by Millie Vigor
‘You said you have a nephew, but do you have any other relations here?’
‘No. Norman’s parents both died and Callum’s other sister went to Australia with her husband and two boys. I’ve no idea where they are now.’
‘So how long have you been on your own?’
‘Too long. Fifteen years.’
‘Does it ever get any easier?’ asked Catherine.
‘With time. You have to look ahead. When you get to my age just remembering the pleasure is pain enough. Memories often bring tears.’ Kay smiled, but there was sadness in it. ‘Enough of that. Would you like to come and have dinner with me on Christmas Day? We could pull a cracker, couldn’t we?’
‘I’d like that; I wasn’t looking forward to it.’
‘I understand, but that wasn’t why I asked you. It was for a purely practical reason: you see it’s very difficult to pull a cracker by yourself’
‘Oh, Kay.’ Catherine laughed. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
‘You’d manage,’ said Kay, ‘but I’m wondering how you will when your baby’s born. Do you still want to have it at home? Winter is worse after Christmas. What if the doctor can’t get to you?
‘You forget I’m a trained nurse. Childbirth is the most natural thing in the world,’ said Catherine, brushing Kay’s concern aside. ‘Lumsden was very happy with me the last time I saw him and we aren’t expecting any trouble.’
‘But if we get snowed in … I don’t want to worry you but it is a possibility … you’ll only have me to help and I’m not any sort of a nurse.’
Catherine smiled, leaned forward and patted Kay’s hand. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll see the doc again next week and if he thinks I should go into hospital I will. OK?’
‘I’m sorry. It isn’t as though Jannie’s any help and I’m sure your mother would never forgive us if anything went wrong.’
‘I believe African women give birth by the side of the road, then wrap the baby up and keep going.’ Catherine laughed. ‘I doubt if I could do that.’
‘I should hope not,’ said Kay, ‘but if you did wouldn’t that give the “aald eens” something to talk about. Mina would probably never speak to you again and warn people not to go to England because folk there were nothing but savages.’ They both laughed. ‘But joking aside, when you’ve got everything ready for your confinement you’ll have to show me so I’ll know where to find it. In the meantime I’m going to teach you to knit.’
‘You’re joking,’ said Catherine.
‘No I’m not. You’ll need something else to do besides reading books for the next three months. I’ll come tomorrow. Now I’m going home to bed.
At the end of November Catherine made a parcel of the Christmas presents she had bought for her family and asked Kay if she would post it for her when she next went to Lerwick. She had pondered long and hard over what she could give Robbie’s parents and decided at last on a copy of her wedding photograph. To Kay she said, ‘Please don’t buy me a present, you’re doing quite enough for me as it is.’ But for Kay she filled a tin with biscuits she had baked.
Kay showed her how to knit and she made a valiant effort to produce at least one knitted garment for her baby. But she found it difficult. She dropped stitches, and the knitting too, when she nodded off to sleep in the chair, so she stuffed it out of sight behind a cushion. Instead she sewed and made nightgowns stitched by hand with little embroidered motifs on them.
Flurries of snow fell as the December nights grew longer and days darker, but it didn’t last and was often gone before daylight came again. The doctor parked his car at the top of the hill and walked down to see Catherine. ‘Easier for me to walk in than for you to walk out,’ he said. When he had examined her he pronounced her in good form. He’d get the midwife to visit after Christmas and if Catherine was worried about anything at all she was to get someone to call at the surgery and he would come. ‘Be good now,’ he said. ‘Don’t overdo the Christmas pudding and I’ll see you next year.’
EIGHTEEN
IT WAS MID-MORNING before daylight crept over the horizon on Christmas Day. Catherine looked out of her window at the sea beyond the bay. It was a heaving, rolling mass of menacing steel-grey water. Her house was so close to the beach that she did not need to open her window to hear the roar the waves made as they threw themselves against the cliffs. Driving between the headlands they poured in, rose up to rush at the beach, slap down on the unoffending sand then hiss angrily as they ran across it. There was no boat in the bay now: Daa had sold it. Only the dinghy, muffled in a tarpaulin, lay above high water.
