Page 26 of A Wish For Wilma
Sam took over as Jinnie giggled nervously and poked DJ in the ribs. ‘A friend of my son’s, actually. He was raised in a hippy commune — all veganism and communing with nature, if you catch my drift. He’s led a sheltered life.’
‘And he’s staying with you?’ Ken coughed into his elbow. ‘Sorry, just getting over a nasty cold. It’s floored Mags, poor love. She’s been in bed two days solid.’
As Ken washed his hands, DJ picked up a bar menu. ‘Are buffalo chicken wings made from buffaloes or chickens? And do they put actual shepherds in shepherd’s pie?’ He pulled a ‘yuck’ face. Luckily, the running tap prevented Ken from hearing anything.
‘DJ, please just say as little as possible, OK? whispered Jinnie. ‘Choose something to eat — anything with a little ‘v’ next to it — and we’ll pretend we’re having lots of fun.’
DJ grunted. ‘Hmm. I will have a mixed bean burger with sweet-potato fries.’
‘And we’ll have the same,’ chirruped Jinnie. ‘It’s not fair to chow down on a delicious rib-eye steak dripping in Café de Paris butter when you’re with a vegan.’ Her stomach growled at the mention of steak and her baby also made his or her presence felt with a kick.
‘And we’ll all have soda water with a dash of blackcurrant,’ added Sam. ‘Thanks, Ken.’
‘Well, this is going well.’ Sarcasm oozed from Jinnie’s pores as they moved away.
‘Lighten up, Jinnie,’ said Sam, as they took a seat. ‘No one here cares about DJ. Let’s just enjoy our food and our remaining time with him.’
As they tucked into their burgers — tastier than they looked — Jinnie scanned the room. Sam was right. Everyone was occupied with their own drinks and food, chatting and laughing.
‘Are you enjoying that?’ she asked DJ, currently regarding his sweet-potato fries with suspicion.
‘Hmm. It is not bad, but I prefer your cooking, Jinnie. Wilma’s too, even when she tells me off for putting too much salt on my chips.’
Jinnie’s mood softened. He didn’t look like DJ, but beneath the unfamiliar exterior he remained the unlikely offspring of Dhassim and Aaliyah. Like Dhassim, he drove her up the wall, but — like father, like son — he was gradually getting under her skin. Despite her earlier frustration, she suspected that even when he disappeared for ever, he’d always be in her heart.
CHAPTER19
The driveto Plockton took over four hours. In preparation, Wilma had filled a thermos flask with tea and packed a selection of mini sandwiches and Scotch eggs. She’d also refrained from drinking too much liquid before departure. A standing joke in the Cooper family was Wilma’s need to find a public toilet within minutes of leaving the house. Archie had delightfully dubbed her TB, meaning ‘tiny bladder.’
‘Ah, this is the life,’ she sighed as they cruised along in Barry, the engine purring like a contented cat. ‘And barely a cloud in sight.’
Sure enough, a clear blue sky and balmy temperature accompanied them on the journey. Gus played some traditional Scottish folk music to set the mood and Wilma sang along to a few old classics. ‘Over The Sea To Skye’ always made her weepy, so she appreciated the less emotional ‘Donald, Where’s Your Troosers’.
‘You’ve still a fine singing voice, Wilma.’ Gus peered ahead, gauging whether he could safely overtake a slow-moving truck. He whizzed past and Wilma gripped the sides of her seat, only letting go when they were safely in front.
‘And how do you know Ihada fine singing voice?’ she asked, trying to recall when she might have belted out a tune all those years ago.
‘Oh, one or two times at The Cloutie Dumpling, when someone stuck a coin in the jukebox and you and your mates gave it laldy.’
Wilma grinned. The good old days. She and her best friends Mattie and Irene, huddled together, eyeing up the lads and not afraid to sing along to a favourite song when the mood took them. The pub didn’t exist anymore, and she’d said her tearful goodbyes to Mattie and Irene longer ago than she cared to remember.
They travelled via Callander and Crianlarich and drove on to Glencoe, the scene of a massacre in the seventeenth century when clansmen were killed by Scottish government forces. There, they stopped at the Highland Coo Café for an essential loo visit and a chance to take in the spectacular scenery.
‘They filmed scenes here forSkyfall, the Bond film,’ said Gus.
‘Ach, I was a right blubbering mess watching that one. Mind you, that Daniel Craig wisnae a patch on Sean Connery. Every time Sean said “So, Miss Moneypenny” in that accent I turned to jelly.’
‘Reminds me of a joke.’ Gus nudged Wilma, who was still entranced by the grandeur of Glencoe.
‘Go on, then.’
‘What did Sean Connery get when he won the grammar prize at school?’
Wilma pretended to think about it. She sensed a painful pun approaching.
‘A posh trophy! Get it? If you think about how he spoke—’
‘Yes, I get it. Now, shall we get going before it gets dark and marauding deer attack us?’
