Page 54 of On The Edge

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After Cat had dropped off a somewhat hung-over Billy down at the ferry the next morning, she went back to her cottage and took a look around the rose garden. The iron gate was the same as it had been in the photos, albeit a little worn with time. She peeked in amongst the bushes, not knowing exactly what she was looking for, but continued to cast her eye over anything that might give her more insight into the minds of the women in the picture. She heard the post-van in the distance, but let her thoughts return to Sarah. Were Marge and Sarah very close? To think that Sarah had stood in this very same spot as her granddaughter was now.

“What you looking for?” Angie’s perplexed face peered over the bushes.

“Come in,” Cat opened the gate, “it’s a long story, I’ll tell you over coffee.”

Cat opened up to Angie, telling her all the news from the previous night, not missing out a single detail. She knew the postwoman was a bit of a gossip, but right now she needed advice.

“Wow, I can’t believe it. You’re grandmother was Orcadian!” Angie gulped down her coffee and slammed it down onto the table with relish. “OK, what you need to do is go to the library in the village. They might have information on the community that used to live here around that time – a census or something!”

“Yes, that’s a great idea!” Cat clicked a pen open and noted down a list of places and people to research on a scrap of paper.

“I know the first thing to put at the top of your list.”

“What?”

Angie grinned and held out her cup. “Another cup of coffee wouldn’t go amiss!”

The library was the size of a small bedroom, even smaller than Cat’s own living room. She stood gazing in awe upon entering; she had never seen so many books crammed into every tiny available space. Books lined the windowsills; books lay in piles on the floor, up against walls and covering the tables. The librarian – a stern looking lady with thick glasses, was perched on a chair, fountain pen poised, looking very busy and important, only glancing at Cat briefly as she came in. Cat shuffled and manoeuvred around the miniature towers of chaos that filled the space ahead of her, weaving around the tiny floor to find what she was looking for. A young man with long greasy hair, reading a book with dragons on the cover, sat at a small table in the middle of the room, quietly turning each page mechanically, far away in his own magical world. Standing near him, a mother with frizzy hair and her hands full of books tried to shush her two little boys. The threats of no dinner and no more toys fell on their deaf ears as they both pinched and nudged each other mercilessly.

Cat went up to ask the librarian where she might find local news, and was silently directed to a metal cabinet in the corner, wedged between two bookshelves, piled high, of course, with books. The filing cabinet was packed with newspapers dating back to the 1850s, right through to the recent paper, which had Jess and Cat on the front cover. She glanced at articles from the 1950s, and slightly further back. Looking at the black and white images, and the major events startlingly captured: “Hitler declares war” and “Strikes from the miners”, Cat examined the papers for what seemed like hours, scrutinising every photograph and name she came across. She knew she was looking for a Sarah. But a Sarah who? Billy didn’t know her surname, and she couldn’t imagine anyone who would remember just 'a Sarah' who left the island so many years ago.

The librarian came over to Cat and handed her a mug of tea. “May I help?” The lady gave a small smile, and had evidently decided to take pity on her.

“I’m trying to find my grandmother. Her name was Sarah; she left Orkney a long time ago, although I don’t know when or why. She used to sing at local events with her friend Marge, who owned Bramble cottage.”

“I remember Marge.” The lady tapped her finger on her lip for a moment. “I’m afraid I don’t know a Sarah.” She started to rummage though the newspapers in the filing cabinet herself. “I believe I saw Marge in one of the papers once, but when was it...?” Her fingers lightly touched the tops of the newspapers, flicking them through like an old film reel. “No, nope, not that one...” Then she stopped abruptly, and pulled out a set of leaves. She squinted at the writing, then spread the pages on the small table at the end of the bookshelf. “Yes, this looks to be it. This was Marge when she was very young.” There was a small blurry black and white photo of a dark-haired girl wearing a beret and a ruffled shirt, standing next to an older man wearing a kilt suit and holding bagpipes.

