by Su Bristow
Donald said, ‘She’s away over the hill just now, but I’ll tell her you came by. Is there anything I can do for you?’
‘Not you. Her!’ The fierce reply took Donald by surprise, and he looked directly at the speaker. Nancy Bain, still crouched against the wall, glared up at him.
‘Oh, well. Is it your ma now? Has she been taken poorly?’
‘My dad’s back. We need her now!’ And Donald realised that it was not Bridie she was after. He guessed well enough what might be happening, but no-one ever interfered directly in another family’s affairs. It was not the way, and especially not with this family, not now. He crouched down to face her, and she looked away at once, swiping her sleeve across her face.
‘Can you not get Shona to come?’ He felt uneasy, even offering this small advice; it was none of his business.
‘She won’t.’ And he saw that Nancy, too, was desperate. She knew the way of things better than most, growing up in that household.
‘Well, see here. Mairhi’s not far from having her own baby now, and she needs to save her strength. And she can’t be fighting other people’s battles for them. Your ma’s got to—’
‘She can do magic!’ Nancy interrupted him. ‘She can make people drown if she wants to. Uncle Euan said so!’ Tears streaked her face.
‘Listen now. It’s not magic, never you mind what people say. And that only happened because…’ But here he ran out of words. The child might know only too well what her father was capable of, but it was not for him to say it, straight out. ‘What she did, she was just looking out for herself,’ he finished lamely. The child simply stared at him. ‘I don’t think she can do it for other people, anyway,’ he said, and that was no good either. He had no idea, really, what she could or could not do.
In any case, this was a child who expected to be lied to. She stared at him a moment longer, and then was up and away, darting around him and in through the gate. By the time he was on his feet and following, she had run right in through the open front door, and he could hear her calling for Mairhi. Maybe she had even gone into the bedroom. These people have no decency, he thought in sudden fury. Nothing’s safe from them, ever. In the doorway he was brought up short by the sight of Mairhi, emerging from the bedroom with her hair down, still half asleep, and Nancy tugging at her arm.
‘Will you not be told? She can’t go with you!’ he began, but Mairhi stopped then, came right up to him and took hold of him by both arms, so that he had to look her in the face. What he read there was plain enough. ‘Then I’m coming too,’ he said.
36
It took only a few minutes to be ready, and then they set out, all three of them. Nancy ignored him, pulling at Mairhi to make her hurry, while he tried to help her whenever the width of the path allowed. They must have made a strange sight, Donald thought, though there were not many to see them on this sleepy afternoon. All the cottage doors stood open, like their own, and washing was spread over every available bush.
The Bains’ dog came up to them, wagging its tail and cringing at the same time, as they approached the house. Nancy pushed it aside and ran in, calling for her mother, and Mairhi, who also cared nothing for privacy, followed straight after her. Donald stopped on the threshold, still unsure, but as he hesitated he heard a man’s voice raised in anger. That was enough. He took a deep breath and went in.
He had never set foot inside the house before. Why would he? But the harbour cottages were all laid out in the same way. The front door opened into the living room, and there would be a bedroom at the back, with another under the eaves, where the children would sleep. His aunt’s home was like it, but although the shape was the same, it could not have been more different. The room was unswept, the hearth piled high with ash, and unwashed crockery lay on the table. There was nothing bright or soft anywhere, no curtains or rugs or children’s toys.
As he stood there, he heard the child’s voice in the room beyond. ‘You leave her be!’ she screamed, and then a sharp sound that stopped his heart. He was at the doorway in three paces.
Jessie was on her feet by the bed, though she looked as though a breath would be enough to topple her. She was rubbing her arm, looking down, and behind her Nancy lay on the floor. Aly had turned to face her as she ran in, but he was staring now at Mairhi. Donald could not see her face, but he saw Jessie look up, and her whole body changed; she stood up straight and smiled, as Bridie had said, in a way that made her look, for a moment, like a different woman. Mairhi walked past Aly as though he were a chair that stood in the way, and took Jessie into her arms. Tenderly, she lowered her down onto the bed. Nancy scrambled to her side and clutched at her skirt with both hands.
