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

Chapter 19

NINETEEN

‘No, it’s okay, you’re getting it… step, close, step, hop… okay.’ Tara laughed good-naturedly as the women of the crochet coven rehearsed some basic Scottish country dancing moves.

Kathy, who was perhaps somewhere in her early thirties, with a striking two-tone black and cerise hairdo, tattoos up her arms and wearing black jeans and a baby pink T shirt with a Japanese cartoon cat on it, raised her hand.

‘Tara. Can ye show us the foot positions again, like, in super slow motion?’ she called out. ‘My body just isnae gettin’ it.’

‘I can’t get it either,’ Mina chuckled, who was her partner – a woman of Indian origin with her hair in a neat black bob and dressed smartly in tan jodhpurs and a white sweatshirt with a prominent designer logo in diamante across the front. Tara guessed Mina was in her forties. She had liked Mina’s aura of firmness with a sparkle of mischief straight away. ‘I keep wanting to go right when I should be going left.’

‘Right. Okay, watch me again. June, would you mind?’ Tara had been standing in the middle of the women as they promenaded around her, two by two, in a makeshift circle. June, the matriarch of the group, who Sheila had pointed out to her before, was playing traditional Scottish tunes on the piano for them to dance to. ‘Can someone walk through it with me?’

Teaching the crochet coven the basics of Highland dancing was another one of those experiences that plummeted Tara right back to her childhood. If she closed her eyes, she could remember her first ever lesson in a hall with a wooden floor very similar to this one: the squeak of her feet as she moved slowly through her first ever steps, the cabbagey, jumble sale smell of that first rehearsal room. What was missing was Ramsay, next to her, a studious expression on his face as he copied the teacher.

‘Aye, I’ll be your guinea pig,’ a short-haired woman in jeans, worn trainers and a plain grey T-shirt volunteered herself. ‘Bess Black. We havenae met so far. Thanks fer givin’ up yer time tae transform a lot o’ middle aged women intae fleet-footed goddesses,’ she said with a twinkle in her eye. ‘No’ that I’ve got much faith in my dancin’ skills, but at least the rest o’ you lot stand half a chance of not showin’ yerselves up at the fundraiser.’

‘You’re welcome. Least I can do to help the school,’ Tara replied.

‘Fleet-footed goddesses, my arse.’ Sheila laughed uproariously. ‘Middle-aged menopausal gossips, more like.’

‘Can’t we be both?’ Bess raised a playful eyebrow. ‘You’re all goddesses tae me.’

‘Awww. Haha. All right then. I suppose a lot o’ those Greek and Roman goddesses had ample thighs an’ bosoms.’ Sheila shrugged.

‘How many of you have done traditional dance before?’ Tara asked. ‘Just out of interest?’

‘It’s been years since I learned country dancin’ at school. Done my share of ceilidhs, obviously,’ Kathy said. ‘Probably like most o’ us. Like, ye can manage, but no’ necessarily an expert.’

‘Okay. Just so I know where we are.’ Tara took Bess’ hand. ‘So. Very slowly, if everyone can see?’ She demonstrated a Strathspey setting step, which was a simple travelling step that went from right to left and then left to right, back and forth.

‘Step, close, step, hop,’ she said, as she demonstrated the move. ‘Bess? With me. June, nice and slowly, if you don’t mind?’

‘Step, close, step, hop,’ Bess repeated, brow furrowed, as they executed the steps slowly to June’s patient piano.

‘Now, everyone,’ Tara said, and watched them. ‘Just take it slowly. It’s an easy step. Step, close, step, hop. That’s it! You’re getting it!’ She stood by Mina and went through the step with her again, so that she could sense the rhythm.

‘Ahh!’ Mina grinned as she did the step. Tara could see it click in her, in the same way as sometimes when she was in the classroom and she saw understanding dawn on the face of a child. That was part of why she loved teaching.

