Page 74 of The Flowers of Bay C
‘Is it the same in the other one?’ Kat says.
I open the flask next to me and give it a sniff. ‘Phew. Hot chocolate.’
Jodie relaxes. ‘He must’ve had a moment. Like, I mean, he must’ve meant to put it in both, then got distracted or something.’
‘Yeah right,’ Kat says.
‘Why do you hate him?’ Jodie screws the lid too tightly back on her flask and slams it on the ground, turning to Kat with pleading eyes. ‘What’s he done to you?’
Kat shakes her head. ‘Let’s just have the hot chocolate.’
I pour it into six cups, just half a cup each until the flask is empty of every last drop. I hand them out and we sip at it. Amina helps Barbara, whose hands are too shaky to hold the cup. It’s lukewarm and a bit watery but it tastes like all the goodness of the world rolled up into each tiny, sweet drop.
‘Put us a nip of that there brandy in here, will you?’ Barbara says to Jodie.
Jodie looks at Kat, who shakes her head.
Barbara narrows her eyes at Kat like a schoolgirl caught in a misdemeanour. ‘Spoilsport.’
‘The tide’s creeping in,’ Violet says, shifting backwards as if the frigid water is going to crawl over her bare feet and consume her at any moment. ‘Look. It’s closer to us than it was.’
It is closer, but not that much closer. There are a good few feet between us and the lapping waves, which gurgle and drag at the surf.
‘Tell you what,’ Kat says. ‘Let’s wait till it’s nearly up at where we are, and then we’ll know it’s time to go. Okay with everyone?’
Jodie nods with enthusiasm and Amina and I say yes, good plan. Violet and Barbara both sulk, for different reasons.
We sit in silence, finishing our drinks and gazing out to the misty sea. I shiver as another cloud bank blots out the sun, smothering its paltry warmth. I keep my gloved hands round my cup, drawing out the little heat left in it. The water is increasingly choppy, the waves further out more turbulent, white froth dancing on their tips as the ocean bows and leaps to the sky.
‘My little mouse was born near the sea,’ Barbara says suddenly. I’d thought Barbara was extra lucid today, with little mention of the mouse or the rat. We should be getting back. She’s getting tired and confused.
But Kat moves closer to her. ‘Tell us.’
Barbara’s mouth is downturned in a thin, mottled-blue line. She picks at the edges of the polystyrene on her empty cup and gazes up at the darkening sky. ‘I called her my little mouse because she was so tiny. She was born too soon, you see. She looked like a baby mouse, all shrivelled and tiny with little bright eyes that went dull too quickly. She had downy dark hair all over her body.’
We sit frozen.
‘We were going to call her Margaret, you see. Maggie, she’d have been. Our little Maggie Mouse. She was only tiny, smaller than my hand. There was lots of blood. But I knew she was a she, deep in my heart.’
I can’t find any words.
‘We were on the beach when it happened. Felt the pains, like I’d never felt before, they were sharp and wrong, I just knew theywere wrong. I says to Bill, this isn’t right, this isn’t. I says, this one’s on her way, she’s coming too soon.’
Silence sags between us.
‘Never had no more after Maggie Mouse. They never came, see. And then Bill went, and I was alone.’
Kat takes her hand, and I crawl around to the other side of Barbara and wrap both of mine around her other hand. It feels like a handful of broken flower stems, encased in that crepe paper you get wrapped round delicate items from Etsy. My heart aches.
Jodie shifts until she is kneeling in front of her. ‘I’m so sorry, Barbara.’
The dog barks again, only this time it’s even further away, a ghost of a bark, a thin cry through the windswept silence.
Barbara stares out to the sea. ‘We went to the hospital, but it was too late. She’d come, see, my little Maggie Mouse, she’d not waited long enough.’
No one says anything.
‘We never even got to bury her. Wasn’t much of her, they said. But I saw enough of her. I saw her little mouth and her eyes. She was still my baby girl. I wanted a service, like, in the church and everything, but it was only a miscarriage, they said. Doctor told me I shouldn’t think of her as a baby, I should just move on. But I knew she was. I imagined her every day, how she’d grow, what she’d look like, what she’d wear, who she’d be now. My baby died and I wanted to say goodbye proper and I never did.’
