A Summer at Sea

by Katie Fforde

  Emily stepped ashore and set off, looking for a way upward. She wanted to get to the top of the hill so she could appreciate the view of the islands even more. She saw the road leading uphill and followed it swiftly, her feet light as she almost ran until at last she found a viewpoint from which she could see the world.

  Panting slightly after her climb, she took in the view again. It was a different from here. The view was clearer: calm sea; the islands, both near and far off; mist here and there like splashes of milk in water. A curlew called. It was so beautiful she almost wanted to cry.

  It had been a risk coming, she knew that. She could go back home and find her job had changed radically, that the midwife-led unit where she was based had been closed down and that all births had to take place in the general hospital, twelve miles away. It was a worry. The potential closure of the unit was something that had been hanging over their heads for a while now. GPs like Derek Gardner didn’t help, telling the world that what they did was unsafe. But she felt certain that coming here had been the right decision. A complete break, away from everything, would send her back to her beloved unit refreshed, re-energised and positive. If she had to fight to save it (again) she would do it with new vigour and determination.

  Her opposite number in the unit, Sally, had said the same when she and Emily had a farewell lunch together in their favourite pub. ‘If you can manage without the money, it’ll be brilliant for you. You work so hard and never seem to take any leave.’

  ‘And you know I’m only planning to stay for a couple of months?’

  ‘Try and stay longer and I’ll send a search party.’

  Emily smiled fondly. ‘And although it isn’t great pay, I get full board. I only need money for wool, really. Knitting is my only vice.’ She considered the truth of this. ‘And the odd glass of wine.’

  ‘Will you get some money from renting out your cottage?’ asked Sally, obviously wanting to satisfy herself that Emily would be all right.

  ‘Most of it will go on the mortgage, of course, but there is a bit of change.’

  ‘Well, we expect some wonderful sweaters and things when you get back. Something other than the scarves and blanket squares you knit when you’re working.’

  Emily laughed. ‘I promise you something you’ll love. I might be able to get some really special wool. It’ll be nice to have time to actually follow a pattern, rather than just zoning out and listen to my labouring mums.’

  ‘A cardigan would be wonderful. And I’ll pay you for the wool, of course. But only after you’ve knitted it!’ said Sally. ‘Your new job sounds really full on. There may not be time to knit!’

  ‘Well, if there is, I’ll do something for you. I owe it to you for being so nice about me jumping ship.’ She grinned. ‘Or maybe I’ll just buy you a lovely kilt, with all those flattering pleats round your hips …’

  Sally, who described herself as ‘a bit plump’, pushed her affectionately. ‘You dare!’ And then, possibly to repay Emily for the reference to her hips, she said, ‘And when you get back, we’ll sort you out with a father for your unborn child.’

  ‘Sally! I know you think only women who’ve had babies should be midwives, but I’m perfectly happy without one. And I don’t want a man, either. I relish my freedom. I wouldn’t have been able to just take off like this if I had a man or a child, would I?’

  Sally had to acknowledge this was true. ‘But you can’t leave it too much longer, you know that.’

  ‘I know! But the urge to have a baby of my own hasn’t hit me yet. I’m quite happy delivering other people’s.’

  ‘You’ll live to regret it if you don’t have a baby.’

  ‘You’re obsessed, you know that?’

  Sally had laughed. ‘Oh go and play with your puffer and come back with your head set on straight.’

  The conversation came back to her as she gazed. Sally would never think Emily’s head was on straight until she was in a committed relationship and pregnant. But Emily was happy single. And while there might come a time when she was prepared to have a baby and bring it up on her own, that time was not yet.

  Emily was just about to go back down and start on breakfast when her eye was caught by something on the hill opposite. It was the silhouette of a man and a dog walking along. A little behind, skipping for all she was worth, was a small girl. Emily smiled. How lovely, she thought, a man taking his dog out early, presumably before work, his daughter going along for quality Dad-time. Just for a second, she found herself wistful. Maybe there was a woman in a nice little house, stirring porridge, sorting washing, burning toast, waiting for her family to come home for breakfast.

