He was already by then almost a month old, for, as Dr Atkins had said he might, he’d arrived early at his grandmother’s flat – on New Year’s Day, in fact – a fine, lusty child, who looked like his father, though only Lorna and Flo knew that and they did not dwell on it. When ginger hair replaced the dark fuzz of his early days, everyone in the family was pleased, with Tilly saying and Cissie nodding agreement, that he was Cam Fernie to the life. But, of course, anyone who really remembered Cam knew that wee Sam looked like someone else. Never mind, the christening went off well, with the handful of guests who’d braved the severe weather returning to Tilly’s flat for tea and the christening cake she’d somehow managed to find ingredients for, while Sam behaved beautifully, seeming not to mind being passed from hand to hand for cuddles. ‘Looks like he’s going to be a good baby,’ Cissie remarked to Lorna, now her old slim self again. ‘How do you feel about leaving him, then?’ ‘Why, I’m no’ leaving him yet, Auntie Cissie.
