Salt Sisters

by Katherine Graham

  And on one of the hardest days of my life, we had come here to say goodbye to Dad.

  I couldn’t believe we were back here so soon to bury Amy.

  The churchyard was already packed by the time we arrived. Hundreds of faces turned towards us, but I kept my sunglasses on and my head down. I didn’t want to make eye contact, let alone small-talk with these people. I just had to focus on the kids and getting us through the next few hours.

  In her list of requests, Amy had explicitly forbidden a funeral procession, believing it would be too upsetting for the children, so we had made our way to the church on foot. Adam was waiting for us by the entrance, smart in a blue wool suit with a purple cravat. I led the family inside.

  At the front of the church, an oak coffin was drenched in peonies – Amy’s favourite flower. The vicar, whose name I had already forgotten, greeted us in a soft voice. I looked the other way while he held Mum’s hand and whispered blessings on the children.

  This wasn’t the same vicar who had been here when Dad had died. That day had been bitterly cold, and I remembered I’d been worried the ground would be frozen when they lowered Dad into it. Me, Amy and Mum had sat at the front of the church, clutching onto one another, Mum staring vacantly ahead.

  I allowed myself a peek at the crowd that had filed in behind us. The church was a riot of colour – underneath their dark coats, everyone was dressed brightly as requested, with flashes of purple everywhere.

  Some of the nurses from Amy’s hospital were in uniform, and members of the RNLI were in formal dress, complete with medals and caps tucked under their arms. They had run out of space on the pews and people were packed into the back and down the sides of the church.

  I tried not to think about the coffin. How could a whole life fit into such a small box? The finality of it hit me. There was no more time, no more Amy. She was really gone, and now I had to say goodbye.

  Mike, Rachel and I sat with the kids in between us. I put my hand on Hannah’s shoulder. I didn’t want her to have to grow up as fast as we had after Dad died. I wanted, as much as possible, to cocoon her from the heartache of losing a parent, only to inherit so much of their responsibilities. I looked over at Mum. She had her arm around Lucas, who was weeping softly. I wondered how much of the aftermath of Dad dying she remembered. Did she even understand the pain she had caused? Was Amy right – had she turned over a new leaf?

  Betsy snuggled into Rachel, sucking her thumb, a habit that Amy had been trying desperately to break the last time I’d visited home. It had also been a habit of Amy’s when she was little, and Betsy looked so much like her. I flashed an appreciative smile at Rachel, and Adam gave my shoulder a little squeeze from his seat on the row behind.

  I had said no to doing any kind of reading – that was completely beyond me. Mum had wanted to do something, but Mike had diplomatically talked her out of it. With Mum, you never knew which way it might go.

  I just about held it together until the kids went up to the front. Hearing them reading the messages they had written to their mum was almost too much to bear. Hannah had written a particularly poignant poem, and I dabbed at my tears under my sunglasses as muffled sobs echoed around the church. Mum was in pieces, with Auntie Sue and Adam trying to prop her up, and I wished in that moment that the gulf between us was smaller. I reached across to her and held her hand.

  Outside the church, a strong sea wind whipped at us as we stood huddled together around the freshly dug grave, watching Amy’s coffin being lowered in to the ground. A lone gull cried out above us. We had asked for this part of the service to be private, and so it was just us – the family, plus Adam, along with Rachel and her husband Phil, who clung to each other, both crying. Even Adam had given up trying to hold himself together. I said my silent goodbye to my sister, salty tears streaking my cheeks. The wind carried away the sounds of our sobbing.

  I wasn’t sure the children would want to go to the wake, but they pulled through and once again amazed me with their resilience. We had chosen to hold it at The Castle, because The Ship didn’t have a big enough function room, and besides, we didn’t want to spoil the happy memories we had there.

  As soon as we got to the pub, Adam and I stole away to a quiet corner for a whisky – I had two – which blurred the edges of my pain and numbed me just enough to shake a few hands and accept some condolences.