“Competition winner Marge Reid is to sing at the opening of the annual gala day in St Margaret’s Hope. The event will welcome soldiers to the island, and show local support for the war effort. Sure to be the event of the year.” Cat scanned the article.

“No mention of Sarah,” she sighed, and sat down. The excitement of finding out about her grandmother had evaporated, along with the promise of new leads. She sipped at her tea, which was now cold, but the sweetness perked her up somewhat. “I’m not sure where to go from here, to be honest!” She gulped the remaining tea down realising she hadn’t actually drank anything that day.

The librarian took off her glasses and placed them on top of her pulled-back wiry grey hair. “There’s no need to give up just yet,” she smiled, and crossed her arms. The library was now empty of people, and the streetlights outside flickered on, casting an amber glow through the window onto the walls.

“It’s so strange how someone can be so close to you, but you find out later that you never really knew them.” Cat rested her head on her hand. “I mean, how could I not know anything about my own grandmother?” Her eyes cast down to the photograph of Marge looking back at her.

The librarian rested a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. “I’m sorry dear, it’s time for me to lock up.”

Cat walked back to her car along the quiet cobbled main street. The stillness of the dusk was a little unsettling; no wind, no cars, and no people, just the sound of a dog barking in the far distance. She was about to get into her car when she saw Patrick walking with a girl across the street and down a small alley. Cat could see them reach the end of the lane and turn off. Without anymore thought she quickly and quietly followed them. They appeared deep in conversation, as Cat watched them, feeling awful, but with an unavoidable need to know once and for all, whether this girl was Patrick's girl, or just a friend – maybe she was just a friend...? The pair stopped and spoke for a few moments, and then continued strolling up to Patrick’s door. The girl touched his arm as they started up the steps, then suddenly kissed him on the lips. Cat felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach. She leaned against a stone wall, hiding in the shadows, breathing deeply, and trying to stop the tears starting down her face. She turned around, and ran back to her car, speeding off into the night, with an overwhelming aching in her heart. She couldn’t get the image of the girl kissing Patrick, the same girl that answered the door to her, the same girl that giggled with him at the ceilidh, out of her head. Just a friend, Cat? You're an idiot! She thumped the steering wheel with her fists. How could she be so stupid? Never again would she let her heart open up to another person. She was clearly meant to be alone.

Cat reached her cottage and went to get her wetsuit. She tried to put on the cumbersome elastic material, but gave up in the end, and marched outside with her towel wrapped around her naked body to meet the gloomy light. She walked down to the shoreline, removed the towel and ran into the waves. The wind had picked up, and the tiny lights of the town in the distance twinkled back at her. She swam until her breath grew hard and heavy, and her fingers and toes began to lose feeling. A streak of lightning flashed, and the rain fell. She began to cry, her sobs consumed by the loud storm arising. Flashes of Patrick came into her head; his kiss, and his touch. Cat felt sure there was something special between them, a primal attraction, and an understanding that she couldn’t quite explain. But that didn't necessarily mean they were meant to be uncompromisingly together. Exhausted, she started to swim back to shore. It was then that her hands glided into a large tangle of seaweed. The seaweed grew thicker the more she swam and wrapped its slippery tentacles around her, encircling her limbs. Cat could scarcely see anything in front of her, just the blurred lights of the cottage somewhere away in front of her. In a blind panic, she gasped, and gulped salty water. Coughing and struggling for air, she was pushed underwater by a wave. The sea swelled and the rain lashed down while Cat reached desperately for the surface. In those split seconds, she thought of her mother. She felt her, at that moment, and the warmth of her love surrounded her then, amongst the dark waters, reassuring her. Cat calmed herself down in the midst of the thick strands, focusing on the memory of her gentle touch. Time seemed to pass slowly, but soon the seaweed started to drift away with the movement of the waves, allowing her legs to break free. She swam steadily to the water’s edge and dragged herself out of the waves. She collapsed outside her door, coughing up salty water and shaking uncontrollably, but alive. She gave a weak laugh, and went gingerly back inside.