Down to the Sea

by Sue Lawrence

  ‘Nonsense.’ She spat out the word as she tramped towards the serving table.

  ‘Ladle some out for me.’ She picked up a spoon. Everyone was straining round to watch.

  The last time someone had complained about the food was when one of the girls had found a slug on her plate. Matron had called over the Governor who had picked up the slug, tilted his head back, dropped it into his mouth, and swallowed. He had then roared at the girl, ‘You will eat every morsel on your plate, you ingrate!’

  Matron supped from the spoon then screwed up her eyes. She poured a beaker of water from the table and downed it. She leant in towards Molly and Jessie, towering above them.

  ‘If they eat this they will all be ill. It has far too much salt.’ She gulped from her water glass. ‘It is like sea water.’ She glowered at Jessie, pointing at her mole. ‘Have you hexed the broth?’

  Jessie stood, her mouth open, shaking her head. ‘I did nothing, Matron, nothing.’

  ‘I let her add the salt while I brought you your tea. She maybe just overdid it a bit,’ Molly said, looking straight at Matron. ‘It’s not her fault.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I added a pinch, not much at all, someone else must have added more.’ Jessie looked around, panic in her eyes. Everyone was staring at her, anxious; Annie Rae was smirking.

  Matron put up her hand. She addressed the dining room: ‘Do not eat this, return the contents of your bowl to the pan. You will go hungry until teatime.’ Matron turned to Jessie. ‘Follow me, Jessie Mack,’ and she strode out the door.

  Jessie could hear mutterings and grumblings as she ran after Matron, across the corridor, heading for the cellar door. Matron opened the door and went down the steps. Jessie followed, her hand patting the rough, cold wall to help her make her way down into the gloomy cellar.

  Matron removed a bunch of keys from her pocket and bent down at a little door and unlocked it. She threw open the door, grabbed Jessie by the shoulder and flung her in. ‘You may stay in the coal cellar until you stop the witchcraft. Remember what I told you.’ Jessie crumpled onto the floor. ‘You have one more chance, Winzie!’

  Matron slammed the door and Jessie heard the key turn in the lock. She heard Matron’s footsteps resounding on the stone floor then fading up the stairs.

  Chapter 11

  1982

  ‘Thanks for calling round. I’d love a hand actually.’ Rona took Martha into the office and watched as she hung up her thick coat. Rona sniffed; the coat smelled fusty, of damp wool or mildew. How odd, the musty smell certainly did not go with Martha’s glamorous image.

  Martha slumped onto the chair. ‘I knew Craig wouldn’t make it back so thought you could use some help. When is it the first resident arrives?’

  ‘Saturday. Only four more days.’

  Rona picked up a sheet of paper from the desk then glanced up at Martha, the nagging doubts returning. ‘How did you know Craig wouldn’t make it back?’

  ‘Oh, the TV news was full of the snow up north. Looked terrible. But you know, I used to live in a place that had really heavy snowfalls every year and they coped. This country grinds to a halt.’ Martha smiled.

  ‘You’re not talking about California, obviously. Where was that you lived, then?’

  ‘Aspen. When I was a cool rock chick.’ Martha snorted with laughter. ‘Okay, put me to work.’

  Rona handed her a sheet of paper and some photos. ‘I need these sheets of fire instructions photocopied and stuck on the back of all the residents’ doors. And photos of the carers alongside. It helps them know who’s looking after them.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Rona frowned. ‘Sure you’re not missing out on your own work? Is there a job you have to go to or are you a housewife?’

  A smile played across Martha’s face. ‘Housewife without the wife thing.’

  ‘You’ve never been married then?’

  Martha stood up and went to the photocopier. ‘Not my thing. But you know, calling me a housewife makes me sound dull. I used to do … well, other things.’ Martha set the photocopier at twelve copies and shouted over the noise of the machine. ‘How about you, Rona, d’you still have anything to do with your old job as a lawyer?’

  Rona shook her head. ‘This is enough work at the moment.’

  ‘And Craig, did you say he trained to be a doctor?’

  Rona looked up from her folder. ‘Something like that. Right now he’s a care home manager. I’m gasping for a cup of tea. Want one?’

