I laid my hand on my bump in a gesture that had become habitual. I used to think I did it to calm the baby. Now I realised I did it to calm myself. I never felt alone now. Even when the baby wasn’t moving, it was impossible for me to forget his existence since he impaired most of my movements and had brought about such changes in my body that I could honestly say I didn’t recognise myself, didn’t recognise my new shape or weight. There was so much more of me now. I extended further and I would literally bump into myself as my hand or arm collided with the baby or my enlarged breasts. Even my feet seemed to have got bigger. But I was used now to the baby’s company, used to the idea of a watcher within. So it was relatively easy for me to distinguish that sensation from the one I was aware of now: being watched from without.
I sensed I wasn’t alone. I sensed that not only was I not alone, I was being watched. With sensory hindsight, I registered that I’d felt watched for some time but had dismissed it as Harvey’s presence in the garden. Sentimental nonsense, as he’d been suffocated, burned or blown to pieces – perhaps all three – out in the North Sea and his body never recovered. No part of Harvey was here, only his name.
I sat still, straining every sense, but heard nothing I could ascribe to a human being. But still I felt watched. I pressed my watch and it announced the time. Louisa wouldn’t be back for another half-hour but someone else would enter the garden soon. Telling myself I was being foolish and jumpy, I settled back on my bench, turned my face up to the sun and inhaled the scent of roses.
I must have been thinking about Keir. That’s why I could smell hawthorn blossom. There can’t have been any in the garden, nor outside it. Hawthorn had finished flowering weeks ago, at the end of May. Dismissing this olfactory déja vu, I tried also to dismiss thoughts of Keir. I’d come to this place to remember my dead husband, not a discarded lover. But my rebellious thoughts were not so easily marshalled. When a robin started to sing from a high branch behind me, I felt myself plunge, as if from a great height, into despair. I was overwhelmed by a sense of loss so acute, it was like a physical pain. I fought back tears and took a deep breath. Hawthorn blossom again… I stood up and snapped open my cane. I would leave the garden, which was making me morbid, ring Louisa and ask her to come and meet me outside.
As I walked away from the bench I knew with absolute certainty that the person who had been watching me was now at my back. I wheeled round and stood, sweeping the ground in front of me with my cane, straining to hear any sound. There was none. Then a voice – his voice – said, ‘Well, is it mine? Or Jimmy’s?’
‘Keir?’
‘Aye.’
I thought if I didn’t try to move, my legs would probably continue to support me. Drawing myself up to my full height, I said, with all the dignity I could muster, ‘It’s yours.’
‘You’re sure now?’
‘Perfectly. You’re the only man I’ve slept with in three years.’
‘Poor old Jim. What’s he doing wrong?’
‘Why are you here?’
‘I wanted to see you. And I knew you’d be here. Today of all days.’
‘But I made it clear I didn’t want to see you.’
‘You can’t see me.’
‘How long have you been here?’
‘Since they opened the gates.’
‘So you saw me arrive? You’ve been watching me all this time?’
‘Not watching. Waiting. I wanted to give you time. I didn’t want to intrude. You came to pay your respects to Harvey.’
‘Not just Harvey. All of them. I come every year.’
‘Aye, so do I, if I can.’
‘I go through the same rituals every year. I feel Harvey’s name and some of the others. And their ages.’
‘Aye… They were so bloody young.’
‘Did you know any of them?’
‘Aye. Some… Marianne, why didn’t you tell me about the baby?’
‘Because I was going to get rid of it. It was just… a mistake. And I was convinced I would miscarry anyway. Or the tests would show it was abnormal and I’d have to terminate the pregnancy. So I didn’t tell you.’
‘You didn’t think I had a right to know?’
‘No, I didn’t. Louisa did, but I didn’t. I came to Skye the second time intending to tell you I was pregnant and that I was going to have a termination. But then you said you were off to Kazakhstan … And we agreed there were to be no strings… So I didn’t mention it.’
‘But you didn’t terminate the pregnancy.’
‘No. As you see… Would you mind if we sat down? This is proving to be rather a trying morning for me.’
I dreaded he would touch me, guide me back to the bench with his hand, but he didn’t. I retraced my steps, found the bench with my cane and sat down at one end. Keir sat beside me, not touching, and I continued, ‘I changed my mind. I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it. I decided, if I didn’t miscarry, I would have the baby adopted.’
‘And is that what you’re going to do?’
‘No. I’m keeping it now.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you died. You died, Keir, and I thought I was damned if I was going to lose you and your baby.’
‘Is that why you didn’t want to see me? Because of the baby?’
