Someone shouted and all the attention turned away from me. People were coming.
“Dad!” someone yelled.
It was Jamie.
Sure enough there were Uncle Frank, Lara’s dad and a couple of his other Jerusalem League friends.
“Doctor Livingstone, I presume,” said Uncle Frank to Mr Boyne, who just stared at him with open mouth.
“We thought the big wet would be causing a bit of bother so we were coming up with supplies. What’s the matter with you, Sandy?”
“It’s broken,” I said.
He crouched down and had a look at my arm.
Meanwhile Lara’s father had a thermos flask of soup which he was taking around the trampers. Then Uncle Frank made me a sling from his scarf; the weaker kids were hoisted up onto the adults’ backs and we hobbled the last part of the track to where it led to the road.
I heard noises up ahead from the front of the line but it wasn’t until we got to the stile that I could see why. It was the sight of Uncle Frank’s house truck, our journey’s end. What made it even better was that there was smoke coming out of its little chimney.
They had a fire going!
Mackthuselah was warm and dry and filled with the delicious smell of soup. We all sat along the floor and shared cup after cup of the stuff as the truck slowly made its way back to the school.
In the car park a small welcome party waited. Kids began to cry in all directions and I realised now how much everyone had been holding back. How scared everyone had been. Boyne tried to make a little speech before he climbed out but all he could say was, “The power of song … the power of song …”
The day hadn’t finished for me of course. I had to strip off, shower, and then carefully put on some fresh clothes. After we had eaten I got ready to go with Uncle Frank and Iain to A&E. I remembered that Jamie had said that he wanted to come too. When Iain and I went to get him there he was asleep in a chair in the sitting room. His face was peaceful and his mouth slightly open, as if he was singing still from the depths of sleep.