She sat on her bed
looking out the window.

Hannah looked at
the fulling rain.

Her mother passed by
the bedroom door
and looked in.

Whit ur ye daein'?
Her mother said.

Looking at the rain,
Hannah replied.

Ye can help me
wi' the washin',
her mother said.

Do I have to help
with the washing?

Her mother stared
at her
Whit ur ye
waitin' fur?

I'm waiting
for Benedict,
Hannah said,
gazing at her
mother's stern gaze.

O heem th'
sassenach loon,
her mother said
and walked off
down the passage.

Hannah waited.

She'd was pushing
her manners close
to the limits.

Once upon a time
her mother would
have slapped her
behind for talking so,
but now at 12 years
old her mother dithered
and set her tongue
to work instead.

She eyed the rain
running down the glass.

She could hear
her mother in the kitchen
banging pots and pans.

Then a knock at the door.

Benedict no doubt.

Gie th' duir, Hannah,
her mother bellowed.

Hannah went to the door
and let Benedict in.

He was wet, his hair
clung to his head
and his clothes were damp.

Got caught
in the downpour,
he said,
shaking his head.

Hannah smiled.

I'll get you a towel
to dry your hair,
she said.

She got him a towel
from the cupboard
and he began
to rub his hair.

We can't go out in this,
Hannah said,
have to stay here
and we can play games.

He rubbed his hair dry,
took off his wet coat
and stood by her bed.

What games?
he said.

Ludo? Chess?
Draughts? She suggested.  

Her mother came back
to the door of the bedroom.

Ye swatch dreich,
the mother said,
eyeing Benedict.

He looked at Mrs Scot
and then at Hannah.

Mum said you look drenched,
Hannah said.

O right, yes, I am,
he replied and smiled.

Mrs Scot didn't
smile back.

Dornt sit oan
th' scratcher,
Mrs Scot said icily.

Mum said don't sit
on the bed,
Hannah said.

Mrs Scot went
off muttering.

Where shall I sit?
He asked.

We'll sit on the floor,
Hannah said,
and play chess.

He nodded his head,
his quiff of hair
in a damp mess.