Daughter of the Storm

by Tina Callaghan

  ‘I’m glad you got to see the Chimneys,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure they’ll survive another winter. They’ve been losing bits for the last few years.’

  Lia gazed at the rock-towers as they passed.

  The harbour came into view and she saw how pretty the village was on a sunlit day, in stark contrast to the rugged coast.

  She had a whole bunch of feelings that she needed to sort through and she felt strangely tired, although it was still only mid-morning.

  A tall figure was leaning on the harbour wall and her stomach gave a little flip. Ed. She didn’t know what to say to him. He hopped over the wall and caught the rope that Harry threw to him. When the boat was secured, he held out a hand to help her out but Harry quickly got out and reached for her hand to steady her.

  Ed’s cheeks reddened and he shoved his hands in the pockets of his grey fleece.

  ‘Are you coming, Lia?’ Harry said.

  ‘I’ll catch up to you.’

  He grinned at her as he left and she knew he was going to tease her later.

  ‘Hi,’ Ed said, drawing her attention back to him.

  ‘Hey. So what was that last night?’

  He made a face. ‘Yeah, sorry about that. I thought I saw something. Got spooked. Not very macho, I suppose. I thought I’d better get you home safely anyway in case Harry decided to kill me.’

  ‘Harry is too busy laughing at me to have time to kill you.’

  He laughed and his shoulders relaxed. ‘I have a pretty vivid imagination at times. It helps with taking pictures, but maybe not with trying to look cool in front of pretty girls.’

  He flushed again, and Lia felt her own cheeks get hot. Her stomach gave that funny little flip again.

  Ed cleared his throat. ‘So, how about going for a proper walk some time? There’s a few great places for views and stuff.’

  ‘I’d love that,’ she said.

  His face lit up.

  She had only meant that she wanted to explore the island, but she had to admit to herself that the thought of spending time with him was exciting.

  They stared at each other awkwardly for a second, half smiling.

  ‘I’d better go,’ she said. ‘Harry is deliberately walking very slowly.’

  ‘OK.’ He cleared his throat. ‘How would twelve tomorrow suit you?’

  Lia reached for her phone before remembering again that they couldn’t text. ‘Fine. Where will we meet?’

  ‘How about the bench? We can go around the island in that direction. You can protect me if I get the heebie-jeebies again.’

  Lia laughed. ‘OK, it’s a deal.’

  She could feel him watching her as she caught up with Harry. She willed herself not to look back.

  ‘So, how come me and Ed are the only young people on the island?’ she asked Harry. ‘Where are all the kids?’

  ‘On the mainland. It’s for school. It’s too hard to get kids across in the winter, so people moved over. They come back for the summer but they’re always gone again by the start of September. There used to be a teacher here, but not for a long time now. It’s mostly just us old folks here now.’

  He had told her on arrival that there were almost no people her age on the island but up to now she hadn’t registered the fact that there were no kids at all about. None playing on the small strand, no bored young teens hanging around outside the shop. And the silence. There was a curious backdrop of a soft stillness made up of waves and birdcall, but no sounds of children laughing or shouting.

  ‘But that means that eventually there’ll be no one here.’

  He tucked her arm into his. ‘There’ll always be someone.’

  Becky woke very late with sunshine on her face. Having her mother with her when she went to bed always helped her to sleep.

  She hadn’t wanted the cottage when Matt brought her to see it first. She didn’t like its isolation and she knew it would be very exposed in winter. But Matt, as a mainlander and deep-sea fisherman, shrugged off warnings about winter winds and she was won over by his enthusiasm. He had so many plans and he had already put them into action. The house was not finished, but it was finished enough for comfort until the baby was a few months old. Then he planned to build on an extension and a toughened glass atrium for watching the sea and the weather. The way he explained it made it sound wonderful. Sometimes she just liked to listen to the sound of his gruff voice, softening with dreams and hopes for their future together. In those moments, she felt as though she was already sitting in a soft chair in golden sunlight.

