Aunt Effie's house was a small, white cottage on the side of a valley. They stopped their car on the road above it and regarded it for some time.

"Is this it Mummy? Is this the house?"

"We're not sure, Jessica darling," said her father. "They don't seem very keen on signposts around here."

"Come on, Phil," said Sue, Jessica's mother. "We can't sit here debating it all day."

Phil put the car in gear and drove carefully down the long, bumpy track that led to the cottage. "It's pretty remote out here," he said, glancing at the hills that rolled away into the far distance.

"Oh look!" Jessica burst out, leaning forward between the front seats and pointing down the valley. As they neared the house, they could see beyond it several large fields filled with big white birds.

"Those are Aunt Effie's geese darling," said Sue, exchanging a glance with Phil that said what an eccentric old idiot they thought Effie was to hide herself away in the North of Scotland like this and struggle to survive by farming geese of all things.

"Can I go and play with them?" Jessica wanted to know.

"No you can't," her mother told her. "Geese are nasty vicious things - they break your legs with their wings or something don't they Phil."

They parked beside a large barn at the rear of the house and climbed out. Hundreds and hundreds of geese filled the valley bottom.

"What are those?" Jessica asked, tugging her mother's sleeve and pointing.

"More geese, Jessica," Sue said.

"But why are they in a bit all on their own? Why is it just those four on their own, Mummy?"

Sue looked to where Jessica had pointed. There, in a pen, four birds were wandering about. One, she noticed was bigger than the others. In fact, a splendid, giant of a bird with dazzling white plumage. "I expect they're being fattened for eating or something," she said. "Come on."

They started towards the house but a man's voice called from the barn. They turned.

"Weel, weel," the man said, approaching at a leisurely pace, wiping his hands on his overalls. "Yous must be Effie's family oop frae England."

Phil stepped forward, hand outstretched. "That's right. Phil Maynard. This is my wife Sue." The man was old and smelled of the birds he tended.

"Aye, aye," the man said. "I'm aye Davie Bain fit mucks oot they birdies fer Effie. I'll gang awa' in tae the hoose an' tell her ye've arrived." And with that he left them and strode off into the house.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, darling?"

"What did that old man say?"

"Shh! Don't be rude!" Phil told her. He turned to Sue. "Actually, I haven't a clue. Did you manage to catch it?"

Davie reappeared at the doorway and signalled them over. His face was grim. "Awd Effie isn'a very weel ye ken," he said anxiously. "Ye'll no tire her by talking mair than a puckle?" For a moment he stared into their faces. Then, with a sigh, he moved past them. "I'll be doon in the steading if yer needing onything."

"Are you there, Susan?" It was a woman's voice, calling from inside the cottage. An old but strong voice that Sue immediately recognised as belonging to her crazy Aunt Effie.

"We're here, Auntie," she called back and they made their way through the little back hallway, through the neat, dark lounge, through another small hallway at the front of the house and into the bedroom where Effie Murray lay in her big, old bed.

This room too was dark, with a small window by the door where the Maynards stood and another, smaller one, beside the bed, silhouetting the old lady who sat there, propped up on pillows.

The sight of her sick Aunt, was like a signal for Sue to go into a new and more energetic rôle. "Auntie!" she gushed and rushed to the bedside to peck the dry cheeks and press the bony shoulders. "Now you're not to worry about anything. Phil and I are here now and we'll stay until the end of the month when Mummy can get home from Germany. So everything will be alright. And you're not to fret about the house or how we'll manage. We'll soon make ourselves at home. Won't we darling?"

"Absolutely," Phil agreed. "Nice to see you again. How are you?"

It was a stupid question in the circumstances. As his eyes accustomed themselves to the gloom, he saw the old lady pull a wry face. "I'm dying. That's how I'm doing," she told him. "That's why you're here isn't it?"

Sue looked daggers at her husband. "Now, Auntie! You're not to say such things. I'm sure you'll be out and about again in no time flat now that you're being properly cared for. Won't she darling?"

"Of course you will," Phil reassured her.

"I was being properly cared for before you arrived and I don't see why that interfering fool of a sister of mine had to oar in as though it was any business of her's anyway. Davie looks after the farm and I've got plenty of good neighbours to see to my needs. So why Dolly thinks she has to come here when she doesn't even bother to visit from one year to the next I don't know. And I'm not dying so fast that she has to send you along in the meantime! And even if I was, I don't see how filling my home up with strangers is supposed to help!"

A deep silence followed.

"Well," said Sue, taughtly, "we'd better let you rest now. We mustn't tire you. Plenty of time to chat later." And with that she left the room with Phil in tow.

Jessica, however, stayed behind.

"And who are you, young lady?" Effie asked her in a tone that was friendly and warm and nothing like the way she had spoken to her mother.

Jessica smiled and told her. "Can I go in the field and see your geese?" she asked.

"If you like, Jessica. They're quite friendly when its not the mating season."