‘Yes. And because we’d more or less agreed there was no future in our relationship. You said you didn’t do the future.’
‘I said that?’
‘Yes, you did.’
‘Shit…’
‘Oh, don’t worry about it. I knew what you meant. But it did make it very hard for me to come clean.’
‘I’m sorry, Marianne.’
‘Don’t be. Louisa and Garth have been the most wonderful support. Lou is beside herself with excitement. Far more excited than me, in fact.’
‘Aye, I can imagine.’
‘I realise, now you know about the baby, you might want access of some kind. I think it would be nice if there was some sort of father-figure in the background, so I’m sure we can come to some arrangement. But I don’t expect – or want – any financial support from you. Louisa is in a position to support us quite adequately and is deliriously happy to do so. Do you think you might want access to the child?’
After a long moment’s silence, Keir said, ‘No, I don’t want access.’
‘That’s fine. Much simpler all round.’
‘I want to marry you. I want us to be a family.’
I felt as if I’d been struck, as if all the air had been squeezed from my lungs. Gasping, I said, ‘I knew you’d do that!’
‘Do what?’
‘That’s why I didn’t tell you!’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘I knew you’d do the decent thing! Offer to marry me and give the baby a name – all that crappy romantic hero stuff!’
‘It’s not crappy, romantic hero stuff, it’s what I bloody want! Jesus, Marianne – I’m currently unemployed, my job prospects not exactly rosy and my assets are negligible. D’you think I’d saddle myself with a blind wife – and for all I know a blind baby – if I wasn’t heart and soul in love with you?’
‘What?’
‘You heard.’
The robin started to sing again, impossibly loud. I felt in my handbag for a handkerchief and, taking several deep breaths to calm myself, said, ‘The baby won’t be blind.’
‘How d’you know?’
‘Well, I don’t, not for certain. But it’s extremely unlikely. You’d have to be a carrier for LCA and that’s a one in two hundred chance. I assume there’s no incidence of blindness in your family?’
‘No. Rather the reverse.’
‘Sorry. That was rather tactless of me.’
‘Hell, I don’t think we have too many behavioural precedents here.’ I heard him get up off the bench and make some sort of movement I couldn’t place. ‘Marianne, will you please marry me?’
‘Keir, are you kneeling down?’
‘Aye.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Get up!’
‘Will you marry me, Marianne, and let me be a father to our child?’
‘Get up! Romantic gestures are wasted on me. I can’t see them.’
‘You can hear them. Marry me.’
‘No.’
‘Why the hell not?’
‘Because it would be a shotgun wedding! Because I’m blind and pregnant and you feel obligated.’
‘I do not! I came here to ask you to marry me anyway.’
‘You’re lying.’
‘I didn’t know you were pregnant. But I came to Hazlehead Park hoping you would be here. Knowing you would. I wanted to ask you – beneath the memorial that commemorates your husband’s death – if you would do me the honour of becoming my wife.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘O ye of little faith! Or in your case, none at all… Hold out your hand. Your left.’ I extended my hand and felt him slide a ring on to my third finger. ‘The stone’s an opal. It matches your eyes. Cloudy blue with fiery depths. Sparks leap from it. It’s beautiful. And it’s yours to keep, whatever. But I was hoping you’d accept it as an engagement ring.’
I examined the ring with my fingers and exclaimed, ‘It fits.’
‘Aye. Louisa measured another ring of yours and told me the size.’
‘So she told you I was pregnant!’
‘No! Christ, does pregnancy cause a rapid degeneration of brain cells? If Louisa had thought there was any chance I’d marry you, d’you think she’d have told me you were pregnant?’ I heard him get up off the ground and the bench shuddered as he sat down again. ‘Can you not see that a lot of guys would just do a runner and leave no forwarding address?’
‘Lou knows you’re not like that.’
‘Maybe she does. But she wasn’t taking any chances. She didn’t tell me.’
‘But… you’ll surely want to reconsider now. I mean, it’s one thing taking on a blind wife – ’
‘Aye, and a crabbit one.’
‘But to take on a baby as well –’
‘This isn’t just any baby. It’s mine.’
‘But where would we live? What would you do?’
‘Details! Marry me.’
‘You don’t have to marry me. You can offer support without our being legally bound to each other.’
‘Mrs Fraser, are you proposing we live in sin?’
‘Yes, I suppose I was. Why, do you have a moral objection?’
I heard him whistle between his teeth. ‘Och, I think my granny might have something to say about that. Especially if we did it on Skye. If word got round that Keir Harvey had a bidie-in, the shame of it would kill her. And that would be on my conscience.’
