A Summer at Sea

by Katie Fforde

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered and almost fell into the bunk.

  At some time over the next couple of hours she staggered to the bathroom and was sick. Afterwards she felt a great deal better and when she was back in her bunk she slept.

  She was awoken by Alasdair. He had a mug in his hands. ‘If you’re up to it, you might like this.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Marmite in hot water. Love it or hate it!’

  ‘I’ll give it a go.’

  ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

  After the hot drink, Emily did feel much better and decided to get up. Apart from anything else, she wanted to see where they were. How much of life had passed her by while she’d been asleep?

  The ship’s clock told her it was mid-afternoon. The day still had plenty left in it. It would have been good if they’d been nearer their destination because Emily still felt a bit wobbly but as she had wanted to feel conscious for this trip she was glad. She put on all the available coats and scarves, some of which she owned, then she went up to the bow to watch the waves.

  She felt a tap on her shoulder. It was James. ‘Why don’t you keep Alasdair company? He’s in charge up there while I get some rest. Not sure how long it’s going to take us to get back. We’re not making a huge amount of headway against this weather.’

  ‘Oh, OK.’

  If James had told her to go and do this it was like an order. She had to. She didn’t need to feel as if she was inflicting her company on a reluctant Alasdair.

  ‘Hey! Company,’ said Alasdair as she opened the door to the wheelhouse and went in. ‘That’s nice.’

  ‘James sent me. I’m here officially. Presumably so I can get you tea or coffee or whatever you may want.’

  ‘Or you could just chat. Perch yourself on that stool.’ He glanced at her. ‘Are you better?’

  ‘Lots better, but actually, it’s nice being up here. Maybe it’s like driving. You know how you don’t feel carsick if you drive when you can be about to die of it when you’re the passenger?’

  ‘I don’t get carsick but I can see it would work.’

  They watched the horizon in silence for a while, neither of them feeling the need to say anything. Emily’s thoughts were all about the moment of parting. She knew she’d be desperately sad to leave this beautiful area she had fallen so deeply in love with. Then she wondered if she’d fallen in love with a man or a landscape and were either loves lasting? Did she just have a bit of a crush on Argyllshire?

  The waves crashed over the bow and every now and then a particularly large one hit the wheelhouse windows, blinding them. Emily glanced at Alasdair. He seemed perfectly calm, not worried by the waves that seemed to get bigger and bigger, tossing the valiant little vessel around as if it were a toy.

  ‘The weather is quite bad,’ she said, trying to quell her fears with understatement. ‘Do you think we should get James?’

  ‘Not at all,’ he said, sounding very Scottish. ‘It may feel as if we’re a cork in a car wash but we’re safe as houses, just not making any progress. Or very little.’

  She decided to believe him. ‘Oh, OK.’

  Emily forced herself to think about something other than the waves that swelled and broke, sometimes tilting them one way and sometimes the other.

  ‘I wonder how Becca is,’ she said aloud, replacing one anxiety with another. ‘Those twinges could mean nothing, or they could be the real thing.’

  ‘James is quite concerned, I think. He wants to be there.’

  ‘He doesn’t seem twitchy or anything,’ said Emily, surprised but quite pleased to learn he was so keen to support his wife. She never quite got the argument that there was no point in men watching their wives suffer. So many of the mothers she took care of wanted their closest ally with them at such a difficult time.

  She wondered if Alasdair had been there when Kate had been born but decided not to ask. It wasn’t her business.

  ‘He doesn’t show his feelings much, but as his brother, I can tell. If he hadn’t really wanted to be there for Becca he’d have left the puffer for another day. He wouldn’t normally have set out with that forecast.’

  ‘It would have been easier for him just to go back by car, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. But he wouldn’t want to abandon the puffer if he didn’t have to. And it might be here for weeks. He’s going to have his hands full once the baby is born.’

  ‘Tricky decision.’

  ‘The trouble is, the weather is coming up faster than forecast. Of course it’s only a guide, but we should have been further along before it got rough. We’re making slow progress.’

  ‘He’s lucky he’s got you to take the wheel for a bit.’