Jessica went to the window by the bed and looked out. She could see the pen with the big bird in it and, beyond that, the rest of the flock. "They're beautiful!" she cried. "They're like swans and they've got such blue eyes. I can see them from here. Why are those four geese all on their own?"

Effie smiled. "You see that big one? Well he's very special. That's why he gets a little field all of his own and three wives all to himself. He's Honk Marvin the Twelfth and he's my favourite."

"Honk Marvin!" Jessica giggled.

"It's a silly little pun that you're far too young to understand. I called his great, great, twelve times grandfather that once and it seemed to suit him so it stuck." She suddenly looked wistful and distant. Remembering, perhaps. Then she smiled at Jessica. "You should go out and meet him. He's a fine young fellow. I think I'd like a rest now, if you don't mind."

She let herself slip a little way down the bed and then lay her head back and closed her eyes. Jessica watched her for a while in silence and then crept silently out of the room.

*

It was a cool day, though the sun was high and bright, and Jessica sat behind the small white house in her favourite spot and gazed across the wide, green expanse of the valley. They had been with Aunt Effie for more than a week now and tomorrow they would be going back to London.

Aunt Effie had grown more and more ill in the last few days and only this morning she had had to have a big row with that nice Dr. Seales from the village because he wanted her to go into a hospital and she had refused to leave her house. Jessica's mother had gone in to say she thought the Doctor had been right and it really would be for the best but Aunt Effie had told her to get out and to stay out. At lunch, keeping her voice low so as not to be heard in the nearby bedroom, her mother had called Aunt Effie "That old bitch" and said that they were going home tomorrow and that was that.

Jessica spotted Davie in the field. She jumped up, glanced around quickly to check that her mother was not watching, climbed the fence and ran over to him. Davie was nice, even though he did talk funny, and he always had time for her. Jessica liked it here because everyone had time for her.

"Hiy Davie," she shouted, arriving.

"Weel, weel," said Davie but then he always said that to everything. "It's a fine day."

"We're going tomorrow," Jessica told him. "Mummy said we shouldn't stay where we're not wanted."

"Aye, aye," said Davie, nodding his head sadly. "I kenned there was trouble."

"Why does Aunt Effie hate Mummy?"

"Tsh! Effie disnae hate onybody. She's aye auld and fixed in her ways. Ken? And she's affy sick." A great sadness was in his big, dark eyes. "She's a fine wifie, is auld Effie. Nay doot aboot it. But she'll no last the Summer through."

"Why won't she go to the hospital?"

Davie walked over to a dry-stone wall and settled himself for a long chat.

Jessica ran a hand over the wall's big, grey, granite boulders, feeling their huge mass, their ancient stillness. "Who made all these walls?" she asked.

"People," said Davie. "Puir, toiling people. I can recall when I wis but a wee cheil massel', my ane faither mending that een ower yon." He fell silent. "People work hard to make a living in these hills, ye ken. When young Stevie Murray brought Effie oot here as his young bride there were mair stanes than blades o' grass in this park. She was aye a wee bit o' a thing hersel' - nay mair than a quine - but she set to wi' her mannie and cleared the groond. And she a toonie an' a'. I was a wee loon at the time, ye ken. I used tae earn a pinnie here, scaring crows fer Stevie 'til he upped and left."

Jessica was tracing the shapes of moulds and lichens on the old stones. She found it hard to follow Davie but she loved the gentle lilt of his soft accent and could have listened to him talk all day. For his part, the old man had all but forgotten his young audience as the memories of those distant days came back as clearly as though it had all happened that morning.

"Stevie had aye been a wild een. None o' the Murray lads settled, ye ken. Aye discontented and itching tae move on, they were. Puir Effie took it affy bad when he went. She was greetin' an' skirling nicht and day. He wisna worth nocht if ye ask me but ye ken how a wifie gets her mind fixed on a mannie. Everybody thocht she'd sell the hoose and gang back tae her folk but nay. In a week or twa she wis oot in the park again, shifting stanes."

"Was she beautiful?" Jessica asked, the thought having suddenly occurred to her.

Davie turned to the little girl beside him. Her golden hair shone in the bright sunlight and her cheek was smooth and plump. "No fer lang," he said and something in the way he said it made a chill pass through her. "You want tae ken why she widnae gae tae the hospital?" Davie's voice was harsher now, as though he were suddenly angry. "It's because she wants tae dee in this hoose and on this groond. It's because it's what she got for her love and her youth and her looks and her dreams and - apart frae them stupid geese - it's a' she aye wanted." He stood up suddenly and kicked a small stone, turning his shoulder to Jessica, hiding the tears that had started out from his tired, old eyes.

Jessica stared, blinking, at Davie for a while as he strode off back to his work. Then she made her way back to the house and went in to see Aunt Effie. Dr. Seales was there, in the lounge, talking to her mother and she smiled at him as she passed on her way to the old lady's bedroom.

