by Emma Fraser
It was only then I realised that tears were running down my cheeks.
Mum shuffled over to the other side of the sofa and patted the space beside her and, feeling like a little girl again, I sat down next to her. She passed me a handkerchief and I blew my nose.
‘Do you remember when you were a little girl and you used to cuddle up beside me while I read you a story?’
I nodded. I leaned into her, drinking in her familiar warmth, the mumness of her. The knot of tension that had been holding me in its thrall since I’d learned of Mum’s illness eased just a little.
‘When you realised you were pregnant, what did you do?’
‘By then I was almost three months. I was thrilled. At least I was once I got over the shock. I would have something of Ethan. But unmarried mothers in those days were scandalous. Far worse than divorcees.
‘I didn’t know what to do or where to turn. I almost broke and wrote to Ethan but almost immediately dismissed the thought. It would put him in an impossible situation. We had made our decision. We couldn’t be together. That I was pregnant with his child couldn’t be allowed to change anything. To tell him when he wouldn’t be able to see his child, would be cruel and make him question his decision to go back to his wife all over again.
‘It was a bitterly cold winter that year and I was able, with the help of bulky sweaters and coats, to hide my growing tummy. But I knew I couldn’t keep it a secret for much longer. So I went to my tutor and admitted I was pregnant. To say she was disappointed and shocked was an understatement. She told me I had to leave, that the university had an obligation to its other female undergraduates. As if being in the vicinity of an unmarried mother would corrupt them. She did say I might be able to come back when it was all over – pick up my studies again and sit my finals – which I was scheduled to sit shortly after your birth, but only if I came back as a married woman. And that wasn’t going to happen.
‘A few days after I’d spoken to my tutor, I returned to my lodgings to find my landlady waiting for me in the hall. She demanded to know if I was in the family way and when I admitted I was, she told me I had until the end of the week to vacate my room.’
‘Oh, Mum. How awful for you. Why didn’t you get in touch with Ethan then? He had an obligation to help, at least financially. You should have told him about me.’
‘He would have come back. I know he would have! But it wasn’t as if I needed money, I still had my monthly allowance. I could have found other lodgings somewhere out of Edinburgh – pretended I was a widow and started afresh – but I wanted to go somewhere to hide. I was so ashamed, so very ashamed. I’d let everyone down and my dreams were in tatters. I was glad for the first time that Mother and Father were dead so they would never learn of my shame.’
‘What about Agatha? Wouldn’t she have helped you?’
‘She was in Australia, remember? But I could have gone to her. She would have taken me in. But after everything she had done for me, and even if I wished to go and live on the other side of the world, I just couldn’t. I was embarrassed and would have been an embarrassment to her and Gordon. They deserved better.
‘My life, the clear, untroubled path I thought I had set out for me had all gone wrong.’ She paused. ‘That was when I told myself “no more”. I knew I had to pull myself together for your sake. Whatever mess I had made of my life couldn’t affect yours. You would have the life I could no longer lead.’ Her dry, almost translucent hand reached out for mine and squeezed it. ‘There was really only one place I could think of to go. And as soon as I thought of it, I knew it was where I needed to be.’
She closed her eyes.
‘Greyfriars?’ I asked.
Chapter Fifteen
Olivia
1950
Olivia stepped out of the train and onto the platform, clutching her suitcase. It was dark and cold and the headache she’d had almost constantly over the last few days pounded unmercifully, making her feel nauseous and dizzy. She’d written to her aunts informing them of her arrival but couldn’t put a return address as she no longer had one. She’d said nothing of her pregnancy as it wasn’t the kind of thing she felt she could put in a letter. She’d bought herself a cheap ring, looked up timetables, purchased her ticket and packed a bag, leaving anything that wasn’t essential behind. All she owned now was in the suitcase she was carrying.
The train journey north couldn’t have been more different to the one she’d taken almost eleven years earlier. Back then it had been summer and she’d been happy, now it was midwinter, dark just after three, snowing heavily and she felt as miserable as the weather.
The journey seemed interminable. The train was bone-chillingly cold and kept stopping. It would sit on the tracks, releasing the occasional sigh of steam, while gusts of wind rattled the carriage, blowing more icy flakes through gaps in the door.
She was the only person in the compartment and the snow muffled any sound, making her wonder whether the driver and the few other passengers who’d boarded with her at Waverley had abandoned the train. She huddled deeper into her coat, frozen to the marrow and wondering what lay in store. Her feet were still damp, muddy slush having soaked through the leather of her shoes. Boots or even wellingtons would have been so much more practical but she’d wanted to make a good impression, or at least as good an impression as an unmarried, pregnant woman might hope to make. She twisted the ring she wore on her left hand. It was too tight. She should have bought a bigger size. She had decided to tell her aunts the truth – they would find out soon enough anyway, but in the meantime there was no need for anyone else to know she was pregnant and single. Tears pricked her lids as she thought about all the mistakes she’d made. But loving Ethan was not a mistake, she told herself fiercely. Neither was having his child. She simply must stop feeling sorry for herself and think of her baby.
