by Sue Lawrence
The diamond story was in fact true. Isn’t it a lovely tale? If it had not been for the diamond, your grandmother would never have been able to set sail across the Atlantic. I have many more stories I can share with you. I must admit, I do get a little lonely as my only relative, my sister Dorrie, died ten years ago and her family live in Northern Ireland which is impossible to visit these days because of The Troubles.
I am so delighted you are willing to make this long trip not only to see me but also to offer your services. To have some regular company would be good.
At the moment, I have a woman, Nora, who cleans and helps me around the house every couple of days, but this house, though not large, is a little too much for me. I am confined to a wheelchair for much of the day, though the doctor keeps telling me I must try to use my legs more. If not, I will lose the use of them completely. Perhaps you could help me to continue walking, round my small garden. Nora, sadly, has no time for that.
I find cooking a chore nowadays. I would, therefore, relish the prospect of having someone stay with me for a while who can both cook and nurse. Shall we see how the arrangement works? Upon your arrival, we can discuss terms.
I look forward to hearing when in January you might arrive. I shall then give Nora notice that I shall not require her any more. She has been struggling to fit me in with her other commitments as grandmother of three little ones under four with a working mother, so I am sure that will suit her well.
Yours sincerely,
Jessie (Janet) McCallister
Chapter 45
1982
‘How come Martha’s still in Room 9, Rona?’ Ian asked. ‘I thought she was only here for a night while she got better?’
‘It’s all become a bit complicated. Martha will be leaving today or tomorrow, the lodge house is aired now and she looks a bit better …’
‘Sorry if this sounds out of place, but do you believe she really was ill?’
‘She did look terrible when she came in. She looks better now, which is why she’ll be going home.’
Rona wriggled in her chair. The baby was pressing down and she couldn’t get comfortable.
‘You all right?’
‘Yes. The baby started kicking with a vengeance last night. I’d just been reading some horrific things in the paper – he or she’s obviously sensitive.’ Rona smiled and stroked her belly. ‘Anyway. Jessie doesn’t want Martha to stay in the lodge house any more. She’s still not speaking much, but when she’s alone with me, she’ll say a little. She might speak to you too and …’ Rona frowned. ‘Why are you looking like that?’
‘Did you say Jessie? I thought the new lady was called Janet McCallister?’
‘That’s her real name, but she likes to be called Jessie. Why?’
Ian sank into the chair beside her.
‘Remember I went to that family party at the weekend? I wanted to go for Mum as, even though her dementia’s bad, I could tell her about it after, maybe spark something. It was her aunt and uncle’s golden wedding. They all lived in Northern Ireland so came over to have a party here for long-lost relatives. Because of the situation in Ireland, Mum’s never been over there.’
Rona glanced at the clock.
‘Sorry, there is a point to this. When I told them I worked in a care home called Wardie House near Edinburgh, they said I should speak to my cousin John. Which I did. Turns out, his mum was someone called Dorrie who died about fifteen years ago. She was Jessie’s sister.’
‘Hang on, your cousin is Jessie’s nephew … so Jessie is your aunt?’ Rona shook her head. ‘I know you’re from Newhaven, but it doesn’t make sense – she’s too old.’
‘No, John is my second cousin, my mum’s cousin. So Jessie’s my second cousin once removed or forty-second cousin or something. Anyway, we’re kind-of related. It must be her, surely. But …’
‘What?’
‘This sounds terrible, but none of them mentioned the mole. I mean, you’d think they’d have known. It’s so distinctive.’
‘Maybe things like that weren’t talked about. My great uncle had a hump back and we youngsters just accepted it as normal. He was just Uncle Murdo. It was only other people who would stare sometimes, which we thought was odd.’
‘Suppose so. Of course, it isn’t what defines her.’
Rona’s shoulders stooped and she bent down a little. She couldn’t find a comfortable position. ‘Why don’t you go up and see her? Ask all about these people?’
‘Okay. I will. Wouldn’t it be amazing if it was true?’ Ian got up to go. ‘Got to help Mr Burnside with his shaving then I’ll see Janet. I mean, Jessie.’
