I put our few baby purchases away in a cupboard, then working on the principle that the task would never get any easier, I decided to put away the few things I had that were mementoes of Keir. There was no question of getting rid of them, but I needed to put them somewhere where they wouldn’t ambush me. (I’d been through all this before. I knew the score about death.)
I took the Rautavaara concerto out of the CD player and put it back in its Braille-labelled case. I filed it away on my music shelf, in between Rachmaninov and Ravel, where it would languish unplayed for a very long time, perhaps for ever.
There was the postcard Keir had sent Louisa from Skye. She’d found it weeks ago when tidying her desk and asked me if I wanted it. She told me it was a view of the Cuillin and I said I’d keep it, to show people where I’d been. I knew Louisa wasn’t fooled, but she handed it over without a word.
Then there was the tape of the Northern Lights, the only recording I had of Keir’s voice since I’d thrown away one of his audio-postcards and the other had been stolen along with my handbag. I couldn’t imagine ever being able to listen to it again – it had reduced me to tears when he was alive – but it would be treasured and kept safe, if only so that his son might one day know what kind of man his father was. I put it away, together with the postcard, in the wooden box where I kept Harvey’s audio-letters.
Finally there was the scarf. Keir’s cashmere scarf that I’d stolen from Skye, then surreptitiously returned. I’d hoped he hadn’t noticed its absence but, as Louisa once remarked, that man’s eyes didn’t miss much.
* * * * *
‘Och, it’s back! Like the swallows.’
‘What’s back?’
‘My scarf. You needn’t have bothered. You’re welcome to it. You’ve probably more need of it in Edinburgh than I have here. It gets hellish cold there in the winter.’
‘You’re teasing me. I know I deserve it.’
‘Why did you take it?’
‘You know why. Or you can work it out.’
He takes the scarf down from the hook on the back of the door and holds it to his face. ‘I can’t smell anything.’
‘That’s because your sense of smell isn’t very sensitive.’
‘I’ll have you know my sense of smell is very sensitive. I’m known for it. They used to send me below on the platforms, like a canary down the mine, to smell out leaking gas.’
‘Well, maybe you can’t smell anything because you’re surrounded by it all the time.’
‘Is it a good smell?’
‘Well, I like it.’
‘So tell me, when exactly did you… indulge?’
She laughs. ‘You’re making it sound like a sex aid.’
‘You mean it wasn’t? Och, I’m disappointed! And here’s me thinking you kept it in a bedside drawer, along with a vibrator and a copy of the Kama Sutra. In Braille.’
‘I did keep it in a bedside drawer. And I used to take it out sometimes. When I missed you. I’d stroke it… Inhale it. Smells are instant and total recall. It was as if you were in the room.’
‘Did you sleep with it?’
‘Sometimes,’ she murmurs.
He folds the scarf slowly, then hands it to her. ‘Keep it.’
‘No, really, I shouldn’t have taken it, it was very silly of me – ’
‘I want you to keep it.’
‘Why?’
‘In case of emergencies.’
* * * * *
Marianne
I folded the scarf, put it in a plastic bag and placed it on a shelf in my wardrobe, at the back with some things I never wore. As I sank on to the bed, exhausted, the phone rang. I waited for Louisa to answer it, then remembered she was at the hairdresser’s. Hoping the caller would hang up before I got there, I got to my feet and slowly headed for the sitting room. I lifted the receiver.
‘Hello?’
‘Marianne?’
I slammed the phone down and stood shaking, willing my feet to move, to take me out of the room. Now I was hearing things, going mad. It was my hormones. Defective hearing. Just grief, bloody grief…
The phone rang again and I jumped. I let it ring for a long time, then picked it up but didn’t speak. The voice said, ‘Marianne? It’s me. Keir.’ I swallowed a sob and clamped my hand over my mouth to stop myself screaming. The voice continued, ‘Sorry I startled you. I gather I’ve been reported as dead. I’m not. Well, obviously … So I wanted to let you know. I thought you might have seen the story. It was big news in Scotland, I gather… Marianne, are you there?’
