by Millie Vigor
‘Um, I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know? I don’t believe you.’
‘Well, apart from underwear and trousers and boots for out of doors I haven’t bought anything. I haven’t needed to; I don’t have a social life, you see.’
‘No social life?’ Janet grimaced in disbelief. ‘You mean to tell me you just stay at home and don’t go anywhere?’
‘I did go to a dance after the show, but that was a disaster.’
‘Why?’
Catherine yawned. ‘I’m not going to tell you and I’ve just noticed what the time is, so I’m going to bed. Hope you don’t mind, Mum.’
TWENTY SEVEN
‘MAM, MAM, IS du awake?’
Catherine opened her eyes and there was Robbie creeping into bed beside her. ‘Hello darling,’ she said, cuddling his warm little body close. ‘What would you like to do today? We could look at the ships in the harbour or we could find a toy shop and buy you a new toy. How about a kite? Would you like a kite?’
‘What’s a kite?’
‘We’ll get one and then you’ll see. It’ll be fun. Now we’d better get up or the day will be half gone before we see it.’
The bathroom delighted Robbie. He was fascinated to see water spouting from the taps. ‘Where’s it coming from, Mam?’
‘The hot from a hot water cylinder and the cold from a tank in the roof,’ she said. Questions came thick and fast then. ‘How does it get hot?’ and ‘Where does it go?’ when he pulled the plug and watched the water swirling away in the bottom of the basin.
‘I’ll tell you after breakfast. Hurry up.’
Catherine’s father and her sister had already left for work but her mother was in the kitchen. Breakfast was cereal – cornflakes, and toast. When Doris put a bowl of cornflakes in front of Robbie he looked at it, then looked up at her.
‘That’s what we give our chicken at home. We dinna have that.’
‘Oh, and what do you have then?’
‘Porridge mostly,’ said Catherine. ‘Try it, Robbie. It’s nice.’
‘What would you like to do today,’ asked her mother.
‘I told Robbie I was going to get him a kite and teach him how to fly it so I’d like to go to the shops, if that’s all right with you.’
‘That’s fine. Would you like me to come with you?’
‘I think you’d better or, like Janet said, I might get lost.’
Robbie had insisted on wearing a jumper that Mina had made for him. At the bus stop when people walking by looked and smiled at him he tugged at his mother. ‘Why do they laugh at me?’ he said.
‘They’re not laughing; they’re smiling because you’re wearing such a pretty jumper and because you’re such a lovely little boy.’
When it came, it was a double-deck bus. The lower deck was full, so they had to climb the stairs to the top and while Catherine and her mother talked the little boy, fascinated by all he was seeing, gazed out of the window.
The city of Southampton had undergone a transformation in the years since Catherine had left; rebuilding was still going on: offices and shops in the city, estates of new houses on the outskirts. In the wake of the devastation left by the German bombs modern buildings were springing up where whole streets had been laid waste. A city was being regenerated.
When they reached the city centre traffic was thick and pavements crowded.
‘Where is all these folk come from, Mam?’ said Robbie.
‘Some live in the city and some have come in from the country,’ said Catherine. ‘Hold on to me, I don’t want to lose you. Let’s find a toyshop, Mum.’
If Robbie had been thrilled by everything he’d seen so far the contents of the toyshop left him speechless. When it came to choosing a kite he had no idea what he wanted, so his mother chose it for him. Holding on to it he sat on a chair outside a fitting-room in a department store while Catherine tried on dresses that Doris insisted on buying for her. A family lunch had been planned. ‘I don’t care what you look like in Shetland,’ said Doris, ‘but you’re going to have something nice to wear when the others come over.’ Two dresses, for which Doris gave up some of her clothing coupons, were put in a carrier and handed to Catherine.
‘Shall we go to the park now?’ said Doris after they had looked in all the departments and Robbie had started to complain. ‘I made a couple of sandwiches – only Spam, I’m afraid, but I used some of that butter you brought so they shouldn’t be too bad. We can have a sort of picnic.’
