Down to the Sea

by Sue Lawrence

  ‘Yeah, you’ve told me all that before.’

  ‘Bertha was a big girl so it was really nice to snuggle in beside her, she was always so warm. We only had one thin blanket between us. Sometimes when I move in bed at night, I feel she’s there. Then sometimes I think it’s Dorrie as she and I shared a bed for the first fourteen years of my life. I feel I’m sleeping with ghosts, but then I get sad and wake up. I missed Bertha, you know, when she left for Canada, but it wasn’t long before the poorhouse was shut and—’

  ‘Let’s get you home now. Seen enough?’

  ‘Please can you wheel me to the top of the road along there? So I can see the sea?’

  ‘We might as well, I’ve just seen Mrs Nosey Parker Bell from over the road come out her front door. She’ll be over here in a flash if she sees us out here.’

  Martha released the brake and shoved the wheelchair along towards Laverockbank Road. She stopped and flicked the brake on at the top of the hill. Jessie sat up and shook her head. ‘Isn’t it beautiful, Martha? Look at the sea.’ Jessie breathed in deeply. ‘I can almost smell its salty tang.’ She pointed down to the high stone wall running along the shoreline. ‘You see that wall? It’s just like the one between our lodge house and Wardie House. It was built in the early 1900s. It runs all the way from Newhaven harbour to the Old Chain Pier, then beyond.’ Jessie gestured in the direction of Granton. ‘It meant that all the gorse bushes – whin, we used to call them – were ripped out and those tunnels blocked off.’ She turned to Martha who was yawning. ‘I’ve told you about the smugglers’ tunnels, haven’t I?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Oh, listen to the herring gulls! They were the sound I grew up to. We worked hard in those days, you know, we—’

  ‘Yeah, you’ve told me that before too. Right, let’s get you back home.’

  ‘Hello, Miss McCallister, how nice to see you out and about. Are you feeling any better?’ A middle-aged woman with a purple coat and matching hat appeared behind them.

  ‘I’m fine, just fine. How lovely to see you too.’ Jessie turned round in her chair. ‘Have you met Martha? She’s my Canadian carer, granddaughter of a good friend of mine from years ago. Martha, this is Mrs Benson. You used to be my elder, didn’t you?’

  ‘I still am, but I’ve not managed to find you in. Whenever I call at Wardie Lodge House with your communion card, no one answers the door. You opened it to me once, the first time I met you, Martha, and you said Miss McCallister wasn’t well. I know the minister’s tried to visit a couple of times too, but no answer.’

  ‘That doorbell’s not reliable, I’m real sorry about that.’

  ‘Mrs Bell opposite said she’s not seen you out in your wheelchair for weeks. We all wondered if you’d been ill, but there had been no sign of Doctor Bruce’s car outside, Mrs Bell said.’

  Martha released the brake. ‘Anyway, we must get home, she’s still not great and I don’t want her catching a chill from that cold wind.’

  Jessie stretched out her hand to shake Mrs Benson’s, but Martha strode off up the hill and Jessie’s arm was left dangling by her side.

  ‘That’s tasty soup, Martha. You really can cook, can’t you? Where did you say you learned?’

  ‘Oh, here and there, you know.’

  ‘But I thought you’d trained as an actual chef? You said that in that first letter you sent me.’

  Martha shook her head. ‘Don’t think so, Jessie – your memory must be playing up again.’ She lifted the dishes into the sink then sat down beside the wheelchair.

  ‘Mr MacIntyre’s arriving at 2 p.m., and all you have to do is sign the papers. It’s all going to be just as we discussed earlier, d’you remember?’

  ‘Well, yes, if that’s what my lawyer advises. Why could Mr McLean not come himself?’

  ‘I told you, he’s on sick leave, could be off a while. But Mr MacIntyre is his assistant and he agrees with me that this is the best way forward. He said it was no problem for him to come down here with the papers. You know it makes sense; giving me power of attorney means I can go to the bank for you and there’s far less for you to worry about.’

  ‘Yes, I do see that. And then you just need me to sign cheques and things and you can cash them for me?’

