Seacliff

Chapter fifty: The worry of mothers

1929

Their sons hadn't yet made up, so Saoirse and Maggie McLellan schemed to run into each other 'by accident' at Tantallon Castle. It was the boys' favourite playground, where they could pretend to be Viking warriors or Roman knights – much to their mothers' chagrin, who didn't like to see the lads 'fight'. At least they were paying attention to their history lessons.

The McLellans had arrived first at the designated place in the castle's inner close. Maggie and Arthur were supervising Jemmy as he scaled a ruined wall – Aidan froze at the sight of his friend, gasping.

"We have to go back!" he demanded, hiding behind his mother. "We have to!"

"Now, now..." Saoirse turned around and crouched before her son. "Are you a big boy or a coward?"

Aidan hung his head. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his jacket.

"Let's go over," Saoirse urged him. "You'll shake hands and be friends again, hmm?"

The boy sniffled. "I tried that... already. Jemmy didn't..." Aidan wiped at his cheek. "Jemmy didn't want to shake my hand..."

Saoirse glanced up at James for help. He carried one of those newfangled little cameras around his neck. A Leica it was called. German-made. Her husband had become obsessed with it since one of his wealthier patients had gifted it to him a while back.

"James..."

The doctor lowered the camera from his face, clearing his throat.

"Will you help the boys make peace?" Saoirse pressed.

James smiled and held his hand out to Aidan. The McLellans had noticed them by now and Jemmy, too, clung to his father.

Saoirse stood up, arms crossed over her chest to keep her woollen cardigan closed. The boys and their fathers advanced steadily, meeting up in the middle. Arthur nudged his son upside the head with the stump of his arm. Jemmy spoke up first, though not before glaring at his dad.

"I'm... I'm sorry I hit you, Mortimer."

Aidan quickly glanced over his shoulder at his mum. Saoirse nodded to reassure him.

"And I'm sorry I..." A gulp. "I'm sorry I kissed you... without asking."

Aidan held out a hand. His other one balled into a little fist.

Jemmy hesitated, blushing. His father nudged him again.

"Argh, Da, seriously!" the boy burst out, rubbing the back of his head. "We're trying to have a conversation here!"

"Oh, a conversation?" Arthur McLellan drawled. "Looks to me more like cats have got yer tongues!"

Laughter blossomed, the boys hugged, and the fight was forgotten.

"Let's commemorate peace with a photograph," James suggested and steered the lads to sit on the wall Jemmy had been climbing earlier. "A bit closer together, if you please! And smile!"

The boys put their arms around each other, grinning. Far out behind them, the Selkie Stone stood immovable under the clouds. Saoirse's favourite view, but there was an even better spot for admiring it.

She walked back inside the castle, holding on to her hat against the wind, and paused under the plaque commemorating Queen Victoria's visit in 1878. Three hundred years prior, when the castle was still standing tall, Mary, Queen of Scots, had also dropped by.

It always humbled Saoirse to think of the lives these walls had witnessed and the battles they had withstood. Of the people – whether great and remarkable or poor and uncelebrated – who had passed through these halls she now wandered. Of how all this had shaped history.

Yet, history spared no one. Not Queen Victoria and not Mary Stuart and definitely not this once-formidable fortress, now crumbled down to its bricks.

Saoirse carefully climbed the narrow flight of stone steps up to the battlements. Up here, the strong wind made the air taste fresher, or maybe the breath-taking views fooled her lungs. She smiled, inhaling the breeze. Wishing she could float on it like a bird and scour the sky. Standing here, watching the sea and the coast and the Selkie Stone, was the closest she'd ever come to flying.

Shoes clacked on the stone floor before Maggie's voice braved the gale. "Found you!" she called out.

"Mags, hullo!" Saoirse welcomed her friend with an embrace. "I would say our little mission was a success, don't you think?"

"Yes, thank goodness."

The boys looked like ants from this distance, chasing each other around the courtyard. James stopped them running and pointed up to the battlements. Fathers and sons waved up at the women.

Saoirse and Maggie waved back, then put their arms around each other as James readied his Leica for a photograph. Posing for it was pointless, though, they stood too far away for the camera to capture them properly.

Maggie sighed, moved by the serenity of the scene. Her unspoken unease resonated within Saoirse's own troubled spirit, as if she could read her friend's mind. Saoirse strengthened her hold and this encouraged Maggie to open up.

"I am very pleased and happy," Maggie said, her voice feeble in the wind, "yet for no reason... no apparent reason at all... I am terrified." Her fists tightened as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Some mornings, I wake up in a cold sweat, paralyzed with fear. Terrified that my baby boy – "

Maggie choked up, dabbing her handkerchief at the corners of her eyes.

"That we haven't done enough. That we're not doing enough, to protect them. Their futures. Saoirse, am I mad? Am I mad to be so scared, when the war has been over for a decade?"

All Saoirse could do was squeeze her friend's shoulder, for she knew that fear much too well. It visited her in nightmares when she was too tired to rest. Her holiday had eased her mind somewhat, but of late, that terror was beginning to resurface.

"No..." Saoirse sighed. "No, you're not mad, Maggie. You're a mother."