JAZ didn’t stop reading until her eyes blurred with the effort of deciphering the tiny faded writing. Slowly she closed the covers of the old diary and retied the frayed pink tapes. In her mind she was seeing pictures conjured up by the words she’d read. High wild hills, storm-tossed seas, and a small community struggling against a tough environment and an even tougher way of life. And overriding it all, the voice of Maggie Mouat, reaching across 130-odd years. The voice of her – what – great-great-great grandmother?
‘She wasn’t much older than you when she wrote that,’ said Gi-Gi, picking up on her thoughts. ‘Just a slip of a lass.’
‘Wow!’ said Jaz. ‘This diary is something else! I didn’t know you had this, Gi-Gi.’
‘I was waiting for the right time to show it to you,’ said her great-grandmother. ‘It’s many years since I last looked at it. She gave it to me herself, you know. When I was about your age.’
‘Awesome,’ said Jaz. ‘Did you know her well? What was she like?’
‘She was quite an old lady by then, of course,’ said Gi-Gi. ‘Or so it seemed at the time.’ She chuckled ruefully. ‘Now I come to work it out, she wouldn’t have been quite seventy.’
‘Compared to you, a mere chicken, then,’ said Jaz, grinning.
Gi-Gi shook her head in mock severity. ‘Back then, we treated our elders with great respect. Not that you would know the meaning of the word.’
‘You wouldn’t have it any other way,’ said Jaz. ‘Tell me more about her – what was she like?’
‘We used to be rather frightened of her. Grandma always dressed in black or navy. Very formal, tailored costumes. Hair severely controlled in a tight bun – though it was curly, like yours. She’d been a headmistress for years. She was quite formidable.’
‘She sounds it!’ Jaz found it hard to relate this description to the Maggie Mouat of the diary.
‘Then later on, when she moved closer to be near my mother, we saw more of her.’ Her great-grandmother thought a moment. ‘If you caught her in the right mood, she would tell us the most wicked stories of her childhood in Shetland.’
‘Like what?’
‘It’s hard to bring them to mind now,’ said Gi-Gi. ‘It was a long time ago.’ She sighed and closed her eyes.
Jaz waited, knowing from experience that if she kept quiet, a cog might suddenly engage in her great-grandmother’s memory. In the quiet warmth of the small room, she listened to the clock ticking.
Minutes later, the old lady spoke again. ‘Quite appalling tricks she used to get up to. One I do remember was something she did whenever the Minister came to visit.’ She hesitated.
‘Go on!’ Jaz urged.
‘Most indelicate,’ said Gi-Gi. ‘In those days, the sanitation was incredibly primitive. They had some sort of barrel at the door of the croft where they emptied the chamber pots – or whatever they used then.’
‘That’s gross!’
‘Apparently the contents were eventually used on the crops. But Grandma used to give the barrel a good stir just before the Minister was expected. She said the resulting stink was atrocious. Full of ammonia presumably. Eye-watering. The poor man had to cover his face with his handkerchief.’
‘I can’t believe you’re telling me this,’ said Jaz, choked with laughter. ‘Did she get away with it?’
‘Very unlikely,’ said Gi-Gi. ‘Her father would know what she’d done. I imagine she got a good beating – she never said. What she did say was that it was worth it. The Minister’s visits were cut blessedly short.’
‘Way to go, Grandma!’ Jaz could believe this was the Maggie of the diary.
‘Such stories certainly gave us a different impression of her,’ said Gi-Gi. She closed her eyes again.
Jaz watched her for a moment, guiltily aware she’d stayed too long. When the old lady didn’t stir, she got quietly to her feet and returned the diary to the desk drawer. As she tiptoed towards the door, Gi-Gi said dreamily, ‘Tell that father of yours he has my sympathy. A hard thing it is indeed, for a man to lose his job.’
