by Fox Brison
However, right now I’d be lucky to get a conversation about the price of a cup of coffee out of Skye, let alone our future.
“Nat?”
Hearing the question in my Mam’s voice, I woke from my reverie; I’d been standing at the garden gate for nearly ten minutes and my hair was plastered to my head. However, the water trickling down through the thick layers hid tears that I quickly dried. “Hey, Mam. Thought I’d come and see if you’ve any soup made.”
“Isn’t Skye home?” she said, rhetorically because she knew fine well Skye was home.
“She is,” I said dispiritedly.
She wiped her hands on her apron and for half a heartbeat I was transported to a happier place. It was such a Mam thing to do. “Go and get a towel and dry yourself off. You’ll catch your death standing there in the rain. I’ll get a blue bag out of the freezer. Do you want leek and potato, or spicy butternut squash?”
Some things are made to make you smile and my mother’s blue bag dinners was one of them. She never labelled her leftovers when she put them in the freezer, and we called them lucky dip teas because once they were frozen you couldn’t distinguish what the brown, grey or rust coloured solid lump was.
The Jeffries clan lived dangerously.
“Leek and potato, please.” I headed straight to my old bedroom, found a dry sweatshirt and put it on, then joined Mam in the kitchen. She already had the soup on the stove and the smell of leek and potato began to diffuse into room.
“Is everything alright between you and Skye?”
Maggie Jeffries was renowned for cutting to the chase. “Not really, Mam.” The thing is, the chase in this instance was bleeding, with lemon juice drizzled liberally for extra sting. “It’s like I put my Skye on the plane three weeks ago and a clone has returned. She’s been spending a lot of time with a woman she works with. They… Tess kissed her.” I buttered a thick slice of white bread to gather myself. “Skye promised it meant nothing and I believe her but now… now she won’t talk to me. She’s building those walls again and I don’t know why. And if I don’t know why, what chance do I have of breaking through them?”
There was silence and I ate a couple of spoonfuls of the steaming soup, anticipating her response would arrive with her usual pearls of wisdom. I don’t know what she was waiting for, but the smell and warmth of the soup was the perfect remedy and I started to relax.
And I guess that was her signal, because as soon as my shoulders slumped and the frown eased from my forehead, she began to speak.
“Nat, I love Skye like she’s one of my own. When the two of you found each other nothing could have made me happier.”
“I know, Mam. Skye filled a hole I didn’t even know I had.” I blushed. Note to self, choose your words more carefully when talking to your mother about your girlfriend.
“Skye’s fought hard for everything in her life, but none more so than for love and acceptance.” My mother’s eyes were the colour of the North Sea during a winter storm and I was acutely aware of the reasons why. She’d seen the after effects of Skye’s emotional and physical abuse more than anyone else except perhaps Sara, but it’s different for a kid; you don’t really grasp the enormity of it.
“I know that too, Mam,” I said forcefully.
“Do you, pet?” She patted my hand as if she thought I didn’t.
“I remember her telling me once that the poem sticks and stones was flawed on so many levels. Words hurt every bit as much as physical pain, and the scars they left were invisible and a lot more difficult to cauterize.”
“Exactly. Her experiences have shaped her in ways we can’t possibly understand. She’s spent such a long time blaming herself for so many things, for her family abandoning her, for her mother dying. She would probably have blamed herself for Brexit if you hadn’t happened along.”
“She wasn’t responsible for any of those things,” I exploded.
“Of course she wasn’t. But the past has a funny way of creeping back on us when we least expect it, even if we think we’ve set ourselves free of it. Be patient, Natalie. Whatever’s going on Skye needs you, and it’s up to you to show her that she has someone in her life that won’t walk out on her when the going gets tough. She’s had enough people do that to her, she doesn’t need another one.”
My soup went from hot, to lukewarm, to stone cold as I’d listened to my Mam’s counsel. “You’re right, Mam. Don’t worry, I’m not going to give up on Skye, ever. In fact, I’m going to do the complete opposite.” I sat up with a jerk as the solution hit me like a bolt of lightning. “I know exactly what I have to do.”
