Kate smiled, “And they were both so contented to be held in your arms. You were the only one who could stop them crying and wriggling. Mind how our Claire looked like a chimp when she was born with all that hair.”
“I remember,” said Freya chuckling. “She had sideburns like Elvis and a hairy back.”
Although she didn’t know it, Freya’s words cut deep into Evie’s heart. She often realised just how much she’d missed during those years away. Seeing a look of sadness come over Evie’s face, Freya came over and placed baby Hari in her arms.
“You’re back now,” Freya whispered, squeezing Evie’s shoulder.
“Now then everybody,” Freya said loudly as she’d sat back down clinking her cake fork against her cup of tea. “How is my surprise eightieth birthday party coming along?”
“How the hell did you know about that, Freya?” asked a scandalised Kate.
“Well, I didn’t for sure, but I absolutely do now …” said Freya laughing. “Come on. There was no way you weren’t going to do something special for me, and whenever I come into a room these days, you all look panicked and start talking loudly about the weather.”
She added, “Just make sure there’s loads of food, tons of booze and lots of fine fellas to dance with me. I will need a steady supply of young men and I fully intend to wear them all out.”
“Consider it done,” said Evie. “But you have to promise to leave it all to us. No interfering and look suitably surprised in front of everyone else or they will all be mortally disappointed.”
“I promise,” said Freya. She grinned round at all her friends. “Am I really not to have any idea about what you’ve planned for my birthday?”
“No,” said Kate. “So don’t ask again.”
Freya got up again from her comfortable chair, “I think I will pour us all a dram if that’s OK with you.” They all agreed they’d have a drink apart from Delima who was breast-feeding and anyway thought whisky tasted like ashes and smoke steeped in sea water.
A couple of hours passed catching up on gossip and passing sleepy baby Hari around like a plump parcel until they all reluctantly headed home. Jack picked up his wife, daughter and baby son. Andrzej came to collect Maureen and Evie gave Kate and Patsy a lift in Florence the Beetle, her beloved bright yellow car. They all chatted happily on the way home about plans for Freya’s eightieth, but Evie had no idea just how much that birthday celebration would change all their lives.
Chapter Five
Alaska, 1965
In no time at all, and very much to his surprise, James found himself in love, spruced up, squeezed into an ill-fitting black suit and swiftly married to Marge. Every day, he marvelled at how this woman had opened up his heart in a way he hadn’t thought possible. He’d never allowed himself to have a proper relationship before. It was all one-night stands and no commitment.
He hadn’t felt he was missing out and scoffed at the men he worked with who in his opinion threw away their money on ungrateful floozies. His feelings for Marge had crept up on him so quietly he hadn’t realised it was happening, but now he knew he couldn’t live without her. There were no fireworks, but a kind of peaceful contentment that enriched his life.
Marge had surprised herself by falling hard for this solid, quiet man, too. Every single day she felt like she was discovering something new about James. His love of literature and classical music. The fact that his flat was spotless and filled with books and an eclectic record collection that included Marty Robbins, Frank Sinatra and Maria Callas. And that his most prized possession was a radiogram with a record player which he polished until it shone.
Marge was also introduced to Maggie, a timid black-and-white cat who James had found yowling outside his door whenshe was just a kitten. Maggie would have frozen to death if he hadn’t taken her in, given her some warm milk and made her a bed out of a cardboard box lined with his oldest woollen jumper. Maggie was a house cat who never went outside, despite James trying to coax her out of the front door.
The shy little animal took a liking to Marge right away, which is what finally convinced James that it might be rather pleasant to have a woman around the place. After a few months of gentle courtship, Marge moved in. It seemed silly for them both to be paying high rentals. She brought a sweet softness to his house with cushions and flowers and her own collection of Ella Fitzgerald records.
When James said they may as well make it official, Marge made all the arrangements and they had a quiet wedding in the local courthouse. Two of his workmates acted as witnesses and they had a bottle of champagne in a small overpriced Italian restaurant, which they both declared tasted nasty and smelled like Maggie’s litter tray. James was relieved it was so low-key. Neither of them liked a fuss, and Marge’s family couldn’t come all that way at short notice. It also made it less of an issue that he didn’t have anyone to invite. He hadn’t told Marge about his daughter, Cara – now that he was no longer sending money for her, it felt like that link had been completely severed.
Many of his fellow fishermen, whalers and oil workers surely had children they’d fathered and didn’t know about. James felt he had done more than most in sending money to his daughter, and there was no point upsetting things with Marge for no reason.
A few weeks after the wedding James was dragged to Minnesota to be shown off to his new mother-in-law, an overweight, sour-faced pensioner who had long expected her daughter to remain a spinster.
The old woman had it all planned out. Marge would move in and act as her companion when she was in her dotage and be at her beck and call at all times. It would have been a dull and miserable life for Marge who would have ended up as a thankless workhorse. The old harridan was not best pleased at this turn of events.
James and his formidable mother-in-law eyed each other up like prize fighters in the stuffy uncomfortable parlour where every possible space was filled with dusty bric-a-brac.
Mrs Svenson had a particular fondness for squirrel ornaments and brass horseshoes, but not enough to give them a proper clean, so they were tarnished with neglect. She narrowed her eyes and glared at James and he knew this was a battle he couldn’t win.
“This is all very sudden,” she snapped. “I wasn’t aware that Marjorie even had a boyfriend.” She laughed harshly and added, “How stupid it sounds to call you Marjorie’s boyfriend. It makes her sound like a young girl instead of an old maid.” She leaned forward to James and hissed, “You do realise she’s almost forty.”
Marge bridled, “Mother, you know full well that I’m thirty-two. You tell me often enough what a struggle it was for you to bring me into the world and that you were in labour for days, so I think you would remember the exact year I was born.”
James said mildly, “Well now, Mrs Svenson. Or would you prefer me to call you Gertrude?”
“Indeed, I would not,” said the old woman folding her arms with a glare that could strip wallpaper.
