Although the castle visit had been fun, most of the children were keen to get on the bus and head south again. They were travelling to St Andrews to visit the home of golf and undertake another team challenge. Mr Ferguson was feeling much better and had dressed for the occasion in a pair of red-and-green tartan plus-fours, forest-green socks, and an argyle jumper also in red and green, with a collared shirt underneath. He had a dark green tam-o’-shanter on his head and suggested that the children might like to don their tams too.
‘I hope we don’t have to get outfitted exactly like that,’ Neville said to Alice-Miranda. ‘I don’t mind wearing my tam, but the rest of it looks like a walking crime against fashion.’
The girl giggled. ‘I love the tradition of it all, but I’m sure there isn’t time for us to go shopping to complete the look.’
On the way, Mr Ferguson explained that, while St Andrews was best known for having the oldest golf course in Scotland, it was actually a sizeable town with a famous university as well. There wasn’t just one golf course either – there were at least seven around the town. Located on the North Sea coast, the area had a reputation for wild and windy weather. Fortunately for them, it wasn’t blowing a gale today. In fact, it was sunny by the time they arrived at the Royal and Ancient Clubhouse on the edge of the Old Course, which was quite unusual for that time of year. The man had also mentioned for at least the fourth time that there was a huge surprise coming before the end of the program, which had the children speculating wildly. Most of them thought Mr Ferguson was going to take them on an adventure challenge such as canyoning or ziplining, but the man wouldn’t tell no matter how many times they asked.
‘Are we actually playing a round of golf?’ Chessie asked as they pulled to a stop. ‘Because I’ve never even held a club before and I’m not sure that I want to, given what happened to Mr Duncraig and his eye.’
There were mutterings of agreement through the bus with several other children commenting that they hadn’t realised golf was such a hazardous sport until they’d heard about the man’s accident.
The bus doors opened and a young man bounded aboard to give Barclay a hearty handshake. The fellow had a thatch of curly hair and a broad smile. He couldn’t have been a day over fourteen.
‘Children, I’ve lined up something very special for today,’ Barclay began, ‘but first I want to introduce Rory Auchterlonie – he’s the youngest professional on the PGA tour and is descended from a long line of golf champions. He’s goin’ to be speakin’ to ye about his career and givin’ ye some tips before we go out for today’s challenge.’
The lad gave them a jovial wave. ‘Hiya!’
‘Yer’ll be the only ones on the course as it’s usually closed between the end of September and April,’ Mr Ferguson said.
‘There’s a group over there!’ Aidan said, pointing at the fairway.
‘And another out there,’ Ava called.
‘Aye, the actual golf courses are open, but ye’re goin’ to be havin’ yer team challenge on The Himalayas,’ the man said, puffing out his chest.
Vincent frowned. ‘I’m pretty sure the Himalayas are in Nepal.’
‘Aye, ye’re right, and Fergusons have some fabulous expeditions there, but this is a little different. It’s The Himalayas puttin’ course, and I can assure ye it’s quite the challenge. As a member of the R and A, I’ve been granted special permission to host today’s event.’ Barclay failed to mention that he had had to persuade Mrs Marmalade, Her Majesty’s lady-in-waiting and chief advisor, to put in a call to the chairman to ask the silly man to agree to host a FLOP delegation.
‘What’s the R and A?’ Lucas asked.
‘Oh, I know,’ Alethea said. ‘My father used to be a member until they kicked him out. He used to tell Mummy that the club was good for networking, but mostly everyone was just rude and arrogant.’
Barclay Ferguson burst out laughing and slapped his knee. ‘I haven’t heard that one in a while. And ye’re right, Alethea, the club has earned its reputation for bein’ a bit stuffy, but the tide is turnin’, lass.’
‘Do you know how they get rid of members?’ Alethea said to a sea of blank faces. ‘Well, if someone places a black ball in your locker, you’re out. You can’t even appeal. It’s where the expression “black-balling” came from.’
