Chapter 6
John had attended a Burns Night Supper every January 25th of his life that he could remember. He couldn’t say for certain about the first when he would have been five months old, but with his mother as headmistress of a primary school and his father a doctor and lecturer at medical school, invitations and obligations were never lacking. He probably had gone along as a babe-in-arms.
Until tonight, the event that stood out in his memory the most was when he’d first been allowed to take part in the toast to the haggis with whisky (and a good bit more water than he liked now) rather than water alone.
He remembered exactly how that warm, spicy fire felt tracing down his throat and into his belly for the first time.
As he filled his own glass and Branwen’s with a fine Northern High