  The thought reminded Emily that she was hungry, and she had porridge for at least six to make. She’d better go and do it.

  She was taken aback to find a surprising number of passengers in the saloon. It wasn’t even seven o’clock yet. A bit early! Billie was in the galley making tea and coffee.

  ‘Oh, you’re here,’ she said, stony-faced. ‘You’re on duty all the time, you know. You can’t just skip off when you want to.’

  ‘Morning! How are you? Yes, I slept fine actually, thanks for asking.’

  Not even the glimmer of a smile.

  ‘You can take tea to Maisie, in her room,’ said Billie, apparently feeling this was a just punishment. ‘Rebecca always does it. I don’t think she should. No one else gets tea in their rooms.’

  ‘I don’t mind. I’ll do it.’

  Emily knocked softly on the door of Maisie’s cabin. If Maisie was peacefully sleeping she wouldn’t wake her. She might usually be an early riser but Emily felt that if for some reason you’d had a disturbed night, and had only dropped off again at six, you really wouldn’t want to be woken at seven.

  When she received no answer, she opened the door. Emily did have some sympathy with Billie’s reluctance to deliver tea; you didn’t want to be the one to discover that someone had died in the night. But gentle snores emerged from Maisie’s sleeping form so Emily left the tea on the little shelf next to the bunk and resolved to check on her again later.

  Upstairs people were sitting round with their mugs and James was coaxing the wood-burner back into life. It wasn’t as though it was cold but having it alight gave the puffer a beating heart until eventually they got steam up and could start the engine and set off.

  ‘Morning, Emily,’ said James. ‘How was your first night aboard?’

  ‘I really couldn’t say, I was asleep for most of it.’

  He laughed. ‘Good. Bunk not too hard or anything?’

  Emily chuckled back. ‘Would you be able to do anything about it if I said yes?’

  ‘No, but it’s only polite to ask.’

  Emily smiled. ‘I don’t think you have to be polite to crew members, James.’

  ‘On the contrary, it’s essential to be polite to crew members.’

  He was laughing but Emily knew he meant it. Good manners were essential, at all times. She realised there was something a little bit old-fashioned about James and it was probably part of what made him so good at his job.

  ‘Now, you know the score for breakfast? Put everything out, including the porridge, and let people help themselves. But if anyone wants a cooked breakfast, you do it to order.’

  ‘Fine. Rebecca told me. I just hope no one asks for haggis for their “Scottish Nuance”.’

  ‘They hardly ever do. Porridge is the Scottish Nuance; in fact, people even call it that. ‘“I’ll have cream on my Nuance today.”’

  ‘Really!’ Emily was enchanted. ‘I love that!’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’d better start the bread. Unlike Rebecca I can’t do it without a recipe.’

  When Maisie hadn’t appeared by eight thirty, Emily left Billie in charge of the bacon and eggs and took her more tea. To her relief, Maisie stirred when she came in.

  ‘My dear girl! That is so kind of you. I see there’s another mug there I never knew about.’

  ‘You were fast asleep and I didn’t like
to wake you in case you’d had a bad night.’

  ‘Well, I did have a slightly bad night as it happens. But I’m fine now and I’ll be up shortly. Thank you so much for this tea. It’s really very welcome.’

  Emily hadn’t worked as a nurse for many years but something about the old lady told her all was not quite well with her. She didn’t say anything because Maisie hadn’t mentioned it but she made a mental note to check on her from time to time.

  When the clearing up was at last over (it seemed to take forever in spite of the enthusiastic and welcome help of passengers) Emily peered through the clingfilm that covered her bread dough. She was surprised and pleased to see that it had risen beautifully. After knocking it back she put it in the tins to rise again. Then she thought about lunch, slightly wishing her galley slave was there to consult. But Billie’s heart, and currently her physical presence, was with Drew so Emily was on her own.