  ‘Sure,’ Martha said, tapping the sheets of paper on the desk into a neat pile. ‘I’ll go and pop these into the rooms.’

  ‘I thought I heard a funny noise last night, so I went upstairs and along to Room 12.’ Rona pointed upstairs from the residents’ sitting room where she and Martha sat, nursing mugs of tea.

  ‘Yeah?’

  Rona pushed the biscuit barrel towards Martha but she declined. ‘I meant to bake some more cookies for you. I’ll bring some tomorrow, to welcome the residents.’

  Rona picked up her mug. ‘Won’t be allowed. The cook officially starts on Friday. She’s the only one who’ll be able to provide food for the residents.’ Rona glanced back up at Martha. ‘So you didn’t hear anything?’

  Martha shook her head. ‘What kind of noise?’

  ‘Sort of a creaking. Like it could almost have been wheels.’

  ‘You can’t see into my messy old garden from up there, can you? I took a look the other day from Room 12’s window.’

  ‘Can’t see a thing. The walls and trees hide everything. They must make your house quite dark inside.’

  Martha shrugged. ‘It’s an old house, got small windows. It was really windy last night, maybe the noise was something flying across the garden.’

  Rona nibbled on a Rich Tea biscuit. ‘You don’t like gardening much, do you?’

  ‘No, I reckon it’s a complete waste of time. If I want flowers I can buy them from a shop.’ Martha swivelled round. ‘Talking of which, d’you need any flower vases? Residents are bound to get visitors bringing them flowers. I’ve got a few old ones I don’t need.’

  ‘Good idea. Thanks.’

  ‘Oh, you know that keypad at the door, I presume you’ll let the residents and their families know what numbers to tap in?’

  Rona hesitated before answering, ‘No, just the nurses and carers. And we’ll probably have to change it every so often. I know some residents will get in a flap that they’re not allowed access, but it’s all for security and safety. A member of staff will ensure that no resident determined to escape could get out when the door’s open.’

  ‘Can’t see they’d ever want to leave here, it’s like a luxury hotel. And you said they can have meals in their rooms if they don’t fancy coming down to the dining room?’

  ‘Yeah, some of them will probably prefer breakfast in their rooms and we’ll just see how it goes. It’s all a learning curve.’

  Martha swept back her thick, jet-black hair and Rona noticed her heavy make-up creasing into the lines on her forehead. Perhaps Martha was older than she had thought. ‘You still planning on putting goldfish over there?’ Martha pointed at a high table near the window.

  ‘Yes, that’s on Craig’s list of chores for tomorrow.’

  ‘There’s a pet shop along on Granton Road, but I am sure he knows that.’

  Rona looked out the window. ‘Hope he gets home soon.’

  ‘What about other pets? Old folk like seeing cats around. Or even a dog.’

  ‘Nice idea. Craig really wanted us to get a puppy when we moved in but puppies are so much extra work. Also, with the baby coming, it’d be …’ Rona kicked herself. Idiot, why did she say that?

  ‘What? Are you pregnant, Rona?’ Martha raised an eyebrow.

  ‘It’s meant to be a secret. It’s still early days, not had a scan yet, so I shouldn’t have said a thing, but yes. We’re delighted.’

  Martha drained the tea from her mug. ‘Wow, you’re sure going to hav
e your work cut out.’ She smiled. ‘I can help out in this place whenever you like. I’ve done admin and stuff.’

  ‘Thanks, Martha, I will keep that in mind.’ Rona got to her feet.

  ‘Hey, you can use that big old pram, I am sure it’ll scrub up fine.’

  ‘What big old pram?’

  ‘You know, the one in the cellar? I saw Craig loading it into that van one day, heading for the dump. But I said you should keep it. So he said he would put it back.’

  Rona frowned. ‘Why should we keep it?’

  ‘I’ve been to an old people’s home where they had a pram and some residents – the ones who’re losing it a bit – liked to wheel it around. Reminded them of their younger days when they had babies. Therapeutic.’

  ‘Craig told me he’d taken it to the dump.’

  Martha shrugged. ‘Not what he told me.’ She headed for the door. ‘Shall I carry on printing off the menu cards?’