Chapter 33
Skye
“Hey Skye,” the door to the cottage opened and a shaft of sunlight entered followed by Sara. She closed it behind her and the light was gone. It was uncanny how such a simple act could mirror my life so precisely.
“Hey, Sara,” I said, listlessly. Nat was in Sunderland for her last match before the Christmas break. She asked me to go and watch and I flatly declined, but she didn’t get huffy or angry, she merely accepted my decision as if it were a given.
Something had changed in her. Now when I pulled away she didn’t perceive it as a slight, she allowed me space. I couldn’t figure out what brought about the change, but with Sara turning up out of the blue I had a pretty good idea.
“Have you told Nat?” I asked, deceptively calm on the outside, the only things divulging my anger inner was a slight quiver in my voice, and a tremble in my hand. I may not have liked confrontation but I deplored betrayal.
“What? No!” she answered quickly.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes I’m sure!” she said vehemently. “But you-”
I cut across her. “I told you before, I can’t.”
“Skye, she’s dying inside.” Sara began switching on lamps. It wasn’t the brightest of days, and the weak sunlight that battled through the clouds didn’t have the strength to breach the small and deep cottage windows. “Do you really think telling Nat will make her feel any worse than she already does?”
“Maybe this is my just desserts.” Unable to cope with the direction the conversation was taking, I did a u-ee. “Perhaps I don’t deserve to be happy. I keep returning to my Dad and his accusations that my sexuality caused my mother’s death.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it,” she said angrily.
“Oh for sure. But a part of me will always be that frightened little girl cowering from his fists and his words. Do you know why I adore St Cuthbert?” Sara shook her head slowly, not quite sure where my handbrake turn was taking us. I wasn’t entirely sure myself but I ran with it. “I admire his story so much because of the miraculous side to it. Faith is such a personal thing,” I cocked my head and stared into the fire. “I’d better put some wood on that.”
“Let me.” Sara lifted a log from the wicker basket next to the stove. When she opened the door a flood of warmth hit me. I smiled wanly, but a smile nevertheless. It summed up Sara and I to a tee. She was always there to swaddle in warmth.
“Go on,” she said when she sat back down. “Faith?”
“When I was younger I questioned God. If this almighty being existed, why would He let me and my brothers live in fear every time my Dad downed a beer. I’d lie in bed and listen to the telly get louder when Mam came home from the old folks’ home. I didn’t realise why she turned it up until I was older. It made me angry that I was so powerless. When I first read about the early Saints, I started to get a kernel of hope. St Cuthbert, his legend, the cult surrounding him… well I liked to believe that God was there and one day He would rescue me.”
“You rescued yourself,” Sara argued.
“But only after I found something in St Cuthbert’s teachings. It’s hard to explain.”
I stood and went into the kitchen; Sara’s eyes followed me. This wasn’t something I’d ever discussed with anyone, not because I was an atheist or an agnostic, or even a mutant Christian, as Sara would call thos
e who were zealous in their faith to the point of bigotry. No, it was because it was utterly personal and difficult for anyone else to understand.
“It wasn’t necessarily in God, I had faith in the world at large, I had faith there was something better if I worked hard enough and so I did. And how I did. I don’t really believe in a higher being as such, but what I do believe in is humility and humanity.” I looked at her and smiled. “When your Mam came to visit me at uni the weekend you went on the ‘field trip’ to Kielder…”
We both grinned. It had been no field trip, it had been a naughty weekend away with Andy, but I’d panicked when Mrs Jeffries suddenly appeared at the flat door. It became a running joke and I think Sara went on more field trips than I’d saved hockey balls.
“Well, she brought me the footsteps poem, the one about the man walking along the beach. You know which one I’m going on about, right?”
