Watch Over Me (7 page)

Throughout her marriage, Eilidh didn’t come up to Scotland for a long time and when she did, it was hurried and somehow fraught. Rhona and Simon, on their own or with Katrina and her family, come up more often. I thought it was strange because Eilidh had been so happy here, so settled, I didn’t understand why she wanted to stay away. I know now. She was simply too unhappy to come up and let everyone see her like that. Flora and Peggy would tell me once in a while about her failed IVF and her deep sadness but not the full extent of it. My heart went out to her.

But I had never seen her like this. She’s still very pretty, with that lovely, silky chestnut hair and clear blue eyes, but so worn and with that lost look in her eyes, as if she were a ghost, like me. The miscarriage was the last straw for her.

I know it sounds naïve, but I think that for a start, more than anything, Eilidh needs good meals and lots of sleep. After a few weeks of Peggy’s cooking and peaceful, silent nights with no traffic or lights from the city through the window, she’ll get stronger. She’ll put a bit of weight back on and start to smile again, that smile that used to light up a room. I know she will recover. I have faith in her.

Time for Eilidh and Jamie to meet again.

I’d been in Glen Avich for just over a month. October was nearly gone. I would have been about five months pregnant. But I tried not to think of that.

At the beginning, everything was like an echo of things from the past. Everywhere I went I was met by the ghost of the wee girl I used to be. I could see myself, my hair in braids, my grey and navy school uniform on, sitting on the swings at the play park, walking down the high street, doing homework in the back room at the shop.

I still
was
that wee girl – minus a lot of dreams, plus a lot of experience and an empty heart. Thirty-five years old, nothing to call mine, and all to play for.

Since I’d come back, I’d met countless relatives, young and old. In a village like Glen Avich, everybody is somehow related and when you walk down the street, or into the pub, they ask each other in a whisper: ‘Who’s her people?’ and they dissect your ancestry, your parents, your grandparents, and where they’re from. If any of them come from anywhere else, even a nearby village, that gets specified, as it means you are not
really
from Glen Avich, not completely, anyway. I knew that for the first few weeks, everywhere I went, my ancestry would be recited in a low voice, like a passage from the Bible or some ancient saga: ‘Eilidh, daughter of Rhona, daughter of Flora McCrimmon.’ I know this would annoy a lot of people, that they’d feel like they were living in a fish bowl. But I enjoy it, like I did back then, when I first arrived with my mum and my sister, because it makes me feel like I belong.

To see the people I used to know again had been lovely and painful, all at the same time. The painful bit was having come back with nothing and admitting that my life hadn’t amounted to much, or that’s how it felt.

Every single conversation came, sooner or later, to the dreaded question: ‘So, how many children do you have?’ Then, accompanied by the usual feeling of being stabbed in the heart, came my rehearsed answer, trying to keep my voice steady: ‘They never came.’

To which they’d say, awkwardly: ‘There’s still time,’ or,‘There’s more to life than children,’ or, ‘Your time will come.’

Next question. ‘And how is Tom doing?’

Oh dear. More embarrassment, them trying to find something supportive to say: ‘All marriages have their ups and downs,’ ‘It’ll sort itself out,’ ‘You’re still young,’ and the best one: ‘Who needs men anyway?’

And to round it all up, ‘How’s your job going?’ That was the nail in the coffin.

‘Oh. Oh well. I suppose you are back here now, that’s all that matters.’

By then, we both needed a cup of tea.

I actually felt quite sorry for them. It must have been really hard to hear of all the devastation, to see the pain etched in my face, find out the reason and still try to keep the conversation going. It wasn’t long before the whole village knew about my quest for babies, of my one and only chance to have one, how it had been lost and I had ended up in hospital with a breakdown.