  ‘Oh, Drew could have done that, but with me here as well, it means he can get his head down for a good couple of hours without worrying.’

  Emily laughed softly. ‘If the baby really is on the way, he’ll need to be fit and well to support Becca through it all. And afterwards.’

  ‘He’s a very hands-on dad.’

  Emily looked at him. Alasdair was holding the ship’s wheel with both hands, looking ahead, but something about the way he said this made her wonder.

  ‘No one’s a more hands-on dad than you are,’ she said.

  ‘Not now, no, but when Kate was tiny her mother wanted to do it all.’

  ‘Oh. Did you feel a bit pushed out?’

  ‘Mm. I was all for changing nappies and giving bottles – Catriona wasn’t up for breastfeeding in case it spoilt her figure – but Kate was her little doll to play with. She wasn’t much of a one for sharing.’ Then he laughed ruefully. ‘Except herself – she did share that.’

  ‘You seem to have recovered OK.’

  He smiled. ‘I think I have. And Kate’s a great girl, so that’s all right.’

  Emily decided not to say anything, but she’d seen other women who wanted to be the expert and only let their partners lay hands on the baby when they were exhausted and crying and so was the baby. Not a good introduction to fatherhood.

  ‘So, tell me about your band? Do you get together often?’

  ‘Not often enough. Time, you know, the enemy of creativity and fun.’

  Emily laughed. ‘I’ve heard that excuse before. In fact, I’ve made it myself. Lots of times.’ She hesitated. ‘Are there any rules about not singing when in charge of a puffer?’

  ‘By no means. Singing in the wheelhouse is positively encouraged.’

  ‘So crack on then. Give us a tune.’

  It was Alasdair’s turn to laugh now. ‘OK, what do you know?’

  ‘It’s not what I know, it’s you! You’re the designated singer.’

  ‘Oh no. I’m not doing it alone. Either you join in or we both stay silent. Listening to the wind whistling through the rigging and the waves breaking over us.’

  For a few seconds they did just that and, in Emily’s case, noticing that the wind was getting stronger and the famous ‘rocking-horse motion’ was getting more pronounced. She didn’t really feel sick but she realised that distraction would be a good thing.

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘That’s hoisted me with my own petard! I’m not sure I can sing.’

  ‘Everyone can sing. Just open your throat. We’ll start with something easy. “Speed, Bonny Boat”. Very appropriate.’

  Alasdair began and a beautiful baritone emerged. It was a reassuringly loud noise and Emily felt encouraged. She joined in enthusiastically. When she’d said she wasn’t sure she could sing she’d been lying. What she’d meant was, she wasn’t sure she could sing in company. But with Alasdair’s wonderful voice, confident and loud, she really enjoyed herself.

  Inevitably Alasdair’s repertoire of rousing, cheerful songs ran out and the mood became less cheerful. He began to sing something in Gaelic, which of course she couldn’t understand, but it had a beautiful melody that made her want to cry. She cleared her throat, reluctant to embarrass herself in front of Alasdair yet again but she still felt tearful. She w
as very grateful when James appeared in the wheelhouse and joined in the last line with Alasdair but in English, ‘Sad am I, without thee.’

  Before she could speculate too much about why Alasdair should have chosen the song, James said, ‘Goodness me, you’re getting gloomy up here! It’ll be “Never weather-beaten sail”, next and we’ll all cut our throats.’

  ‘Well, think of something better then,’ said Alasdair, laughing, apparently not affected by the words as Emily had been.

  ‘I can do better than that. I’ve brought the book of words.’ He handed Emily a copy of The Scottish Students’ Song-Book. ‘Find us something nice – “Hearts of Oak”, maybe. But stay away from “Wrap me up in my tarpaulin jacket”. That always has me in floods.’

  ‘Let’s have a look at the book,’ said Emily. ‘What about “Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled”? That sounds good and rousing.’

  ‘Ah,’ said James. ‘That’s your Tam o’ Shanter mate, Burns. But we know this. Join in when you can, Emily.’

  James had a good voice too, and Emily became more and more confident, knowing her light soprano would be drowned by the big male voices, even when they threw her by going into harmony.