  She sighed and rolled into a sitting position. With Matt at sea, the house seemed empty. She knew that her mother was right. The baby was coming soon and she was nervous because her man was away. She knew this, even though some deep part of her was afraid of something she couldn’t put a name to.

  It was a feeling that came to her most often at night, but now, sitting in the sunshine on her own bed, it rose in her like bitter sap. Her skin roughened with goose bumps and she covered her belly with both arms, wrapping up the baby. He (she was sure it was a boy) moved once and lay still. She had the curious idea that he was holding his breath.

  To shake off the feeling, she stood up, feeling a low ache in her back. Not bothering with slippers, she moved slowly around. She washed and dressed in leggings, a long jumper and her squishy Uggs. She checked her reflection and laughed at the sight. She was round and cosy, not at all like her usual self. It came from letting her mother feed her too much. The baby gave a sudden powerful kick.

  ‘OK, baby, I’m having breakfast now. Hold your horses.’

  She liked being in the kitchen. It was the warmest room in the house and where she and Matt liked to sit and chat. She sat where she could see the view, and glance at Matt ’s crossbow. It was a hangover from his teenage years, when he’d actually won prizes for its use. She didn’t like it, except when he was away. He had shown her how to use it. She didn’t like that either, because she felt a curious enjoyment in using the powerful weapon – at the careful aim, the minor adjustments, the pull and tension, the release, the satisfaction of a good result. She didn’t want to enjoy using it. She was just glad she could and that she could look at it in its bracket on the wall, more an ornament now than anything.

  If she had to, she would use it.

  She rubbed her belly gently. ‘I would if it meant protecting you, little man.’

  She put her mother’s blackberry jam on toast and slices of cheddar on top. After two cups of tea, and another two slices of toast, she washed the stickiness off her hands, slipped keys and cash in a bumbag whose strap now had to run along the top of her bump, and headed out.

  The walk did her good, blowing out the cobwebs and the fears of the night. She watched the ferry coming in empty and thought briefly about going across. The baby moved and she imagined the motion of the boat and decided the shop would do. She popped her head in at her parents’ place, but no one was home, so she went and bought fruit and onions, chatting to Mrs. Glenn about her daughter who was an accountant in Dublin. They had been at school together. She waited until fresh bread came up from the ferry – an onion sandwich felt about right for lunch.

  Then she set out for the walkway to the bench. She would sit on the bench for a while in the sun before heading home.

  But there was already someone there. As she drew closer, she realised it was her father.

  Matt looked up.

  ‘What?’ he said.

  Christy turned his head, eyebrows raised.

  ‘Did you call me?’ Matt asked.

  Christy shook his head.

  Matt went to the side and looked across the sea. He had never thought the sea to be featureless – he loved it in all of its many moods. Just now, as he stood there, with the echo of someone calling his name, the sea suddenly filled him with a nameless terror. He couldn’t see land. He looked down, knowing that there were huge deeps beneath the boat. He made his living pulling fish from the water, but he realised that he knew little
of what went on in the grey depths. He was thousands of miles from the world’s deepest chasms in the sea floor, but looking down made him feel that he was perched above a long tunnel that led down, down, down to complete, infinite darkness.

  His father and grandfather had fished before him. He had been on boats in his mother’s womb and as a new baby. His whole life was boats, fishing and the sea. This period working for someone else was for Becky and the baby, but in the back of his mind, where it had always been, was the dream of fixing up his own boat, and some day making a fleet.

  And yet, looking at the expanse of water between him and the island, between him and Becky and home, his only wish was to turn the damn boat and close the distance. He looked around. The others had stopped working and were staring out to sea.

  A fog bank was coming towards them, thick and fast-moving. It hadn’t been forecast but it was filling the sea on the port side. The men were silent as it swept in over the boat and settled on them like a mantle. Matt couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. No one moved. The fog made Matt’s chest wheeze. His face was damp with it.