  Rona nodded and went into the hall. Why on earth had Craig listened to Martha when she told him they should hang on to that spooky old pram? Rona crossed towards their annexe then turned to check the cellar door was shut and looked up at the portrait on the wall. The woman had those eyes that followed you wherever you went, left or right. She had an expression that Rona hadn’t noticed before – she was not smiling, but neither did she look stern. Instead, with her eyes narrowing as they followed Rona from left to right, she looked wily, calculating. It was as if she, too, had a secret.

  Chapter 12

  1899

  Jessie tried to stand up but her head bumped against the ceiling. She crouched down and proceeded along the narrow room, patting her hands against the cold, rough walls to try to feel her way. There was a little light ahead but it was still dim. She stopped at what she realised was a huge pile of coal. She had no idea how much farther the narrow cellar extended. She wiped the soot from her hands on her skirt and returned to the door where the ceiling was slightly less low. Here she sat down, her legs extended. It was dark and murky, but a little light streamed in from the far end and as her eyes adjusted, she saw daylight on top of the coal. This was obviously where the coal was tipped into the cellar. There were also a couple of cracks of light coming through the slats in the wooden door, but that would fade later as it was still dinnertime, the middle of the day. Surely Matron wouldn’t leave her in here all day and all night?

  Jessie began to sing. Singing had been a way of life at home in Newhaven, perhaps that would help her now. She tried the first lines of ‘Caller Herrin’’.

  Wha’ll buy my caller herrin’

  They’re bonny fish and …

  Jessie started to sob as memories of home came flooding back and a deep sadness swept over her. She rested her head on the stone step. It was cold, so she wrapped her arms round her shoulders and shut her eyes. She hated this place. How could her mother have sent her here? It was a prison, it had bars on the windows and no one could ever leave, unless they died. That’s what Annie Rae said. Either they carried you out in a box or you went mad, like Effie.

  What would she be doing now if she had been allowed to stay at home? She’d be down at Newhaven harbour, legs dangling over the harbour wall, mending the nets. And singing with the other fishergirls as they worked. Jessie took a deep breath and tried to remember the salty taste of sea spray on her face and lips. She coughed as sooty air filled her lungs.

  When the first girl saw the boats coming back into the harbour, they’d all jump down from the wall and would gather round the boats. Then they’d help unload the fish before sorting it into different baskets for the men to take to the market and for their mothers and elder sisters to lug around the big houses in the city. Jessie never thought that she would miss it. How could she miss the smell, the hard graft, as they gutted the fish for hours on end? And before they started to work with the gutting knife, they’d to tie up their fingers – sometimes just one finger but often all of them, to protect against the knife slipping. They’d use cotton or linen cloth, usually material cut from the baker’s flour bags or sometimes rags from servants’ smocks handed in by ladies from the big houses through the church. They would wash the rags and then bleach them, tear them into strips and tie them tight round their fingers to last all day. Then they could start work, slitting the short knife along the belly of the fish as fast as possible and pulling out the guts. The girls would all compete against each other to see who gutted more fish. At night, Ma always checked Jessie’s and Dorrie’s fingers. If any were festering, she’d make a bread poultice with sugar in it and that cured it.

  It seemed strange, but Jessie even missed the smell of fish that lingered. This was the smell that persisted even on a Sunday morning when they washed in the big basin in the scullery before walking along the shore to church. She missed the harsh squawking of the herring gulls as they swooped low over Newhaven harbour. In the dark silence of the cellar, Jessie hugged herself once more and, dreaming of the sea, drifted off to sleep.

  A grating noise woke Jessie. She jolted up and banged her head, forgetting where she was. She rubbed her crown. It had become much darker. How long had she slept? Was there someone at the other side of the door? ‘Hello?’ she whispered through the cracks in the door. ‘Is there anyone there?’

  Silence, then there was more scratching. It sounded like fingernails against the other side of the door. She was sure there was someone near.

  Jessie moved away a little from the door and waited. The scratching stopped and there was a clink as a key was inserted into the lock. The keyhole shook as the key was turned and turned, but obviously did not work. Another key was inserted then two more. Jessie was trembling now. Who was at the other side of the door with a set of keys? It was obviously not Matron.