‘Keir?’
‘Aye.’
‘You’re alive?’
‘Aye.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Still in Kazakhstan. Flying home tomorrow. I’m waiting on a new passport.’
‘Keir, we thought you were dead!’
‘Aye, I know. So did I at times. It’s a long story.’
‘But – the explosion… How did you survive?’
‘I saw it coming. Och, not like that! I mean, I had some warning. I could smell leaking fuel. Or maybe it was petrol vapour collecting in the bottom of the boat, I don’t know, but it was seriously bad news. I tried to tell the guys we were in trouble but their English didn’t run to leaking fuel tanks and since my hands were tied, my sign language wasn’t exactly eloquent. So I hung around at the stern and threw myself overboard as they switched on the engine. I figured I’d rather drown than be blown to pieces. I kicked my way up to the surface and came up underneath an upturned dinghy – the one that had been attached to our rust-bucket.’
‘You hid under the dinghy?’
‘Aye. It was as good a place as any. There was air and I was protected from burning fuel and flying debris, so I stayed put. The only problem was keeping afloat with my hands tied. But if I stayed under the boat I could hold on to the seat. So I just drifted with the current. I reckon I must have drifted in and out of consciousness as well. But I came to every time I started drowning.’
‘Did somebody find you?’
‘Eventually. I heard a fishing boat so I ducked out from under the dinghy and started yelling. This old guy hauled me in with a boathook. I think he was poaching sturgeon – he had no lights – but I passed out before we could introduce ourselves. When I came round I was still tied up. I got the message he’d free me in exchange for my watch. So we put in at some godforsaken village and I shared a fish supper with his family. It was all very convivial considering we didn’t have a common language. But things went downhill from there.’
‘What happened?’
‘Well, I was potentially in a lot of trouble because I had no ID. The kidnappers took all that, along with our phones and our money. So I had to find the nearest policeman, throw myself on his mercy and hand over the statutory bribe.’
‘You had to bribe a policeman?’
‘Oh aye, that’s how the system works out here. Old Soviet habits die hard. Which is why I never travel without US dollars in a waterproof bag in my shoe.’
‘Did he take you to the British embassy?’
‘Did he, hell! He banged me up in a cell and that’s where I stayed until I produced the rest of my dollars. Then I was allowed a phone call. And that was when I discovered I’d been dead for three days and was risen again, like Our Lord. It took me another day – and my signet ring – to contact someone who could go through my things and get some telephone numbers for me. Anyway, I’m thoroughly alive and coming home. Kazakhstan hasn’t made a very favourable impression on me, I regret to say… Can I see you? When I get back?’
The baby fluttered and I placed my hand instinctively on the bump. ‘I’m not sure, Keir. I need time to think… I thought you were dead.’
‘Aye, I’m sorry. You should have heard the row my sister gave me. She said she thought she was going to lose the baby, she was that shocked.’
‘Is she all right now?’
‘Aye, she’s fine right enough. The baby too. Can I give you her number? That’s where
I’ll be when I get back. For a while anyway. I’ll head off to Skye when I can. I’m on indefinite leave for now.’ He paused, waiting, I suppose, for me to ask for the number. ‘I know it’s been a while but… I’d really like to see you. I’ve thought about you a lot.’ He paused again and the silence yawned between us.
‘I need some time, Keir… It’s so much to take in. I’m so relieved you’re alive, but… a lot of water has passed under the bridge since April.’
‘Aye, I know. And we said “no strings”… Och well, no pressure. Goodbye, Marianne.’
‘Keir! Don’t hang up!’
‘A guy’s waiting to use the phone.’
‘I just wanted to say… You mean a very great deal to me, I realise that now… But I think it’s probably best we don’t meet.’
‘Is there someone new in your life?’
‘No!… Well, yes. Yes, there is actually… He’s called James.’