  ‘I’m hoping we can sort out something similar with the bank once this has all been set up with the lawyer, so I can sign your cheques too.’

  ‘I suppose that makes sense.’

  Jessie stared at Martha. ‘Do you mind me asking if you dye your hair, Martha? It’s so black and even though you’re only just over forty, a lot of women begin to get grey.’

  ‘I will always be black-haired. No intention of giving in to grey at any stage.’

  ‘What colour of hair did your father have? Your grandmother’s hair was a sort of fair, gingery colour.’

  Martha smirked. ‘Gingery too, but then he had to shave his head. Great big round face like a balloon and that shiny bald head.’

  Jessie frowned. ‘Why did he have to shave his hair off?’

  Martha shrugged. ‘What happens to convicts.’

  ‘So was he allowed to send you and your mother photos from prison?’

  Martha stood up and headed for the sink with the water glasses. ‘Suppose so. Yeah, that’s what I must be remembering.’

  Jessie was in the sitting room staring at the shut curtains. It was gloomy inside but she could not move the wheelchair near enough to the curtains to open them. She looked around and sighed. There seemed to be nothing of Effie’s anywhere. Where was the pretty pearl-encrusted pill box, the silver magnifying glass and the ornate picture frame which Jessie had filled with that lovely photograph of Dorrie’s grandchildren? She leant back into her chair and shut her eyes. She had felt rather confused during the lawyer’s meeting and though Martha had been sweet and charming to young Mr MacIntyre, the minute the garden gate had shut behind him, she’d shouted at Jessie. She had accused Jessie of trying to interrupt the meeting. Martha had wheeled her back into the room, pulled the curtains shut and Jessie had not seen her since. Jessie took a deep breath. Then she opened her eyes wide. That smell was unmistakable. She wrinkled her nose up and smiled, for from the kitchen came the most wonderful aroma.

  Jessie shut her eyes again and was transported back to when she was a child, coming home after an exhausting day down at the harbour mending the nets and gutting the herring. She had just unwrapped the cloths on her fingers; her hands ached and she stretched each finger out as she had seen Mrs Smart the organist do at church before she played a hymn. At the door of her cottage, Jessie could smell it, wafting over the threshold – herring, coated in oatmeal and frying in the pan. She could remember her mother’s voice as a greeting, shouting at her to wash her filthy hands and feet. She and Dorrie would then sit down on the only two chairs and take the plate of herring and potatoes on their laps and eat slowly, savouring every moment. The sweet taste of the herring and the golden crust of oatmeal …

  The door swung open and Martha strode towards the wheelchair. ‘Right, let’s get you into the kitchen. Time for tea.’

  Martha placed two herring fillets, burnished and crunchy, on the plate beside some steaming new potatoes in their jackets. She stuck her knife into the pack of butter on the table and dolloped a pat over the potatoes. Jessie watched the butter melt and drip down the side of a potato until she could wait no more. She was salivating. She picked up her fork and knife and leant over the table.

  ‘Not so fast, old lady.’ Martha swiped the plate away and placed it at the far end.

  ‘I think you’ve been lying to me, Jessie Mack. I think you know perfectly well where that diamond is. Though why in God’s name you and the crazy old bitch buried it, I have no idea. I think your memory’s not as bad as you make out. So before you get your herring, I want you to try to remember where you put it.’

  Martha bent over Jessie, who was staring at the plate of herring out of reach. She was silent for a moment then shook her head. ‘I cannot recall, Ma
rtha. I’m so sorry. I just can’t remember where we put it.’

  ‘That’s a pity,’ said Martha, lifting the plate and walking slowly to the bin in the corner. She raised the lid and held the plate over it. She looked at Jessie again, tilting her head. ‘Sure?’

  Jessie nodded and bent down her head so that Martha could not see the tears fill her eyes and stream down her cheeks.

  Chapter 49

  1982

  The door to Wardie House swung open and Craig walked in with the bags. Rona followed, Hannah in her arms. They looked over to the other side of the hall where the staff were lined up, Mrs Bell standing alongside, bent over her stick.

  ‘Welcome home, Rona,’ said Mrs Bell as the staff rushed over to have a peek at the baby.