With all the delays it was far later than she’d anticipated when the train had eventually arrived at Connel Station.
Only one other passenger alighted along with her and he or she – it was difficult to tell in the dim light – was soon swallowed up by the sleet and darkness.
As the wind whipped around her legs, she wondered what she would do if her aunts refused to take her in. She couldn’t face returning to Edinburgh – not when she didn’t even have her studies to distract her from thinking of Ethan. And where would she go anyway? From bed & breakfast to bed & breakfast? Besides, she reminded herself, Greyfriars belonged to her as much as to her aunts, or would do in a few months. She had an equal right to live there. If they didn’t want her at the house she could stay in one of the farm cottages, supposing one was empty. For all she knew they were all occupied.
It might only be for a few weeks. She just needed a place where she could lick her wounds for a while before deciding what to do.
But first she needed to get to Greyfriars.
She looked around, expecting to see others waiting for the train to Balcreen, but there was only the station master who was already locking up the ticket office and preparing, it seemed, to leave for home.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, her voice sounding small. ‘When does the train for Balcreen leave?’
‘Train to Balcreen? There’s not been one for years now. They ripped up the tracks during the war and never put them back. No need, you see. Most folk drive these days or take a taxi.’
It hadn’t occurred to her the train to Balcreen would no longer exist. ‘In that case, do you know how I can find a taxi to take me there?’
He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. ‘A taxi? Now? Didn’t you arrange for one in advance?’
She shook her head. If only she didn’t feel so unwell…
‘There’s only Duncan and Angus that do the taxis, but I doubt you’ll find either of them willing to take you out there at this time of night, what with the snow. They are probably already tucked up in bed or down the pub having a dram. These roads are treacherous enough in the daytime in good weather. In the dark, wi
th the snow almost blocking them, they’re nearly impossible.’
‘But I have to get to Greyfriars!’
He pushed his cap up his forehead. ‘It’s out of the question. Not tonight.’
‘Is there a hotel nearby then?’
‘Yes, but it closes for the winter. Folk that own it take themselves off to Glasgow to spend time with their children and grandchildren, you see. Not many tourists visit here at this time of year. You’d have been better continuing on to Oban.’
Olivia felt like crying. What was she to do? Knock on a door of a nearby house and ask them to take her in? She couldn’t imagine anything worse than knocking on a stranger’s door – apart from spending the night at a deserted railway station. She would have knocked on half a dozen doors before doing that.
‘There’s the inn at Balcreen,’ the station master said. ‘They stay open because of the bar, you see. They’d probably manage a room.’ He tutted. ‘I’ll have to take you. You can’t stay here.’
‘Would you? I’d be so very grateful.’
‘You stand under the canopy and out of the snow while I finish up here. I won’t be more than a few minutes.’
She waited, her teeth chattering while he locked up the waiting room. She could barely feel her feet when eventually he nodded for her to follow him.
His car was cold, but at least she was out of the snow. Her head was buzzing, making her feel dizzy. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. She had to do better. For the baby’s sake.
‘I’m so sorry to take you out of your way,’ she said once they were on the road.
‘Och, it’s no trouble really. Could hardly leave a young girl in the snow, could I?’
Silence lapsed as he concentrated on navigating the narrow, pot-holed, single-track road, each bump of the car sending jolts of pain through her throbbing head. Her nausea was getting worse and she prayed she wouldn’t be sick all over the back seat of his car.
Thankfully she managed to hold on and less than half an hour later he drew up outside a low-slung, white washed inn partly obscured by the swirling snow. Lights burned brightly within and as she got out of the car, the rumble of laughter filtered through the still night air along with the pungent reek of a peat fire.
The station master took her suitcase from the back of the car. ‘I’ll come in with you,’ he said. ‘Just to make sure you’ll be all right. Not that Mrs MacKay would ever turn a young woman in need of a bed away. If she doesn’t have an empty room more than likely she’ll give you hers.’
As soon as they stepped inside, the sight of a warm fire lifted her spirits.
The few other people in the bar looked at her curiously before politely turning away. A plump woman with permed grey hair and wearing an overall over a short-sleeved dress, came out from behind the bar and hurried over to them.
‘Do you have a spare room for this lady, Mrs MacKay?’ the station master asked. ‘She was hoping to get across to Kerista tonight but I explained it’s impossible. Not with the snow and it being dark.’
Mrs MacKay exchanged a surprised look with the station master before taking Olivia’s hands in hers. ‘Och, you wee soul, you’re frozen. We need to get you warmed up. Come on upstairs and get you into bed. I’ll have someone put the fire on in there and as soon as you’re tucked up I’ll arrange to have some soup brought up.’
