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‘I don’t have anyone like that.’ Liz thought about Paul, and it was painful to do so. ‘I was with a long-term partner. But, he… he decided he didn’t want to carry on with our fertility journey,’ she added.
The doctor nodded.
‘It’s not uncommon. There can be a lot of pressure on couples to conceive. From family and friends, but people also put a lot of pressure on themselves. And, of course, there’s the social pressure to have children, especially for women. You know that we do offer counselling here? I’d be happy to book you in. I don’t know if you were ever offered it before?’
‘I was. We were. But we never did.’ Liz felt the stress of remembering assail her again. Paul had said, that day he’d left her,I constantly feel like I’ve… failed. Because I can’t give you what you want.
Perhaps if they’d gone to counselling together, Paul never would have left. But they’d thought they were strong, together. That all they needed was each other.
She knew that she’d been wrong to think that. But it was too late now.
‘Do you want to have counselling? I think it might be a good idea.’ The doctor gave her a penetrating but kind look. ‘You’ve been through a lot, Liz. Even if you don’t go ahead with any more treatments, then it would still be worth talking to someone.’
‘Yeah. Okay. I’ll think about it.’ Liz took the leaflet that the doctor held out and folded it up in her bag.
You know what, Liz, you’re not made of steel,she thought to herself.Maybe accept some help, now and again.
She found that she didn’t entirely hate the idea of talking to someone about everything that had happened on her fertility journey so far. Being a part of the crochet circle had opened Liz up to the fact that talking about your feelings and experiences could be helpful – and that she wasn’t the only person in the world that difficult things had happened to. She was a natural loner when it came to dealing with problems, but maybe that wasn’t always the best way to be.
She had believed, once, that Paul was all she needed to get through the ups and downs of IVF. Deep down, though, she’d also always believed that the only person she could rely on was herself.
But what if that wasn’t true? She had made a new life for herself by moving to Loch Cameron and taking the job at the distillery, yes. From that point of view, she’d relied on herself to make the changes that she needed.
But though the choices had been hers, the new friendships she’d made, the sense of belonging she was starting to have in the Loch Cameron community and even her renewed relationship with her body was something that she couldn’t have predicted. Liz’s life was slowly falling into a new pattern, and many of the new things she took pleasure from were her relationships with others – the crochet coven, chats with Carol on reception, Gretchen’s stories, researching the Old Maids. She had merely found these people, and they’d enriched her life so much already. Loch Cameron was forcing Liz to re-evaluate the way she thought about herself, and she found that she liked it.
THIRTY-TWO
‘Ah, Miss Parsons. Always a pleasure.’ Grenville broke into a dazzling smile as Liz walked into the whisky shop. ‘Please excuse me for a moment? I must have a quick word with this lovely young lady.’ He bowed to the customers that he had been talking to when Liz came in; she could tell they were tourists from their American accents.
‘Hi, Grenville. Business doing well?’ she said, as the shop owner enveloped her in a bear hug.
‘It certainly is, all thanks to you. These people attended the distillery tour and are very enthusiastic about taking an authentic piece ofauld Scotlandhome with them.’ Grenville winked, dropping into a broad Scottish accent mid-sentence.
‘That’s great. One hand washes the other, as they say. Wait, was that a Mafia thing?’ Liz shook her head. ‘Anyway, you know what I mean.’
‘I don’t think we’re quite the Cosa Nostra of the whisky world just yet, dear, so don’t trouble yourself.’ Grenville chuckled. ‘What can I do for you, anyway? Or is this just a social visit? In which case I’ll pop the kettle on.’
‘Hmm. Well, I’m happy to stay for a cup of tea, if you’re making one. But it’s about Evelyn’s diary.’ Liz lowered her voice. ‘I had some questions about it.’
‘Ah, I thought you would. The baby, I expect.’ Grenville raised his eyebrow. ‘Let me finish up with these customers, and then we’ll have a chinwag.’ He ushered her to the back of the shop, where there was a small kitchenette. Hastily, Grenville pushed a pile of magazines and catalogues off a threadbare dining chair and motioned for her to sit down. ‘You sit here, and I’ll be right back, okay?’ He flicked the kettle on to boil, and ambled back into the shop, where Liz heard his voice assume its theatrical boom.
A few minutes later, the shopkeeper returned.
‘Thanks for waiting. I had an inkling those Americans would be a big sale, and I wasn’t wrong. Two bottles of the vintage Loch Cameron, and a case of the ten-year-old. They can’t wait for the Old Maids to come out, too.’ He reached for a couple of chipped mugs from the shelf in the kitchenette, added in tea bags and poured in the hot water. ‘Milk?’
‘Yes please.’ Liz took the mug Grenville proffered.
‘Come and sit in the big chair.’ He led her back into the cosy shop front. ‘That one’ll do your back in. I know, I tried to do my accounts out there last week. Goodness knows why.’
Liz took the leather chair behind Grenville’s spacious desk, and Grenville pulled up a low stool.
‘Now then,’ he began. ‘I expect you want to know what happened to Evelyn’s baby.’
‘Yes. Exactly.’ Liz sipped her tea. ‘That was such a surprise. Among all her work notes – which are invaluable, by the way – there it was. This heartbreaking story. Completely out of the blue.’
‘Hmm. Indeed. My mother told me some of it when Evelyn passed away. I would have been in my twenties by then.’ Grenville sighed and picked up his mug. ‘A very sad event. I don’t know that she ever got over it. Evelyn, I mean.’
‘What did she tell you? I mean, Evelyn was buried with a gravestone that said OLD MAID. So I assumed from that that she never had children or got married.’