Rona nodded.
‘You sure you’re all right, Rona? You’re looking a bit pale.’
‘Baby’s just pressing down a bit. I’ll be fine.’
Rona flicked on the lights in the cellar and walked down the steps, holding on to the handrail. They had had their pram delivered and put down here for safe keeping and she wanted to check its length. Her mum’s friends in Stornoway were all busy knitting, one in particular making a pram blanket. She insisted that prams nowadays were far shorter than the huge prams of old. Her mum was horrified when Rona told her that she and Craig had ordered the pram and cot in Mothercare and already had them delivered. ‘It’s bad luck,’ she had said on the phone.
‘We won’t have time to go shopping when the baby’s here,’ Rona had replied.
‘I’ll be there to help you. Craig can go to Mothercare and buy it then. I tell you, it’s bad luck to buy things for a baby before it arrives.’
Rona’s mother didn’t seem to realise that running a care home was not a nine-to-five job and that, even when the baby was here, they would both have to continue to work.
Rona walked over to the new pram covered with plastic sheets, wondering about the old-fashioned superstitions. What nonsense. The old traditions were just as daft. Like the Scottish tradition of Showing the Gifts. A bride had to invite all those who gave wedding presents round to her house, where they were entertained with tea and home-baking while rummaging nosily through the gifts. Rona’s refusal to have a Gift Showing had not pleased her mother, who said that apart from the wedding it was to be the highlight of her Stornoway friends’ social calendar. ‘A nice thing for only us women to do. No men to bother us.’
Rona bent over to lift up the plastic sheets from the pram when she felt a sharp pain. She held on to the handle then let out a long breath. That was better. She began to lift off the plastic sheets, placing them on the stone floor beside her. She frowned as she looked at the pram handles. These didn’t look like the ones they had seen in the shop. She lifted the last sheet off and gasped. It wasn’t her pram, it was the old one, ancient and worn. Where was their brand new pram? And why was this one down here? The pram hood was up. Rona unclipped the hinges to push it down. She peered inside. On top of the little pillow that one of the nurses had given Mr Burnside was a photo. She stared in disbelief. It was the photo of Mr Burnside as a child with the dead baby.
Chapter 46
1979
‘Martha, please can we try to walk one more time round the garden? It’s so stuffy inside, I need some fresh air.’
‘Jessie, I told you, you’ll get sunstroke, it’s too warm. Geez, if I knew Scotland was going to be as hot as Mexico, I’d have thought twice about coming.’
‘I’d like to sit at the door then, please, and get some fresh air. I’m used to being outside, Martha. It’s stifling in here.’
‘I’ll wheel you to the door, but no farther. It’s not good for your chest.’
‘My chest is perfectly fine, you know that.’
‘Good,’ said Martha, wheeling Jessie towards the back door. ‘Now, have you had any more time to remember where that diamond might be buried?’
‘I was sure it was over there in the far corner, but you tried that the last time, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah. I’m getting muscly arms with all that digging.’
‘Bu
t you know you can’t dig any more. The neighbours might see and wonder what on earth you are doing, when the garden is so unkempt.’
‘Then I’ll dig at night. They won’t see or hear a thing.’
‘I really would like you to employ a gardener for me. Please?’
‘No, Jessie. It’s something I like to do for you. You pay me well, so it’s the least I can do. And thinking of neighbours, there are none that can see into the garden. I reckon only that small attic window in Wardie House overlooks.’ She clicked on the wheelchair brakes. ‘But just to be on the safe side, I’ll dig in the dark.’
Martha spread out the tartan travelling rug over Jessie’s knees. ‘Remember we decided how nice it’d be to find that diamond in the jewellery box you and Effie buried for safekeeping years ago? Make you a wealthy woman.’
‘Yes, of course I do. It’s where I buried it that’s the problem. My memory these days.’ Jessie shook her head. ‘It might even have been left somewhere in the big house. I just can’t recall …’
Martha smiled at Jessie. ‘Have you managed to think of the name of your lawyer yet? Remember we thought it would be a good idea to give me power of attorney, in case you aren’t able to get to the lawyer’s office to sign stuff?’