Aly’s hands were bunched into fists, but he made no move towards the women. He stood, breathing heavily. ‘You get out of my house. Now!’ he said, and then he saw Donald in the doorway. For once, words seemed to fail him entirely.
‘I think,’ said Donald, and cleared his throat, ‘I think it’s you that’s not welcome here just now. You’d best come outside and let the women see to their business.’
Aly stared at him. Donald had no idea what had made him throw the man a lifeline. In truth, he’d have been glad to see him drown. Only there was a desperate, cornered look to him, like a wounded stag brought to bay by the dogs; such creatures can do great harm. He stood aside and, after a moment, Aly came out of the bedroom. He went straight to the front door and out into the sunlight, and there was a sudden yelp from the dog a few seconds later. Donald let him go.
‘Are you all right, there?’ he said to the women, and was rewarded with a quick flash of a smile from Mairhi. That was enough.
He went back through into the main room, and busied himself about clearing out the ash and building a fire. Aly did not return, and Donald neither knew nor cared where he might be. Something had changed, something so deep in him that he could not even look at it directly, not yet, but he was glad to be alone with simple tasks in hand: laying the fire, filling the kettle, doing the everyday things that hold a life together. He was kneeling by the hearth, coaxing the peat into flame, when a voice spoke behind him, startling him as though he had just woken from sleep.
‘I think she’s starting,’ it said. Jessie Bain was leaning in the bedroom doorway. He could not remember the last time he had heard her speak; back in the schoolyard, maybe, whispering and laughing with the other girls as he went by.
‘What?’
‘It’s her time,’ she said.
Donald stared at her, and she gave him a crooked smile. ‘It’ll be hours yet,’ she said. ‘I should know. But you’d best get her home.’
Donald started to his feet. ‘It’s too soon, it shouldn’t be for a week or two yet!’
‘They choose their own time.’
But he was already into the bedroom and at Mairhi’s side. She was sitting on the bed, one hand on her stomach. Nancy had tight hold of the other, staring at her with huge eyes. Donald went to help her up, and Nancy began to cry noisily, tears and snot running down her face. ‘She can’t die! It’s not fair! Why can’t she do magic for herself?’
‘Hush your noise, Nancy. She’ll be right as rain. She’s not like me.’ Jessie made her slow way across the bedroom and sank down next to Mairhi. ‘You’re fine, do you hear me? It’s just the baby getting ready to come. Donald will take you home now. Nancy, would you fetch Shona for me?’
‘I’m not leaving you on your own!’
‘Nancy,’ said Donald, ‘your dad’s gone. He won’t be back for a while.’
Nancy stared a moment longer, and then she leaped up and scurried out of the room. Mairhi began to get up, and then cried out, more in surprise than pain, and clutched at her stomach again. Donald was at her side. ‘Come on now, lass, let’s get you home.’
‘You’ve got to wait when the pains come,’ said Jessie, and for a moment Donald glimpsed the girl she had been, ordering the others about in the schoolyard, before life had worn her down. ‘Don’t you know anything, Dona
ld Macfarlane?’
‘Not about this,’ said Donald. ‘I don’t know when Ma will be back. It could be a while.’
‘I’ll send Nancy for Catriona when she comes back. There’s no hurry. But you should get her home now,’ she said again. Jessie looked white now, as though she might faint. ‘Go on, away with you!’
37
And so they went, step by halting step, pausing every now and then as a new wave of pain swept through Mairhi’s body. Donald learned to tell when they were building; he could feel the change in her, and had just time to take her hands and face her, and she clung to him as it grew, and broke, and died away again. Not drowning, but riding the waves. Fishermen do not learn to swim – if they fall from the boat, they are lost, and it is best to drown quickly – but seals do. He saw it in her eyes – that she had forgotten nothing; and he was glad for her.
