Page 18 of The Sky Beneath Us
‘I can’t let you do that.’ I placed my own hand over hers. ‘What will your life be if you give everything up for me? This ... situation ... is only for a few months. You have so many years ahead of you.’
I thought about the years to come. I’d be all right once I had Callum by my side again, but there were going to be some very hard months ahead when I – and my baby – would be shunned and berated and looked down upon.
Hetty was quiet for a few moments, thinking. ‘Callum’s parents live in Perthshire, don’t they? Do you think they might take you in?’
I gave a hollow laugh, recalling Mr Gillespie’s demeanour on my one and only visit. ‘It would probably mean his father would lose his position and their home on the estate. That is most definitely NOT an option.’
‘Could you try to stay on in Edinburgh for a few more months, whilst your condition is not obvious, I mean? Then perhaps I can ask Rufus if we can find you somewhere nearer us ...’ She tailed off, a frown creasing her forehead, and I think we were both imagining her fiancé’s reaction when she told him his new sister-in-law was to bring disgrace upon his family as well as her own.
‘Oh Het, you are such an angel. But I won’t let this affect your future security. It’s my predicament and I shall just have to find a way to manage it until Callum comes home and we can bring up our child together. I know it will be all right.’ How, though, I wondered. I’d be told to leave the gardening school and my digs as soon as my condition began to show, so finishing the course I’d dreamed of for so long wasn’t an option any more either.
Hetty wept on my shoulder then and I smoothed her hair and patted her back, my eyes dry. I looked around at my childhood bedroom, at the mirrored dressing table, and the walls papered with rosebud sprigs, and the pink candlewick counterpane softened with age. Would my own child ever know such comfort? Then I felt a surge of new determination. Hetty was right, I mustn’t allow anything to take this joy away from me. I would protect my child. I would not let society stigmatise us and take away our happiness.
We sat like that for a while, Hetty with her sorrow and I with my new sense of fierce protectiveness for my baby. Then at last I patted her back and got to my feet, saying, ‘Time for bed, Het. We’re both in need of a good night’s sleep after all the emotion of today. Things will look better in the morning. They always do.’
But I tossed and turned for hours, fretting about what I should do to make a life for my child. I must have exhausted myself withmy worrying, though, because I woke in the darkness, before the first glimmer of morning light could creep through the crack in the curtains, and my sister was shaking me.
‘I know what we can do, Vi,’ she said. Her hair had escaped from its plait, forming a wild halo around her face. Judging by the shadows under her eyes, she hadn’t slept much either. ‘I have enough money saved up. I know you’ve had to spend every penny of your allowance to be able to live in Edinburgh, but I’ve had nothing to spend mine on. I can buy you a ticket and you can go and find Callum. Tell him about your baby. He will think of a way to make it all right. You can get married in India, or Nepal, or wherever it is he is now, and then come home again. Or you could stay out there until he can come back with you. So many women are colonial wives these days. Spending time living abroad is quite respectable now. And surely there must be some decent accommodation for you to stay in whilst he’s off hunting for plants? You’ll probably be able to have help around the house, so you won’t be on your own. Then, when you come back to Scotland together, with your baby, time will have passed, and everything will be fine again.’
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, trying to absorb what she was saying. My thoughts were as jumbled as my emotions. She was offering me salvation, but the plan was a wild one, filled with risks.
‘No, Het, I can’t possibly take your money. For one thing, I doubt I’ll ever be able to pay it back – and that’s just talking about the money, never mind the rest of the debt I’d owe you ...’ Even as I said it, though, I was thinking how much better it would be for all of us if I were out of sight and out of mind. It would save face, not just for me and my unborn child, but for Hetty and our parents, and Charles and Helen too. My protestations tailed off and we sat in silence for a minute as I imagined the possibility of a life on the other side of the world, far away from the judgement and disapproval of Scottish society, closer to Callum, raising our child in aplace where the horizons stretch far wider than they do here. The surge of strength I’d felt the night before, born of protectiveness for my baby, had seeped away in the dark, sleepless hours, replaced by doubts and fears. But it returned now as the grey light of dawn suffused the room and my sister offered me a lifeline.
Hetty scanned my face, no doubt reading my thoughts. Then said, more quietly, ‘You know this is by far the best plan, Vi. Didn’t you tell me it’s possible to get an aeroplane ticket? We could get you out there within the next few weeks, before Callum’s expedition leaves for the mountains. We’ll tell everyone you couldn’t bear to be apart from him, that you wanted to be closer, and you’re determined to see what opportunities there might be to do some botanising of your own over there. You’ve always been so headstrong; people will be a bit exasperated with your flightiness, but everyone will take it at face value.’