‘You can wheel me there, surely. Or actually, I’m sure they can come here to us, too?’
‘Let’s see about that. I had a look through the Yellow Pages. I know you said it was a Mac-something name, but there are about fifty frickin’ Macs in there.’
‘Martha, I wish you wouldn’t swear. I keep telling you.’
‘Listen to you. You’d think you were Euphemia Ramsay, not poor, common Jessie Mack from down the harbour at Newhaven.’
Martha sat down on the step beneath Jessie and together they looked out onto the grass, yellowed with many days of sun and drought.
‘I remember one summer being out here with your grandmother. Though Bertha was meant to be inside sewing some sacks or shirts, Molly the cook asked her to help me in the garden with the rhubarb. She was terribly strong, your grandmother, so Molly said we could pull the rhubarb together. It was about this time of year and the rhubarb wasn’t pink any more, it was greeny red. So Bertha pulled up the stalks with her powerful arms and handed them to me and I’d chop off the leaves and put the stalks in a basket for Molly to stew. It was meant to be good for us, but she was only allowed to put in a tiny amount of sugar, so it tasted horrible, so bitter.’
‘There’s some rhubarb left over there. I’ll make a pie for dinner,’ Martha said, yawning.
Jessie smiled. ‘Anyway, this time, Billy Muir had stolen a little bowl of sugar from the Governor’s tea tray when he was clearing the tea from his room. He came into the garden with it and the three of us sat down, over there near the rhubarb patch, cross-legged in a circle around this bowl. I chopped the dirty ends off three stalks of rhubarb and we dipped our stalks into the sugar bowl, one after the other. I can still taste the crunch of the sweet white sugar and the crispness of the sour rhubarb.’ She shook her head. ‘It was just wonderful. Especially since we were never caught.’
‘I’m sure I remember Dad telling me that story whenever we had rhubarb.’
‘I thought you said you and your mother never saw your father after he was put in prison? You were only three at the time, surely you can’t have remembered?’
Martha stood up and went inside, shouting back to Jessie, ‘He must’ve told Mum then. I’m going to put the kettle on for tea.’
Chapter 47
1982
Rona jumped back. The sight of the baby in that photo was horrific now she knew it was dead. But then another sharp pain made her double over. Pant – that’s what she’d learnt to do in the antenatal classes when in pain. She puffed rhythmically then tried to stand up straight, easing the back of her hand against the base of her spine. Her lower back had been sore for a couple of days now; it must be that new chair in the office. Rona had asked Craig to order a comfortable one and he got an ergodynamic one that was unsuited to her body shape. She kept telling him that, though she wasn’t very tall, she had a long back.
Rona grabbed the plastic sheets from the ground and flung them over the old pram, then hobbled over to the stairs. As she climbed the steps, holding on to the rail, she felt a little better. Good, nothing to worry about. Apart from trying to find where her new pram was. Where on earth could …? Oh no – another sharp pain, like really bad stomach cramps, but lower down.
It can’t possibly be the baby, Rona thought, there’s still two weeks to go. Craig was out at the cash and carry buying industrial quantities of tea, sugar and coffee for Wardie House. Rona looked at her watch. He’d only left about half an hour ago, he’d be at least another hour. She shut the door to the cellar and looked up at the portrait. The lady’s expression was blank. Rona walked backwards across the corridor, checking that the eyes followed her. They did, and from the other side of the hall something seemed to flicker into life in the lady’s face. It was oddly comforting to think she was being watched.
‘Rona, are you all right?’ Mrs Bell hobbled across the hall. ‘Why are you holding your belly? Is the baby on its way?’
‘Ow, ow.’ Rona leant over and breathed out long and hard. ‘Can you ask Fay to come, please?’
Mrs Bell stomped back across the hall, her stick thumping on the wooden boards. Rona went into the annexe and slumped down onto a chair at the kitchen table.
‘Are you all right?’ Fay rushed in and knelt down beside her, taking her hand. ‘Is Craig around? If not, we’ll drive you to Simpson’s.’