The sun, seemingly apologetic for its low orbit and brief appearance struggled to spread a little cheer, but it was pale, winter-tired, drifted in a low arc over the southern horizon and failed to lift Catherine’s spirits. She put on her coat and, unable to fasten the buttons, clutched the edges of it together; it hadn’t been designed for a pregnant woman. She picked up the parcel containing the tin of biscuits, stepped outside, closed the door and walked along to Kay’s.
‘Happy Christmas, Kay,’ she said.
‘And a happy Christmas to you too,’ said Kay. ‘Come and sit down.’
Kay’s kitchen smelled of meat being roasted, spices and other sweet things.
‘I can smell cloves,’ said Catherine as she took off her coat.
‘That’s the pomanders; I’ve hung a couple on the tree.’
‘You’ve got a tree?’
‘Of course I have,’ said Kay. She took Catherine’s coat and hung it up. ‘Can’t have Christmas without a tree. I know it’s only driftwood but it was growing once and was part of a tree. I found it on the beach.’ Kay’s ‘tree’, decorated with tinsel, a few baubles and the clove-stuck oranges, stood in a pot on the dresser.
‘It’s lovely, but let me give you this.’ Catherine gave Kay her present.
‘I thought you said no presents?’ Kay took the tin, put it on the table and opened it. ‘You’ve been baking. Oh, you shouldn’t have.’ She laughed. ‘Why do we say that? Why don’t we just say thank you? But I do thank you, very much.’
‘It was the least I could do,’ said Catherine. ‘You have been the best of friends; I don’t think I would have stayed if you hadn’t been here.’
‘Nonsense, you’re a fighter, you’d survive without me.’
‘I don’t know about that, Jannie takes some—’ began Catherine.
‘Jannie does not figure in our conversation today. Forget about her. I know you’re not supposed to drink, but one small sherry wouldn’t hurt, would it?’
‘Not at all.’
‘My nephew’s going to join us for dinner,’ said Kay. ‘We won’t be eating till about three or four o’clock, so would you like a piece of shortbread? Norman’s so busy I don’t see him very often, and never till he’s finished work, hardly at all in summer so it’s usually when he’s got an evening free in winter. I think I did tell you about him, didn’t I?’
‘I’m sure you did.’
At Kay’s insistence Catherine sat with her feet up while Kay alternately sat and talked to her or busied herself with stoking the fire, looking to the meat and putting pans with vegetables ready to start cooking. Time drifted lazily by and Catherine thought how nice it was to be in Kay’s house where she was welcome; better than sitting at home and far better than being in the Jameson house.
‘I’m going to put the vegetables on to cook now,’ said Kay as the hands of the clock crept towards three. ‘If Norman isn’t here when they’re done I’ll put his meal on a plate to warm later.’
But he was there, blustering in, stamping his feet and complaining of how cold it was. ‘It’ll likely snow before long,’ he said. ‘How are you, Auntie?’
Catherine was aware of a burly bearded figure as the man put a fiddle case on the floor, then wrapped his little aunt in his arms and hugged her.
‘I want you to meet Catherine,’ said Kay. ‘Say hello, Norman.’
Catherine looked up and strai
ght into the bearded face that had frightened her when she’d fallen asleep by the peat bank; it wasn’t looking concerned now, but broke into a grin instead.
‘You’re not going to scream at me now, are you?’ said Norrie Williams.
Kay gasped. ‘Hey, what’s this? Do you two know each other?’
‘Not really,’ said Norrie.
‘No,’ said Catherine. ‘He frightened me out of my wits when I fell asleep by my peat bank. He thought maybe I was ill so came to see if I was all right.’
‘No need to introduce you then. Sit down and talk to her, Norman.’
‘You’ve changed a bit since I saw you last,’ said Norrie.
‘Oh, you mean this?’ said Catherine, patting her stomach.
‘Ay. I was at the school wi’ Robbie,’ said Norrie. ‘You’ll miss him.’ Then, seeing the gathering brightness in Catherine’s eyes, he added, ‘He’d be proud o’ you for stayin’. We all ken how it is wi’ …’ He didn’t say the name, just inclined his head towards the other end of the valley and she knew he meant Jannie. ‘If there’s anything you need doin’ you can’t manage you only have to get in touch wi’ me.’