  Rebecca had said, when in doubt, make soup, but it said quiche on the menu plan. It might be a bit early to start making pastry, but whatever she cooked she’d need onions. She plucked a couple from the string hanging up and began peeling.

  Noises from on deck alerted her that the puffer’s departure was imminent. She ran up the steps so she could watch. She would keep well out of the way but knew that soon she should be able to hold a fender, coil a rope and maybe (fingers crossed this would never happen) catch or throw a line to or from the shore. Billie was clearly very adept. She was up at the bow now, preparing to catch the line from Drew, who, having tossed it to her, stepped neatly back on board.

  Emily wondered if Billie would have preferred to be a deck hand to a galley slave, had the position been available.

  Eventually the dockside seemed to slide away from the puffer and there was a loud blowing on the steam whistle. For a moment it made Emily feel she was in a children’s television programme, with everyone laughing and waving, James visible in the wheelhouse, calling out of the window to Bob, the engineer, all in the calm and gentlemanly manner that made him so good at what he did. At last the slightly comical craft pulled away from the harbour and set off for the Islands.

  Lunch was nearly ready when Maisie appeared.

  ‘Hello,’ said Emily, wiping her hands and going out of the galley to greet her. ‘How are you feeling now? What can I get you?’ As she said this she made sure Maisie got across the floor safely and then found a cushion to go in the small of her back.

  ‘I have felt better, I will admit. But I’ll be just fine shortly. I wouldn’t like my son to be worrying about me, so please don’t say anything.’

  As her son hadn’t been surprised when his mother hadn’t appeared for breakfast Emily didn’t think he’d be worried, especially as she was going to be there for lunch.

  ‘Can I get you a cup of tea or something? Piece of toast? It’s quiche for lunch. I could give you a bit early, if you fancied it.’

  ‘A cup of tea and some toast would be just the ticket. With some of Rebecca’s home-made marmalade.’

  ‘I’ll bring it right over.’

  ‘And then I’d love a wee glass of sherry.’

  Emily laughed and went to get the tea. There couldn’t be too much wrong if Maisie was asking for sherry.

  ‘Going by what I can hear from on deck, we’ll be mooring up soon,’ she said when she came back with a mug of tea.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Maisie knowledgeably, ‘on this route the first morning is only a short hop. The coal is always delivered here. Something to do with the wharf, and where the lorry can reach.’

  ‘I’ll know where to come if I want to ask a question but don’t want to look stupid,’ said Emily.

  ‘Asking questions never makes you look stupid, my dear, but if everyone else is busy and you need to know something, I may well be able to help.’

  Soon after lunch, which was served next to a large pile of coal, the passengers divided themselves up. There were those who retired to their cabins for naps (blaming this on being unaccustomed to drinking at lunchtime) and those who donned the boiler suits provided and helped with the bunkering. Billie explained that this meant getting the coal on board and that they should make sure the portholes and windows were closed or coal dust would get over everything. As James had told her the same thing some time previously, Emily wasn’t all that grateful for this information.

  The passengers’ enthusiasm for hard physical labour, given that they were officially on holiday, was amazing, but Emily understood that a change was as good as a rest and if you spent most of your days behind a desk, or in front of daytime television, shovelling coal in the company of others could well seem a pleasant way to spend your time.

  Emily stayed in the kitchen, clearing up and making and delivering tea or cans of beer to thirsty shovellers. She also peeled potatoes ready for the evening. Billie had promised to make fish pie. Emily made a batch of scones for later, all the while keeping an eye on Maisie. The minute the scones were in the oven she came out of the galley and went to sit beside her.

  Maisie had brought her knitting bag up with her and she’d taken something out but since Emily had been watching, she hadn’t actually extracted the needles from the ball of wool.

  ‘So, do tell me, what are you knitting?’ said Emily.

  ‘Actually, nothing. To be honest, I find the arthritis in my hands makes it too difficult for me to knit any more, but I keep thinking it’ll get easier.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a shame. Have you got medication for the arthritis?’