Sara nodded slowly and I gave her a cup of tea before pulling a battered Collins dictionary off the bookcase. Inside, the bookmark was the same card Mrs Jeffries gave me ten years before.
“Why?” Sara turned it over in her hand and frowned. It was pristine. I’d treasured that little piece of card more than anything else I possessed and it showed.
“She told me that I wasn’t alone, that when there was only one set of footprints it meant the people who loved me were carrying me. You. Her.” My eyes softened. “Nat.”
“You’re really not going to tell her, are you?” Sara slowly but surely grasped what I was saying. She may not agree with my decision, but at least now she understood and respected it.
“No, I’m not. If I keep expecting Nat to carry me, her bloody arms are going to fall off!” I was silent as I read the card one more time before swallowing a couple of times. “It’s my turn to carry the burden.”
Chapter 34
Natalie
“Hey, Sis, are you going to be at Mam’s this morning?” I was humming to myself, love and marriage… go together like a horse and carriage… yes I was happy, so happy I was singing the only two lines of that particular song I could remember. “Dum dee dum dum dummmm dum-”
“Are you singing?” Sara interrupted.
“What? Oh no. Just an advert on Radio Borders.”
“Was it the one for the fish factory? The kids sing that all the time and they do my head in.”
What? I needed to get this conversation back on track. “So Mam’s?”
“It’s Christmas Eve, Nat, of course I’ll be there. Do you know how many sprouts she bought? I’m going to be scoring bottoms all day including Jack and Sally’s, they’re being right little monsters!”
“Aw, they’re just excited it’s Christmas. But back to me, I need your help.” Sisterly advice and support for a start.
“Yeah?”
“Yup.”
There was a hint of… something in the silence, in her hesitation and manner. It wasn’t like her to be coy. Finally she said determinedly, “If it’s to do with Skye, I’m not sure I’ll be able to oblige. You’re my sister, Nat, but she’s my best friend and I don’t want to be caught in the middle.”
“It is to do with Skye but not in a bad way.” I stared at the small plastic bag on the passenger seat of my car. “Please, Sara.” Glancing in the rear view mirror, I grinned goofily.
“Okay, okay. We’re heading over there in an hour, say eleven o’clock?”
“Perfect, I’ll see you there.”
Parked outside the cottage, I could tell from the dark windows that Skye had already left. Some things never changed. At this time every day, for the past week, she’d taken to going for a walk, almost like she was compelled to sustain the farce of a banal routine to keep her life on an even keel.
But it’s time for me to rock your boat, Skye Donaghie.
***
Forty minutes later found me contemplating a little black box sitting proudly upon my mother’s kitchen table, and tension began inching its way through my body. Where is she? I scowled. Sara was late and my toe started tapping. I was positive this was the right tactic to prove to Skye how much I loved her, how vital a cog she was in my life.
Yet the longer I sat here, I wondered if I was grasping at straws in a vain attempt to save something that was beyond repair.
I jumped when the back door banged against the kitchen counter; Sara and her kids were announcing their arrival. “Jesus, it’s cold out there.” Without even removing off her coat, Sara picked up the kettle and filled it from the tap. Seconds later the familiar click and gurgle of the kettle began, and surprisingly my nerves abated.
Jack and Sally gave me a kiss and a hug, perfunctory at best. “Is Nannydad in?” Jack asked.
“He sure is. He’s watching telly in the front room. The Goonies I think.” I ruffled his hair. Jack had started calling my dad that when he was a toddler and it stuck. I think he was so confused with the surfeit of grannies and nannies and grandpas floating around, he anointed my father with his own title, something completely unique and absolutely him.
“What’s the Goonies?” Sally asked.
“It’s a film your Mam and I liked when we were younger. It’s about a group of kids that go on a-”
“Cool, see ya later, Aunty Nat,” Jack called and Sally ran after him. Jack didn’t care what was on the telly; he’d even watch Prime Minister’s Question Time as long as he was with his Nannydad.