I knew she was right. The last words she said to me, as she saw me off at the station at Achnasheen three days later, were, ‘I’m glad you have this love in your life, Vi. Remember, there is no shame in it.’ I saw the wistfulness in her eyes then and hugged her tight.
‘I wish, with all my heart, that you will know such love too,’ I whispered. She squeezed my shoulder, extracting herself from my grasp, and turned away as the conductor blew his whistle and shouted, ‘All aboard!’
I pressed my hand to the window, and she raised hers in reply as the train drew out, putting the first yards of an unimaginably long distance between us.
And now I’m back at The Laurels, and just as soon as the banks reopen after the Hogmanay holiday Hetty will transfer the funds for my ticket. I’ve already begun packing my things, preparing for the journey ahead and a new life in Asia. Kathmandu doesn’t sound like the most suitable place to have my baby, but I’ll see Callum there and we can decide where best to base ourselves. Northern Indiacould be promising as there are hill stations where the British memsahibs go to seek respite from the heat in the summer. If Callum and I can marry in Nepal, then perhaps I can establish myself in Darjeeling in the spring and the colonial wives will accept me and offer support when the baby arrives at the end of July.
Writing this in my journal is a good way of putting off the things I must do next. I’m trying to pluck up the courage to write the letter I’ll need to post to my parents and the one I’ll ask Marjorie to deliver to Miss Morison when classes resume next week. I hate deceiving people, but there’s no alternative. I’m doing it to protect everything and everyone I love. I’m doing it to make the best possible future for us all.
In my mind’s eye, I can still see the smile in Callum’s eyes that night in the bothy when I said,Sometimes you just have to throw your heart into the river of life and dive in after it.
I can picture the way his face will light up when I arrive in Kathmandu too and tell him the news of our child. And that gives me the courage to make this leap.
Daisy – March 2020
The trek from Phakding to Namche Bazaar is a challenging one. We set off early, the porters shouldering our packs and heading off first, while I settle up what I owe the teahouse owner for my food and accommodation. To my relief it’s not very much and scarcely makes a dent in my wad of rupees.
Tashi Sherpa takes the lead and Sonam follows behind me, so I feel obliged to set off at a brisk pace, trying not to hold them up. Fairly soon, though, the path starts to climb, and my legs begin to feel as heavy as lead. We must be at over two and a half thousand metres now, although we have a climb of another eight hundred to do today. I do the sums in my head ... that’s more than two and a half thousand feet. Less than a Scottish Munro, I tell myself, and I’ve climbed a few of those in my time. But the air is thinner up here and my breathing is laboured, as if I’ve already climbed a mountain before we’ve begun.
As I begin to fall behind, the Sherpas slow their steps to match mine. The gentler pace helps me breathe a little more easily. ‘Just put one foot in front of the other, again and again, slowly, slowly, along the path,’ Tashi tells me, and his words become a mantra that I repeat over and over in my head. One foot in front of the other, again and again, slowly, slowly.
We walk through pine forests where more rhododendron flowers spill down the hillsides beneath us and silver strands of lichen, like greying hair, festoon the branches of the trees along the path. Tiny blue gentians, the colour and size of forget-me-nots, cling to the dusty earth and here and there the purple pom-poms of primulas emerge from the mat of dry grass that carpets the sides of the valley.
We cross flimsy-looking bridges spanning deep ravines, festooned with prayer flags that flutter in the wind. Every now and then we have to stand aside and wait for pack animals to cross, cumbersome loads of gas canisters and sacks of rice strapped to their backs.
After four hours, we reach a rocky riverbank and I sink down thankfully to rest. It’s only eleven o’clock but the sun – whose strength has been camouflaged by the cooling wind – burns through the sleeves of my top. My shoulders feel tight against the pull of the straps of my backpack. I gulp from my water bottle and then take in my surroundings. A gusting wind tosses the branches of the scrubby trees growing beside the river. The water is an extraordinary shade of milky turquoise, carrying finely ground debris from glaciers high up in the peaks towering above us. And from the Khumbu glacier itself, I suppose, where those Sherpas lost their lives in 2014.
I’m lost in my thoughts, picturing the icefall tumbling in frozen perpetuity from the mountainside, when Sonam nudges me and points upwards, into the distance. It takes me a moment to register what he’s saying.
‘There it is. The Hillary Bridge. The highest and longest one we’ll cross.’
Despite the water I’ve just drunk, my mouth feels dry as I focus on what looks like a fragile thread, suspended in thin air several hundred feet above us. If it weren’t for the prayer flags tied alongtheir length, the wires of the bridge would hardly be visible against the dazzling blue sky beyond.