  ‘Yes. But I still can’t manipulate the needles like I used to. I wouldn’t mind so much but I’ve promised to make this slipover – you know? A sleeveless jumper? It’s for my youngest grandson and I’ve made one for all the others. He’ll be twenty-one in September. It should be plenty of time except …’ She sighed.

  ‘Let me look?’ Emily asked and Maisie handed over the knitting.

  ‘Oh, this is beautiful!’ she exclaimed. ‘Fair Isle! I haven’t done that for ages. But I love it!’ Emily inspected the intricate pattern carefully. The background was fawn and the pattern was dark blue, a wonderfully warm red, and yellow.

  ‘I’ve done the front and, as you see, started the back, but I haven’t got very far.’

  ‘It’s gorgeous!’

  ‘My mother taught me to do it, but I could never get the hang of the pad. You know? On the hip? To support the needles?’

  ‘I’ve seen pictures,’ said Emily, still examining the knitting. ‘I knit a lot in my work – I mean my real job, not cooking here, obviously – but I have to stick to plain stuff.’

  ‘What is your work, Emily?’

  ‘Oh, I’m a midwife!’ She laughed. ‘I know you probably wouldn’t think that knitting was part of that but I do it while the mother is in labour and doesn’t need help. It keeps me occupied and seeing me do it reassures the mother. She knows if I’m doing that everything must be going well.’ She didn’t add that she’d got into trouble for doing it.

  ‘You’re a midwife? How interesting! And have you children of your own?’

  Emily laughed again. She was often asked this. ‘No. There is no truth in the rumour that you have to have had them to deliver babies.’

  ‘No, but you must be approaching your thirties now. You need to be thinking about it if you want children.’

  ‘I’m thirty-five, you flatterer, you, and I don’t want children, I don’t think. But I’d love to help you with your knitting.’

  Maisie was not as grateful as Emily felt she should be. She seemed to doubt her abilities. ‘Hmm. That’s a nice idea, but would you be able to follow the pattern?’

  ‘Well, I think I could!’ Emily tried to hide her indignation. ‘I’d practise – do a few squares – but I’m fairly confident.’ Emily wasn’t used to having her knitting skills questioned. But Maisie didn’t know her, so it was fair enough.

  ‘I tell you what,’ said Maisie, making a great compromise, ‘I’ll let you have my pattern. If you can knit a square, and get the p
attern right, you can help me with my knitting.’

  ‘I haven’t any suitable needles with me,’ Emily said, a little more humble now.

  ‘I’ll let you have mine. And here’s the pattern.’ Maisie burrowed in her knitting bag for a few seconds and then looked up. ‘You know, dear, I might have to go back to bed. I really don’t feel very well.’

  Chapter Three

  EMILY PUT A hand on Maisie’s arm. ‘Don’t move just for the moment.’ She moved a cushion. ‘Here. Put your feet up on the banquette. I’ll get Robert.’

  Emily went on deck, not quite knowing where to look for Maisie’s son. She saw James in the wheelhouse and called up. He leant out of the open window. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘Probably. I’m looking for Robert. Maisie’s not too good.’

  James frowned at this news. ‘He’s in the engine room. He’s one of our keenest stokers. Give him a shout.’

  Robert came up rubbing his hands on a rag so dirty it threatened to put on more dirt than it could take off.

  ‘It’s your mother,’ Emily said. ‘I’m a bit worried about her.’ Then she went on to explain.

  ‘We’re going to tie up very soon,’ said James, who, hanging out of the wheelhouse window, was listening to the conversation. ‘You go and see her, Robert, and then we’ll think about what we should do.’

  As Emily followed Robert along the side-deck she remembered something Rebecca had once said about James: he sometimes worried but he never panicked. It was a good characteristic for one’s boss to have.

  Maisie was determined she was not going home. ‘No, dear. If I go home, you’ll have to take me and you deserve your holiday. Besides, if I took a turn for the worse who would look after me? Who would even know? I’d have to get the neighbours to look in on me.’