‘That’s very kind of you, but as I’ve only seen you once in six months how do I do that? It’s all right; Billie comes over quite often and gives me a hand.’
‘Ay, I’m heard.’ Norrie winked.
‘What d’you mean by that?’
‘Nothin’.’
‘I don’t know; nothing’s secret.’
‘Dinner’s ready,’ said Kay as she put a dish of roast lamb on the table. ‘You carve, Norman, while I get the vegetables. Come and sit here, Catherine.’
They ate their dinner by the light of an oil lamp; there was another on the dresser by the window and the two cast a mellow light on the room. The pudding had been made by Kay, and with wartime rationing still in force was none too well endowed with fruit. But it was good and praise was lavished on Kay for the excellence of the meal. Catherine was not allowed to do anything but sit by the fire while Norrie helped his aunt clear the table and wash the dishes.
Comfortable and relaxed, she listened as Kay and Norrie talked and heard again the soft warm lilt of the dialect. But she liked the way they spoke and thought the accent lyrical. She closed her eyes and smiled, remembered Robbie, and, listening to the others, fancied she could hear his voice again. Little by little her head nodded and she dozed.
The music was soft and sweet: rippling notes, long drawn fluting calls and trills. She dreamed of the moor, of the sweet song of the skylarks, the burbling call of the curlews, the wind on a soft day and the endless drift of the sea. She dreamed of Robbie and smiled as she dreamed. The music played on, then stopped and there came a voice, a soft, lilting, Shetland voice. ‘Robbie,’ she said as she opened her eyes.
‘Ay lass, you’re awake.’ It wasn’t Robbie but Norrie, who smiled at her.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have gone to sleep, but I couldn’t help it.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Norrie propped his fiddle on his knee, holding its neck against his shoulder. ‘Would you like me to play for you?’
‘You … but … haven’t you been playing? I thought I heard music.’
‘It wasn’t me.’ Norrie grinned and the lamplight shone on his teeth, white and even in the dark mass of his beard. ‘Must have been the trowie men.’
‘Get away with you,’ said Kay. ‘Don’t listen to him, Catherine, he’s teasing you.’
‘I don’t mind,’ said Catherine, and to Norrie, ‘Yes, please play for us.’
So Norrie played reels and jigs and waltzes and they were clapping and tapping their feet in time to the music. The evening sped away until Kay said, ‘Look at the time, will you?’ and, ‘Would you like a drink, Catherine, before you go home?’ Catherine said she would and Kay made tea and cut a slice of the cake they had been too full to eat before. When Catherine said it was time for her to go Norrie said he would see her safely to her door.
He took her arm as they walked the path between the houses. ‘I must see you safe,’ he said. When they reached her door he asked if he could come in and be sure that all was right with things, that the fire hadn’t gone out and she had enough peat for the morning. Catherine was tired and not inclined to protest so she let him in. When he was satisfied that all was well she thanked him.
‘It was my pleasure,’ he said; then, his eyes twinkling, ‘but don’t go listening when the trowie men play or they might spirit you away.’
She laughed. ‘Away with you,’ she said. ‘Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight, Catherine,’ he said. He opened the door to leave; then, as he was closing it he stopped, held it open, looked at her as if he wanted to say more, but said nothing and closed the door.
The New Year slipped by without her noticing for Catherine went to her bed early. January began with cold winds, rain and a sprinkling of snow. As the month advanced the weather worsened, frost went deeper, cold winds became bitter and rain turned to sleet. With so few hours of daylight and even those darkened by louring skies Catherine rarely stepped out of doors. She had abandoned her knitting; Kay discovered it behind the cushion and had taken it away to finish. Her sewing all done, the days dragged and even Kay’s cheery presence could not always lift the gloom.