There were not many people in the park; children were at school, so no games of football or tag were going on. Late summer sunshine slanted through the trees and cast long shadows on the grass. Pigeons cooed in treetops and sparrows twittered as they hopped about looking for crumbs dropped from lunch bags. From the city came the muted hum of traffic and from time to time the even drone of a plane could be heard high overhead. The air was soft and carried the sweet, nutty smell of autumn leaves. But there was no wind to fly a kite.
‘It’s so peaceful here, Mum,’ said Catherine. ‘You don’t know how good it is to be able to sit still and do nothing, not to have to watch the clock and think what it was you were supposed to be doing an hour ago; and to be able to sit out of doors and not to be buffeted by the wind.’
‘I know it was bad enough when I was there, but surely the wind doesn’t blow all the time?’
‘There aren’t many days without it. We do have good weather; midsummer days are long and stay light round the clock. Sometimes we get one perfect day. They call it “a day between weathers” and that’s exactly what it is.’
While Catherine and her mother sat and talked Robbie ran about, looked up in wonder at the trees, picked up acorns and chased squirrels and pigeons.
‘There’s no ewes,’ he said, when Catherine called him to go home, ‘all this grass and no ewes.’ He was speaking in dialect.
‘What on earth is he saying?’ laughed Doris.
‘He’s saying there’s no sheep and there’s all this grass to feed them on. Grass isn’t this lush at home. I’m afraid he’s a budding crofter.’With Robbie at her side she patted his bulging pockets. ‘What have you got in there?’ She put her hand in and drew out a handful of stones.
‘They’s for my peerie grandma,’ said Robbie.
‘But Kay doesn’t want … oh darling … this is not the rock Kay asked for. A stick of rock is a sweetie. We’ll see if we can find some tomorrow.’
Catherine had planned to be away from Deepdale for two weeks, but before even one week had passed she was counting the hours till she could start for home. At first the novelty of shopping in stores with full shelves and in grocers’ shops with all kinds of appetizing foods had been a joy. She gazed longingly in shop windows at pretty cotton dresses but knew that if she bought them they would only be folded away out of sight and not worn; what use had she for such things? When it came to shirts and underwear she added several items to her wardrobe.
When the wind blew she took Robbie to the park to fly the kite. She taught him how to run into the wind to get it off the ground and when it did and had climbed high she gave him the end of the line to hold, winding the string round his hand a couple of times so he would not lose it.
‘Hold tight,’ she said. ‘If you pull on it now and then you can make it dance.’ When it had been flying a while she said, ‘Shall we send it a message?’
‘How are you goin’ to do that?’ said Robbie.
‘Like this.’ Catherine took a piece of paper from her pocket, dug into her handbag and took out a nail file. She pierced a hole in the paper, took the line from Robbie and slipped the paper over the end of it. The wind soon caught it and Robbie clapped his hands as it fluttered and slid up the line to the kite.
‘What did it say?’ he asked.
‘It said we’ll have to go back to Granny’s soon.’
They went to the docks to see the ships and on Saturday Catherine’s father drove them to the New Forest to look at the ponies. Th
ey visited relations and, overcome by a lively hugging and kissing horde of aunts, uncles and cousins, Robbie hid his face in his mother’s skirts. Catherine felt she’d talked herself dry, was exhausted by it all and … she’d had enough. ‘I don’t know what they say,’ said Robbie when she was getting him ready for bed and she remembered how she had struggled with the Shetland dialect. Now Robbie was hearing, not a dialect, for much of her own had been forgotten, but a different way of speaking and a different accent. It was no wonder he didn’t understand.
‘Is it not time for us to go home?’ he asked.
They stood waiting for the train.
‘Stay longer next time,’ said Doris. ‘And don’t stay away so long.’
‘It’s not easy, Mum. I’m too busy in the summer and the sea crossing can be pretty rough in winter.’
‘You don’t need to tell me that. I hope I never have to make a journey like that again. You take care of yourself now, and especially that little boy.’
‘Have you got everything?’ asked her father. ‘Not forgotten your passports, have you?’