  ‘Oh, look at her! Isn’t she a pretty little thing?’

  ‘Adorable.’

  ‘Look at her tiny little fingers.’

  ‘We’re going to get her settled in now,’ said Craig, shuffling Rona over towards the annexe door. ‘I’ll come and see you later. I’m off to get Rona’s mum from the station.’

  ‘Rona, I have a little gift for you.’ Mrs Bell handed over a little package, all wrapped up in pink paper. ‘I hope they fit. I made them really tiny.’

  ‘Thank you so much, Mrs Bell,’ Rona said. ‘They’ll be a perfect fit.’

  Craig manoeuvred them into the annexe, shut the door and grinned. ‘Now’s the time to ensure we always keep that door locked. We don’t want the residents wandering in to bother you when you’re in the middle of feeding. Is she still asleep?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll go and put her in the cot. Or maybe in her pram.’

  Rona looked around.

  ‘It’s through here, hang on.’ Craig wheeled the pram in from the bedroom. ‘I made it up with those blankets from Mothercare. Does it look okay?’

  Rona looked inside. ‘Wonderful.’ She tucked Hannah in and folded the blanket tight around her. ‘I still think it’s hilarious that Tracey lugged this all the way upstairs on Mr Burnside’s instructions. He was so insistent that he should be allowed to use his pram.’

  ‘Yes, after we’d put his pram down there in the corner of the cellar because he barged into Betty Chalmers with it.’

  ‘Poor Tracey.’

  ‘She was so apologetic when she realised she had given Mr Burnside our new pram. She’s not the brightest, I mean she even covered the old pram with the new plastic coverings.’ Craig grinned then looked at his watch. ‘I’d better get going up to Waverley. Your mum’s train is due in twenty minutes.’ Craig kissed Rona on the forehead and ran out the door.

  Rona scrumpled the wrapping paper and lifted up the dainty little bootees. They were very sweet, but she did wonder if they were just too tiny. They were more like something you would find on dolls; she’d try them on the baby later. She went to the sink to fill the kettle then heard a loud cough at the door.

  ‘Hi, hope you don’t mind me popping in? Just wanted to see the baby.’

  Rona sighed. She wasn’t ready for visitors and certainly not her. ‘Was the door open, Martha?’

  ‘Yeah, but don’t worry, I’m not staying, just wanted to see her.’ Rona reluctantly led Martha through to the bedroom where Hannah was sleeping soundly. Martha stared at the newborn then said, ‘Yeah, cute I suppose, but I think all babies look the same.’ She turned back to Rona. ‘How’re you feeling?’

  ‘Fine. Look, I’ve got lots to do, sorry.’

  ‘No worries. And thanks for having us to stay for another couple of days. Those cleaning guys said they couldn’t deep-clean the house properly without those really strong chemicals. Dangerous not just for me with my asthma but for Jessie at her age too. The smoke damage was worse than we thought at first.’

  ‘Martha, I think the sooner you get back to the lodge house the better. Sorry to sound rude.’

  ‘Oh, well, all right then. I can’t even offer to bake you a cake as a welcome home. Cook won’t allow me into the main kitchen, will she?’

  Rona shook her head.

  ‘You okay, Rona? You look a bit tearful. I’ve heard about the baby blues. Want to speak about it?’

  ‘No, I do not,’ Rona shouted. She heard a whimper from the bedroom. ‘Can you just leave? My mum’ll be here soon.’

  Martha tiptoed over to the door then pulled it shut behind her while Rona sat down on the sofa and let out a sob. The cry from the bedroom increased to a wail. Rona wiped her tears and went to pick up her baby. She was so tired, all she wanted to do was get into that comfortable warm bed. At least when her mum was here, she could sleep and sleep and sleep.

  Chapter 50

  1981

  ‘Martha,’ Jessie whispered, ‘What does the letter say?’ She swallowed. Her voice was so faint these days, her throat always tender, sometimes sore.

  ‘Nothing to bother you about,’ Martha snarled. She put the volume of the television up to high and wheeled Jessie in front of it.

