The Flight of Gemma Hardy_ A Novel - Margot Livesey [133]
“What’s your favourite letter?”
“G.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the first letter of the name of a little clam called a Gemma gemma. And it’s a letter in your surname. And it’s the first letter of garage.”
“Gemma gemma,” said Robin.
I was so pleased to hear my name that I picked him up and twirled him around.
That afternoon, when Archie arrived, Robin and I were kneeling beside the stove, playing tiddlywinks. For once Robin didn’t retreat but kept playing while Archie put on the kettle. Was there cake?
“I made gingerbread yesterday. Can you play by yourself for five minutes?”
“Yes,” said Robin, “but I’ll probably win.” He flipped a counter into the cup.
“Of course you should win if you play by yourself,” said Archie. Usually he continued upstairs as soon as his tea was made, but today he set his books on the table and sat down. He was still wearing the dark trousers of his postman’s uniform but had changed his jacket for a grey pullover.
“Who’s that torturing the piano?” he said.
“Marian’s bête noire, Frances Hunter. She never practises.” I cut a generous slice of gingerbread for Archie, smaller ones for Robin and myself. “What are you reading today?”
“A history of Iceland. And maybe some pages from one of the sagas too.”
“Iceland!”
Robin raised his head anxiously. I gave him a reassuring smile.
“Good gingerbread,” said Archie. “It’s an island, roughly the size of England, in the north Atlantic. It was first discovered by Irish monks in the eighth century and became an outpost of the Viking Empire.”
“I know where it is,” I said. “I was just wondering, why Iceland? I thought you were interested in Scottish history.”
“I am. Iceland has a long connection with Scotland.”
I handed him a second slice of cake and reached for one of the books. It opened to a map. While I stared at the jagged outline of the island, Archie said that the early settlers had had a law that a man could claim as much land as he could light bonfires around in a day. A woman could have as much land as a heifer could walk around in a day. I asked which was more, and he said he didn’t know, but if I was interested he could loan me the books. “It would be grand,” he said, “to have someone to discuss my reading with again.”
That night I began to read about my native land, a country of hot springs, volcanoes, and earthquakes, where in summer the sun shone almost all night long and in winter the endless dark was lit by the aurora borealis shimmering across the sky.
On Friday Hannah asked if I could come and help her wrap her latest batch of tableware. I arrived at the pottery to find her standing at her work-table, clipboard in hand, counting off the rows of plates, bowls, mugs, egg-cups, and candlesticks. “Look at you, Jean,” she said, “your cheeks all rosy from walking. No one would recognise the half-dead girl Archie dragged home. I just finished checking the inventory. I’m hoping you’ll help me to pack the boxes. We have to be sure not to make them too heavy.”
As I reached for a sheet of newspaper and a plate, she said this was her last delivery of the year. “Pauline has agreed I can take three months to work on my sculpture. How are things at the MacGillvarys’?”
“Marian has two new pupils. And Robin drew a picture of a bird and wrote Robin underneath, though the b and the n were backwards. What do you mean, Pauline agreed? Don’t you make what you want?”
Hannah set a bowl in the middle of the paper. “I have to pay my share of expenses. The plates and bowls bring in money—people will pay a little extra for something pretty, but no one wants the sculptures. At least not yet,” she added, gesturing to a tall column in the corner. The Tower of Babel was covered with indentations modelled, she’d told me, on the ancient cup and ring marks found throughout Scotland.
It had never occurred to me that Hannah might need money, but of course houses came with bills and insurance. Pauline, despite her university