January skated into February on icy roads. Anxiously Catherine looked out of her window as soon as it grew light, tried to read the weather and hoped it wouldn’t snow. She was finding her condition uncomfortable now. Her legs ached, her back ached, and no sooner did she lie down than she wanted to get up. When she went to bed she prayed that the next day would bring the start of her labour, but day after day went by and still she was on her feet. Kay called every day, but when the middle of the month came and went and there was still no sign of the baby’s arrival she said she would bring a camp bed and stay.
Then it began to snow.
‘Snow rarely lasts long here,’ said Kay in an effort to allay any fear Catherine might have. ‘It’s usually gone in a day or two, salt air, you see, and something to do with the Gulf Stream running close to Shetland.’
But the frost was deep and the earth cold and snow lay and did not melt. With only a gentle wind to drive them, great feathery flakes, dancing in whorls and loops, fell silently piling one on the other to deepen the layer already covering the earth.
Billie, pushing a pram, appeared soon after the snow started. ‘Mam said she’d promised it to you,’ he said, ‘and told me to bring it over before you get snowed in.’
‘Go away with you,’ said Kay. ‘We’re not going to get snowed in.’
Sitting down with a cup of tea Billie said, ‘You never know.’
When he had gone Catherine and Kay examined the pram. Kay admired its deep body and chrome wheels, ‘Not exactly mint condition,’ she said, ‘but good and clean and more use than a cot.’
Catherine was more concerned about the weather than the pram and was looking out of the window at the snow and the leaden sky. ‘How are we going to get the doctor if the snow gets too deep, Kay?’ she said. ‘Not that I think we’re going to need him, but if we do?’
‘We’ll have to send Daa to fetch him.’
‘Mm. I ought to have agreed to go into hospital.’
‘It might have been better,’ said Kay, ‘but it was your choice. With weather like this you might not have got there and then you would have been in a pickle.’
‘You’re right; we shall just have to get on with it.’
NINETEEN
WHEN kAY OPENED the door a low wall of snow blocked her way. A flurry of snowflakes floated in round her. ‘Oh my goodness, it’s drifted,’ she said.
Looking over her shoulder Catherine asked, ‘Will the track be filled in?’
‘I don’t know; the wind was north east, if it still is it won’t be too bad. We’ll have to wait for daylight. Are you worried about the doctor getting here?’
‘It had crossed my mind.’
Kay
shut the door. ‘When it’s light I’ll put my boots on and have a look.’
Catherine had woken early; staring into the darkness she wondered what had roused her. And then it came, that first indescribable feeling, low, low down. She had lain there waiting for it to come again, knowing that at last it was her time to give birth.
She stood by the table; clenching her teeth she clutched the back of a chair. Kay, watching her, waited till the spasm was over, then said, ‘Come on, take my arm and walk, you know you said it helps.’ Kay insisted she keep walking, but the contractions were stronger and as each new wave of pain assailed her Catherine held fast to anything in reach till it was over.
‘I think it’s time we asked Daa to go for the doctor,’ she said.
The thin light of day showed that the snow had stopped falling when Kay plunged through the drift outside the door. Catherine sank into her chair by the fire to await her return. A few minutes later Kay was back.
‘He’s on his way now,’ she said. ‘Snow’s drifted in places but he should get there all right. I think I’ll take the shovel and clear it from the door.’
They walked again, round the kitchen to the bedroom and back. Back and forth they went. The hours ticked away, but there was no sign of Daa or the doctor.
‘I hope Daa’s all right,’ said Catherine.
‘He will be,’ said Kay.
Catherine’s contractions were stronger and coming at shorter intervals. To bear the pain she gripped Kay’s hand so tightly that it made the older woman grit her teeth and fear for fragile bones. Then Catherine felt warm liquid running down her legs. ‘My waters have broken,’ she said. ‘I’ll have to get on the bed; it isn’t going to be long now.’
In the last stage of her labour as each spasm gripped her, breathing hard to ride the pain, Catherine contorted her face as she bore down on it, cried out when it became too much. ‘Where’s the blasted doctor?’ she cried when a spasm had passed and Kay was wiping the sweat from her forehead. ‘Why didn’t I go to the hospital? Oh, Kay, I don’t want to do this any more.’