Down to the Sea

by Sue Lawrence

  Molly was about to head for the kitchen when Matron held out her hand.

  ‘The key, Molly.’

  ‘Oh, yes, here it is,’ she said, delving into her pocket.

  Effie had slunk off along the corridor during the interruption. She made for the cellar door where she paused and looked back at them, eyes narrowing as if deep in thought.

  Chapter 25

  1982

  ‘Come in, Doctor Bruce. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, but I was just keen to have a second opinion on Mrs Bell. Her cough’s been getting worse.’

  Rona closed the door behind the doctor and guided him along the corridor. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine but both the nurse and my husband think she might have a chest infection.’

  ‘Your husband?’

  ‘He was a medical student, but of course the nurse knows best.’

  ‘Where does he practise now?’

  ‘He doesn’t, he went down another career route.’ Rona ushered him up the stairs. As usual, when anyone asked about Craig’s past, Rona became embarrassed. How could she explain that Craig had drunk so much in his final year that he hadn’t attended ward clinics nor completed the coursework? He’d turned up on one ward clinic so drunk, he had almost dropped a baby in Maternity. The faculty refused to let him sit the exams and he left university without any degree at all. Craig said he wasn’t drinking like he used to, but she was sure he was lying. That was what was niggling her. How could he possibly be a responsible father if he had a drink problem?

  ‘Here we are, Doctor Bruce,’ she said, opening the door. ‘Oh, hello Ian.’ She nodded at Ian who was reading to Mrs Bell, who was sitting in the chair by the window in her dressing gown. ‘This is Doctor Bruce. I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be downstairs in the office. Let me know if there’s a prescription that needs collecting.’

  Rona wandered back down the stairs, still thinking of her husband’s past – the past she had thought was behind him for good. Her mum had never been keen on her marrying Craig, but then Granddad’s illness worsened and she became embroiled in that. Her mum’s father had been an alcoholic and she recognised the signs. She’d told Rona during a visit to their flat in Dundee how worried she was about their future if Craig refused to get help.

  Rona headed for the office, passing Betty Chalmers being wheeled out of her room by one of the agency carers.

  ‘How are you, Mrs Chalmers?’

  ‘I am rather well, thank you. This pleasant young lady is dealing with all my needs. She is taking me along to the lounge so I can enjoy the view. What a beautiful day. I shall use those binoculars to look at the birds. I saw a chaffinch yesterday.’

  ‘It is a lovely day, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, I meant to ask you, is that Canadian woman in here today? I had asked her about the place she used to live in Saskatoon and she was going to look in her old address book as my niece moved to Canada. It wasn’t a large town, so perhaps they lived nearby.’

  ‘Sorry, who’s that?’

  ‘Now, what’s her name again? Margaret? Marian? Dark hair, smartly dressed.’

  ‘You mean Martha? She’s American. She said she lived somewhere in California. She never mentioned Canada.’

  ‘No, she has a Canadian accent. It sounds less of a drawl than the American one.’

  She turned round to the carer who had been waiting patiently. ‘You may continue now, young lady. Goodbye, Rona.’

  There was a knock on the door. Rona looked up from the pile of documents on her desk.

  ‘Hello, doctor, come in.’ She gestured for him to enter.

  Doctor Bruce sat down and delved into his doctor’s bag. ‘I did find signs of a chest infection so have prescribed some antibiotics.’ He handed over the prescription.

  ‘Thanks, I’ll nip out to the chemist for that myself. I could use some fresh air, in fact.’ Rona lifted her hand to her mouth to cover a wide yawn.

  ‘How are you keeping, Rona? Are you due for a visit to the midwife soon?’

  ‘Not for a couple of weeks, but everything seems okay.’ The doctor was looking closely at her. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Can I just check something? You look rather pale.’ The doctor moved closer and pulled Rona’s lower eyelid down with his finger. ‘Yes, I think you might be a little anaemic. Are you sure you’re not overdoing it?’

  ‘No. I mean it’s hard work, but I always get to bed early. I get plenty of sleep.’

  ‘Okay. But I’d like you to make an appointment with the nurse. Come in for a blood test. Let’s check your iron levels.’

