A Loveliness of Ladybirds...and other stories

By Andrea Wotherspoon

Lose yourself in a collection of heart-warming, uplifting short stories.

Can a small cluster of ladybirds help Anna and Heidi to reconnect with each other? Will a 'left-shelled' snail help Conor make new friends? What is the story behind Great-Aunt Shirley's porcelain doll? Why is there a half-naked young man under Jan's desk? And what really happened that day when Fiona nearly drowned in the garden pond?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9781678051914

Book preview

A Loveliness of Ladybirds…and other stories

1st Edition

Copyright © 2021 [Andrea Wotherspoon]

All rights reserved

ISBN: 978-1-6780-5191-4

A Loveliness of Ladybirds

‘Maybe Heidi will open up to you,’ Kate told her sister, Anna. ‘I just can’t get through to her. These last few months, she’s either been sullen and silent, or screaming the house down. It began when Dad’s memory really started going downhill, and now that he’s moved into the home, she’s even worse. She won’t talk about what’s happening, and she snaps my head off if I mention it.’

‘Poor Heidi, she was so close to Dad, no wonder she’s struggling,’ Anna replied.

‘I mean, it’s typical teenage behaviour, to a point. But she’s never been this bad before. She’s fourteen, and old enough to understand what’s happening, but still, she misses her granddad. Ignoring the situation doesn’t help though, we’re all having to get used to it, and it’s hard enough without constantly worrying about her too.’

‘I’ll try my best. At least she’s agreed to come a walk with me. She wants to go out to St Mary’s Chapel.’

‘Thank you,’ Kate said, placing a hand on her younger sister’s arm. ‘Dad used to take her there when she was small. See how you get on with her.’

**

Anna and Kate’s dad had finally been admitted to a residential home just a few weeks ago. His dementia had reached the stage where he could no longer live on his own, and although they could visit him regularly, he rarely remembered who they were. The whole family was still coming to terms with things, but it had hit Heidi – his only granddaughter – hardest of all.

She was silent during the short drive out of town with Anna, spending most of it on her phone. Anna left her to it; maybe she would be chattier once they got to the chapel. She wasn’t as sullen with Anna, as she was with Kate; she was just reluctant to engage in conversation. She smiled and replied politely, but she was distant. Lost in thought.

They arrived in the small car park at the end of a farm track, and Anna was pleased to see there was no one else there. They climbed over the gate and set off the short distance through farmland along the coast, towards the ruins of St Mary’s Chapel. It was a pleasant October afternoon; the sky was clear, and just a light breeze coming from the north. They walked in silence, watched by inquisitive sheep.

‘It’s easy to picture Viking longboats heading for the coast here, isn’t it?’ Anna said, gesturing to the horizon. She could clearly imagine them descending upon the unforgiving coastline, cutting through the volatile expanse of the sea as they would have done many hundreds of years ago.

‘Yeah, it is,’ was all Heidi said in response.

They crossed a bridge over a fast-flowing stream, then climbed a steep path as the sound of the gushing stream gave way to roaring waves crashing against the cliffs far below them. Straight in front stood the ancient ruined building, a wall surrounding the tiny cemetery beside it. Beyond the rugged shoreline, the sea was a mix of gunmetal grey and frothy white.

‘The chapel’s been here about nine hundred years,’ Anna said. ‘Isn’t it remarkable to think that it’s been there for so long? There used to be an Iron Age broch here too.’

Heidi nodded and looked away.

‘Granddad said it fell into the sea,’ she mumbled.

‘Yes, the cliffs have eroded over the last couple of thousand years.’

‘They weren’t here last time I was here,’ Heidi said, pointing towards three wind turbines a few fields away from the chapel. ‘First there was a broch here, then a chapel and now electricity, so it’s like each millennium humans are trying something different.’

Anna smiled. Heidi could be very perceptive, and this was the most she had spoken since they’d left the house. ‘That’s a lovely way of looking at it. It’s a spot our ancestors have used over the centuries, for whatever was important to them - religion, home, protection, renewable energy. It’s a bit like looking at a cross-section of Caithness life through the ages.’

They walked over to the roofless chapel.

