had been fast approaching thirty before she and James met, by which point the hope of being a wife and mother had dimmed in much the same way as her vision had when she was six years old and had suffered a severe bout of measles, which had left her with only a vague sense of light and shade and no sense of colour. James’s appearance had brought a new kind of light into her world and it hadn’t taken them long to realise that they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. They had moved into the house opposite Victoria Park just over a year ago, by which point they were already planning a baby as well as their wedding. But then another guiding light in Maggie’s life had been snuffed out. Her mum had died.
When Maggie had lost her sight, Joan had been the one to encourage her daughter to develop her other senses to the point where she found her residual sense of vision almost distracting and often wore sunglasses to filter it out. Together they had found new and innovative ways for Maggie to absorb the beauty of the world around her. Her sense of hearing could pinpoint her position whether from the echo of her voice off a wall, the hum of traffic from the road or a tree shivering in the breeze. Her sense of touch, be it from the tips of her fingers to the tips of her toes, could build up a picture of the world within her grasp and the ground beneath her feet. Taste added texture and depth to the food she ate or the skin she kissed, but it was her sense of smell that had been one of the most exciting voyages of discovery. Joan used an array of spices, fruits and flowers to bring the colour back into Maggie’s world, dabbing natural scents onto everyday objects to give her daughter the means to visualise her unseen world. It was almost inevitable that Maggie would one day make her living from her obsession with aromas.
But it wasn’t only the practicalities of life that Joan had helped with; she had instilled a sense of worth in her daughter which gave Maggie the confidence to face any challenges life could throw at her, so much so that she and James hadn’t even discussed whether or not they should reconsider their plans to become parents after her mum had died and had let nature take its course.
It was only now, as she sensed the news of her pregnancy being picked up on the breeze and released into the world, that Maggie felt the full force of the loneliness and isolation she had been feeling. She had James, of course, and she had close friends; her closest being Jenny who was her honorary sister and a new mother herself. Only … she didn’t have the one person who would have been there, not only to tell her that she could do this but to dare anyone to suggest otherwise.
Maggie still had her dad but Stan had moved to Spain to be mollycoddled by his sister. Everyone agreed it was the best thing for him after losing his wife but his daughter would need to choose the right time to tell him the news – as tempting as it was, she didn’t want him catching the next flight home. Even his presence wouldn’t be enough to fill the gaping hole in his daughter’s life, a hole that had allowed self-doubt to creep in.
‘I imagine James will have his work cut out,’ Lorna said, seemingly determined to erode her confidence further. ‘Is he happy about it?’
Maggie was about to answer but a noise caught her attention. She was turning urgently towards the lake even before she realised it was the sound of feet sloshing about in water. ‘Is Josh all right?’ she asked but the sound of the little boy’s cry for help was answer enough and the splashing grew thunderous.
Lorna launched herself to her feet and Maggie quickly released Harvey from his leash. She could hear his claws scraping against the concrete slipway as he ran to the little boy’s aid. Josh’s wails intensified as Lorna dragged him out of the water and read him the riot act.
‘At least he’s safe,’ Maggie offered when Lorna returned with a dripping and sobbing Josh in her arms. The smell of stagnant water and bird droppings was strong enough to burn the back of her nostrils and Harvey, who had returned to Maggie’s side, summed up his own feelings with a wet sneeze.
Lorna muttered a mixture of apologies and goodbyes as she manhandled her son to his feet and proceeded to drag the snivelling child away. Once tranquillity had returned, Harvey rested his head on Maggie’s lap to resume his vigil. He licked her hand, which she had placed protectively over her stomach. No longer in a hurry to get to work, she imagined what might have happened if it had been her child and not Josh wandering into the water. What if she had been on her own and there had been no one to pull him to safety? How would she have coped? What had she been thinking getting pregnant in the first place?
‘I’m scared, Mum,’ she said as loud as she dared. ‘I’m so scared.’
The only response was the gentle lapping at the water’s edge. She found herself wondering how deep the lake was and, for a fleeting moment, she imagined plunging into a dark abyss. Her stomach lurched and her hand reached out next to her, hoping for some kind of ethereal resistance but her mum wasn’t there. There was no one left who would understand how she felt, but why should they? These feelings of insecurity were new to her, too. Had she become a victim of her own overconfidence?
It was Harvey who eventually led Maggie away from the lake but as she climbed the steep path towards the main avenue she couldn’t leave behind the growing sense of dread as easily as she could the lingering smell of Josh’s unfortunate dip in the lake. Maggie caught her breath once she reached the top of the slope where she suddenly detected the faintest scent of lilac. It was a synthetic fragrance and stopped her in her tracks. There were no sounds to suggest anyone near but Maggie felt someone watching her.
‘Hello? Is anyone there?’
The only response was the gentle waft of Harvey’s tail but their greetings went unanswered.
Elsa watched a family of ducks cutting through the glassy stillness of the lake, leaving a sleek trail of ripples to sparkle in the sunshine. Despite their gentle progress, she felt unnerved and began rubbing her forehead as she scanned the water for the more elegant outline of the swans. She was still searching when a young woman appeared like a spectre in front of her but Elsa’s attention wouldn’t be drawn from the lake and the now-empty bench.
Tucked away in the curved embrace of an embankment, the bench was surrounded by tall rhododendron bushes that looked a little careworn after winter’s worst although fresh green buds could be seen peeking through the dark evergreen foliage. In contrast, the flowerbeds had already enjoyed the first blooms of spring and countless purple and yellow crocuses sparkled invitingly.
It was only when Elsa began to make her way down the slope that she realised how exhausted she felt. She spent most days on her feet at the greengrocer’s and the hard graft was made harder still by the burden she carried. She tried not to think about the baby. It was bad enough having aching legs – she didn’t need to be reminded of her aching heart too.
Her sense of unease increased as she approached the bench. It was a different colour and she expected the dark brown paint to be wet to the touch but it was bone dry and already flaking. Elsa sat down and, closing her eyes, inhaled deeply. Her body melded into the familiar curve of the seat and her growing tension began to dissipate. She pushed out her stomach and stretched her spine.
When she opened her eyes again, Elsa felt calmer and her thoughts cleared. She lifted up her legs to check her feet. They were even more swollen than she had feared and she let them drop back down with a thud. She was only twenty-two but she felt older, her youth eroded by the harsh realities of life. Spreading her fingers she discovered yet more joints that ached – and she felt no emotional connection to the simple gold wedding ring on the third finger of her left hand. But why should she? It wasn’t hers. She had borrowed it from Mrs Jackson who had told her she would make better use of it than an old, lonely widow.
Elsa hadn’t known a soul when she had arrived in Sedgefield a month earlier but Mrs Jackson had become a good friend and confidant. It had been Elsa’s sister Celia who had convinced her that running away to Sedgefield was for the best; she could stay long enough to hide her shame before returning home to Liverpool – alone – to pick up her old life as if nothing had happened. Celia was older by four years and happy enough to be married to a boring civil servant, living in Manchester and popping out children every other year. It wasn’t the kind of future Elsa had ever imagined for herself – she had wanted to live life to the full until discovering there was a price to pay