It was a long, slow journey back to the house, and Bridie was still not home when they got there. Donald had a vague idea that labouring women should be in bed, but Mairhi was having none of it. She walked up and down, sometimes holding on to the back of a chair, and sometimes gripping his hands as the pain grew. In between whiles, he rubbed her back or her shoulders, wherever she indicated. The day wore on, and although he feared what might lie ahead, Donald cherished this precious intimacy; just the two of them, and Mairhi needing something that he could give, some small recompense for the fact that he had started this, and at least he could help her to bear it.
Still, he was glad when at last Bridie came hurrying up the track, Catriona and some of the other women with her. Behind them came James and Rennie, waiting sheepishly outside until the women evicted him and they could take him down to the bar, which was the proper place for a father-to-be. He did not even have the chance to say goodbye to Mairhi, surrounded as she was now by women who knew exactly what to do, and who shooed him out of the house with an authority they would not have dared to show at any other time.
It was late evening now; doors were shut and beasts put to bed, though the sun still skimmed the horizon in a net of crimson cloud; it would barely set tonight, midsummer was so close. The sea lay almost still; there was just a distant gentle sighing from the waves breaking below, and then that was suddenly lost in the roar of voices and the hot reek from the bar, as Rennie pulled open the door. Men turned to look, and there was a surge of greetings and raising of glasses. Donald found himself in a seat near the hearth, and the first drink was set in front of him. They would all know why he was here, and they would keep him company for as long as it took.
Some of them would, anyway. Busy with the welcomes and toasts from all around him, Donald was aware of movement near the door, and looked round in time to see Andrew Bain shouldering his way through the crowd, and James Wallace close behind him. Of Aly and Euan there was no sign; perhaps they had been the first to leave. Donald took a deep breath, and some of the tension singing through his body began to ebb away. He lifted his glass, raised it and drained it in one go. There was a roar of approval, and another appeared in front of him at once. He shuddered as the whisky burned its way through him, and James and Rennie, sitting either side of him, laughed and knocked back their drinks too. A long night lay ahead.
38
Much, much later – he had no idea how many hours had passed – someone was pulling at his elbow as he sat, still holding a half-empty glass, trying to follow an endless, rambling story told by old Hector on the other side of the hearth, but with so many interruptions and embellishments by his audience that Donald had long ago lost the thread of it, if indeed there had ever been one. He turned, trying to focus through the fog of smoke and drink.
A small someone, shawled against the cool night air. A woman? He could see her mouth move, but no words reached him. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but that only made everything swim and blur around him.
Then James had hold of his other arm and was pulling him to his feet. ‘Away with you now,’ he said into Donald’s ear. ‘Here’s Kirsty MacDonald come to fetch you.’
Between them, James and Rennie disentangled him from chair and table and got him to the door, where they were washed out on a wave of goodwill from the other men, and came to a swaying halt in the utter stillness outside. Fresh air poured over them like cold water.
‘On you go,’ said Rennie, and shoved him towards Kirsty. ‘Mind you don’t lose him over the harbour wall!’ he said to her, as she grabbed at Donald’s arm and staggered under the sudden weight. After a dangerous moment he got his balance, and turned to wave to the others, but they were already making their precarious way down to the harbour, and behind him other men were leaving the bar, going home at last, now that the night’s work was done.
Kirsty pulled him out of the way and began to steer him up the path. ‘They’ve not got the brains they were born with!’ she was grumbling. ‘Everyone knows you’ve no head for drink, Donald Macfarlane. Watch now, here’s three steps up.’
‘Wha’s? Is she…?’ The words slid away as he tried to get hold of them.
‘You’ll see soon enough. I’ve enough to do to get you there.’ And indeed, he had enough to do to put one foot in front of the other, to keep moving forward, watching his step in the half-light. He stopped. Wasn’t there something really important he had to know?
