Hiding from the wind.

Here in the long grass there is no wind. I like to hide from the wind. I look up at the sky, a bonny blue with white steamy clouds scudding across it. I am lying on my back in the hay field and the breeze through the grass is like rushing water climbing up the shoreline and fading away, the sound the sea makes when Mam takes us to the beach. I mustn’t go alone though. There are otters there that’ll crunch my bones until they hear the crack. Mam told me and she knows best. She says that all the time.

  A sea-maw flies above and it swings about in the wind. Mam shouts for me from the door. ‘Yer tea’s ready.’

  She’ll think I’m lost. She’ll worry. She might even come looking for me. I don't answer.

  ‘Scrambled eggs,’ she shouts.

  My stomach grumbles. It’s been a while since dinner and that was lentil soup with boiled beef, which I hate. I love scrambled egg and buttery toast with hot milky tea. I still say nothing.

‘Well, if you don’t want it, I’ll give it to the dog,’ she shouts and goes back indoors.

  She’s not worried about me. She doesn’t care if I’ve gone to the beach and been eaten by otters. She doesn’t care if I’ve fallen in a hole. Well, I'll just hide here until it grows dark, maybe I'll die of cold in the night, then she'll be sorry, they'll all be sorry.

The house where I was born

But I'm hungry and the thought of scrambled egg and toast finally gets the better of me and squashes my mini rebellion. I stand up, shake the grass from my skirt and go indoors where it's warm and the kettle sings and the table is piled with eggs, toast and bannocks. The news is on the wireless and my brothers are eating and arguing over a comic.
'Eat up before it goes cold,' Mam says. This time, she doesn't need to tell me twice.