‘The church had a nave and a separate square shaped chancel, more like contemporary Orcadian and Scandanavian churches, rather than like other Highland churches,’ Heidi said, reading aloud from the information board. She wrinkled her nose. ‘I don’t even know what a nave or chancel is.’

‘Didn’t Granddad ever tell you what they were?’ Anna asked cautiously.

Heidi shrugged. ‘Probably. But I’ve forgotten.’ She headed into the graveyard, followed by Anna. The atmosphere inside the walls was one of sanctuary and protection, after feeling so exposed to the elements out on the cliff top. There wasn’t a lot of gravestones, so they walked around, looking at the names and stories on the stones. Anna was hopeful that she could get Heidi to open up, she just needed to handle it carefully.

As she wandered amongst the stones, something caught her eye. Ladybirds. Six of them, huddled together in the curve on the side of a gravestone. Their red spotted backs gleamed as if they had been polished.

‘Heidi!’ She gestured to her niece. ‘Come and see this!’

‘Wow! I’ve never seen more than one ladybird in one go,’ Heidi said, holding her phone in front of the insects and taking a photograph. ‘Do you think they’re hibernating or something?’

‘I’m not sure. I guess it’s the time of year for it,’ Anna said. As she peered at the tiny creatures, a memory came to her. ‘Hey, did Grandad ever tell you the story of how ladybirds got their name?’

Heidi hesitated for a moment, then rolled her eyes. ‘Oh yeah, I remember that story. He said there was a farmer out at John O’Groats, whose crops were being eaten by aphids. So, he prayed to the Virgin Mary who sent loads of red insects with black spots down from heaven, which ate all the aphids and saved the crops. So, the farmer named them ladybirds after the Virgin Mary.’

Anna laughed. ‘He told us that one too, when we were little. I had a feeling you would have heard it as well.’

Heidi opened her mouth as if to say something, but then paused and stared at a different gravestone.

‘Oh my goodness! There’s loads on this one.’

They counted a whopping twenty-one ladybirds on the second gravestone. By the time they had checked out the other gravestones, they had counted almost a hundred throughout the cemetery.

‘I wonder if there’s a collective noun for ladybirds,’ Anna said. ‘A flock? A herd? A murder?’

‘A murder?’

‘A murder of crows,’ Anna replied. Heidi rolled her eyes.’ Honestly, that’s the collective noun for crows.’

‘That sounds like one of Granddad’s stories,’ she muttered, as she tapped away on her phone. ‘Oh wow! You’ll never believe this!’ She beamed as she looked at Anna.

‘What?’

‘A group of ladybirds? Get this, it’s called a loveliness. A loveliness of ladybirds.’

‘That’s beautiful,’ Anna said quietly, crouching down to look at them again. ‘And so apt.’

‘Yeah, it says here that they all huddle together over the winter, so that they can help keep each other safe from predators and bad weather. Isn’t it sweet how they look out for each other?’

‘It is,’ Anna replied. ‘Very sweet. And they’re not unlike humans in that respect.’

Heidi frowned questioningly.

‘We come together to help us get through hard times,’ Anna went on. ‘Like Granddad’s illness.’

Heidi looked away and pursed her lips.

‘I know it’s horrible, and it’s hard for all of us to see him like that. But we can support each other. And share our memories. Like his dodgy ladybird story.’

Heidi kept her gaze away, but Anna could see the smile. Then she turned back to Anna, her face solemn again.

‘He’s not going to get better though, is he?’

Anna shook her head. ‘Not all ladybirds make it through the winter. But he’s here now, and that’s what matters. He doesn’t always remember who we are, but we remember him, and we’re there for each other. Don’t feel that you can’t talk about him, or talk about how you’re feeling.’

‘I don’t want to upset Mum,’ Heidi replied, looking stricken. ‘He’s her dad, so it must be much worse for her.’

Anna put an arm around her niece. ‘There’s no league table of who loves him the most. Your feelings are just as valid as your mum’s, or mine, or anyone else’s.’

Heidi looked up her and smiled. ‘We can form our own loveliness,’ she said. Anna smiled back.