  ‘I’ll pop in to the reception once I’ve done the chemist.’

  ‘Right. And there’s nothing else you’re worrying about, is there?’

  Rona shook her head and noticed the doctor’s concerned frown. Mrs Bell probably told him about how Rona worked non-stop all day, including feeding some residents who needed help at mealtimes. ‘I’m fine,’ Rona replied, smiling. She hoped Mrs Bell hadn’t mentioned to him that in comparison Craig did far less, refusing to start work till after nine some mornings and even then he didn’t exactly push himself. At lunch, he always insisted on taking a full hour off. He kept trying to get Rona to join him in the annexe for lunch, but she invariably ended up having a rushed bowl of soup once she’d finished in the dining room. Why didn’t she try to make him do more? It was better to keep the peace; she didn’t want to push him. That monumental row they’d once had ended so badly.

  ‘Sure?’

  Rona nodded. How could she tell the doctor she lay awake at nights worrying about money? Their last bank statement wasn’t good. Because of the extra work needed on the house after the pipes had burst at Christmas, they’d had to take out a loan, something that would have horrified her financially savvy dad. Nothing the doctor could prescribe would help with that.

  The doctor snapped his bag shut and stood up.

  ‘Is that you finished your lunchtime house calls then, Doctor Bruce?’

  ‘One more to do, but it’s right next door so I can just walk round.’

  ‘Oh, who’s that, then?’

  ‘Miss McCallister. Lives at the lodge house.’

  Rona chuckled. ‘Oh, isn’t that funny, all these months we’ve known Martha, I’ve never known her surname.’

  The doctor took out a sheet of paper from his pocket. ‘No, it’s not Martha, it’s Miss Janet McCallister.’

  Chapter 26

  1899

  ‘Effie, it’s me.’ Jessie tiptoed down the steps into the cellar where she could just make out a figure walking to and fro, head bent low over the pram handles as she walked over the stone slabs. ‘Effie,’ she called again, her voice echoing around the cold stone walls.

  Effie peered through the gloom and walked the pram towards her. ‘Hello, Winzie.’ She bent over the pram and smoothed down the blanket that covered the mattress. She bounced the handles up and down.

  ‘Effie, are you all right? I saw you talking to Matron tonight. And the Governor.’

  At the mention of his name, Effie shivered. ‘All is well. Thank you kindly for your concern.’

  ‘You know if you need any help, I’m here. I’m not sure I could do much but I could try.’ Jessie slipped her hand into her pocket and was reassured to feel the cloth wrapped round the gutting knife.

  ‘Thank you. You are too kind.’

  Jessie smiled. Sometimes Effie’s expressions were so proper. She often spoke like she was a lady, not just some mad old woman in a poorhouse.

  ‘The door to the coal cellar’s still unlocked, isn’t it?’

  ‘I do believe it is.’

  ‘Thanks, Effie. I’ll let you get on then.’

  She watched as Effie wheeled the pram towards the other side of the cavernous room and strolled up and down, peeking into the pram as she walked. Jessie pushed the door of the coal cellar open a little to check it was unlocked then ran up the stairs.

  Bertha stood at the top, clutching a knotted cloth holding her few belongings.
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  ‘Right, come down now, Bertha. It’s safe. Be quiet though, so Effie doesn’t hear you.’

  Jessie stretched out her hand for Bertha who followed her down to the cellar floor.

  ‘Can’t she see us, Jessie?’

  ‘She’s lost in thought. Just be quiet. Get in here,’ Jessie pushed the little red door open into the coal cellar.

  Bertha had done all her crying as they crept down the stairs into the hall, with Jessie telling her once more she had no choice and trying to keep her quiet as she snuffled and snivelled. Bertha stepped in and banged her head.

  ‘Ow.’

  ‘You have to bend down. Get onto your knees.’ She pulled Bertha in and shut the door behind them.

  ‘I can’t see, Jessie.’ There was panic in Bertha’s voice.

  ‘I told you it’d be dark. Here, take my hand.’

  ‘I don’t like it.’