  Another key was thrust in. This time the handle turned slowly. There, crouched down on her hunkers, was Effie, smiling. She removed the key and put the bunch deep into her pocket.

  ‘Effie,’ whispered Jessie. ‘Where did you get the keys? Are they Matron’s?’

  ‘No, they’re mine.’ She beamed once more, revealing blackened teeth.

  Effie wriggled inside the coal cellar and sat beside Jessie who stared at her, taking in the long, thick fingernails and black teeth. Effie’s dark hair was, as usual, greasy, her long straggly pigtail hanging down from her greying scalp. She was the one person Matron made an exception for during her inspections, partly because she was never in the dormitory in the mornings, as she never slept. Both Matron and the Governor let Effie wander around wherever she liked, undisciplined unless she was scratching at the walls with her fingernails, which she did often. Mad Effie, everyone would say, shaking their heads. Leave her be, it’s just Mad Effie.

  ‘Effie, I’ll get into trouble if Matron sees me out of here. I can’t walk out with you, I’ll have to wait till she comes and unlocks the door.’

  ‘Not wanting to get you out. I just brought you something, a collation.’

  ‘A what?’

  Jessie watched Effie take out a pair of scissors from the folds of her skirt. They looked like embroidery scissors, they were ornate and gilded. How had she got those? Effie reached under her skirts again and brought out a hunk of bread. She thrust the bread and the scissors at Jessie and smiled again.

  ‘Oh, Effie, thank you, I’m really hungry. But you’d better go. If Matron catches you, you’ll get a row. So will I.’

  Effie used the scissors to snip the crust of bread into two thick slices then dropped them onto Jessie’s lap. She handed Jessie the bread then got up onto her knees to leave. She turned round to look straight at Jessie, her dark eyes watery. ‘It’s because you and I are both Winzies. Don’t worry, they can’t harm us. We’ve got special gifts, you and I.’ She stretched over to Jessie’s lap and grabbed the scissors.

  Jessie shrunk back, but Effie took them in her long fingers and pushed the door to. They were both shut inside now. She gripped the filigree scissors like a pen and began to chisel away on the wooden panels of the door.
First there was a large W, then an I, then an N. Jessie watched her finish etching the word, fearful at the sight of Mad Effie with a pair of scissors in her hand. She had never been in such close proximity for so long. Considering Effie was nowhere to be seen at bath time, she didn’t smell bad at all. Certainly not as bad as most of the women her age, whatever that was. Jessie looked at her close up and remembered someone said she was forty-something, which was very old, about the age her Granny M was when she’d died the year before. But Effie had something youthful about her, because of her strange childish ways. She watched Effie screw up her red-rimmed eyes in concentration as she continued etching the wood. Once she had finished the final letter E with a flourish, Effie turned round and smiled at Jessie who smiled back but said nothing.

  Effie pushed the scissors into her pocket then crept out of the little room and began to pull the door shut.

  ‘Thank you for the bread, Effie,’ said Jessie, gazing at the door as it was shut. The key was inserted into the lock once more and it was locked. Jessie began to sob once more, not because she was cold and frightened, as before, but because the only person in this horrid place to be kind and help her was Mad Effie. She picked up a slice of bread and rammed it in her mouth then sat staring at the six letters on the door. WINZIE. The curse was still very much with her.

  Chapter 13

  1982

  ‘Ian, can you show Mrs Bell into her room, please? Room 5, along at the end of the corridor.’

  ‘You know I can’t manage stairs well, but can I take the lift should I want to walk around upstairs?’ Mrs Bell asked.

  ‘Of course, Mrs Bell. Treat the entire house as your home. And anything else you need, just let me know. I’ll pop round and see you later, check you’ve settled in.’

  Ian Devine picked up Mrs Bell’s capacious handbag and guided her out of the lounge, her stick thumping on the carpet as they walked. Rona watched Ian take her slowly along the corridor, chatting all the way. Even though one of the nurses said she had reservations about Ian, Rona knew better. His manner with their elderly residents was excellent. He didn’t talk down to them, just spoke normally, and the day before the usually reserved Mr Benson had been chuckling away at his jokes. He was going to fit in just fine.