In the face of her kindness, it was all Olivia could do to stop herself bursting into tears. She had no doubt, if she’d done so, Mrs MacKay would have wrapped her in her arms and hugged her.
She had only just enough time to thank the station master before she was bundled upstairs, Mrs MacKay carrying her suitcase, and into a small room with a double bed set under the eaves.
‘Now you get yourself into bed while I organise that soup. The room won’t take long to warm up once the fire is going.’
Still shivering, but feeling the nausea and tension that had beset her during the day begin to ease, Olivia hurried into her nightie and slipped between the cold sheets.
At that moment there was a knock and when Olivia called ‘enter’, the door opened and a woman holding a pail of peat entered. They recognised the other at the same instant.
‘Goodness, Miss Olivia,’ the woman said. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’
Olivia sat up and pulled the bedclothes to her chin. She hadn’t seen Agnes in years. Not since she’d come to play with her that day at Greyfriars and Donald had told them the ghost story. Now Agnes, a more grown-up Agnes, but still clearly recognisable by her curly hair and twinkly eyes, was standing in front of her.
‘I was on my way to Greyfriars. I hoped to get there tonight, but the train was delayed and there was no one to take me. The station master told me that the inn still took people in for a night or two and he drove me here.’
‘You are going to stay at Greyfriars?’ Agnes’s mouth dropped open. ‘Goodness!’
‘Yes. With my aunts.’
Agnes set down the pail by the fire and started screwing up paper before placing some twigs and peat on top. Within moments it was burning brightly.
‘I’ll be back in a sec,’ she said, turning towards the door. ‘Mum’s setting a tray for you.’
It was only ten or so minutes when Agnes returned, bearing a tray with a steaming bowl of soup and some bread.
‘I didn’t expect to ever see you again,’ Olivia said, as Agnes placed the tray on her lap. ‘What are you doing here? I mean obviously you’re employed…’ she stumbled over the words. The difference in class hadn’t been so obvious when they were children, but now with Agnes waiting on her in her nylon overall, her red and chapped hands, it was marked enough to embarrass them both.
‘I’m maid of all sorts,’ Agnes muttered, colour rushing to her cheeks.
Olivia wanted to put Agnes at her ease. To let her know she was the same Olivia she had played and giggled with, but she was so tired, the warmth of the room making her drowsy, a sense of lassitude overtaking her limbs and spreading upwards until it seemed almost too much of an effort to speak.
Agnes set the tray on her knees. ‘You’ve to eat it all up. I’ll collect your tray later. I have to get back to the kitchen but we can catch up tomorrow.’
As Agnes closed the door softly behind her, Olivia took a sip of soup and although her stomach revolted initially, knowing she had to eat for the baby’s sake, she was able to force down most of the mutton broth along with half a slice of the bread. She immediately felt better. Her headache was still there but some of the queasiness had gone. Tomorrow the storm would have died down and she could complete her journey to Greyfriars. She was a little worried her aunts might be waiting up for her but there was little she could do about it; it wasn’t as if she had a telephone number to call them. Warmed and comforted she placed the tray on the nightstand, went back to bed and, for the first time since she’d discovered she was going to have a baby, slept soundly.
The next morning her headache had returned as had her sense of unease about foisting herself on her aunts. Pushing aside the covers she crossed over to the window and drew the curtains back. The snow had turned to heavy rain that lashed against the window with such force it was as if tiny pebbles were being thrown against the panes. But the room was so warm and cosy – the fire had been replenished at some point during the night – so that despite her headache, Olivia felt better than she’d done in weeks.
There was a soft tap on the door and Agnes came in carrying a large jug in one hand and the clothes Olivia had been wearing the night before, freshly laundered in the other.
‘I’ll just leave the water for your wash on your dressing table, miss,’ Agnes said, placing Olivia’s clothes on the chair. ‘I’ll come and fetch it later. When I bring up your breakfast.’ Her eyes strayed to Olivia’s stomach. ‘Oh! You’re in the family way. In that case it’s better you stay in bed and rest. For the wee one’s sake.’
Too late, Olivia covered her stomach with her hands. She wished Agnes hadn’t seen. No
doubt her pregnancy would be around the village in no time. However there was nothing she could do about it now.
‘You can call me Olivia, Agnes,’ Olivia said, slipping back into bed and under the sheets.
Agnes looked pleased. ‘So when did you get married?’ She placed the jug on the dressing table, before adding lumps of peat to the fire making it hiss and spit. ‘And how come he’s not with you?’
‘He…’ Olivia hesitated. ‘He died.’ It was the first thing that popped into her head.
Agnes turned to face her, her laughing eyes full of distress. ‘I’m sorry. Me and my big mouth.’ She grimaced. ‘It always did get me into trouble.’
Under the bedclothes, Olivia squirmed. She hated lying to Agnes, but what else could she do? It wasn’t just because of her own reputation, she had her aunts and their feelings to consider.