‘You’ve got it! Well done!’ Tara clapped. ‘Keep going! Step, close, step, hop!’ She joined them in a line, as all the women coordinated their steps to the music. She’d never specifically taught dance before, apart from now and again with the children at her school when it was PE on a rainy day, but she realised that she was really enjoying it.

‘Right, let’s have a break,’ Sheila called out. ‘Tara, I’m sweatin’ like a horse. Can we have tea an’ cake an’ then go back tae it in a bit?’

‘Of course.’ Tara nodded. Bess groaned and flexed her shin.

‘All that jumpin’. I’m goin’ tae feel it tomorrow.’ She rubbed her leg.

‘Well, it’s not much of a jump, in that step.’ Tara grinned, following her to the trestle table where the women had laid out a number of tupperware containers of cakes as before. ‘It’s more of a hop.’

‘You say hop, I say cardiac arrest waiting tae happen,’ Bess chuckled. ‘Ah, I’m jokin’, I’m jokin’. Do us all good tae get a bit o’ exercise fer a change instead o’ sittin’ around, doin’ crochet an’ eatin’ cake.’

‘To be fair, we are eating cake now,’ Emily said. ‘Thanks for this, Tara. I really do appreciate your help, prepping us for the fundraiser. People love a dance, and it’s so nice of you to help us out like this.’

‘It’s a pleasure,’ Tara said, selecting a large, soft oatmeal cookie studded with raisins from a Tupperware box and accepting a cup of tea from June, who had left the piano and was sorting out the drinks for everyone. ‘How much do I owe you?’ she asked, but June frowned and waved her away.

‘On the house, darlin’. You’re here doin’ us a favour,’ she demurred.

‘It’s really no trouble. I’d like to contribute,’ Tara said, but June gave her a sharp look.

‘Absolutely not. I have spoken.’

‘Don’t argue,’ Emily advised her, smiling at June, who gave her a twinkly grin that utterly dispelled her sternness. ‘If June says no, she means no.’

‘Okay. Thank you, then.’ Tara accepted the tea and cookie gracefully. ‘So, are you all planning to perform something in particular, or is it more that you just want to upskill yourselves?’

‘We thought it would be nice to do a sort of performance, yes,’ Emily said, cutting a slice of a large red velvet cake and putting it on a plate. ‘Nothing too complicated or energetic, something that we can all do. A ladies’ dance.’

‘Right.’ Tara nodded. ‘Do you want me to choreograph something? We could start on it now. Nothing fancy, just something you can all do.’

‘That would be amazing. Yes!’ Emily waved her arms at the group of women, who were milling around and chatting. ‘Everyone! Tara said she’d choreograph a piece for us to learn for the fundraiser! Isn’t that nice of her?’ she called out.

‘Fantastic!’ Mina clapped. ‘Three cheers for Tara! Hip, hip!’

The women cheered, and though Tara blushed – and part of her wanted to fall into the ground – her heart was warmed .

Since she had been back in Loch Cameron, she had felt distanced from her real life back in Glasgow: adrift and unmoored. Yet, she could see now that her life with Carla, tolerating life at Lomond Primary had been a half-life. She’d refused to open herself up. She was grieving, all that time.

But, now, it was lovely to be accepted by this group of women, and to feel a part of something new and wholesome. All of her memories of Loch Cameron had always been entwined with Ramsay or her parents; she’d had friends, but no one really close. She and Ramsay had been inseparable; there just hadn’t been any room for anyone else.

Tara thought back to the promise she’d made in front of the picture of Aunt Agnes. That she would face her demons, and be resilient, just like her great-aunt had been.

At that point, she had known that she needed to find herself again and reclaim the person that she once was.

Tara had thought then, looking at her aunt’s picture, that if she had even a little of Agnes’ steely determination and resilience, then she would be proud. And that she would do her best to make Aunt Agnes proud of her.

Now, she could look at her life and start to see the old Tara coming back. The one that was joyful and carefree. And, with the crochet coven, she felt part of something. And it felt good.