‘Kirsty,’ he began, but she only dragged at him impatiently.
‘Get along with you! It’s been a long night, and we all need our beds. Though you’ll be sleeping on the floor tonight; not that it’ll bother you, the state you’re in.’ And he plodded after her, obedient and bewildered, trying to feel his way to the thing that mattered. Mairhi, Mairhi and the baby.
The baby. He stopped again, stubborn now. ‘Are they all right?’
‘For goodness’ sake! If you don’t keep stopping you’ll see for yourself. It’s not my place to tell you, as you well know. Come on now!’
He almost turned tail then; dread rose in him and his legs would carry him no further. But here came two more women down the path, making their way homeward.
‘Here’s the new father!’ one of them called, and Kirsty threw him a sour look. ‘If I ever get him there!’ she said, and gave him a hefty shove that set the other women laughing. ‘Too late to change your mind now!’ they said, and went on their way, while Donald once more set himself to the task of putting one foot in front of the other.
More women passed them. It seemed half the village had an interest in seeing Mairhi’s baby into the world. Whatever kind of creature it might be, they all knew by now, except for him. He plodded on, trying to find again the clear resolve he had felt when he made his promise to the seals at midwinter, half a year and a new lifetime ago, but the straight path was lost now, in the pearly mists of a midsummer dawn.
‘Wait there a minute,’ said Kirsty, and Donald raised his eyes to find himself in his own garden, and the birds already singing.
He stood, swaying a little, as though he were out at sea. The thought made him smile; a bitter joke. For the first time in his life, he wished it were true.
‘Merciful heavens, Donald, look at the state of you!’ Here came Catriona with Kirsty and yet another woman, but Donald had eyes for nothing but the small bundle she carried. ‘Well, she’s just fine now, and sleeping like a baby herself. You can see her in a while, and in the meantime…’ and she put the bundle into his arms. And for once, she fell silent, waiting to see what he would say.
Donald looked down at what he held. It was well swaddled, so that nothing but its face could be seen. At least, he supposed it must be a face, though the eyes, if it had any, were lost in the creases either side of a little flat nose. In the half-light, it was the colour of bell heather. As he watched, trying to make some sense of it, it twisted a little in his arms, opened a triangular mouth and gave a strange, wavering cry, like a night bird. Misery rose up in him. He had never seen any creature like this, whether human or otherwise.
39
Better do it now, and have done with i
t. He turned, gathering himself for the slow trudge down to the strand, where the rowboat waited. Behind him, the little group of women stirred into life.
‘Donald, what do you think you’re about now?’ Catriona was at his elbow, trying to take the child. ‘Come inside, he’ll take cold out here. I told them to go easy with the whisky,’ she said to the other women. ‘But you know what men are like when they get going. For the Lord’s sake, Donald, there’s no need for tears now! You’ve a fine, healthy boy, and all’s well.’
He stopped. Catriona pushed at him, but he stood firm, looking down again at the bundle in his arms. And yes, it did have eyes; eyes like his own, the clean-washed blue of the early-morning sky, which gazed up at him now with an ancient, measuring look.
‘What d’you say? A boy, is it?’
‘Of course, a boy! And a big, strong one; no wonder he was in such a hurry to be born. What’s he to be called, Donald?’
‘I haven’t thought.’ That set the women laughing, but it was true; he had been steeling himself for the worst that could happen, and never let himself imagine how else it might be. A boy. This is my son, he thought. And then; my father must have stood just so, looking down at me in his arms. With that, the answer was clear.
‘His name is John,’ he said.
He woke after far too little sleep, lying uncomfortably on the floor by the hearth, when his mother pulled open the front door to let the fresh air in. Sunlight poured over him, hot and thick, and he groaned. Bridie was clattering crockery onto the table.
‘Just as well you don’t do that too often,’ she said, looking down at him. ‘And just as well it’s not a seagoing day today.’