In one last burst of activity, Pirate, Pirate's mother and Pirate's aunt rushed out of the house with all the luggage. Pirate's uncle was already in town, seeing about a last-minute present.
On the bus, I asked Pirate what his favourite part of Scotland was, and it is no longer Deep Sea World but Edinburgh Castle. Amusingly we saw his uncle on the street from the bus window, and there was much waving and gesturing of success and approval.
In the train station, I led Pirate and his mother the wrong way and then the right way, and there was Uncle, to whom Pirate ran with arms outstretched. Then we all got on the train and chatted until a train conductor began to speak over the intercom and B.A. and I disembarked.
B.A. was adamant that we go to the end of the platform, into the sun, to wave good-bye. Apparently this has something to do with The Railway Children. And no sooner had we got there but the train came roaring past, and there was a gap-toothed smiling face at a window, and Pirate was waving with all his might and main.
And that was them. Off they went to their weekend in London before Monday's Toronto flight. B.A. and I walked back down the platform and nipped into M&S to buy a few groceries and then took a smaller, slower train ourselves. We alighted early and took a path through some fields and some woods and returned to the Historical House. I put on some soup for lunch, and B.A. began to vacuum.
The house was unsually quiet. We had our soup and toast in the dining room.
"It was good that we got back into the habit of eating in the dining room," said B.A.
"Yes," I said.
"This afternoon I'l just read quietly in the sitting room," said B.A. "What a luxury!"
"Indeed," I said.
The sun is shining today. It shone through the round window in the dining room. We sipped our soup in the companionable quiet. I looked out the window and thought about our nephew, and how much we love him even though he drives everyone crazy quite a lot of the time.
"Guess what?" said B.A.
"Chicken butt," I said.