‘It’s early though, Fay. Surely it can’t be the baby already? I’m only thirty-eight weeks.’ Rona’s face pinched up in pain. ‘Ow, ow.’
‘Wait.’ Fay ran out of the annexe and came back with one of the carers, the new girl, Tracey, from the ground floor. ‘Sit with her while I go and try to get hold of Craig. If we can’t, someone’ll have to take her to hospital.’
‘I’ll drive her. I’ve got my car outside,’ said Tracey. ‘I passed my test a fortnight ago. I’d love to go fast like an ambulance through town.’
Rona writhed up in the chair and cried in agony as the next contraction came.
Tracey’s eyes grew wide. ‘Maybe it’s best for Fay to drive you, Rona.’
‘Everyone’s asking for you at Wardie House. I’ve just phoned Fay and told her to pass on the good news.’ Craig bent down and stroked his daughter’s downy head. ‘She’s so beautiful. You did really well.’
‘No I didn’t. I was yelling for pain relief and then when you arrived I shouted at you like some mad old witch and …’ Rona beamed. ‘She is gorgeous, isn’t she? Can’t wait for Mum to see her.’
‘She’s got her bag packed, ready to come down the minute we say.’
‘No point till we know when we can get home. You don’t want her hanging around Wardie House.’
‘So. Names. Did we decide for sure on Hannah?’
‘I don’t know, I like Joanna too. And what about a middle name?’
‘We hadn’t anticipated her arriving early, had we? No idea.’ Craig kissed the top of Rona’s head then glanced up at the clock. ‘I’d better go, leave you to try and sleep. Do they wheel away her little cot or does she stay with you?’
‘I don’t know. I’d like her to stay so I can gaze at her all night.’
‘Try to get some sleep. If they offer to take her into the nursery, then let them.’
Rona nodded. ‘Oh, Craig, I’ve just remembered something really important. Someone’s taken our brand new pram from the cellar and put that horrible old one in its place. Can you find out where it is, please?’
‘Odd. I suppose it could’ve been Mr Burnside, but I don’t see how he could have lifted the new one up those stairs. Don’t worry though, love, I’ll sort everything out for you.’
Chapter 48
1980
‘Please can we go for a walk outside, Martha? It’s my birthday and you promised we could do som
ething nice.’ Jessie pulled back a corner of the heavy curtain. ‘Look, the sun’s out.’
Martha yanked the curtain shut and stood in front of the wheelchair. ‘We could maybe go round the block. You could see the new wrought iron gates on Wardie House. They’re trying to convert it into a hotel, but how the hell that’d work beats me.’ She shoved Jessie’s chair towards the door. ‘And by the way, you’ve got something nice for your birthday. Remember? I went down to that fishmonger and got herring fillets for your tea. Not that you deserve it.’
Martha threw a scarf at Jessie. ‘Wrap this round you, there’s a cold wind out there. ‘Come on, hurry up if you want to catch a glimpse of this frickin’ Scottish sun.’
Martha bumped Jessie’s wheelchair down the steps, the old woman wincing with each thump, and headed along the path to their gate. ‘Jessie, don’t think we’ll get you out much more. It’s a nightmare getting the wheelchair up and down the steps.’
‘What about one of those ramps you see in some places?’
‘Our steps are too wide. Wouldn’t work.’
‘Could we just ask Rory the handyman when he comes next?’
‘Nothing more for him to do now he’s installed that shower for me in the bathroom. No, I reckon you’ll just have to get used to being inside. Make the most of this walk, Jessie Mack.’
They walked round the corner to Wardie House and stopped at the gate. Jessie lowered the scarf at her neck and stretched forward to peer in. ‘Oh, Martha, I remember the first day I arrived at Wardie House. I was only fourteen and had left Newhaven as a fisherlassie to come and work here. I was really nervous and the cook, Molly, was cross at first but she was fine once I got to know her. And then I met your grandmother and we shared a bed, well, a mattress in fact. We didn’t even have a proper bed.’