Sooner or later, all the girls I used to be closest to when we were children came to the shop, some for errands, some because they genuinely wanted to see me, some for a bit of juicy gossip they could spread on. Alannah came with her boys, two tall lads of thirteen and eleven. She’d married young and stayed at home to look after the boys. Sharon and her twin sister Karen, both of them hairdressers in the small local salon, one boy each, came together and finished all each other’s sentences. Mary, a solici tor in Kinnear, mother of two girls, came on her way to work, power-dressed, hair perfectly blow-dried. She’d married the most unpopular boy in the school, Michael, known for bullying the younger ones and looking down on just about everybody. As she mentioned him, I could guess that their marriage was less than happy. Sylvia, a teacher in Glen Avich Primary, came with her wee girl Pamela, who has Down’s syndrome.

And Helena, sweet, softly spoken Helena, my childhood best friend. In school, we always sat together. She was one of the bridesmaids at my wedding. She came in a hurry to stock up for a long car journey. They were driving down to London to see her husband’s family.

‘Eilidh! It’s
so
good to see you!’ she exclaimed, a big smile on her face, her eyes sparkling.

‘Helena! You look lovely,’ I said honestly. She did look great – happy and as pretty as always, with her wavy dark-blonde hair and her dark eyes.

‘Come here.’ She gave me a big hug and I could feel by the way she held me that she was aware of all that happened, that she felt for me.

‘Is this Calum? And Euan? I can’t believe it! Last time I saw you, you were toddlers!’

‘I know. Time flies, doesn’t it? We need to run now, we’ll be away for a couple of weeks, but when we come back we’ll catch up properly. I met Margaret at the hairdresser’s – she filled me in. I’m so sorry for your loss.’

I nodded.

‘And how’s your mum and dad?’ she said quickly. ‘And Katrina?’

‘They are fine, they are all fine. And your parents, and Gail?’

‘Same here, all fine. By the way, you won’t believe who Gail’s seeing now.’

‘Who?’

‘Jamie. Jamie McAnena – remember him?’

Jamie. I remembered Jamie very well. We’d been close friends for a while, just before I left. I suppose I used to have a crush on him, when we were children. In the past few years, every time I’d come up he seemed to be away to study or otherwise engaged and we kept missing each other.

‘Yes, of course, Jamie. He’s going out with Gail? Goodness, how old is she now? In my mind, she’s still a wee girl!’

‘She’s twenty-six. Can you believe it? Anyway, how long are you staying?’

‘I’m not sure. A few weeks I suppose. Until I get back on my feet.’

‘Is there no way back for you and Tom?’ she said in a low voice.

I shook my head and looked away.

‘I’m sorry. How awful. You’ve always been strong, Eilidh, you were by far the most determined of us all – so self-sufficient and independent. You’ll get through this.’

I looked at her, surprised. Strong? Me? Self-sufficient and independent? Is that who I used to be? I can’t remember the last time I ever felt strong. Of all the memories of myself I’ve had since I’ve been back, the one of strength was the most remote.

Helena went away with the promise to drop by as soon as she was back.

The same day, on my way home after Peggy had come to relieve me, I saw him.

Jamie McAnena.

I froze. At last, I thought – and then wondered where this thought had come from, as if since I’d arrived, I’d been waiting to spot him, hoping to bump into him.

He was standing in the play park, beside a climbing frame. Sitting on top of the climbing frame was a girl of about five, wearing a pink coat and a pink scarf, her flaxen hair blowing about in the breeze. She was pretending to be riding a horse, or so it seemed, because she was sitting upright, her hands holding imaginary reins, her feet kicking the sides gently. Her cheeks were red and she was smiling. She was so pretty, so endearing, that I couldn’t help but look at her for a minute or two. Who could she be?

Then it dawned on me. One of Shona’s daughters. Shona was blonde too. She had three, as far as I could remember. I didn’t know Shona well, she is a few years older than me, but I remember their mum, Elizabeth. She was very close to my gran and always so kind to me.

Jamie spotted me. He raised a hand and waved. I waved back, wondering if he’d recognized me, if I should go and say hello.

I stood there frozen, not really knowing what to do and not knowing why I felt so awkward.

He started walking towards me, a smile on his face, so I crossed the road and walked through the wee gate into the play park.