Madagascar would have liked to blackball a few members of her team right at that moment. She still had a bump on the back of her head. Getting out of that stupid suit of armour was akin to shedding snakeskin.
Barclay grinned. ‘Ye are indeed very well-informed, Alethea. Now, as I was about to say, the club is called the Royal and Ancient. The organisation administers the rules of golf and is the most revered in all the world. It’s considered a great honour to be a member. So let’s head inside to chat with Rory and then out we go on the course!’
Alice-Miranda wondered how what amounted to playing a round of putt-putt golf had anything to do with leadership. Perhaps Mr Ferguson had wanted to take a side trip to St Andrews. But it turned out that there was a surprising twist to the event. The children had to decide on a team handicap, which involved quite a bit of discussion to work out what they believed the least number of shots would be required to get the ball into the hole. Then they had to take turns. It was very challenging and lots of fun. They quickly learned why the course was called The Himalayas, as there were undulating hills and quite a few peaks and troughs. If you got it wrong, your ball ran a mile, and often it took more than half a dozen shots to reach the hole.
When The Tartan Warriors scored a twenty, Philippe was thrilled to bits, shouting that his team would win for sure – until Sofia whispered that it was actually the team with the lowest score that would come out on top. Everyone had to play their role and it soon became apparent that the teams that supported each other did a lot better than the ones that niggled and poked fun.
Madagascar proved to have a dead eye, and Lucinda and Alice-Miranda were on song too. In the end it was Nessie’s Monsters in first place with The Pipers in second. Clan Mac came third. Millie was beginning to lose her patience with Lucas and Jacinta, who were usually very reliable when it came to sports. However, they currently seemed to only have eyes for each other, and she was planning to give them another stern talking-to. At least there hadn’t been any more public displays of affection. The Highland Flingers were fourth and, predictably, The Tartan Warriors took out the wooden spoon.
As the clouds rolled in and the weather took a turn for the worse, the children were glad to be back on the bus and heading for their hotel in Edinburgh.
‘What are we doing tonight, Miss Cranna?’ Alice-Miranda asked the woman, who was sitting across the aisle from her and Millie. Morag stared straight ahead and looked to be deep in thought. ‘Miss Cranna?’ the child tried again. ‘Are you all right?’
The woman blinked and shook her head. ‘Oh sorry, sweetheart, what did you say? I was just remembering how my father loved golf. He began teaching me when I was a girl.’
‘Does he still play?’ Alice-Miranda asked.
Morag shook her head again and tears sprung to her eyes.
Alice-Miranda quickly pulled out a tissue from her daypack and handed it to her. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Cranna. Did I say something wrong?’
‘Not at all,’ Morag said, dabbing at her eyes. ‘I just haven’t thought about that for ages. He died when I was fourteen. It was so long ago yet the pain still feels as though I lost him yesterday.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ the child said. ‘It must be awfully hard to lose a parent so young. Mummy says it’s horrible at any age. Grandpa has been gone forever, and Mummy and Granny and Aunt Charlotte all still miss him terribly. I didn’t really know him, so it’s different for me,’ the child prattled. ‘Was your father ill?’
The woman gazed at the little girl with the halo of chocolate curls. She had a goodness in her eyes that Morag realised she didn’t immediately recognise in people. She suddenly felt bad for having lied to the child last night about leaving the hotel. ‘He was killed in a fire,’ Morag murmured.
Alice-Miranda’s eyes widened. ‘How awful. That must have made it even harder for you and your family.’
Morag trembled. She clenched her jaw and managed to stem the tears that threatened to fall.
Alice-Miranda patted the woman’s arm from across the aisle. ‘What about your mother?’
‘She’s never recovered,’ Morag whispered, and squeezed her eyes shut. She hadn’t slept at all last night, what with the phone call and then the shenanigans with Madagascar. Talking her mother down in person was difficult at the best of times, but with hundreds of miles between them, it was nigh on impossible. At least it was only another couple of days until this would all be over.