“Right ladies,” she yelled. “Get your arses in that sea. Let’s see what you’re made of.” They all quickly took off their clothes and ran into the water shrieking and giggling and gasping at the salty stinging coldness.
By now Evie was a good swimmer and loved to dive headlong into the waves. She had finally made her peace with thesea and no longer feared its power. Being in the water made her feel renewed and energised, and she couldn’t imagine life without her regular swimming sessions, and the chance to spend time with these wonderful women.
She floated on her back, looked up at the sky and thought how lucky she was to find such peace and contentment. She realised she had to give this Amelia woman a chance to share in what she herself had found. Amelia could turn out to be a friend, or maybe even the kind of older sister she’d always wanted.
Chapter Seven
Fairfax,1978
It was really no one’s fault that poor Marge died. They didn’t notice she was losing so much blood until she went chalk white just a few minutes after James had kissed her cheek and told her she had done good and their daughter was beautiful. She’d whispered to him that she was so happy and wanted to call their daughter Amelia after her grandmother.
Then her eyes fluttered and she lost consciousness.
The doctors did everything they could, but she slipped away quietly as her newborn baby cried and cried for her mother. James was left awkwardly holding his tiny daughter who looked up at him with her face puce and crumpled in distress and her mouth wide open in a powerful unhappy yell.
He thought he had never seen anything more frightening in all his life, but at the same time he was overwhelmed by a rush of love for this tiny screaming, motherless babe. He rocked her in his arms until she grew quiet and started snuffling like a little piglet.
A nurse came over and said she would take her away to be fed. James nodded numbly and handed her over. The next few days were a blur of pain and confusion. The hospital staff looked after Amelia and the local undertakers made all the arrangements for the funeral. Thankfully, James had medical insurance to take care of the massive hospital bill.
He felt as though he was moving underwater. He wasn’t taking in anything anyone was saying to him. They sounded muffled, out of sync and so very far away. He found himself thinking a hundred times a day that he’d better ask Marge what to do and then with a sickening sense of loss, realising anew that she was gone. He’d never again look over at her sucking on the end of her pen trying to do the crossword or making him his nightly cup of tea and chocolate biscuits.
Unbeknownst to him, over in Orkney his first-born daughter, Cara, had just given birth to his granddaughter, Liv, after years of devastating miscarriages. He had become a father and a grandfather on the same day.
The hospital kept his baby daughter for a week, but she was now gaining weight and doing well, and they needed to think about her future. James was taken to a side room to meet Beryl, a middle-aged, kindly social worker who asked if he had any friends or family who would be able to help him. He shook his head.
Marge’s mother had gone to her grave five years ago, miserable to the last and had left all her money to the startled young carer who had wiped her bum for the last year of her life. Not because she particularly cared for the overworked young woman, but because she knew it would wound her daughter deeply and annoy James intensely.
He sighed wearily, “I don’t have any family over here and the two of us pretty much kept ourselves to ourselves. Marge has some cousins in Minnesota, and she mentioned relatives in England. They used to send Christmas cards but that’s about it.”
Beryl gently asked if James had considered having the baby fostered or even adopted. He got to his feet and yelled, all the grief and rage exploding out of him: “She’s my child and I will never, ever give her up. I’ve done that to one daughteralready.” His voice broke and he slumped back down in the chair sobbing as though his heart would break.
Beryl patted his arm and waited until he was able to speak.
“I made a solemn promise to Marge I would look after our little girl,” he said firmly. “I have the house and some money put by, and I have my pension. I can afford to get a full-time nanny to help.”
Beryl looked at him with compassion. “Of course you can. I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, James. I just wanted to let you know of all the options available. But you are right. It’s 1978 and there’s no reason why a man shouldn’t bring up a child on his own these days.”
James wiped his eyes and blew his nose on the sparkling white starched handkerchief, washed and ironed by his Marge, who always insisted he kept it in his pocket.
“I’d like to take my daughter home now.”
“Of course. And we can help you with some of the basics you’ll need right away and give you a list of all the things you should buy as soon as you can. The health visitor will go with you now and come round first thing tomorrow, but I think you should get full-time help as soon as possible.”
Beryl stood up to shake his hand. “I’m always here,” she said kindly. “Don’t hesitate to call me. All we want is what’s best for the baby and for you.”
James nodded. “Thank you. It’s all been such a shock. A week ago, my wife was still alive and we had no idea she was even pregnant. Now the whole world has turned upside down.”
The health visitor brought the baby into the room in a Moses basket. She was a tiny little thing with the most enormous blue eyes and a rosebud for a mouth.
James gazed at her, and his eyes filled with tears. “Hello, my little one. I’m your daddy and I will love and protect you until the day I die.”
Which he suddenly realised with a rush of fear would be far too soon. He would be well over seventy by the time his daughter was ready to go to high school. He had to make plans to ensure she would be safe in the future.
Chapter Eight
Maureen’s House
Andrzej clucked over his adored wife as he helped her out of the car and into their comfortable, messy home. On the drive back from the beach after her swim with the rest of the Selkies, he had regaled Maureen with stories of his morning. He’d been taking a look at the Old Manse in Birsay to give the new owners some help and advice. They had come up from the south, with all sorts of plans to turn it into a family home but the whole place was tumbling around their ears.