  Rachel introduced me to Betsy’s headteacher – I immediately forgot his name and would have forgotten him entirely, except that he held my hand for just a little too long. He had deep, blue eyes, and looked like he might burst into tears. I pulled myself away and move on to the next well-wisher.

  I hadn’t seen Mum for a while, so I went looking for her. She was sitting on a bench with Auntie Sue, not in the sheltered beer garden at the back, but on the side of the pub that faced out to sea, staring down the lashing wind. I sat down and looped my arm around Mum’s shoulder. She looked up at me with red, wet eyes and the three of us stayed like that for a while, watching the frenzied sea, saying nothing. Two sisters who were inseparable, and one who had just lost her other half.

  I saw then the gulf that Amy had left behind – a huge void, much bigger than one person, and more than I could ever fill. But I had to try. The stuff I thought was important – my job, my friends, the life I had built for myself – was miniscule next to the vacuum left by my sister. Right now, this was where I was needed. I had to come home.

  I sent a message to Amy:

  You’d have been so proud of the kids today.

  And a second:

  I can’t stay forever, but I’ll stay for now xo

  Chapter Five

  The funeral had brought none of the comfort or closure that I might have hoped for. The enormity of our loss remained entirely undiminished in the days that followed, and reaffirmed my decision to stay – for a while, at least.

  I opened my computer and started a spreadsheet. I had to work out the financial impact of taking a short-term sabbatical from my life. Putting it all down on the screen forced me to consider the harsh reality.

  There were far fewer options to spend money here than in Hong Kong, with all its temptations. There wasn’t a shoe shop for miles, and I could forget about eating out. For the next few months, I’d be swapping fusion dim-sum and gourmet cocktails at pop-up restaurants for home-cooked Sunday dinners, fish and chips, and nights at the pub. I sighed, already missing it.

  My bank balance was in pretty good shape. It would be easy to negotiate unpaid leave from work, and I could sublet my apartment in Hong Kong for three months – or however long I ended up staying. The rent was a huge chunk of my outgoings, and I could comfortably lease a place in Seahouses without making a dent in my savings. The village was full of holiday lets and I was hopeful that I could get a good deal out of peak season. In fact, I could probably get a three-month rental in Seahouses for what I sometimes spent in one weekend in Hong Kong.

  Adam and I bought a bag of chips and found a bench at the corner of the harbour, and I told him about my plan. An enormous seagull eyeballed us greedily.

  ‘And what about work?’

  I sighed. ‘I don’t know. I’ve been so swept up in it for so long, and now that this has happened…’

  ‘It’s good. You’ve got new priorities.’

  I nodded. A fishing boat pulled into the harbour. ‘Being here, and remembering after everything that happened with Dad, then Mum… I can’t let Hannah, Lucas, and Betsy go through that.’

  ‘What happened with your mum?’

  I looked the seagull right in eye and held its amber glare as I told Adam the story.

  ‘Dad was the anchor of our family, the big personality. Dr Edward Morton. Always playing games and the first to spot any opportunity for fun. Mum came alive when she was with him; she just sparkled in a way that she didn’t when he wasn’t there. Maybe we all did.

  ‘He loved nothing more than spending evenings sitting at the bar of The Ship, cheerfully dispensing medical ad
vice to men who spent their days at sea and had no time to see a GP. A doctor can treat an ailment, but don’t forget who puts food on the table, he used to say. Old Salt does dangerous work, risking his life so that we can eat.

  ‘That’s what he called them – Old Salt – it’s what fishermen call each other. I can’t even remember how or when it happened, but one day, Amy called me Salt Sister and it stuck. We became the Salt Sisters.’ I smiled at the memory of Dad encouraging our new nicknames.

  ‘Dad was fit and healthy. At least that’s what we all thought. He never gave us any reason to suspect otherwise. Maybe he knew something was wrong and ignored it. Or maybe he knew that whatever he had was incurable, and he wanted to live his fullest life until the end. We never found out.

