"Who Shall Say That Fortune Grieves Him. While The Star of Hope She Leaves Him?" Ae Fond Kiss, Robert Burns 1791
"I Pictured A Rainbow, You Held It In Your Hands." The Whole of the Moon, The Waterboys 1985
Bernie grabbed Val's arm to steady herself. Paddy stood in front of her fidgeting with the cobalt blue fabric with a wide green check overlayed with a thinner gold and black one. His fiddling pulled at the kilt pin weighing the piece of cloth down at the knee. The tiny silver dagger bearing his clan crest caught the light from the hall where Bernie remained stood stock still in the doorway.
Paddy then reached for the frilly white lace jabot fastened around his neck, pulling at the lace with one hand, as if it was choking him. The other hand straightened the black waistcoat with the three silver buttons, matching the three on the sleeves of the Montrose jacket. They in turn matched those perfectly polished down the front of both sides of the centre of that waist length black jacket.
Bernie's dropped jaw started to quiver as a chuckle threatened to emerge. Paddy shot a look of accusation at Val who in turn nipped Bernie's arm. Her friend regained her composure.
"I told you she would think I look ridiculous," Paddy spat at Val as if Bernie wasn't in the room. It was however Bernie who responded as Val's confidence appeared to waver.
"No, you don't. It's just a bit of a shock. I am not quite sure what's going on."
"We..well some people thought it might be nice to put on a Burns Supper. Like we used to...before-" Paddy started to falter as he noticed Bernie's eyes mist over.
"For your birthday." Piped in Val, trying to help Paddy out and regaining her confidence. "I will leave you to it, I've left Jack behind the bar and well he is still pretty green, if anyone asks for a cocktail we may be in danger of losing our licence."
On Val's departure, Bernie moved towards Paddy. The forgotten scarf Trixie had placed around her friend's shoulders fell to the floor. Paddy bent down to pick it up.
"Oops be careful, good job there is no-one stood behind you."
Paddy straightened up swiftly and stroked down the back of his kilt. Bernie allowed a relief filled giggle as she saw Paddy's frown soften. Taking the scarf from Paddy she sighed, the pattern matched the tablecloths downstairs. "My mother's tartan, they haven't missed a trick have they."
"Trixie was most put out when her attempts to discover the Mannion tartan drew a blank."
"Mannion is an Irish name, sorry." Bernie wasn't quite sure why she was apologising for her name, but it felt appropriate.
"We all know that now." Laughed Paddy.
"How did you find the Home clan tartan?"
"Violet and Evie poured over hundreds of samples and narrowed it down to a few which they matched to old photos of Wilf's kilt. They figured that was how the wily old bugger had gotten round it, using your mam's tartan."
"Everyone has gone to so much trouble, I feel like such a fraud. I just wanted an evening alone with you in Appleby Thornton." Bernie blushed feeling even more guilty.
Sensing her confusion Paddy cupped her cheeks in his hands.
"We can go out any night." Bernie raised an eyebrow at Paddy's optimism. Even though Jack had turned eighteen and could now serve behind the bar, Paddy still found it difficult to let go. Most of their evenings were spent working or propping up the bar.
Any further discussion of their work-play balance would have to wait. The sound of familiar footsteps running up the stairs alerted them their presence was required in the bar. Paddy and Bernie followed Tim into a cacophony of noise, the sound of fiddle, banjo and accordion mixed with laughter and the pounding of feet on the wooden floor.
Tim grinned and nodded as Bernie asked, "Isn't that the Bridges that come in on a Thursday night?"
"Apparently, before they were married they used to go to Scottish dancing on Thursday Night."
Kevin and the Tweaven Folk band sounded like a group of musicians who were enjoying a successful long awaited reunion, rather than strangers that had only met a few days ago. Apparently Kevin didn't just play the Bagpipes but was going to town on the harmonica. Mac, had found refuge in Reggie and had settled on a bench seat with the dogs head resting on the lad's lap.
Alan Bridges and his wife Yvonne broke from each other and flew off in different directions to persuade, grab and drag the people sitting at the tables onto the makeshift dance floor. Fred was up first taking hold of Vi who had pushed her nose out of the kitchen to sneak a peek at the fun. She protested, explaining she couldn't leave her post, but Evie chased her onto the dance floor with a tea towel.