  By the time she needed to go down and make tea for the brothers, she had completely forgotten about feeling sick.

  When she emerged from the saloon, holding a plastic box containing three mugs of tea and a few bits of cake, she realised it was all a lot rougher than she’d realised – a lot rougher than it had been. She lurched against bits of puffer as she negotiated her way aft towards the wheelhouse. She was glad she’d put the cake in a plastic bag or it would have been very soggy by the time it got up the ladder to the point of command.

  ‘Would you two rather be alone?’ she said when she’d handed out the mugs, wondering if she should have left her own mug down below.

  ‘Not at all!’ said James. ‘We need in-vessel entertainment and you’re it. There’s just about room for three. I’ll steer now. Alasdair, shove over and let Emily have the stool.’

  ‘The weather’s got worse,’ said Emily when everyone had shuffled around a bit.

  ‘A bit,’ James agreed. ‘We’re still making very little headway, but we can’t go any faster. I’ve spoken to Bob who’s doing his best but we’re a little ship with a big job to do. It’s not going to be quick, getting back.’

  ‘Have you heard from Becca?’

  ‘She’s fine. Twinges all gone. She’s snuggled up in front of the wood-burner, watching a DVD and eating chocolate, she said.’

  ‘That sounds fine.’ But it occurred to Emily that she might say something like that herself if her husband was out at sea and couldn’t get to her any faster. Why let him worry if the pains had actually got worse?

  By the time they were finally approaching their home port it was eight o’clock at night. All the soup and sandwiches had been eaten and more made. Emily felt she’d been crossing an angry ocean and, although no one said much, she sensed that others felt the same.

  The wind and lashing rain meant there was no one about to greet them. Then, just as Emily was wondering how on earth they would moor up without anyone there to catch a line, a man appeared. He was wearing oilskins and a sou’wester. He caught lines and helped make the puffer secure.

  When James emerged from the wheelhouse, rubbing his hair, which had been flattened by his woollen hat, the man called to him: ‘I think you’d better get along home p.d.q., James. Your missus needs you.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  BY THE TIME Emily had packed her bag – a process which took about ten seconds – and come back up on deck, James and Alasdair were waiting to help her off the puffer, which was rocking a bit.

  ‘OK, Drew? Bob? Billie? You’ll be OK here?’ said James. ‘You know what to do. Keep warm. I’ll text if you should open a bottle to wet the baby’s head. In the meantime, open other bottles.’

  Then he was striding towards the waiting Land Rover, Alasdair and Emily hurrying after him.

  Emily found herself in the front of the vehicle, holding on as she tried to buckle her seat belt while they sped off.

  ‘So, what’s the score, Angus?’ asked James, leaning over to talk to his friend.

  ‘Rebecca sent the boys across to us a while ago. She said she wanted a bit of rest,’ said Angus. ‘Then later she said she was going to phone the hospital and could I wait for you and drive you there when you arrived.’

  Emily felt a wave of anticlimax and then chided herself and decided what she was feeling was relief. She wasn’t going to deliver a baby in a storm. Mother and baby were going to be in hospital, as planned.

  ‘So, she’s on her way?’ There was no doubt about how James felt: full of relief and excitement. ‘We’ll get to the hospital in time. Babies take ages.’

  Emily didn’t speak. It wasn’t the time to say that third babies could behave quite differently from their older siblings.

  ‘Well.’ Angus’s tones were measured and reassuring. ‘There may be a little problem with getting there. There’s been trees down.’

  ‘Where?’ asked James sharply.

  ‘Not sure,’ said Angus. ‘There’s been a few. Our road was clear on the way down so we should be OK for getting back. Ambulances who have to come from the main road might have more trouble.’

  Emily heard Alasdair’s voice and turned to see him talking into his phone. ‘The ambulance might have got through to Becca,’ he said when he’d finished. ‘But they won’t have been able to get to the hospital.’ Alasdair put his hand on his brother’s arm. ‘But don’t worry, ambulance men deliver babies all the time.’

  ‘So do midwives,’ said Emily carefully. ‘And I am one.’