* * *
Jaz’s own initial indignant sympathy soon gave way to frustration. All week Dad dragged himself around the house, not even venturing outside as far as she could tell. Every day when she came home from school, he’d be slumped in the living room, staring vacantly into space. Some days he was still in his dressing gown. She felt like shaking him. On Friday, when the rest-home phoned to say that Gi-Gi wasn’t well enough for her usual visit, the sight of Dad’s unshaven chin and whisky-reddened eyes became too much. Jaz bailed her mother up in the kitchen.
‘Why isn’t Dad doing something?’ she asked. ‘What’s he waiting for? A miracle?’
‘Of course not,’ said Robyn. ‘Give him some credit, Jaz.’ Busy cleaning out the pot cupboards, she was surrounded by tottering piles of old saucepans and preserving jars that Jaz had never seen before. Her hair was wrapped in a scarf and her face was smeared with dirt where she’d wiped a sweaty hand. Yesterday it’d been the linen cupboard – all the sheets and towels were now neatly folded and stacked in colour-coordinated rows.
Jaz watched her work for a moment. Apparently Mum didn’t see the need to say anything more. She tried again. ‘Shouldn’t he be out there door-knocking or something?’
Robyn sighed. She sat back on her heels and looked at Jaz. ‘He will, but he needs space right now. You can’t expect him to carry on as though nothing’s happened – losing your job is tough, specially for a man.’
‘Gi-Gi said something like that,’ Jaz commented. This was more like it. Mum was talking to her at last.
But Robyn looked sharply at her. ‘You told her about Dad? You told Gi-Gi?’
‘Yeah, of course.’ Jaz became defensive. ‘Why? Wasn’t I meant to?’
‘Oh, I don’t suppose it matters,’ said Robyn wearily. ‘It’s not as though she sees anyone.’
‘What do you mean?’ Jaz couldn’t believe she’d heard right. ‘You’re not going to tell people? Why?’ An earlier fear returned. ‘Dad hasn’t done anything wrong, has he?’
‘Of course not!’ It was Robyn’s turn to be defensive. ‘It’s just … we’re not telling anyone at this stage. If Dad picks up something quickly, there’s really no need for people to know he didn’t just decide to change jobs.’
Jaz stared at her. ‘Oh, I get it. You’re ashamed of him losing his job, aren’t you?’
Robyn’s mouth opened and shut abruptly. Her face reddened alarmingly. Jaz thought her mother was going to hit her. She stepped back hastily. Her foot caught one of the piles of pots and sent them toppling.
‘Bloody hell, Jaz!’ Robyn yelled over the clang of lids skittering across the floor. ‘Just go away. I don’t have to justify anything to you. Go away!’
‘Keep your hair on! Don’t worry – I’m going.’ Jaz fled.
She bolted for her room. Clutching her old teddy bear to her chest, she sat cross-legged on her bed and dripped tears into his already matted fur. How could her parents change so rapidly? Seeing Mum and Dad behave like this was freaking her out. The sight of Barbara Kendall’s sunny smile became too much. She hurled the teddy bear at the poster. ‘It’s all very well for you! Your life hasn’t turned to custard.’
Headphones on and Ripped singing sad songs in her ears, Jaz burrowed under her duvet and curled into a ball. Later when Mum called her for dinner, she didn’t move. Then she heard Matt on the stairs and sat up hastily, wiping her tear-smeared face with the rumpled sheet.
‘Dinner!’ he said, poking his head around the door.
‘Not hungry,’ said Jaz, hugging her knees to her chin.
‘What’s up?’ He came and sat down beside her.
At least Matt hadn’t changed. He was still the same big brother who teased her but was always there for her. ‘Nothing,’ she said forlornly. ‘Had a row with Mum, that’s all. I didn’t mean to upset her, but she just blew.’
‘You need to cut her some slack – it’s not surprising she’s a bit edgy,’ he said. ‘Hardly worth missing food over. She’ll have calmed down. Sure you won’t risk it?’
When she shook her head, he gave her a sympathetic grin and left her to it.
Jaz wished she could take what had happened in her stride like Matt seemed to, but it was too hard. In the world outside, the sun shone and people went about their lives as though nothing had changed, yet at home everything had shifted out of balance.