Bernie smiled at Patsy and Delia, she had never seen anyone quick step to the Gay Gordons before. Phyllis' face was flushed as she tried to stay in time partnered by a very light on her feet Lucille. Bernie grinned as Paddy dug his son in the ribs and Tim scowled shaking his head in protest. Her smugness was short lived when Alan Bridges took hold of her hand and dragged her onto the floor. She groaned to herself realising she should have seen it coming. But she knew she wasn't the only one who had been distracted and let their guard down. As Alan swung her around she glimpsed a determined Yvonne pulling a very reluctant Paddy to the centre of the room. A massive cheer went up and it wasn't for his dancing prowess, but the first view of the crowd of Paddy in his Highland Dress.
Bernie couldn't deny she felt a tingle as the lights dimmed and Paddy stood behind the tressel table. She could see how nervous he was, his thumb working against his forefinger of his left hand, the right hand turning over his phone on the table. Voices were hushed sensing a level of anticipation in the air. She hoped he could see her reassuring smile, when he returned her wink she knew he understood.
Everyone instinctively got to their feet as the sound of the pipes flooded the room. Kevin slowly marched into the bar from the kitchen playing, Mac following at his feet ears pricked. A few steps behind walked Violet beaming proudly carrying a silver tray with her pride and joy in prime position. She placed the dish in front of a very pale but focused landlord. Bernie noticed Vi gently touch Paddy's hand after she had laid down her burden.
Paddy cleared his throat and everyone sat. Bernie held her breath, she was relieved when he started reading from his phone in his own soft Northern English twang and didn't attempt a Scottish accent. He did struggle a little with more than the odd word and she noticed it was in parts an English translation of Burns's Address to a Haggis. She did think her dad would be shaking his head and laughing if he was watching these antics held in his memory. As a shiver left her she wondered if Marianne was also looking down with pride and amusement.
Bernie bit her lip, this was the difficult bit, if trying to read a 18th century Scottish poem out loud wasn't hard enough. She knew from years of experience Paddy had to keep reciting while removing the Sgian-dubh from his woolly knee length socks. He then had to pull the small dagger out of its black leather holder and then plunge the blade into the Haggis at just the right moment in the text. She went to hold onto her chair but was surprised when a long thin hand grabbed hers. Tim's hand was cold, but sweaty at the same time and she squeezed it back.
The verbal response of the audience to Paddy whipping the blade out of its sheath made Bernie giggle and she heard a snort from her neighbour. The following stab and slash into the unsuspecting pudding received equal responses of gasps and murmurs. She felt the boy's hand slacken in her own and his breath released from his chest at the same time she let her lungs relax. Bernie felt Paddy was doing the same pausing as the crowd regained its collective composure. He dared to give her a quick glance and she beamed in approval. She wished she could go over to him and push back the wayward kink of hair that had fallen over his face during the dramatics.
Paddy finished the poem with ease following the tricky bit, he didn't seem to mind stumbling over some of the unfamiliar words. It wasn't like anyone was going to correct him. There was much relief all around when he finally toasted the Haggis and everyone could raise the complimentary whisky they had been nursing since the beginning of the festivities. Not everyone had been patient and some found they were toasting with an empty glass, supping air. A nervous Bernie would have been included in this number, but Trixie had passed on her dram so she could at least properly take part in the toast. Paddy received a standing ovation, he wasn't deceived it was for his faultless performance, but more for effort or maybe they were just hungry and glad it was finally over.
The assembled guests ate their fill of Scottish Fayre. The whisky sauce may have proved more popular than the spicy offal and oatmeal pudding. Although Violet did remark that Poplar's vegan population had seemed to increase dramatically overnight. Buckle's Breweries Burns Bernie Beers proved very popular. Ale Fond Kiss, Red Red Rose Ruby Ale and Auld Lang Stout all sold out.
The dancing recommenced to the Tweaven Folk band and its newest member. The Bridges and the lead singer tried to engineer a ceilidh of sorts. This resulted in a room full of mostly English people flinging themselves and each other about in an attempt at the world's longest communal twizzy record. The highlight being every time Paddy spun around in his kilt a large cheer went up as it splayed out.
Eventually he refused to dance and Bernie gave up too. She found him outside smoking one of her roll-ups. She just grinned knowing he deserved one. Bernie hugged Trixie's scarf around her.
"Aren't you cold, in...erm that?"
Paddy smoothed the kilt under him between his bare legs and the cool wood of Peggy and Frank's memorial bench. Bernie grinned and went back indoors.
She returned with two Abhainn Dearg malt whiskies and one of the tartan tablecloths. She wrapped it around Paddy's shoulders before perching herself on his chilly knees, flipping his sporran up out of the way. Paddy took over the blanket duties and wrapped the cover round her.