  ‘Yes!’ said James, sounded excited. ‘You can deliver it!’

  ‘Only if it’s an emergency,’ Emily went on. ‘I’m not licensed up here.’

  ‘If we can’t get to hospital,’ said James, ‘it’ll be a bloody emergency!’

  ‘It’ll be fine, whatever,’ said Emily, secretly amused to see James, who was always so serene under any circumstances, showing signs of agitation.

  ‘Nearly there,’ said Angus calmly. ‘You’ll all soon find out what’s going on.’

  There were a lot of branches on the road and there were still strong gusts but fortunately there were no trees to block their path and they were at the house fairly quickly.

  The front door opened as they drove up. Rebecca stood there, outlined against the light, looking, Emily thought, like the heroine of a novel, or possibly the star of an episode of Little House on the Prairie.

  ‘Hello!’ she said. ‘I’m so glad you’re here—’ Her voice turned into a groan.

  Mm, thought Emily, can’t really talk. Things may be quite far along.

  ‘I’ll be off then,’ said Angus. ‘Let us know if you need anything. We’re not far. And don’t forget the boys are dying to know if they’re getting a baby brother or a sister. They really don’t want a sister.’

  James laughed. ‘They’ve made that perfectly clear already. And thank you so much for picking us up,’ he added. ‘You’ve been a hero!’

  Angus thought this highly amusing. ‘There’ll be better heroes than me before this night is over,’ he said.

  They went into the house, through the hall and into the sitting room, which, Emily noted, was good and warm.

  ‘So?’ asked James, stiff upper lip well in place, ‘ambulance on its way?’

  ‘I called it!’ said Rebecca, sounding defensive.

  She called it eventually, thought Emily, a bit later than she should have done.

  Alasdair, who had disappeared into the kitchen, came back. ‘Well, the ambulance set off but according to them, there’s a big tree down so it’ll take them a wee while to get here. They’re working on the tree but it’ll take time to move it out of the way.’

  ‘Safer to have a home birth, then,’ said Emily, ‘or prepare for one anyway, than to risk waiting and then having it on the side of the road, in a
storm.’

  ‘That’s what I th—’ began Rebecca, her sentence stifled by another contraction.

  ‘You didn’t do this on purpose, did you, Bec?’ asked James when he judged his wife was in a condition where she could speak.

  ‘Of course not!’

  It was unlike Rebecca to snap, thought Emily, and wondered if she was in transition. If so, there wasn’t too much time to get ready.

  ‘Becca knows I’m not licensed to deliver babies up here,’ said Emily, ‘but this would be an emergency. It would be legal and – we hope – safe.’

  ‘Home births are not ideal,’ said Alasdair.

  ‘They can be ideal,’ said Emily.

  ‘What if something goes wrong?’ said Alasdair. ‘We’re miles away from help.’

  ‘Then we have to make sure nothing does go wrong.’ Emily spoke in measured, reassuring tones. This was not the time or place to have a discussion about where the best place to have a baby was.

  ‘I want Emily,’ said Rebecca. ‘I trust her. I don’t want to go in a bumpy ambulance to have my baby. Even if it can get past the fallen tree.’

  ‘Do we know when this baby is likely to be born?’ asked James, ignoring Rebecca. ‘Then we can decide what’s best.’

  Emily again suppressed her irritation with these men. They seemed to think it would be better for Rebecca to wait an unspecified time for an ambulance that may well not appear than to use the services of a qualified and experienced midwife. They’d be happier if she had a navy blue uniform and a little hat, Emily thought. Or, given recent television programmes, a nun’s habit.

  ‘If Becca and I retire to the bedroom for a few minutes, I might be able to give you a rough idea.’

  Just then, the lights went out. ‘OK,’ said Emily, ‘I might need a torch.’

  ‘I’ll get one and reset the trip switch,’ said James.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on the Aga,’ said Alasdair. ‘My phone will guide me. Where do you keep the candles, James?’

  ‘Are the lights likely to be out for long?’ asked Emily when they were alone, expecting Rebecca to say they often went off for short periods and came back on again once the trip switch was reset.