‘I don't like hills,' I said, shocking the Frasers, as I knew I would. To them the hills were sacred; they plodded up and down them as purposefully and reverently as pilgrims trudging to Mecca. It's a form of religion. Like bingo, or football. My mother goes to bingo; Mrs Fraser takes to the hills. ‘I don't have to like them, do I?' I asked. I seemed to have struck them dumb. It was the first time that I hadn’t heard them chattering. I no longer felt awkward; I was enjoying myself.
‘She’s a city lass,’ said Granny apologetically.