Cold fingers fumbled over sharing the dying cigarette and they sipped from the same whisky tumbler. Bernie could only reach one glass without leaving the warmth of the tablecloth and Paddy's arms. Paddy had long since dispensed with the faffy lace ruff and wore a cream open neck Jacobite shirt, again courtesy of connections of Patsy. As Bernie playfully twisted the string ties around the fingers of one hand. She slowly ran the fingers of her other hand along the hem of the kilt.
"Is this Turner tartan then?"
"No, the Turners are from Liverpool, probably some Irish in there somewhere too, but my mother's family hailed from Fife." Paddy softly answered.
Bernie wriggled on his knee trying to gain a bunch of the fabric of the kilt in her hand, as the band broke into Deacon Blue's, Dignity.
"So which clan...ayyyyyeah!" She quickly jumped up vigorously rubbing the flesh between her boot and the hem of her dress on her right thigh. Paddy stared at her in confusion and concern.
"Something bit me."
"It's January."
"Am I bleeding, is there a bump?" Bernie turned her back to Paddy and lifted up her skirt. Paddy started to wonder whose birthday it was. He used his phone as a torch and took his time giving a thorough examination of her right thigh. The eventual diagnosis was no injury to her person, but there was a nasty snag in her new-on tights.
Paddy also identified the culprit pointing to the clan dagger attached to the front of his kilt. "I think you sat on this?"
"You stabbed me."
"You stabbed you."
She leant down and carefully unfastened the pin from the front apron of the kilt. She recovered her position now free from hazards. Scrutinising the tiny weapon in her hands under the light of Paddy's phone,
"Aww, the crest is the world below a rainbow between two clouds, what does the motto say?"
"At Spes Infracta."
"Oooh you're getting the hang of these ancient tongues, aren't you?" Bernie giggled, "what does it mean in boring old English?"
Paddy, who had been laughing with her, fell serious.
"It means Yet My Hope is Unbroken." He gently tipped her chin forward with his thumb and forefinger and kissed her.
"That's beautiful." Bernie caught her breath. "What was your mam's maiden name?"
"Hope."
"Home and Hope," smiled Bernie partly to herself.
Paddy reached inside his sporran and handed Bernie a small tartan box with a gold bow on top.
"But this was my present." She smiled pulling on his shirt strings.
Paddy shone his phone torch on the box as Bernie opened it and carefully took out a silver brooch. She got hold of Paddy's hand and shone it on a silver V bending inwards to make the shape of a heart with an emerald at the base just below the Home clan crest.
"That is a very fierce looking lion, why am I not surprised." Bernie didn't need the torch to see the glint in Paddy's eye as he spoke. " I nearly got you the Hope rainbow one instead...but I wasn't sure."
Bernie smiled, "Maybe next year?"
"You are still very presumptuous after all these years. This was a one night only kinda thing," Paddy choked, then swiftly changing the subject, "I liked the motto on the Hume crest anyway."
Bernie was impressed with his correct Scottish pronunciation of Home. She read aloud the words around the lion's head A Home, A Home, A Home, that is the slogan, but the motto is actually True To The End."
"Well I think the matriarchy has it tonight."
"Do you know Robbie Burns was a great supporter of women's rights as well as being a romantic. He wrote a poem about it."
"From what I've heard he was very fond of women indeed. Counting the number of children he fathered."
"Yes, that as well," muttered Bernie, "but just for tonight I am going to be Shelagh Bernadette Mannion-Home and you can be Patrick Turner-Hope.
The traditional music of the Corries had given way to more recent Scottish poetry as the band played tunes by the likes of Travis and Franz Ferdinand. The Proclaimers, I'm Gonna Be 500 miles, filtered through the door leading to the beer garden. The accompanying laughter, sound of leather and man-made sole stomping on polished oak convinced the two in the beer garden they weren't being missed.
"One thing I can't get my head around is how Val convinced you to do this?"
"She just reminded me of every time you have stepped out of your comfort zone for me. How many times you have had to embrace a part of yourself that you didn't know existed or had thought you had left behind."
Bernie rubbed her thumb over the slogan on her new brooch as Paddy continued.
"Basically how many times you have put me, us, our hope of a life, a home together before the person who you thought you were and believed yourself to be."
"Val said that?"
"Sort of, maybe a bit more colourful and there was some violence involved, but I did agree with the sentiment."
"I think our mams would have approved of Val."
"Are you true to the end, Shelagh Bernadette?"
"Well, you just better hope this isn't the end, Patrick."
The sounds of Auld Lang Syne filled the night and Paddy leaned forward for another kiss suddenly aware Bernie had very cold hands and had chosen not to replace the kilt pin.