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and ran for the path, half-laughing, half-screaming. Louise was waiting with the battered sandwiches.
    â€˜Haway, you two, stop carrying on. We’ll be late for the races.’
    Back on the wide path, arm in arm with Louise, Emmie felt safe again. Tom hadn’t meant any harm; it was mere devilment away from his parents. Emmie liked the Currans and their ordered way of doing things. They were kind to her in a reserved way. Mrs Curran fussed over her when she came round for tea and Mr Curran read her stories from the Bible in a mesmerising, singsong voice. But she couldn’t help noticing how different they were with Tom.
    His mother was always telling him to mind his manners, while his father ordered Tom to stand up like a man and take his punishment, even though he was only fourteen and just out of short breeks. The only thing she grew to hate in the polished and shining kitchen was the worn leather strap that hung on a nail beside the soup ladle and toasting fork, in readiness for Tom’s frequent punishments.
    The friends enjoyed the Saturday afternoon of games, races and picnic tea with Reverend Mr Attwater refereeing a football match in which his spaniel was attempting to take part. Sam and Peter appeared and the minister invited them to join in. Tom and Sam captained opposing teams with a triumphant Tom scoring the winning goal.
    He tossed his prize of cinder toffee to Emmie. ‘Sorry about the ribbons,’ he panted, then ran off to wrestle with Sam.
    When it came to the final hymn and prayer to round off the afternoon, the older boys had disappeared into the trees. Reverend Mr Attwater pretended not to notice.
    â€˜Do you want to stay at my house the night?’ Louise asked, as they dawdled back to the village.
    Emmie hesitated. There would be Louise’s soft bed with sheets smelling of starch, rousing hymn singing at the chapel in the morning and a huge roast for Sunday dinner. But then there would be the long, slow afternoon of keeping to the house while the adults slept, with nothing to read but the Bible. Emmie had not minded in the winter when she had squatted by the fire with Louise, gossiping about neighbours and school. But now the days were longer and the MacRaes would be spending their free hours out of doors, walking the fell or paddling in the burn above Blackton Heights, the Oliphants’ pillared mansion.
    â€˜Gan on,’ Louise insisted, ‘you’re stopping with me.’ She threaded her arm through Emmie’s and pulled her up the street towards her home.
    â€˜I’ll have to tell me auntie first,’ Emmie said, pulling the other way.
    â€˜Tell her later,’ Louise said crossly. ‘If you don’t come now, you’re not me friend.’
    Emmie quickly relented. There was no harm in staying out a bit longer. The girls soon became absorbed in a game of tig around Denmark Street and Chile Vale. Only when the shadows lengthened and air grew cold did Emmie realise they must have been playing there for hours.
    â€˜Eeh, I’ll have to gan home, Louise. Auntie Helen might be worried.’
    â€˜Just one more game,’ Louise pleaded.
    At that moment, the girls spotted a dark figure striding up the lane towards them. Emmie recognised Rab at once and knew she was in trouble. Louise immediately came to her defence.
    â€˜She’s staying at my house the night,’ she called out. ‘Emmie was just ganin’ home to tell your mam.’
    â€˜Not the night,’ Rab’s deep voice answered in the gloom.
    He sounded cross. Emmie said a hasty goodbye to her friend. Louise looked disappointed.
    â€˜Will I see you at chapel?’ she asked.
    â€˜Maybes,’ Emmie answered, running down towards the waiting Rab. His look was brooding under the large cap. ‘Sorry - I forgot the time - have you been lookin’ for me long? I wouldn’t just have stayed without askin’. I was ganin’ to come