  ‘But there’s nothing I want to see on television, Martha,’ she croaked. ‘Can’t I look outside? Can you at least open the curtains? Please?’

  Martha ignored Jessie, who was straining round to see her, then took up the letter again, scanning the words, before crumpling up the paper and throwing it in the bin. ‘I’ve got to get to the bank before it closes. Your bank opening hours are crazy – four o’clock closing is madness. Back home they open till six. Do we need any more than fifty pounds?’

  Martha was writing a cheque out to ‘M. Sinclair’ and had written the date. Jessie watched, helpless, as Martha wrote ‘One Hundred Pounds Only’ and signed the cheque. She saw Martha head for the door, turning to lock it carefully behind her.

  Jessie sat, her head bowed low, and wiped the tear that was trickling down her cheek. How had she come to this? A sad old woman sitting in a wheelchair, a prisoner in her own home, the house left to her by Effie in her will. She was left the lodge house and the diamond, though no one else knew about the diamond. Martha might end up getting everything else of hers, but she would never get the diamond. Of that, Jessie was sure. Effie had said it was valued in 1935 at £25,000. By now, it would be worth a great deal more. When Jessie had asked Effie on one of her lucid days why it was so valuable, Effie had said that before the world-famous Cullinan diamond was discovered in 1905, the Ramsay family gem was one of the largest to come out of South Africa. The diamond merchant near Pretoria had given it to her father as a dowry when he married the South African’s daughter. Then, when she died giving birth to Effie, her father was so distraught, he kept the diamond in trust for his favourite daughter: Isabella.

  As a child, Effie had been heartbroken that her sister was their father’s favourite. Well, Jessie had told her, she had managed to get the diamond back for herself and hide it from her sister and brother, so at least there was some sort of retribution.

  Jessie stretched her hand down the side of the wheelchair. She had tried to do this before and not succeeded, but this time she was sure she could manage. She pulled her neck back as she extended her hand round the back and tried to find the brake. She reached out as far as she could then brought up the left side of her body to help her arm stretch. And then, all of a sudden, the wheelchair overbalanced and she tipped out. Jessie fell onto the floor in a tangle of limbs. She pushed away a wheel that was on top of her leg and lay there, thinking what to do.

  Using her elbows, Jessie heaved herself across to the fire, stopping every inch to take a breath. Her legs might be useless but her arms were less weak, and she was determined to do this. She had gutted fish as a child, carried great pans of soup as a teenager and then worked with her hands when she was in service. Slowly, she crossed the floor to the place she wanted to be and then lay there, panting. Then she lifted her hand up and rustled in the bin. She pulled out the letter and spread it flat on the carpet under her. She began to read.

  Dear Miss McCallister,

  The estate of my client Mrs Bertha Smith has been completed and I write to inform you that
you are sole beneficiary. Mrs Smith left enough money to cover her funeral in December last year and a small sum which had been previously allocated to her son Peter but he was executed in 1976 at the Ottawa State Penitentiary, therefore excluded from the will entirely. I am not sure if you were aware that his crime was so heinous there was never any question he would be executed.

  Since he had neither spouse nor issue, the monies are to be sent to you. You might wish to alert your bank that a cheque will arrive from our bank, the Halifax Banking Company, payable to yourself, and that this will be in Canadian dollars. They should waive attendant charges for international monies because it is from a will, but it is best to give them advance notice. The cheque will be sent to you at this address in the coming fortnight.

  Jessie felt a tear trickle down her face as she thought of Bertha. She’d not heard from her since that time, years before, when she’d returned the bootee and inside it the diamond that had paid for Bertha’s passage to Canada. Jessie had returned it to Effie along with the little bootee, one of the pair Effie had knitted for her baby.

  Mrs Smith’s illness in the last two decades of her life meant that she was unable to travel but I want you to know that, on my last visit to her in the care home, she spoke first with great sorrow about her son and his evil crime of murder and how it was fitting that he should be punished. But then she talked about you and what a loyal and devoted friend you had been and how you risked everything for her. The cheque is for 2,000 Canadian dollars which might appear a relatively small amount, however, it was all she had and she instructed me to tell you that you were a good person and meant everything to her.

  Yours sincerely,