‘Get away with you, Dad. I still live in Great Britain, you know.’
Her father laughed. ‘You could have fooled me. Sounds like they speak a foreign language up there.’
‘Like you don’t?’
‘I’m just joking,’ he said. ‘I can hear the train, give us a hug.’ Peter Marshall took his daughter in his arms and held her tight. ‘Look after yourself, my luvvy. You’re always in my thoughts. Best of luck with your sheep, but don’t work too hard, and write more often.’ Then she was in her mother’s arms for an emotional embrace and Doris was saying, ‘Come back soon. You’re so far away and we all miss you.’ Though she promised she would, Catherine knew in her heart that it would be a long time before she travelled south again.
With a hiss of steam and a squeal of brakes the train clanked into the station and her father put their luggage on board. Robbie was lifted up to kiss his grandpa and grandma goodbye. Then they were on the train, finding a seat and looking out to wave.
With Peter’s arm round her shoulder Doris mopped her eyes, and, when the train began to move they walked beside it until it went too fast and Catherine, looking out, watched and waved till she could see them no more.
It was raining and cold when the boat docked. Telling Robbie to stay close to her Catherine struggled to get their luggage out of the cabin and into the reception area. Waiting there with the other passengers, she looked for familiar faces. The one she did see surprised her. The doctor’s wife, Marie Lumsden, was smiling up into the face of a tall blond man. The smile was more than just friendly and the man was not Neil. Catherine turned away and hoped she hadn’t been seen.
When the gangway was open she waited for the first rush of passengers to get off before she picked up her cases to follow them, but before she had time to move, Norrie was coming towards her.
‘I’ll take them,’ he said, ‘you see to the boy.’
‘But … where’s Bobbie? He was coming to fetch me.’
‘Likely he was, but I told him I wanted to, so I’m here.’ He spoke abruptly and there was no smile on his face. Something was wrong. As they drove away out of town she couldn’t think why he was so offhand and not his usual self.
‘Is anything wrong?’ she asked.
‘Wrong? What could be wrong?’
‘Well, you’re quiet and I wonder why.’
‘We’ve had rain ever since you left; it’s not good for the sheep. It’s held up the work and I’ve a lot to do. Did you have a good time?’
‘We did.’ Surely it wasn’t just the weather that was making him grumpy. And if he had a lot to do why had he taken the time to come and meet her? There must be something else. ‘But I was glad when it was time to come home.’
‘You missed us, then?’ He glanced at her and a brief smile lit his face.
‘I did. Robbie too; he was as glad as I when it was time to leave. Weren’t you, Robbie?’ Robbie, curled up on his mother’s lap, just nodded his head.
Heavy rain slanted down and Catherine thought of the balmy days spent in the park teaching Robbie how to fly his kite. Would she rather be there than back here where wind and rain were never absent for long? She thought about her house and wondered if Kay had kept the fire going or if it would be out and the house damp.
‘Is everything all right at home?’ she asked.
‘As right as it ever will be.’
‘How is Kay? Did Bobbie give you my message and did you go to see her? I didn’t think she was too well.’
‘What a lot of questions you ask. You’ll see.’
He was driving down into the valley, taking it very carefully, for the rain had washed gullies in the track. He drove on until he brought the vehicle to a stop outside her house. He went to her door and opened it, fetched her bags, carried them in and when she went in the house was warm, the kettle singing on the stove.
‘Sit down, Catherine,’ said Norrie, ‘I have something to tell you.’
She had only to look at his face to know the news was not good.
‘It’s Kay, isn’t it?’
‘Ay. Auntie died.’ Tears started in Catherine’s eyes and Norrie took her hands in his. ‘She went in peace.’
‘She said to me, “never say goodbye, it’s so final,” and wouldn’t let me say it when I left. What am I going to do without her?’
‘You have me.’
She looked at him, at this man who had been nothing but kind to her. She had turned him away, but here he was, still offering to look after her.
‘Yes, Norrie, I have you,’ she said, giving him a watery smile.