  ‘Look, this is the only thing we can do. Keep holding my hand and we’ll be out at the beach soon. Shall I sing to you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Bertha muttered as her grip tightened.

  Jessie began to sing one of the fisherlassies’ songs, soft and melodic. It was pitch dark, but she didn’t want to ask Effie for another candle in case she got into trouble. Jessie just needed to remember where the start of the slope might be.

  She pulled her hand away from Bertha’s grip. ‘Stop now, Bertha. This is where it goes downhill.’ Jessie got down onto her hunkers. ‘Get onto your feet, like this. Crouch as low as you can and just go slowly, behind me. I can’t take your hand now.’

  Bertha did what she was told. Jessie could hear Bertha’s breathing becoming short; she was panting.

  ‘Now we need to take our time, so you don’t slip.’ Jessie continued to sing.

  Wha’ll buy my caller herrin’

  They’re bonny fish and halesome fairin’

  Buy my caller herrin’

  New drawn frae the Forth

  ‘Jessie, how much longer?’ Bertha sounded terrified. She had been in the poorhouse since she was about five years old so knew little of the outside world. Her mother had brought her into Wardie House then died within a few weeks. Jessie hoped she would be all right outside. She was so naïve; that was obviously how she became pregnant with Billy Muir’s child.

  ‘Jessie, I just felt something,’ Bertha screeched. ‘Something brushed across my face.’

  ‘It’ll just be a cobweb, it’s nothing. Come on, we’re nearly there.’ Jessie could see a patch of dim light ahead.

  They arrived at the gorse bushes. Jessie felt to her left, removing the large branch she had cut away. ‘Bend your head down and follow me, Bertha.’

  Jessie burrowed under the bush and pulled Bertha’s larger body through. They both fell onto the damp sand with a thump then sat up on the beach and looked ahead.

  ‘Here we are! We did it! Look at the sea, Bertha. Isn’t it grand?’

  They looked out at the grey water and the dark clouds rolling out east towards the North Sea. ‘Listen to that sound, Bertha.’ The waves sloshed onto the shore ahead of them and still Bertha said nothing.

  Jessie leant towards her friend whose eyes were wide. ‘It’s all right, we’re out now. You’ll never have to go back to that horrible place. Unlike me.’ Jessie sighed. ‘Stand up, we’ve got to go and wake Dorrie.’

  Jessie placed the knife back into the nook amongst the barrels and started along the harbour wall. She wouldn’t need it any more and she didn’t like to steal; the owner must’ve got into terrible trouble from her mother for losing it. The knife had served its purpose, helping cut down the gorse.

  Jessie was mid stride when she stopped and looked down at her feeble body. Without the knife, she felt vulnerable, less strong. Perhaps, after all, she might need it. She had no idea what lay ahead. She felt bad for the lassie whose knife it was but she felt safer with it. Though she wouldn’t kill for Bertha and her baby, she might need a knife as a threat. She returned to the barrels, slipped it out again, rewrapped it and tucked it back in her pocket. Once Bertha was safely away, she’d come down and return the knife when she’d no need of protection.

  Jessie looked ahead and saw Bertha standing under the gas lamp, in exactly the same spot she had left her, her hands clasped tight together. The tension in her face eased a little when she saw Jessie approach and together they walked, hand in hand, along Main Street.

  ‘Right, Bertha. Remember what I said. When we get to my house, you’ll have to wait outside. I don’t want Ma waking up and finding us. I’m just going to wake Dorrie.’

  Bertha nodded. Jessie clasped her friend’s hand tight.

  They stepped over the cobbles until they came to the tiny cottage with its low narrow windows and whitewashed wall, and the outside stairs by the door that led up to the Carnies’ house above. Jessie listened, checking if anyone was around. No one. She had seen there were very few boats in the harbour, but that was normal in the middle of the herring season, which meant that the men would be away every night. It was only the women who’d be at home with the children.

  Jessie pulled Bertha round to the Carnies’ wooden stairs and sat her down on the bottom step. ‘Sit here and wait,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t move or say a thing.’