‘We absolutely can. Come on, let’s go home. You can show your mum those photos. And ask her if she remembers how the ladybirds got their name.’

Confessions of a Vegetarian

Vicky closed her eyes and took a deep bite of her bacon butty.

‘Yum,’ she mumbled.

Lisa sighed. ‘Bacon is one of the reasons I’m a vegetarian.’

‘And it’s one of the reasons I’m not!’ Vicky replied, grinning at her older sister, mouth full of bacon and bread.

Lisa grimaced.

‘Pigs have the mental capacity of a three-year-old child. They’re very intelligent animals. And not only that, pork is packed with cholesterol and saturated fat.

‘I know, I know.  I’ve heard it all before. But as I always tell you, they’re bred for meat. They wouldn’t exist otherwise.’

Selene set a plate of grilled mushrooms, tomato and toast in front of Lisa.

‘Thanks Mum,’ Lisa said.

‘Hope you didn’t fry that in the same fat you fried the bacon in,’ said Vicky in a high-pitched mocking tone.

‘Don’t stir trouble,’ Selene sighed. ‘I wish you pair would cut it out. You’re grown adults, for goodness sake.’

‘No point changing the habit of a lifetime,’ replied Vicky cheerily. ‘And if Mrs Tofu there didn’t insist on being so preachy, I wouldn’t feel the need to goad her all the time, would I?’

‘Funny how you’re the only meat eater I preach to. If you ate it quietly like everyone else I know and just let me get on with living how I live, there would be no need for any of this.’

‘Ha! The pair of you have been like that since the moment Lisa stopped eating meat. I thought you’d grow out of it by now but that’s wishful thinking, isn’t it?’

‘Ah Mum, you only need to put up with it once a week,’ said Vicky. ‘And it’s your own fault for inviting us round for Sunday lunch.’

‘You’re not wrong there,’ she replied said with a sigh. ‘Another butty, Vicky?’

‘Yes, please.’

Lisa set down her fork and knife, leaned back and crossed her arms. ‘Could you kill a pig yourself?’

‘Oh Lisa!’ Selene said.

‘No! And I don’t have to. There are butchers out there who do it for me, thank you.’

‘I wouldn’t eat something I’m not prepared to kill myself. It’s morally wrong.’

‘Well, I could murder another bacon butty, does that count?’

‘And I could murder the pair of you!’ Selene said, brandishing the bacon tongs at her daughters.

**

After lunch, the three women sat in the living room. Selene was knitting while Vicky and Lisa flicked through the Sunday papers.

‘It’s my turn to wash up,’ Lisa announced, closing the supplement she had been reading.

Vicky looked up, frowning. ‘Pretty sure you did it last week.’

Lisa shrugged. ‘Well, I’m feeling generous today.’

Vicky narrowed her eyes as she watched her sister’s retreating back.

‘Why is she offering to do the dishes?’ she asked her mum. ‘It’s definitely my turn.’

‘Who knows?’ Selene replied. ‘I couldn’t care less who does them, as long as it’s not me. Oh Victoria, don’t go winding her up again,’ she said as Vicky stood up. ‘You just can’t help yourself, can you?’

‘She asks for it.’

‘You’re both too old for this nonsense now. Can’t we have a nice peaceful day for once?’

‘Ah, it’s fun! And I promise I won’t annoy her. Just wondering why she’s suddenly so keen. And she never made her usual comment about having to wash dead animal fat off the dishes.’

Vicky tiptoed through the hallway and slowly pushed the kitchen door open.

‘What are you doing?’

Lisa swung round, a half bitten rasher of bacon in her hand. Selene had cooked too many rashers, but had told Vicky to take them home for a sandwich on Monday.

‘You’re eating my lunch for tomorrow! And it’s meat!’

‘It’s not…I’m not… ,’ said Lisa, waving the piece of bacon, her face reddening.

Vicky grinned, crossed her arms.

‘Well, well, well. I hope you killed that pig with your own bare hands, Lisa.’

Lisa threw the remains of the bacon onto the worktop, covered her mouth with her hands.

‘You weren’t supposed to see that,’ she mumbled.

‘I’ll say. After all