Being a Girl Read Online Free PDF Page B

in our direction. The Laird opened his book and we scurried towards the door.
    â€˜And one more thing,’ he called, ‘will you have Mrs McTavish find that mobile phone. Damn thing’s got a mind of its own.’
    We were led through to the back of the house and set to work carrying logs from the pile at the end of the yard into the shed attached to the kitchen. It wasn’t at all polite to be treated in this way. In fact,it was very rude indeed and should have warned me what to expect. It did go through my mind that we should make our way back to the road, but it was a blustery night and we were miles from anywhere.
    We caught a glimpse of Mrs McTavish fussing about the big iron range and the smell of the food rising from the pots made my tummy rumble. We’d had a sandwich at lunchtime and I was famished.
    â€˜Do you think he’s going to invite us to dinner?’ I whispered, and Binky was as confident as ever.
    â€˜Course he is. He’s just making us do a bit of work first,’ she replied. She hefted up a big pile of logs. ‘Builds up the appetite.’
    â€˜We mustn’t antagonise him, though,’ I said, but she was wandering up the path, and if she heard she didn’t answer.
    When the job was done, we trooped back to the hall. The fire had been built up and Mrs McTavish was setting three places at the long table.
    â€˜What shall we do with these two young criminals, Mrs McTavish?’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜I said what shall we do with these two?’
    â€˜There’s nae need to shout,’ the woman said angrily.
    â€˜If I didnae shout you wouldnae hear. You’re as deaf as a post, woman.’
    â€˜I know what you said, mon, and you know what I think: girls who are disobedient need discipline.’
    â€˜That’s what my father taught me, Mrs McTavish.’
    â€˜Aye,’ she said darkly, ‘and me an’ all.’
    Her words hung in the air and the Laird nodded, considering the remark. ‘Thank you and bless you, Mrs McTavish,’ he then said, and held up a mobile phone that looked about the size of a postage stamp between his enormous fingers.
    When she left, Byron returned, closing the door. The Laird was warming his backside. Byron was tall, at least six foot, but the Laird must have been several inches taller. He continued to look at us while he spoke to his servant. ‘What’s wrong with you, mon, don’t we have a place to hang coats in this hoose?’
    â€˜Aye, that we do.’
    Byron approached as we removed our coats. He glanced at Binky’s hat, she pulled it off, and he hurried out with everything in his arms.
    â€˜I suppose you expect Mrs McTavish to clean up after you, do you?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Then take off your shoes and put them by the fire.’
    I did so, standing on one leg. Binky was wearing her pink boots; she sat on the floor to pull them off, the Laird watching as if she were performing a trick. We put our footwear and damp socks by the fire where we’d been told and stood with our backs straight like naughty schoolgirls.
    â€˜Now, yoo, blondie, what’s your name?’ asked the Laird.
    â€˜Roberta,’ said Binky formally.
    â€˜So, Roberta, what’s this?’ he asked, producing the broken padlock from his sporran.
    â€˜It was an accident.’
    â€˜You destroy my property and call it an accident.’ He glanced at Byron, back now at his position by the door. ‘You hear what they’re telling me. It’s my fault for having a locked barn.’
    â€˜That’s the English, Milord.’
    The big man stood back as if he’d been struck. ‘So, you’re from England, now are you?’ He was concentrating on Binky, terrorising her.
    â€˜From London,’ she said in a whisper.
    â€˜Look, we haven’t done anything,’ I said firmly, and he cut me off.
    â€˜Yoo, lassie, you speak when you’re