"Hello, Jessica," Effie said as the little girl walked in. The old lady was propped up on pillows. Her thin face was pale and yellow and her eyes seemed dark and distant. "Have you enjoyed your holiday?"

Jessica's face lit up. "Oh yes! It's been great! We went to a loch yesterday - that's like a lake - and I went in up to my knees!"

The old lady smiled but it seemed to tire her. "I'm affy sorry, Jessica," she said, "but I'm affy tired just now. Would you just look out of the window for me and tell me how the geese are doing?"

Jessica went to the window. Out in the fields, the flock ambled about or sat in the sunshine. "They're OK," she said.

"And what about Honkie?" Effie wanted to know.

Jessica looked over to the pen where Honk Marvin the Twelfth and his three wives sat in regal splendour, dazzlingly white in the afternoon light. "Oh, he's OK, too," she said. Effie seemed pleased by the news, seeming to relax more. "What's so special about Honkie?" Jessica asked.

Aunt Effie closed her eyes and smiled. "Honkie," she said and the word seemed to hang in the air like the memory of an absent friend. "He's so ... handsome. So perfectly, beautifully male. So big and powerful and true. Such a fine specimen. Such a fine mannie. His wives are so lucky. You should have seen him in the season!"

Long after she'd stopped speaking, the smile lingered on her lips. Then she spoke again. "If I was a goose, I'd have Honkie for my mate."

"Davie said you were beautiful in the olden days."

Effie snorted. "Davie disnae ken fit he's spikkin' aboot! He's only ever seen beasts and farm lassies! What would he know?" She fell into a silent reverie - as she often did. Then; "He's a good lad is Davie. A good lad. He should have married. It's a waste, that's what it is. A waste." And tears began to run down her cheeks and her frail old body shook lightly in the bed.

"Aunt Effie?" Jessica said but she got no reply. "Aunt Effie?"

From a long way away, Effie came back and said; "Yes, dear?"

"Aunt Effie, does it hurt when you die?"

Effie opened her eyes as though her lids weighed the Earth. She stared straight up at the ceiling. "It all depends on how you lived," she said, in a flat voice. "It depends on what you had and what you never had - and what you had and lost."

Jessica remembered something. "Mummy said its no wonder your husband ran away if you're so horrible to everybody."

Effie caught her breath. Slowly, she turned her head to look at the pretty little girl beside her. She looked deep into Jessica's eyes and saw only anxiety and confusion. She smiled a small, friendly smile. "Jessica, dear," she said and her voice was soft and kindly.

"Yes."

"I've never been horrible to you, have I?"

Jessica shook her head. "No."

"You mustn't believe everything that people say, dear. You must use your own eyes and judge for yourself." She held the girl's gaze for a while longer and then let her head roll back. A dreadful exhaustion filled her and she longed for rest. Yet she suddenly wanted to say one more thing. "Jessica," she said and it was almost a whisper, so that Jessica had to step closer to hear her. "What I said about Honkie... He's a fine and handsome creature. If you were a goose he would fill you with dreams and show you a good time. That's fine ... Very fine." She seemed to lose the thread for a moment. When she picked it up again, it was in an empty, bitter voice. "But Honkie's just a brainless, unfeeling goose. For all his fine feathers and blue eyes, for all his promises, he won't love you. He can't love you, you see. It's not in his nature." She closed her eyes. It was said. It was time to sleep now. "Just a stupid goose," she murmured as she drifted away.

Dr. Seales put down his cup and announced that he must be getting on just as Jessica came tearing through the lounge and out the back door.

"Something seems to have upset Jessica," he said.

"It's Aunt Effie, I'll bet!" Sue said, ruefully. "I'll be glad to get away tomorrow."

The Doctor crossed to the hall door. "I think I'd better just pop in and say goodbye to Effie before I go," he said, his voice betraying his anxiety.

"I wish we could go right now," she told herself as he disappeared. She picked up the teacups and plates and carried them through to the little kitchen. "I'll certainly be glad to get back to my dishwasher!" she told the pile of dishes by the sink. She went back into the lounge and picked up a magazine. She'd read more in the past week than in the rest of her life, she thought. Imagine a house with no TV in this day and age!

Dr. Seales appeared again after what seemed an age. His face was so grim as he stood there in the doorway that Sue involuntarily stood up. "Mrs. Maynard," he said, "I'm afraid your Aunt is d..." But he was interrupted by a sudden loud commotion outside.

They both rushed to the door and stood outside in amazement. Jessica had climbed over the fence into the pen with the big goose. She had a stick and she was chasing the frenzied bird around the enclosure, screaming at it. The big gander, for its part, was screeching and trumpeting just as loudly and flapping its huge wings in its desperate attempts to keep out of reach of the stick. Above its clamour, they could just make out Jessica's words. "Stupid, hateful bird!" she was shouting, tears of anguish distorting her childish features. "Why aren't you crying! I'll make you cry! Cry, you horrible fat white thing! Cry! Cry!"