‘You have a granny? On Skye?’
‘Aye. She’s a sprightly ninety-four. Sharp as a tack still, but she doesn’t like company, otherwise I’d have taken you to meet her.’
‘You don’t have to tell her you’re living in sin.’
‘With a fallen woman. A fallen English woman… She’d find out. She may be housebound but her spies are everywhere. Och, there’d be hell to pay.’
‘So we have to get married to appease your ninety-four year old granny?’
‘Aye, I think it best. Otherwise I’d have been pleased to take up your very generous offer.’
There was a long silence during which I heard some people enter the garden. They spoke in hushed voices and walked along the brick path, towards the memorial. As their footsteps receded, I said to Keir, ‘I’ll marry you on one condition.’
‘Which is?’
‘That you get married in full Highland dress.’
‘But you won’t be able to see me!’
‘No, but Louisa will. And she would just adore to see you in full Highland rig. So would Granny, I imagine.’
‘So if I meet this bizarre condition, you’ll marry me?’
‘If you insist.’
‘I do. I insist on kissing you too, if you think the ghost of Harvey wouldn’t object.’
I raised my hand to his face and touched the bones I knew and loved. ‘He might. But my priorities are the living now, not the dead.’ I ran my fingertips over his temple and across his short, sleek hair. Resting my hand on the back of his neck, I pulled his face down towards mine and kissed him. He put his arms around me and I suddenly felt small again. Keir held me, crushing me against his body till I feared for the baby. At length, resting my head on his chest, feeling his breath ruffle the hair on top of my head, I said, ‘I won’t be able to do all the things that sighted mothers do. I’ll be able to do a lot – more than you’d think perhaps – but once the baby’s toddling about… Well, there will be problems.’
‘Aye, I know. That’s why I reckon it has to be a team effort.’
‘And I may yet lose it. I’m very elderly in childbearing terms. And there could be some abnormality. I’ve had lots of tests and they’ve all been negative, but there are still plenty of things they can’t actually test for.’
‘Marianne, when you walked into this garden, I could see straight away you were pregnant. I could have cut and run then. I’m here because I want to marry you, for better or worse. And because I want – I need – to be a father to that child. May I lay a hand on the baby?’
‘Of course.’
He rested his enormous hand on the bump and I felt the warmth of his skin penetrate the thin fabric of my dress. ‘Has it moved yet?’ he asked, sounding awestruck.
‘Oh, Lord, yes. I’m twenty-three weeks. It moves all the time… There! Did you feel that?’ He didn’t answer, but I heard him swallow and, as I leaned against him, felt his chest rise and fall once, in a great sigh. I laid my hand on top of his. ‘There’s one thing I do know about this baby.’
‘Something bad?’
‘No. Its gender. It’s a boy, Keir. If he makes it, you’ll have a son. I’d decided to call him… James.’
He laughed then, loud and delighted, and I felt the baby kick again. I sat up and laid my fingers on Keir’s lips. ‘Are you really in love with me? “Heart and soul”?’
‘Aye, and blood and bone. And I’ve never said that to a woman before.’
‘You called me crabbit earlier.’
‘Aye, and so you are! You could pick a fight in an empty room. You’ll make the poor wee bairn’s life a misery if I don’t look out for it.’
‘Him.’
‘Him… James is a good name. My grandfather’s name. Granny will approve.’
‘Well, that’s a load off my mind. Will she come to the wedding, do you think?’
‘Not unless we have it on her doorstep.’
‘Well, that would be quite appropriate. After all, we met on a doorstep. But even if we got married straight away, you’d still be for the high jump. She’d see I was six months gone.’
‘We’ll go and visit her seven months after the wedding and tell her you had an enormous premature baby.’
‘Don’t joke – with your genes, maybe I will.’
‘Jimmy’ll do just fine. He comes from good breeding stock – fire-proof, bomb-proof, water-proof. Indestructible, in fact… Och, here comes my future sister-in-law now. My, but she looks happy!’
‘That makes two of us.’
‘Three of us… No, make that four.’
‘Four?’
‘Wee Jimmy. D’you not think he’s pleased?’
‘Oh, yes. He’s turning cartwheels. Feel…’
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to thank the following people for their help and support in writing this book:
Tina Betts, Liz Broomfield, Dr Lyn Cresswell, Adrienne Dines, Margaret Gillard, Amy Glover, Philip Glover, Ralph Glover, Nicky Grantham, Gillian Green, Linda Henderson and Erica Munro.
is book with friends
Star Gazing Page 26