‘Eilidh!’

‘Jamie! How are you?’ We stood in front of each other, not sure of what to do. A hug? Not the Highland way. A kiss? Not in a million years. Shake hands? Continental but acceptable. We did that, awkwardly, laughing.

‘How are you? How long have you been in Glen Avich?’

‘About three weeks now. I moved back. From England I mean.’

‘And how’s Tom?’

Oh, here we go.

‘Jamie – to save both of us time and embarrassment – Tom and I separated.’

‘I’m sorry, Eilidh. I’m so sorry to hear that. My mum told me that you were having trouble … that you couldn’t ….’ he stumbled, ‘you know …’

‘Have children. Yes.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to …’

I shook my head, ‘It’s ok. Really. I’ve had all this since I came back. Sooner or later everybody will move on, the commiseration will stop and I’ll be just Eilidh again.’

Jamie smiled.

His black hair, his blue-grey eyes, his fair skin … Apart from a copper-coloured five o’clock shadow, he looked just like the boy I used to know.

The wee blonde girl had climbed down and was now on the swings, her lovely long hair floating behind her.

‘And how’s your mum? I haven’t seen her yet, Peggy hasn’t mentioned her either.’

The smile faded from his face.

I blushed. I knew what his expression meant.

‘Oh, Jamie …’ I started.

‘She died three years ago.’

‘I’m so sorry. Oh, I’m so, so sorry.’ I felt my eyes well up. Elizabeth, gone.

A sudden memory came into my head. A vision of the past …

I was sitting at the McAnenas’ kitchen table. Jamie and I were doing our homework and Elizabeth had just made us toast and jam. She stood behind us to check our maths assignment and put her arm around my shoulders, and I, not used to a mother doing this kind of thing, had soaked up the affection like a flower soaks up water.

Elizabeth.

I blinked, once, twice, to dry up the tears.

‘All we’ve been saying since we met is “I’m sorry’‘!’ smiled Jamie. ‘There, this will cheer you up. Come and meet Maisie.’

‘Oh, sure, which one is she? She must be the third, I think the eldest is about twelve now, isn’t she?’

Jamie looked confused.

‘What? The thirdm … oh, I see what you mean! No, Maisie’s not one of Shona’s daughters. She’s mine.’

‘Oh …’ I was going to ask about Maisie’s mum but the girl had run to us and was holding Jamie’s hand. She looked at me with a smile.

‘Hello,’ she said. Now that I saw her face properly, I could see her blue-grey eyes, exactly like Jamie’s.

‘Hello, Maisie. I’m Eilidh.’ I bent down and held out my hand. ‘Nice to meet you.’

‘I was riding on Rainbow,’ she said, in her wee silvery voice.

‘You were riding on the rainbow? How lovely,’ I said.

‘Nooo silly! Not on the rainbow! On Rainbow!’

I looked at Jamie, baffled.

‘Rainbow, her imaginary pony,’ explained Jamie.

‘Oh, I see. You were riding your pony. Maybe one day we can go on a real one, you and me. I love horse riding. I used to do it all the time when I was your age.’

Maisie’s face lit up. ‘Really? We can?’

‘If your dad’s ok with it, I can take you up to the Ramsay estate.’

‘Can I, Dad? Please please PLEASE!’ She started jumping up and down.

‘Are you sure it’s not too much trouble, Eilidh?’

‘Not at all. I’m only working in the mornings right now, at Peggy’s shop. I also keep house for her, help her with the housework, the garden and all that, but I have a lot of time off. Too much, probably,’ I added, looking down. It was my way of telling him I would have loved to spend some time with that joyful, lively girl doing something we both enjoyed. I thought that maybe it would have helped me bleed a little less, breathe a little more.

‘Well, if it’s not a bother, ok.’

‘Next week? Tuesday would be great. On Monday we get the deliveries in.’

‘Perfect. You can collect her from school if you like. I’ll let Mary know. She’s Maisie’s childminder,’ he added, by way of explanation.