Page 70 of Meet me at the Seaside Cottages

‘Well, you speak her language, and she won’t talk to me . . . I know this is a terrible imposition, but do you think you could hang out with us for a little? You must be sick of the sight of me, I realise.’

‘Actually,’ says Janey, ‘I was just bringing Essie over to check on the dogs.’

Her phone pings. It’s Essie, telling her she’s going to lunch with Gertie and Struan, is that okay? Lowell clearly doesn’t need her this weekend. Of course it is okay. Essie doing something that isn’t lying indoors staring at her phone is always okay.

Janey makes up her mind. ‘Sure,’ she says. And he smiles at her so gratefully and, well, gratitude isn’t as nice as fascination, she supposes, but it might have to do for now.

*

Janey and Lowell move rapidly to where Verity is standing, staring out to sea.

‘I’m a friend of your dad’s,’ signs Janey. ‘And we were going to get some chips.’

‘Are you his girlfriend?’ signs back Verity, and both Janey and Lowell frantically shake no. Didn’t need to be quitethatfricking frantic, thinks Janey, but keeps it to herself.

‘No, I used to be your audiologist.’

Her face crinkles a little in faint recognition.

‘You were very tiny. And the cutest thing I ever saw.’

There is a tiny twitch in her mouth. ‘Was I?’

‘Adorable,’ says Janey. ‘I’d have taken you home.’

Verity smiles, then her thin face stiffens. ‘You wanted to cut my brain open and put a computer thing in it.’

Janey blinks. ‘We wanted to help you the best way we could,’ she says. ‘Your parents always did. Everyone wanted the best for you.’

‘Well, nobody cut my brain open.’

‘And that’s fine,’ signs Janey. ‘Chips?’

‘I’m vegan.’

‘So are chips! I thought that was the first thing everyone learned when they went vegan!’

Lowell waves from in front of the food truck. Janey signs to him rather than speaking aloud. ‘Three bags please. And some Irn-Bru.’

‘What’s that?’ signs Verity.

Janey considers how best to translate the bright rust-coloured national soft drink of Scotland, rumoured to be made from iron girders, and simply cannot manage it.

‘It’s a drink,’ she signs. ‘I hope you’ll like it.’

Verity looks extremely uncertain. ‘My mum doesn’t like me eating processed foods,’ she signs.

‘Well, this is a drink,’ signs Janey, and Verity seems not unhappy with that.

Lowell comes back with the delicious chips – Janey would have dearly loved a lobster roll too but doesn’t want to upset the vegan – and they sit in a line on the harbour wall, Verity kicking her feet against the stones, like any other kid in the world. They watch the passage of a great container ship, and Janey, as is her habit, looks it up on her phone. ‘Off to Singapore,’ she signs.

‘How do you know?’ signs Verity, who seems alright talking to her, but is still studiously ignoring Lowell.

Janey shows her the app, and they spend a happy twenty minutes tracing the boats that come past, covering Janey’s old Samsung with greasy fingers, taking bad smudgy photos of the boats, their vastness dwarfed by the sea and the great horizon.

Verity regards the Irn-Bru dubiously.

‘I cannot believe you have a Scottish child who has never tasted Irn-Bru,’ signs Janey. ‘What is wrong with you?’

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