  ‘We had finished Sunday lunch and he was trying to round us all up to go for a walk along the beach. I was fifteen. Amy and I’d had some stupid row – I can’t even remember what we were fighting about – and I was sulking. I didn’t want to go on a family walk, so I said I had exam revision to do. Amy said if I wasn’t going, then she wasn’t either. We stayed at home, sulking in our bedrooms, ignoring each other. So Mum and Dad went off, just the two of them.’

  I could still picture that day perfectly. There had been an easterly wind, the one that blows straight in off the sea, smearing soapy foam across the sand and leaving your lips with a taste of salt. The beach was quiet, with only a few hardy souls out walking.

  ‘Nobody heard Mum scream when Dad collapsed. She had to leave him there on the sand, clutching his chest, while she ran back up the path and flagged down a car on the main road.

  ‘The first thing we heard were the sirens of the ambulance. We all assumed it was a heart attack at first, even the paramedics. They took him to hospital and helped him to breathe, pumping air in and out of his lungs. But it turned out he had cancer. The doctors couldn’t even tell where it had started, but it had spread like wild weeds and taken over his body from the inside.’

  That was how I had pictured him when they explained it – his insides like a sprawling, overgrown garden.

  ‘He never woke up again, and after three days there was nothing more anyone could do. That laugh, all that charm and brightness, just vanished - like a switch being flicked off. He looked like he was sleeping. There was still sand in his hair from where he had fallen. I kissed him goodbye.

  ‘We had stayed by his bedside the whole time and came home together, the three of us and Auntie Sue, to a house that was now empty. Mum went straight to bed, and Amy and I took it in turns to bring her cups of tea and meals, or to climb under the covers and lie curled up next to her as she stared out into space.

  ‘Amy and I took over the housework and chores – that was nothing, and it felt good to keep busy. Auntie Sue stayed for a couple of weeks, until we were back on our feet. Except Mum didn’t get back up. She stayed in bed for weeks, only getting out when we hauled her into the bathroom for a shower and when we needed to change the bedding. She kept the curtains closed, and the room was overpowered by a strange smell that was new to me, but I soon learned was sadness.’

  I shuddered at the thought of that peculiar combination of damp, sweat and unwashed laundry that I couldn’t ever forget.

  ‘Mum was lost without him. And then one day, she was gone.’

  I paused then, and Adam put an arm around me and wiped a tear from my cheek that I hadn’t realised was there.

  ‘Come on. You don’t have to tell me the whole story now. Besides, we’ve got to find you a home.’

  I took fish and chips over for Mike and the kids for lunch. I wanted to check in on them and let them know I would be sticking around for a while. Rachel was already at the house and was sorting laundry in the kitchen, so I told her first.

  ‘That’s… good news, I suppose.’ She didn’t take her eyes off the basket of socks as she spoke.

  ‘I thought you’d be… a bit more pleased?’ I blushed. I thought Rachel liked me and we were getting on so well. Had I imagined it?

  ‘I am pleased, really – I think it’s great.’ She put down the laundry and looked at me. ‘It’s just… well, what comes next? You stay here for a few months and then you leave again?’

  ‘Well yes, that’s the idea.’

  She rubbed her eye with the heel of her hand. ‘These kids have just lost their mum. What they need now is consistency and stability. Not to get close to someone, only to lose them too.’

  I crumpled, my balloon burst. I hadn’t thought about it that way.

  ‘I can’t just drop everything and come back forever,’ I said. ‘I have my own life, the life that I chose, just like Amy chose to stay here and have three kids.’ I waved my arm around the kitchen, as if that was the sum of my sister’s life choices.

  Too late, I noticed that Lucas was standing in the doorway, listening to everything. He bolted and ran back up the stairs.

  Could I get anything right today?

  I followed him to his room and knocked timidly on the door. He was lying on the bottom bunk, his head twisted to face the wall. I stroked his hair.

  ‘Please don’t be cross with me. I’m going to stay for a while – I thought you guys would be happy?’

  ‘But you don’t want to stay with us. You’re only staying with us because Mummy said you have to!’

  ‘That’s not true. Of course I want to be here. We’re going to stick together and look after each other, like we promised. It’s just that I can’t stay forever, like Mummy wanted. It would be too complicated for me.’

