Page 32 of Scotlander

‘Butter!’ Orla called out, joining the group. ‘The salted kind. That and cream make porridge better than the usual claggy gloop that puts people off. Also I use a spurtle.’

‘A what?’ Jeff asked.

Orla sucked in a horrified breath. ‘Have you not heard of the golden spurtle?’

‘I’m not being funny,’ Jules said, ‘but it sounds like something you really hope a guy doesn’t get on you when he . . . you know . . .’

Fenella made gagging sounds while Jennifer hiss-whispered that a bit of decorum might not go amiss.

Completely unflustered, Orla produced a small wooden paddle. ‘This is a spurtle. Just a wooden rod used since the 1500s for the express purpose of porridge making.’

‘Oh, gosh.’ Rosa leant in to take a look. ‘Is it that old?’

Orla’s expression briefly shadowed and then she said, ‘This one dates back all the way to 1987.’ She let the laughter die down then said, ‘It’s also very important to—’

‘I know!’ Rosa raised her hand with pick-me enthusiasm. ‘Stir the porridge clockwise with your right hand, otherwise the devil will come for the person doing the stirring!’

‘That’s right.’ Orla grinned. ‘You’re also meant to eat it standing up with each spoonful dipped in a bowl of cream shared by the whole family, but as we’ve got so many of you today, I took the liberty of pouring the cream right in. I’m happy to hand out my “secret” recipe if you’re interested.’ Amidst a chorus of yes, please’s she gave her hands a clap and then rubbed them together as if she were holding great surprises in store. ‘Alright, you lot. You’ve got ten more minutes before we ask you to bring your mobiles and other devices that connect you to the outside world down. We’ll be collecting those when we gather here in the courtyard for the handfasting ceremony.’

Now, Willa was all for a bit of a social media detox, but hand over her phone? Not this week and also, as a general note, not a snowman’s chance in—

‘Here you go.’ Gabe dug into the pocket of his evergreen-coloured wax jacket and handed over two mobiles and a mini iPad without so much as the bat of an inky eyelash.

Orla smiled her thanks, put the items into a wicker arm basket, then walked around the group collecting more. ‘You’ll be getting them back each evening, unless you’d prefer not to. We’ll be keeping them in the gun safe in the house, so don’t worry. We won’t be hacking into anything or posting photos on your Instagram.’

Willa shot a glance at Finn, but he was scooping a bit of porridge into a bowl.

Fenella held her phone above the basket then retracted it. ‘Don’t you want us to be posting photos of our experience? For future guests?’

‘Ah!’ Orla’s eyes darted towards Finn then back to the group. ‘No, no. That would detract from the truly immersive feel, don’t you think? This is your unique experience. Never to be repeated.’

Willa was no sleuth, but something about the way Orla’s eyes shot back to Finn made her think that last line had been for his benefit.

A chorus of agreement was followed by a quick flurry of digging into sporrans and wicker baskets that produced another six. Orla turned to Willa. ‘Is yours in your room, darlin’?’

It was not. It was in her bosom. And, as if to show everyone just how dedicated to communication with the outside world she was, it began to buzz.

‘I’ll just get changed, shall I?’ she said, then turned and ran up to her room without looking back.

Ten minutes later, she’d answered three INCREDIBLY URGENT texts from Bryony about whether or not she could charge her lunchtime juice bar purchases to TiTs, hammered out a few emails to publicists about interviews Bryony should have chased up but hadn’t and then one to her boss reminding her that the interview questions for Britney were saved on her desktop.

When she scurried back downstairs, phone tucked in to her bodice, she gave everyone an apology smile, realising she alone was holding up the mysterious hand-fastening ceremony. Nice one, Outlander, she reprimanded herself as she found her place in line next to Gabe. Then, stupidly pleased that she’d made an Outlander reference without even trying, she grinned up at him. He grinned back with a what did I do to earn that lovely smile? and for a very peaceful moment, they just stood there smiling at one another.

‘Right, then, laddies and laddettes.’ Orla cupped her hands and made a trumpet sound as if heralding some great news. ‘It’s time for you to meet your Jamies and Claires.’

Willa and Gabe’s foreheads furrowed in tandem.

If LARPing was on the agenda, surely they’d be one another’s Jamie and Claire? Right?

Holding up a beautiful purple and sage knotted rope concoction, Orla called out, ‘Behold! The handfasting cord.’

As Willa processed that it was a handfasting cord and not a hand-fastening one, the rest of the group unleashed excited ooos and ahhs as Jennifer announced, ‘I’ve been so excited for this part I haven’t been able to sleep for days!’

‘Oh my days. Mum!’ Jules heaved a melodramatic sigh. ‘I’ve been telling her over and over that it’s cosplay! She doesn’t get to bring him home.’ She slipped her arm round her mum’s waist and squeezed. ‘But you get to keep me!’

‘That’s right, love, I do. But don’t rain on my parade with all of your Zoomer pragmatism.’ Jennifer’s expression turned dreamy. ‘Two entire weeks of a man enjoying my company and listening to me when I speak . . . Best bit of escapism I will have ever paid for.’

‘We do a handfasting every year!’ Rosa beamed up at Jeff, then wrapped her arms around him as he pulled her feet right off the ground so that they could share a kiss. When he put her down again, her cheeks were flushed and she shot them all a happy smile. ‘So lovely to have other people tie the knot with us. Even if it is pretend.’