There was a long silence, so long, I wondered if we’d been cut off. Then, sounding almost jaunty, Keir said, ‘OK. Thanks for being straight with me, I appreciate it. Take good care of yourself now. James is a lucky guy.’ And he hung up before I could say goodbye.
Chapter Twenty
Louisa
Now don’t get me wrong. I adore my sister, respect and admire her more than anyone else I know, but there are times – not many, but this was one of them – when I just want to slap her.
* * * * *
‘You said what?’
‘I said… I thought it best we didn’t meet.’
Louisa regards her sister, lying on the bed, her face pale; registers the damp contents of the waste paper bin and a screwed-up tissue on the floor where Marianne must have missed. Suppressing apoplexy, Louisa tries to sound calm. ‘But, I don’t understand. Why did you say that?’
‘Because I don’t want him to know I’m pregnant. The last time we saw each other we agreed we should both be free to pursue other relationships.’
‘And has he?’
‘I don’t know, I didn’t ask. It’s really none of my business.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Marianne – the poor man nearly died and one of the first things he does is let you know he’s alive. I think he’s made his position pretty clear!’
‘That doesn’t alter the fact that I’m pregnant – noticeably pregnant now – and that it’s his child. If I were still putting the baby up for adoption then perhaps I could have seen him. But I’m not, so it’s out of the question. The reason I didn’t tell him before was because I didn’t want him to feel he had to take responsibility – moral, emotional or financial responsibility for this child.’
‘But supposing he wanted to?’
‘He’s not going to get the opportunity,’ Marianne says firmly. ‘There’s no way I’m going to meet him in this state, like some de-flowered virgin in a Victorian melodrama. I feel ludicrous enough as it is, pregnant at an age when some women are playing with their grandchildren.’ She gropes on the bed for the box of tissues, takes one and blows her nose. ‘I cannot and will not subject myself to anyone’s pity, Lou. Nor am I prepared to exploit whatever scruples he might have about my coping on my own. You and I agreed we would manage. And we will. So can we please drop the subject?’
‘But if you’d told him –’
Marianne sits up suddenly, her fists clenched. She raises them to the level of her face and brings them thudding down onto the mattress. ‘It’s my life, my body and my baby! And he’s my bloody lover! Don’t tell me what I should have done!’ Her voice breaks and her mouth twists into a grimace of pain. ‘I know what I should have done! And I should have done it a long time ago! But it’s too late now.’
Louisa puts an arm round her and says, ‘Darling, I’m so sorry. I’m only trying to help, really I am.’
Marianne lays her head on Louisa’s shoulder. ‘I know you are. I’m sorry… There was a time – before I decided to keep the baby – when I could have told Keir. I meant to. I might have found out then how he felt about it. About being a father. About me. But I missed that opportunity. And for a perfectly good reason. He told me he was going to the other side of the world for three months. And he suggested we be free agents. I couldn’t tell him then. And I can’t tell him now.’
‘But why not?’ Louisa asks gently. ‘What’s the worst thing that can happen?’
‘The worst thing that can happen is he will realise I wanted him to be part of my future… and then walk away.’
‘He might not.’
‘Of course he would! He’s forty-two. He’s never married, never even been engaged as far as I know. He said his relationships with women are always casual and that’s the way he likes it. His job prospects are poor, he doesn’t have much money, he doesn’t even own a proper house. He’s a drifter, one of life’s bachelors. Attractive. Kind. Intelligent. And irredeemably single.’
‘But – that’s not what I see!’
‘You’ve met him twice, Lou.’
‘That’s not what I meant. The man you describe wouldn’t have taken up with a blind woman in the first place. Far too much trouble. Nobody wanting a carefree life would pursue you, Marianne! Let’s face it – you’re not for cissies. And a man as shallow as you describe wouldn’t have sent a postcard from Skye, just to let me know you were enjoying yourself. It’s very odd. It’s as if there are two Keirs – the one I’ve met and heard about, who seems – well, a total hero, and then there’s the Keir you appear to know – typical male scumbag, out for what he can get. It just doesn’t add up! Is there something you’re not telling me?’