  ‘We have a spare room here. Or you could come and live with Nanny. It’s not that complicated.’

  If only life was as simple as the perspective of an eleven-year-old.

  Mike looked rough. His skin was grey, with puffy blue bags under bloodshot eyes, and his hair was greasy. I wanted to run him a hot bubble bath.

  I offered to take the kids out for a few hours so he could get some rest. Adam had already lined up some properties for me to see that afternoon, so I told them they could come along and hang out at the amusement arcade between viewings.

  We called in at Mum and Auntie Sue’s first for some tea and cake. Mum was still in her dressing gown but didn’t seem to be embarrassed to have unexpected visitors. Without make-up, she looked so much older. I told her I would be staying in Seahouses for three months and her expression didn’t change.

  ‘I’ll make up the small bedroom for you,’ said Auntie Sue. ‘It’s probably not what you’re used to, but your suitcase can go in the loft, and if you need more storage, there’s half a wardrobe in my room…’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said quickly, ‘but I think it’s better if I have my own place. It might be a bit much for all of us, squeezed in here.’

  Mum gazed out the window, her attention suddenly captured by a blackbird on the garden fence.

  Adam had arranged three viewings. The first address was on Swallow Street, just around the corner from Mike and Amy’s house. I must have walked down that lane thousands of times, but I struggled to picture it until I arrived.

  The location was perfect. It was a row of old fishermen’s houses perched at the top of the hill above the harbour, accessed by the back lane which was sheltered from the wind despite the height. A narrow footpath ran along the front of the row, putting just a few feet and some ornate iron railings between the front doors of the cottages and the dizzying drop down to the harbour.

  Each house was painted a different colour. Puffin Cottage, the one I was viewing, was pale pink and had a tiny, pebbled back yard. Climbing honeysuckle framed a pale green door with a big silver knocker. It was absolutely beautiful.

  The owner, a weather-worn woman in her late fifties, was there to give us the tour. She introduced herself as Sandra and started chatting to Adam while I took in the cottage.

  Everything was small, scaled-down like a hobbit hole. The back door opened right into the kitchen-dining room which was no more than a few metres wide – serving would be a very short walk. T
he kitchen was gloriously retro, with little embroidered curtains covering the bottom units instead of cupboard doors, and a stove that had probably been there since gas was first installed. The dining table would seat four at a pinch and took up half of the room. I gazed admiringly at the patterned floor tiles.

  The living room was a little bigger, with a two-seater sofa along one wall and a couple of armchairs snuggled into the bay window. It had an open fireplace with a brick surround, and bookshelves built into the recesses on either side of the chimney breast. The room smelled smoky and I could imagine how cosy it would feel with a roaring fire.

  A narrow staircase led to the top floor, which was dominated by a surprisingly spacious main bedroom. It was also very old-fashioned, with a forest green carpet and crocheted bed cover, but the height of the house and the elevation of the hill gave it the most incredible views out to sea. I pulled back the lace curtain to get a better look.

  I could see for miles, from up here – as far as Bamburgh to the north. Years of salty wind had beaten the glass and distorted it in patches, warping the fishing boats in the harbour far below. Amy would have loved this, I thought to myself.

  The green carpet should have been a warning sign – the bathroom next door contained the kitschiest avocado suite. The room was also facing to sea, and I could picture myself enjoying a soak in the green tub while enjoying the views from the beautiful big window. Adam clapped his hands in delight and Sandra let out a sigh of relief.

  ‘I was nervous to let you see this! I thought you’d find it painfully uncool. Shows how much I know about what’s hip these days!’

  She headed back downstairs, shaking her head and chuckling to herself. Adam and I smiled at each other as Betsy wrinkled her nose up.

  ‘Gross,’ she whispered.

  Adam insisted that I view all three properties before making a decision, but I knew Puffin Cottage was the one, and I told Sandra to go ahead and arrange the contract. Adam and I had arrived in Seahouses with just a suitcase each, so he called Thierry and asked him to urgently airfreight some of my clothes and personal belongings.