  Someone spoke quietly, a whispered question. Someone else told him to shut up. Still no one moved.

  After a few minutes the fog started to change. It didn’t lift or blow over. It shredded like candy floss, turning into wisps that floated into nothing. Matt found himself staring at the others. The captain was in the door of the wheelhouse. He was pale, despite his weather-beaten face.

  Gradually, the men returned to their work, shrugging their shoulders.

  The sea. You can never tell what she’ll bring.

  Matt’s thoughts were overlapping, again as though someone was speaking to him. His own voice agreeing with the silent consensus.

  Yeah, the sea, just the sea. Crazy things happen.

  And the voice of the other. Something is wrong. Crazy things happen.

  The thoughts dovetailed and shredded into wisps like the fog.

  Matt shrugged his shoulders and got back to work.

  ‘Hi, Dad.’

  Becky sat on the bench with a sigh and put her shopping on the ground.

  ‘Dad?’

  Her father was staring at the Chimneys. She touched his shoulder and flinched when he swung towards her, his eyes very blue, his face somehow twisted.

  ‘God, Dad, you scared me. Are you OK?’

  The twisted expression faded, but she saw that his pupils had shrunk to pinpoints. There was an odd smell coming from him.

  ‘Dad, you’re not well.’

  He smiled suddenly. ‘Not well? I’ve never felt better. I’ve walked the whole island this morning. Full of energy.’

  Becky remembered a couple of her fellow students at college. Pinpoint pupils and manic energy. Not from any natural source. But her dad?

  ‘Are you on some new tablets, Dad?’

  ‘No. I’m stopping taking anything. Don’t need it. I feel great!’

  She studied him, frowning. Was his hair darker today? The silver he had been sporting was less in evidence. It looked like there was fuzzy new growth on his bald patch. When she put aside the slightly scary look he had on his face when she startled him, he looked well, his skin tighter, younger. She shook her head and put her hand on her belly. This baby had a few weeks to go, but he was definitely messing with her head lately.

  Her father followed the movement of her hand to her belly. She had got used to people touching her bump without permission, as though it wasn’t actually her body, her personal space, but her father never had. He had treated her like a china doll since she broke the news, but their relationship was a traditional father-daughter one. He didn’t like intimate details of the pregnancy or of women’s business, as he called it, although she knew he couldn’t wait for this grandchild.

  Now though, he was staring at her hand on her bump, his strange eyes like blue lasers. She felt a flight urge but quashed it. This was her dad.

  He put his hand out. It moved with treacle slowness and the baby started to kick and turn inside her. Adrenalin rushed through her body, making the baby move frantically.

  Her father’s scarred and tanned hand came to rest on her belly. Instantly, the baby seemed to freeze inside her. In the early days of feeling movement, she had been frequently frightened by lack of movement, worrying that something was wrong. This stillness was deeper than that. Coldness rushed over her and she knew, just knew, that something was badly wrong.

  Her father took his hand away and stood.

  ‘Bye, pet,’ he said, though his voice was remote.

  He walked away in the opposite direction to the village, striding straight-backed with no stiffness.

  Becky didn’t move, feeling frozen to the bench. She put both arms around the bump, and felt the baby start to move again. This time it was different. Wrong. She felt a gush of liquid and looked down, expecting her water to have broken. The baby was coming early.

  It wasn’t water. She stared at her clothes, suddenly darkened, not able to take it in. Then another gush came and, with it, pain. Oh my God, she thought, it’s blood. I’m bleeding. But bleeding wasn’t the word for this. This was a different word, one that she was afraid to acknowledge. Her mind kept shouting no at her, but it had to be faced. Haemorrhage.

  She looked at her father, still visible on the headland, and opened her mouth to call to him. The sound that came from her was a keening sound that belonged in some desperate place, filled with loneliness and pain. She felt a spasm in her belly and felt the blood come again. She finally understood that she was in that place and this time she raised her voice in a scream.