‘Mam,’ Robbie was at her elbow, ‘can I have a drink?’
Catherine got up. ‘Do we have any milk, Norrie?’
‘Ay. I thought you’d want a cup of tea. Will I make it for you?’
‘Yes, please.’ Catherine poured milk into a cup for Robbie, got out cups for her and Norrie and when the tea was made, sat down.
‘Tell me what’s going to happen,’ she said.
Norrie told her when the funeral would be. Kay was lying in her house and he’d locked the door so Robbie wouldn’t walk in on her. She should tell him that Kay had gone away, that’s all. He would be seeing to everything, but if there was anything she could do he wouldn’t hesitate to ask. He stayed with her a while, asked about her holiday, and she told him how glad she was to come back and that she didn’t feel she belonged down south any more, that Shetland was now her home. He left then and she was grateful he had been there; the journey had been long and tiring, but to come home and find she’d lost her friend was too much. Robbie had gone to sleep in the armchair.
She sat down and let her thoughts stretch back over the years. Kay had befriended her, had stayed with her when Robbie was born. She smiled as she remembered how Neil Lumsden had described the relief on Kay’s face when he had eventually arrived and how she had downed a whisky in one gulp. Kay had been her best friend. And now Kay had left her.
Tears filled Catherine’s eyes, spilled over and ran down her face.
TWENTY EIGHT
SITTING BETWEEN NORRIE and Daa, Catherine looked at Kay’s little coffin with Norrie’s bouquet of white chrysanthemums. She closed her eyes. “You’ll never see me in church again,” she had said and here she was a second time. And there were the crows again; black on black, with only an occasional glimpse of a pale shirt front. When the preacher began the eulogy Daa took her hand and tucked her arm under his. She turned to look at him and understanding passed between them without need for words. Oh Daa, she thought, how glad I am you’re here.
At Kay’s house after the funeral she helped dispense the food and drink that Jannie and the aunts had prepared. Among those who came to pay their respects were many of Kay’s former pupils and it was no surprise to hear them sing her praises. How could it be otherwise?
As she had expected, her little boy wanted to know where Kay was and why they were having
a party in her house. She had promised to tell him all about it later if he would only go with Daa and look at the sheep for her because she was rather busy.
When everyone had gone and clearing up was finished Catherine pushed the kettle to the middle of the stove and began to put out cups and the teapot. Norrie, who had slumped into a chair, said, ‘I’m not wanting tea.’
‘Oh yes you are,’ said Catherine, ‘and something to eat. I watched you seeing to everyone as well as taking too much whisky for yourself.’
‘Was I not allowed?’
‘You can do what you like,’ she said and stopped what she was doing, ‘but if you think I’m interfering I’ll go home.’
‘No no, don’t go,’ pleaded Norrie. ‘Bide a while wi’ me.’
‘Only if you promise to eat something,’ she said. When he agreed she made tea, filled a plate with cold meat and cut bread to go with it. She poured tea for them both, pulled up a chair and sat down. ‘Come and eat,’ she said.
As he ate she asked him if he didn’t have any more family. ‘You must have some somewhere,’ she said. ‘Aren’t there any aunts, uncles or cousins?’
‘I did have an aunt and uncle, but they went to Australia. Never hear from them. Now both Kay and my parents are dead, I’m alone.’
‘What’s going to happen to Kay’s house?’ she asked.
‘It’s mine now,’ said Norrie, ‘and the croft. I’m thinking of moving in; it’s bigger as where I bide.’
‘Oh,’ said Catherine and looked away out of the window.
‘Would you not like me as your neighbour?’
It would be nice to have someone living in Kay’s house; even nicer if it was Norrie. ‘I’d rather you came to live here than to have strangers in the valley.’
‘You were a stranger once.’
‘Yes, didn’t I know it? But I’m not now and I’m getting to love the place.’
‘I take it, then, that you’ll make me welcome? Catherine,’ Norrie reached across the table and took her hand, ‘Sheila’s gone back to Scotland. I was never hers, but will you be mine?’