* * *
‘You coming?’ Matt’s knock on her door roused her early next morning. Jaz peered blearily at him. He was wearing his Surf ’n’ Soul T-shirt and ragged board shorts.
‘Oh, right – it’s Saturday. I didn’t think we’d be going.’
‘Why not? No point hanging around here – it’s like a morgue.’ Matt leaned against the door frame, stretching his shoulder muscles.
‘That, or a madhouse,’ said Jaz, thinking of her mother’s sudden preoccupation with housework.
Matt was stretching his hamstrings now. ‘Anyway, Mum said something about carrying on as normal. Putting a good face on it.’
Jaz grimaced. ‘That’s what we had the row about. You’ve only got to look at them to know something’s wrong, yet she thinks it’s okay to pretend.’
‘They’ll get there in their own good time,’ said Matt. ‘Not our problem anyway. The best thing we can do is get out of their hair. The forecast’s good, and the tide.’ He’d finished his stretches and was starting to look impatient.
Another Saturday at home had no attraction. ‘You’ve convinced me,’ she said, flinging the duvet back and swinging her legs out of bed.
Downstairs, Mum was already sitting over coffee, a sweatshirt thrown over her nightie. As soon as Jaz walked into the kitchen, Robyn spoke briskly, her words confirming Matt’s instinct. ‘I assume you two are off to the Estuary.’
She said nothing about the night before. It was as though it’d never happened. Anyone would think it was normal, her mother yelling at her like that. Jaz sighed.
‘I’ve cut some lunch for you,’ said Robyn, taking a sip of her coffee.
Jaz looked at the packages of sandwiches waiting on the bench with a filled Thermos. That wasn’t normal either. They were expected to get their own lunches. ‘Honestly, Mum! You didn’t have to do that.’
‘Thinking of myself, not you two,’ said Robyn. ‘The last thing I need right now is teenage mess all over the kitchen.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ Jaz muttered under her breath. She tried again. ‘Where’s Dad?’
‘Still in bed – I’ll take him up some breakfast shortly.’ Robyn gestured at the partly set tray. ‘You two go off and have a good sail – the wind looks perfect. Dad and I’ve got things to sort out.’ She pulled the writing pad towards her and jotted something down, dismissing Jaz.
She was being treated like a baby again. Jaz opened her mouth to protest, then shut it abruptly. Fine. If that was what Mum wanted, she’d let her get on with it. She couldn’t stop another gusty sigh escaping.
Robyn stopped writing. ‘You’re grounded of course, apart from sailing with Matt. You’re not going anywhere with those irresponsible friends of yours.’
It was hardly the moment to point out that Ange and her crowd weren’t friends – just potential friends. To her disappointment they’d not said anything about meeting them over the weekend. It’d take more than one drunken binge and a tube of hair dye before she made the grade with Ange Watson.
Matt was already loading the boards and sail bags onto the Mini’s roof rack. Taking bites out of a hastily spread slice of toast and banana, Jaz grabbed the lunches as her brother tooted the horn impatiently.
‘You’re off?’ asked Robyn absently, not even looking up this time.
‘Yep,’ said Jaz, then found that she couldn’t just walk out without saying anything. ‘Tell Dad to hang in there, okay?’
Her mother had pushed her half-drunk coffee aside. She was busy writing a list of some sort now. Jaz wasn’t sure she’d heard. ‘Mum?’
‘I’ll tell him.’ She still didn’t lift her head.
Why bother, Jaz thought savagely.
* * *
A different world waited for them down at the Estuary. Early morning sun glinted off the incoming tide, flashing a welcome. Jaz’s spirits lifted in response. On the far side of the inlet, the first windsurfers were already out on the water, their distant sails a line of coloured signal flags against the dark pines.
‘Awesome – let’s get into it!’ said Matt, parking the Mini with a squeal of brakes.
Jaz leant over the back seat to grab the wetsuits and harnesses. ‘What’s that thing Gi-Gi says? “Neither tide nor time waits for man” – or something.’
‘Get you!’ said Matt. He ducked as Jaz heaved a sail bag at him. ‘How is the old girl, anyway?’
