallow her up, and thought for a moment at the sheer irony of life with the actual hole in the ground right in front of her that had opened up, like some kind of living metaphor. When Ramsay looked away, Emily made a face at her and mouthed what is going on between you two?

‘Oh! You know, I think I might remember what this is,’ Tara said, as the tin canister was dug out and handed up to them. It was a large coffee urn, and a memory sparked in her mind as she looked at it. ‘When we were kids, we made time capsules and buried them. I think this is one of them. Don’t you remember?’ She looked up at Ramsay, her excitement temporarily chasing away her awkwardness at seeing him again.

‘No. We did this?’ Ramsay frowned. ‘I don’t remember. But I don’t remember a lot of stuff, I guess.’

‘You went to school together? Here?’ Emily looked from Ramsay to Tara. ‘So, you’re old friends, then?’

‘Kind of.’ Tara really didn’t want to explain it; Ramsay looked away, also looking uncomfortable.

‘No way! I didn’t know that had happened. Let’s look inside.’ Emily took the coffee tin from the builder and tried the lid. ‘Hmmm. It’s a bit stuck. Let’s take it over to one of the tables.’

The three of them went to one of the brightly painted picnic tables that were dotted around the playground and sat down. This table was labelled FRIENDSHIP BENCH. It felt surreal being there with Ramsay, and more than a little cringeworthy standing around a brightly painted FRIENDSHIP BENCH with Ramsay Fraser, of all people.

Emily placed the tin on the table and, this time, managed to wedge the lid open.

‘Oh, my,’ she breathed. ‘Look! All the little letters.’ She pulled out a handful and passed a collection of folded pieces of paper to Tara, taking out more for herself. ‘You’re right. These are all dated 2003. Twenty odd years ago.’

‘This might be our class,’ Tara marvelled, opening the first letter. ‘My wishes for the future,’ she read aloud. ‘Ben Travis, age 7. I wish for world peace, and a tortoise.’

‘Awww. I hope he got the tortoise,’ Emily chuckled. ‘How old are you? Would this boy have been in your class, then?’

‘Twenty-nine. I think so, or maybe the year below? I don’t specifically remember a Ben Travis, but I think there was a Ben, somewhere,’ Tara mused. ‘In fact. I’m almost sure of it. I mean, there were only ten kids in our class. Probably sixty or seventy kids in the whole school at that time.’

‘That’s about the number of letters, looking at this.’ Emily counted a handful of papers and reached into the tin for more. ‘You must have known each other pretty well, then.’ She raised an eyebrow, obviously keen for more details, but Tara shrugged.

‘Reasonably well. It’s been a long time, though,’ she added, pointedly. Ramsay coughed and looked away, clearly feeling uncomfortable.

Good , Tara thought. I’m glad you’re uncomfortable. I’ve been uncomfortable for the last ten years.

‘Listen to this, this is cute. Tinkerbell McCallister, age 6. I wish for fairies to be real. Don’t we all,’ Emily continued.

‘Tinkerbell. That’s adventurous.’ Tara was more or less ignoring Ramsay and she wondered if it was obvious that she couldn’t get it into her head that he was there at all. It was still so weird, seeing him, in person. When she’d spent so long thinking she was never going to see him again .

‘I’ve got a Dante at the moment in Primary 4. No Beatrice, unfortunately. Or, fortunately, depending on how you look at it,’ Emily mused as she looked at the letters.

‘I guess you didn’t get the perfect combination of parents who are fans of renaissance Italian literature,’ Ramsay commented.

‘Indeed not. Goodness knows why not. It’s all I can talk about, most days.’

‘Haha. Some parents don’t seem to care about the playground test, do they?’ Ramsay grinned. ‘You know. Like naming a dog. If you’re not happy shouting the name across a playground, don’t name your kid that.’

‘Well, I guess Tinkerbell’s parents were okay with it.’ Emily chuckled, again. ‘Takes all sorts. She likely shortened it to Tink, or Bella. It’s quite cute really.’

Tara felt an unreasonable, sudden jealousy at the easy back-and-forth between Emily and Ramsay. They seemed to know each other fairly well, and Tara wondered why. Was it just because of the building project, or was there more going on here?

And would it be any of your business if it was? She stopped herself.

No, it wouldn’t.

‘Oh.’ Tara had looked back at the piece of paper in her hand, and it made her stop in her tracks. The handwriting was so eerily familiar. She swallowed, hard.

‘What is it? Emily asked, leaning over.

‘I… I think this is… mine,’ Tara said, in a low voice.

‘No way! That’s crazy. Let me see?’ Emily leaned over to look. ‘Tara Ballantyne, aged 8. I wish to inspire and help others. Awww. That’s so sweet,’ she read aloud.

‘I don’t remember writing that. I would have thought I’d write something about dancing, or travelling to other countries or something.’ Tara gazed at the small piece of paper in disbelief that something she had made, touched, marked in such a way, was back in her hands. It was odd. Disquieting, in a way.

‘Wow. Can I see?’ Ramsay asked, softly. Tara met his eyes. There was a terrible sadness there, and her heart clenched in response to it. She handed him the note.

He held it for a moment, lowering his eyes, then handed it back to her.

‘Yeah. That’s weird to see,’ he said, looking away.

‘I think we’d all be surprised if we could meet our childhood selves,’ Emily replied, thoughtfully. ‘I wonder what I would have written. Probably something about Sylvanian Families, but, maybe I’m doing myself a disservice by saying that.’

‘I must have been feeling very socially conscious that day.’ Tara set her eight-year-old-self’s letter to one side. ‘It’s strange to see my handwriting. The thought that I put that ink on the page, twenty-odd years ago, and here it is now.’ She was prattling on, following Emily’s lead, but she was doing it to mask the sheer awkwardness of the situation.

‘Absolutely. It’s crazy,’ Emily agreed. ‘Oh. Listen to this one. This is heartbreaking. He’s only written have a happy family . That’s all he wanted.’

‘Whose was that?’ Tara asked. But, she knew.

She knew from Ramsay’s expression as he turned his head with a look of dawning horror on his face.

Tara’s heart felt like it stopped for a moment: a clench of tension in her chest.

‘Let’s see. Where’s the name. Ah. Ram–’ Emily broke off and looked right at Ramsay. ‘Ramsay Fraser,’ she finished, weakly.