‘Being interested in me as some sort of curiosity doesn’t mean he’d want to settle down and have a family. Don’t you see? This isn’t about Keir and me, it’s about the baby.’
Louisa is silent for a moment then, taking a deep breath, she says, ‘You could still have the baby adopted, you know.’
‘Oh, Lou, what did it cost you to suggest that?… I did think about it. For about thirty seconds. No, it’s easier to give up Keir than the baby. Can you imagine how I’d feel if I gave up my only child for adoption, then Keir buggered off after six months?’
‘So keep the baby but try to keep Keir as well! Talk to him. You can’t possibly know what he wants now. The poor man almost died. God knows, that would change your outlook on life, surely?’
‘No, Keir and death are old mates. He’s spent all his working life dodging earthquakes, explosions, terrorists. Now he’s just missed being blown up. And drowned.’
‘Oh… I see!’
‘What?’
‘I see why you won’t tell him. Why you won’t even give him a chance.’
Marianne’s brows contract with irritation. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
‘You’re afraid he’ll die. Really die. You think if you allow yourself to love him, he’ll go and die on you. Like Harvey.’
Marianne sits very still, her shoulders hunched. She bows her head and her loose hair falls forward, covering her face. ‘Die. Or leave… I can’t do it, Lou. I won’t be that needy. That vulnerable. Never again. I’ve lost so much already. I can’t cope with losing any more. And I can’t cope with any more uncertainty. I don’t know if my baby will be normal. I don’t know if he’ll survive. I don’t even know if I’ll love him! But I do know that, whatever happens, I’ve got to be strong. I’ve got to feel certain I can cope. And I’m not certain of Keir. Just certain that I love him.’
‘Oh, darling – are you?’
‘Yes, I am now. When you believe someone’s dead, you can’t really kid yourself about what you felt for them. Grief makes you honest. Keir being “dead” forced me to admit what I felt. Now he’s alive again, I can’t deny that, I can’t just pretend. Not to myself anyway. Nor to you.’
‘But you’ll deceive him?’
‘Is it deceit? He didn’t me ask if I loved him, just if I wanted to meet with him again. And I didn’t. So I said no.’
‘But if you were to change your mind �
��’
‘No, there’s no going back. I told him there was someone else.’
‘Oh, Marianne – you didn’t!’
‘And I don’t have a number for him any more. His mobile was taken in Kazakhstan. I wouldn’t let him give me his sister’s number. And I still don’t know her name or address. So you see, I’ve burned all my boats.’
‘How could you lie to him? After all he’s been through!’
‘I didn’t lie.’
‘You told him you had a new man!’
‘No, I didn’t. I said there was somebody new in my life. And there is. My son. That’s changed everything.’
‘You said that to be absolutely certain of putting him off!’
‘I told you, I burned my boats. I set fire to them, then blew them out of the water.’
‘Oh, why do you have to be so bloody heroic?’
‘This is cowardice, Lou, not courage! For God’s sake, see me for what I am.’
‘I do. And so does Keir. And I think he loves you.’
‘Maybe… He’ll get over it. And I’ll get over him.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Yes, maybe. But I don’t think I’d get over him leaving. Leaving me, perhaps, but leaving his son? Well, it’s not something I’m prepared to risk. For the child’s sake. So it’s just you and me now. And the baby. Honestly, it’s better that way.’
Louisa leans forward, strokes her sister’s hair back from her face and kisses her on the cheek. ‘You must do what feels right for you, darling. All I can say is, if Keir’s so easily discouraged, he’s not the man I take him for.’
‘No, he’ll be the man I take him for.’
‘Well, we’ll see, won’t we?’
* * * * *
Louisa
I’m not one of life’s pessimists and there was much to be thankful for. Keir was alive; Marianne was healthy and so, as far as we knew, was the baby; I was soon to become an aunt; I was Hollywood’s darling (or rather my blood-sucking boys were) and I had the personal and professional support of Garth, on whose bony shoulder I could cry when things got too much for me.
Star Gazing Page 24