‘Gi-Gi’s just fine,’ said Jaz. ‘Why don’t you go and see for yourself?’
Matt looked sheepish. ‘Haven’t got my head around her being in that place yet.’ He’d had a phobia about any hospital-like institution since having his tonsils out aged seven.
‘She’s just the same, you know,’ said Jaz. She didn’t point out it was nearly six months since their great-grandmother had made the move, after finding her flat too much for her. ‘She misses you.’
‘I’ll go soon,’ said Matt. ‘Promise.’
Once Jaz was out on the water, sail sheeted in, board beginning to pick up speed, she forgot her parents and their problems. Nothing mattered except the wind in her hair, the chuckle of water under the board, the pleasant stretch in her arms. She adjusted the harness ropes and pumped the sail. The wind was perfect for her, 12 knots and likely to rise to 15. As the board came up onto the plane, she shifted her back foot into the strap and leaned out into the harness, letting it take her weight. The sun was warm on her face now. The water creamed past the leeward rail, the sail curved above her, set just right. She forgot everything except getting the best she could out of her board.
By lunchtime, the Estuary was humming. Jaz had sailed without a break for hours. She was starving. Navigating her way through the flotilla of unsteady beginners, she made for the least crowded launching ramp. She unhitched her rig and carried it ashore, then went back to fetch her board. As she dumped it on the grass beside the rig, a friendly voice hailed her.
‘Hi! You’re going well today.’
Jaz straightened and turned towards the voice. It was that dark-haired girl, the one she’d admired from a distance last season. A much better sailor than she was. Feeling her cheeks flush, Jaz cursed her sudden shyness. ‘Oh – hi!’
‘Saw you carve some classy gybes,’ the girl said. She was sitting beside her rig, wetsuit peeled down to her waist, rubbing sunscreen into her already tanned shoulders.
‘Thanks,’ said Jaz, embarrassed that she’d been watched. ‘It helps having such a steady wind – usually I bomb out half way round.’
‘Heaps to learn, eh,’ said the other girl. She tightened the cap on her sunscreen and pulled her wetsuit back up. As she reached over her shoulder for the zip, she added casually, ‘You’re Matt’s sister, aren’t you?’
‘Yeah.’ Jaz felt the familiar flat disappointment. The girl was just looking for access to her attractive big brother.
‘Now he’s really good,’ the girl was saying. ‘Jeff reckons he’s Olympic material. Reckons he should have a chance for the next team.’
‘You know Matt’s coach?’ asked Jaz suspiciously.
‘Jeff’s my brother.’ She laughed. ‘Sorry – I should’ve said. I’m Sophie.’
‘Oh, right – Matt’s mentioned you. I’m Jaz.’ Hastily, she put the warmth back into her voice.
But it was too late, the other girl was getting to her feet. ‘Nice to meet you. See you out on the water.’ She had picked up her rig and was on her way before Jaz could think of anything else to say.
Cursing herself for being so prickly, she made a resolution to be extra friendly next time. She tried to remember what Matt had said about Jeff’s sister. Sophie was in Year 11, she thought, a year ahead of her, went to the high school in the next suburb. She seemed a good sort.
The wind had strengthened by the time Jaz finished her sandwiches. The tide was on the ebb, the shallowing water white-capped and grey. It didn’t look that inviting, and it was too much effort to change to a smaller sail. Matt said she would never become a really good sailor if she didn’t tackle the stronger winds, but she didn’t care. She spent the last hour of tide sitting in the Mini out of the wind, watching her brother and his mates blasting back and forth further along the Estuary. She could see Sophie sailing a bit closer in. There was no way her own skills came anywhere near – the other girl was just being kind.
The magic wrought by a day on the water didn’t last. As soon as they turned the corner into Dalethorpe Place late in the afternoon, Matt’s monologue about sailing tactics and his changed plans for summer training dried to a stop. He met her eye and sighed. They didn’t need to say anything. The real world was waiting for them at home. Reality was a father who had just lost his job.