“Do you want a cuppa?” Sara asked over her shoulder, then turned to retrieve our mugs from the sideboard.
Before performing a hilarious double take crossed with a pirouette.
Now the coat came off, as did her gloves. “Is that what I think it is?” she asked quietly, and with a certain amount of trepidation.
“Yes.” I murmured. “Yes, it’s precisely what you think it is,” I repeated the affirmation with more conviction the second time round. I opened the box, then shut it again with a firm click, scared I would tempt fate if I kept staring at it so much.
“Oh, Nat, are you sure the time is right?”
“It’s now or never, Sis. There’s something going on with Skye, I don’t know what and she won’t tell me.” A fleeting expression of guilt flash across Sara’s face, which, coupled with the earlier trepidation... “I’m warning you, Sara Jayne McCoist,” I said baldly, “you’d better not be keeping things from me.” It was all very well not wanting to be caught in the middle but if I found out… now isn’t the time. “I adore Skye Donaghie. I cherish and respect her and want to build a future with her. Surely that’s all that matters.”
“Oh. My. God.” Sara pulled me out of my seat and hugged me. “This is the best news ever. Where, when, how?”
“Tomorrow morning when we’re opening presents?” I said tentatively.
“Yes! Brilliant idea, Nat, she won’t be able to say no.”
I frowned. That definitely wasn’t my intention. I wanted a heartfelt yes, not an embarrassed okay.
So confession time. I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. I wrinkled my nose and pictured Christmas morning with me on bended knee in front of everyone. Nope, not going to happen, not with Tommy watching and waiting for me to fall on my arse. Oh how he would love that!
“No, she’d feel backed into a corner and we both know how much Skye would loathe that.” The only sound was the ticking of the clock as I scoured my brain for the perfect proposal and came up blank, until… “I’ll need everyone’s help,” I said decisively.
“Help?” Mam came in from the living room. “You’re not having bother with your knee again?”
“No, Mam, it’s my heart this time. I’m going to propose to Skye.”
“Well it’s about time!” Her grin practically split her face in two it was so wide.
“What do you mean it’s about time?”
“I’ve watched Ellen, I know lesbians usually work much quicker than you two. What can I do?”
I ignored the pop culture reference. It scared me that she was using Ellen as research tool for all th
ings lesbian. No offence, I liked the show, but God help Skye and me. “I’ll need food and drink.”
“It’s Christmas Eve, Nat, I think we have got that covered.” Mam put her hand on my arm in a comforting manner. “Breathe, pet.”
“I’ll have to go to the hardware store in town and get a few hurricane lamps and fairy lights.” I scanned the gloomy sky outside. “Better make sure they’re battery operated ones.”
“Oooh look at you, hardware store. You’ve only been in the US for five minutes. By the end of your contract you’ll be y’alling all over the store! Anyway, remember them solar ones we bought Mam?” Sara cackled before she’d even finished the sentence.
“We could only see them at like midnight for three days out of the year,” I snickered. “What the hell were we thinking?”
“You’re going to be busy here, I’ll go into town for you.” Sara had her shopping groove on and god help anyone who got in her way.
“Are you sure, sis? It’s going to be manic, it’s Christmas Eve, remember?” I warned.
“Nat, please. If shopping was a sport I’d be the superstar in the family, not you,” she scoffed in reply. I laughed. It was funny, ‘cos it was true. If Sara ever got sick of teaching she could always become a personal shopper to half of Northumberland and still find time to run a couple of marathons.
“And do you still have that posh picnic basket with the china plates and crystal glasses?”
“I’ll pick it up on my way back from Berwick… Oooh, I like what you’re thinking Batwoman, a picnic on the beach. Yes I can picture it now. A fire, the two of you two curled up on a blanket. Why Natalie Jeffries,” she bumped my shoulder, “you big softie. I might have to ask you to give Andy some lessons.” We all instinctively looked out of the window.
The beach was out, what with the buckets of rain slapping the windows. Besides that wasn’t the destination I had in mind.