I am forlorn.

School is out and the boys have gone to see their father in the Hebrides for two weeks. You might think that I would welcome a break from the arduous task of bringing up three boys. I did think that myself. But the reality is that my life revolves around the children. My days are filled with their need to be nurtured, organised, taxied around, entertained and, above all, loved. They are also my company and my best friends. So when they are not with me I feel unbalanced, out of kilter and very alone. 

For the boys this is a big trip. Their journey takes them on three ferryboats and across 300 miles of north and west Scotland. I travel with them to Orkney Mainland then a good friend takes them on to Inverness where they meet up with Dad. This leaves me with a day in Kirkwall, one of the two main towns in Orkney. I wander along the narrow, flagstone streets, home in on a bookshop for a while, visit St Magnus Cathedral (an astonishingly beautiful building), get my hair cut and have lunch with a friend. It’s all very pleasant and a good change of scene but I am really happy when the time comes to get on the boat which will take me back home.

There is plenty to do with my boy-free time. I want to paint their bedrooms, unblock the drain in the yard, and find a hen that my friend’s dog chased away down the field. I plan to get out riding on Chuck more and explore different parts of the island. I might even make it to the pub one evening. Meanwhile my neighbouring farmer brings four tractor loads of straw over and together we unload and stack 80 bales in to the end byre. The builder delivers half of the floorboarding needed to cover the ground floor of the house and we stack that in the near byre.

Also there is the chance to relax a bit, perhaps even have a lie-in. I try this on my first morning alone. At 7am the puppy whines to be let out. I sleepwalk my way down the stairs thinking: dog out, make cup of tea, back to bed. Storm and Omelette (our cats – named by Dale and Fenning respectively) yeowl at me on the doorstep. So I feed them, which involves going out to the byre. From here I can see Chuck leaning over the gate speaking volumes with his pricked ears and yearning eyes. Oh all right then: I measure out some horse feed then trudge out to the field to give it to Chuck and take off his night rug. By this time I am frozen to the bone (I’m only in my raggedy old pyjamas, my bare feet pushed into wellies) but think I may as well keep going and let the hens out. I finally make it back to bed with a cup of tea. Five minutes later the phone rings and I have to run back downstairs. It’s my Mum to see if I’m OK – she knows how sad I get when the boys are away. I decide to take a long hot bath.