  Five

  Despair has its own calms.

  Bram Stoker, Dracula, 1897

  They didn’t get as far as the bench but bumped into each other in the village.

  Lia had been waving at the woman from the ferry, aka Mrs. Glenn, postmistress and joint owner of the Red Door. Mrs. Glenn had paused in polishing the brass fittings on the door and Lia could see the thoughts crossing her face as plainly as though she had said them out loud. She was going to come over.

  ‘Hey, Lia!’

  ‘Ed, hi!’

  Mrs. Glenn subsided and returned to polishing, but Lia was aware that she was still keeping tabs on them.

  ‘You ready? I brought sandwiches. Chicken.’ He tapped his small backpack. ‘I thought we might get hungry exploring.’

  She smiled at him. ‘Good thinking.’

  ‘Cool. Come on then, before Mrs. Glenn changes her mind and comes over to ask four thousand questions.’

  Lia laughed and walked by his side towards the cliffs. There they followed a winding path along the clifftop, with Lia peering over the edge at the sea below. She saw that there were ways made down to a sandy beach, much bigger than the strip beside the harbour. Although the paths down were steep, someone had set occasional steps into the side of the cliff at the worst parts.

  ‘There’s a safe way down from the back of the harbour, but kids like climbing down here. There were a few broken arms until we put the steps in. It’s not as bad as it looks. Do you want to go down?’

  ‘Not now. Let’s go on. I want to see everything in one go today.’

  ‘Cool,’ he said again.

  She pretended to look at the beach again so that he wouldn’t see her smile. It was nice that he was a bit awkward. It was a good sign that he liked her.

  Moving on, they reached the gravel path that led to the bench.

  They had just stepped onto it when a scream split the air.

  Lia grabbed Ed’s arm. He took her hand, much as he done the last time they were here, and ran towards the bench, with Lia flying beside him.

  The woman’s legs were covered in blood. Lia could smell it, like iron, or pennies.

  Ed let go of her hand and crouched by the woman.

  ‘Becky, we’re here. It’s OK.’

  Lia took her hand and squeezed it.

  ‘We’re going to get help,’ Ed said.

  He stood
up and met Lia’s eyes. There was instant communication, something she hadn’t felt since she was best friends with Stacey in the eighth grade. She nodded and he took off running for the village.

  Lia changed her position to sit beside the woman on the bench.

  ‘Becky, is it? I’m Lia, Harry Crowe’s niece. I’m going to stay with you. Ed will bring back help.’

  Becky nodded tightly.

  Lia took her hand again and held it in both of hers. The hand was icy.

  Becky didn’t speak, but breathed, her eyes unfocused. Lia felt every contraction through her fingers. Becky didn’t move other than to shut her eyes for each one. She looked like a woman holding onto something too heavy for her, knowing that she couldn’t let go. Lia realised that she was concentrating on holding the baby inside her and wondered if it was possible. She wished harder for Ed to come back with help.

  If she had to, she would crouch between the woman’s legs and catch the baby, but whatever was happening it was far from normal. She squeezed Becky’s hand in encouragement.

  Hold on, just hold on to it. Just for another little while.

  Time passed with nothing but the sound of Becky’s breathing, and gulls started to gather, riding updrafts from the cliff. Lia watched them. They were all huge and to her eyes they suddenly looked more predatory than the buzzard she had seen with Ed. They wheeled and circled like vultures.

  A rook landed on the gravel path, its head tilted and its black eye shining. It looked like it was about to ask a question. It hopped closer but Lia was afraid to break Becky’s concentration by waving it away. Indifferent to her, the rook hopped again, coming close enough to put its feet in the blood. It turned its head on one side, looking down. If it put its beak in the blood, Lia thought, she would scream or get sick. What if it did more than that? What if it started to jab at them with its huge grey beak? She clamped her teeth on her bottom lip and lightly kicked at the gravel under the bench, skidding a couple of pieces towards the bird.