Atholl sat back down beside her, his hands clasped on his lap, mirroring Beatrice’s posture. ‘Of course.’
‘I don’t want to seem ungrateful.’
‘I know.’ His voice was calm.
‘I’mnothingbutgrateful; for the present, and to be pregnant again.’
‘I know that.’ He took one of her hands in his. ‘I’m grateful too.’
‘I’m just… feeling so many things and not one of them is excitement or actual happiness, you know? And I can’t really explain that to anybody because they’ll think I’m horrible. I can’t bring myself to be hopeful this time around. It’s worse when you’re happy and full of hope, when things go wrong, I mean.’
Atholl listened, eyes fixed on Beatrice. The feeling of his tender gaze made her want to cry, but she talked on the way she had learned to share her burdens since coming here.
‘I struggle with how unfair it all is, not just for me, but for lots of us, in lots of different situations. All those mums without their babies out there. All the parents going through pregnancy again and being terrified when everybody expects you to be glowing and just desperate to talk babies.’
Atholl gave a sympathetic smile, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, letting her voice her feelings.
‘I find it hard to have any faith in the universe, or in my own body, even when I have proof of what a clever devil nature can be in Clara. Angela and Vic went through so much to get her andshecame to them, but I can’t really believe it’s going to happen for us. I…’
‘Go on,’ Atholl urged softly.
‘I don’t want to hurt your feelings, not when you’re so hopeful.’
‘I feel what you feel, Beattie. Go on, tell me the rest.’
‘Well… if you’re sure?’
He blinked his assent.
‘Well… after so long with things going wrong in my life, things suddenly going right – and not just right, but like… perfect – it just feels unsafe, impossible even.’ Beatrice fell quiet, and Atholl held her. She didn’t cry. That would be too much like really feeling, and she’d fought hard to keep all this at arm’s length for so long. ‘You don’t know what to do with me, do you? I finally get what I’ve wanted for years and I’m not even happy.’
‘You will be happy. When the baby comes and you hold them against your skin and you feel their breath, you’ll be happy then.’
Beatrice closed her eyes tight and hid her face from him.
‘You know, I found something strange today when I was helping Gene clear the back yard,’ he said, his tone shifting.
Beatrice opened her eyes, surprised at this change in direction. ‘You were clearing the garden? Nobody’s been out there in years.’
‘Aye, well, soon there’ll be a wee one toddlin’ in the sun out there and they cannae dae that through six feet o’ brambles, so we’ve been cuttin’ it all back to make you a wee garden of your own.’
Now Beatrice really did want to cry. This man, she thought. How can he possibly love her this much when she was such a mess? She took a deep breath before asking him, ‘You say you found something?’
‘I did. Here, come with me,’ Atholl stood, keeping her hand in his and guiding her out to the messy jungle behind the inn that, once upon a time, had been the garden of Atholl’s childhood, a place where Mrs Fergusson had sat in the sun seeking five minutes’ peace from her brood and the inn customers, and where there had been goldfish and frogs in a little pond and a heron always on the lookout for her supper.
Atholl told Beatrice all this as she looked out at the tangle of ivy and blackberry boughs. He pointed to a patch by the trunk of a scrawny crab apple tree where the brothers had been hacking at the undergrowth. ‘There.’
‘What on earth is that?’
Beatrice dropped his hand to crouch by the peculiar clusters which at first she’d thought were oysters or maybe mussels on a rope like she’d seen on Port Willow’s beach.
‘They’re snails. Gene was disappointed they’re no’ the culinary kind.’
‘Eww, I draw the line at eating snails!’ Beatrice gulped, her eyes fixed on the shining shells. ‘Why are they all huddled together like that?’
‘They’re sleeping,’ Atholl told her. ‘It’s called a hibernaculum. When the hard frosts of winter hit, they gather for safety, make a seal around themselves and they cling together until the spring thaw comes.’
‘There must be about… fifty of them,’ she replied, her eyes fixed upon them.