  Bertha nodded and in the dim light Jessie could see her face screw up, as if she was going to cry. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’

  Jessie pushed open the wooden door under the stairs, hoping that the annoying old creak hadn’t returned. Her father used to oil it and she presumed her Ma did things like that herself now. It was a good thing none of the villagers ever locked their doors. No one even had keys to the locks; everyone was so trusting. She entered the low-ceilinged room and looked around as if seeing it for the first time. Faint evening light came through the tiny, deep-set window and as her eyes adjusted she noticed the heap of tangled nets in the corner. There weren’t many, so presumably the rest were out in someone’s boat tonight. Perhaps Uncle Johnnie had stepped in to help her mother after her dad had died. There was the fireplace and the empty grate and a large blackened pan hung from the swee. Two pairs of thick woollen socks hung above the fire on the rail.

  Jessie took a deep breath. The smell of fish, having eluded her for so long, was strangely welcoming. She turned to look at the bed set in the alcove where the gentle snoring was coming from. But before waking her sister, she tiptoed to the back room, a tiny airless recess with nothing but a bed in it. This was where her father and mother used to sleep. She and Dorrie slept together in the bed beside the fireplace and her brother had slept on the floor beside them. Jessie peeked round the door and at once recognised her mother’s frizzy grey hair sticking out the top of the coarse brown blanket. It was strange to see her alone in this bed, without her father.

  Jessie returned to the bed near the fireplace and peered in close. She saw the locks of thick dark hair lying over the blanket. There was Dorrie, sleeping as she always did, facing the wall, her body wedged close, as if still leaving plenty of space for the sister who used to sleep alongside. She crept towards the bed and sat down on the edge, watching her sister’s body heave up and down. She smiled then stretched out her hand to her sister’s shoulder.

  Chapter 27

  1982

  ‘Martha, do you have a minute?’

  Rona had watched her walk in the front door and cross the hall, heading for the cellar door. Rona looked enviously at Martha’s hair, which as usual was shaped in its perfect bob and was silky and glossy. Rona twirled a curl round her finger and felt only its dry, brittle texture; pregnancy had not been kind to her hair.

  ‘Sure,’ she said, swivelling around. ‘I said to Myra I’d help arrange those beautiful flowers she just brought in.’

  ‘So why were you going to the cellar?’

  ‘The cellar?’ Martha scratched her head. ‘Vases. Myra thought there was a big one down there.’ She smiled. ‘How are you feeling, Rona?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘You look pale,’
Martha said, ambling into the office.

  ‘The doctor thinks I might be anaemic. I’ve to go and see him in a day or two once the blood test comes back.’

  ‘I keep telling Craig he should be helping you more, but he seems to like doing his own thing, doesn’t he?’

  Rona bristled. It was one thing for Rona to notice her husband’s lack of motivation, it was not all right for Martha to mention it.

  ‘He’s fine. He does things in his own way.’

  ‘He’ll have to step up to the plate once the baby comes. How long now?’

  ‘I’m thirty-six weeks, so another four weeks.’ Rona rubbed her belly and felt a gentle kick.

  ‘Anyway. I’ve been wondering, Martha. Betty Chalmers was saying something about you being from somewhere in Canada. How come you told us you were from California?’

  Martha shrugged. ‘So many English people don’t get the difference.’

  ‘What, you mean like when people call us English?’

  ‘Oh yeah, Scots don’t like being called English, do they?’

  Rona snorted. ‘No. We don’t. Because we’re not.’ She sat up straight. ‘Anyway, are you Canadian?’

  ‘Lived in both Canada and the States. What’s the problem?’

  ‘Nothing. Just interested.’ Why had Martha lied to them about where she actually came from?

  ‘I’d better go now. I told Myra I was just nipping out for ten minutes.’

  ‘Someone you’re checking up on?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You said you lived alone, but how come Doctor Bruce told me he was visiting a Miss Janet McCallister at the lodge house?’

  Martha blinked a couple of times then stood up. ‘No idea. Jeez, you’d think doctors would get things like names and addresses right.’ Martha headed for the door. ‘Can I bring you a cup of tea, Rona? I think the cook’s baked my brownies again so I could bring you one of those.’