talking.’
‘Would this be a new friend?’ Mary took the kettle off the fire and made a pot of tea as she talked. ‘You’ll be careful, Jeannie?’
‘Of what?’ Jeannie washed her hands at the sink and sat at the table. ‘I said we were just talking.’ And kissing, she thought, her eyes glazing.
‘It’s just – well, if you don’t know somebody very well, you have to learn to trust first.’
Jeannie looked up at her mother and licked her lips. Could she tell? Does she know by my face that I’ve been kissing someone?
‘When you first met my father – how did you feel?’ she asked. ‘Did you know that he was the one you were going to marry?’
Holy Mother, Mary thought. Is it worse than I thought? She’s only fifteen! And you were seventeen, a voice in her head reminded her.
‘He was the one I hoped to marry,’ she said softly. ‘I was completely bowled over by him, but I asked around, tried to find out about him, asked who knew him and of course everybody did. Every lassie who lived on Sandside wanted him.’ She smiled. ‘But he wanted me , and nobody else!’
She gazed at her daughter, who was picking at the crab in a desultory way. ‘I thought that you and Ethan …’ she murmured.
Jeannie nodded. ‘So did I,’ she said. ‘I care for Ethan, but he never says anything. Perhaps he thinks I’m too young.’
‘Which you are,’ her mother agreed. ‘Does he see any other girl?’
Jeannie shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. I’d know if he did.’ But I think it’s too late, she thought. If Ethan had kissed me in the way that Harry did and asked me to wait for him, I would have done; but not now. There was a tinge of regret in the thought, for she felt that Ethan would have been true, whereas Harry … She heaved a sigh. I know nothing of him. He might be married already – except he did ask me to wait. Was he just fooling around with a girl from another town? I hope not, cos I’ll wait anyway.
And so she did. All of that autumn and winter too, past Christmas and into cold January, but he never came. Ethan suspected something, she thought, for once or twice she found him looking at her in an enquiring way when she made an excuse not to go for a walk when he suggested it.
‘Is there something wrong, Jeannie?’ he asked at last.
‘No.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s too cold. Don’t feel like going out.’ And it was true, she didn’t. The air was no longer bracing, but cold and raw, the sea no longer sparkling but dull and grey, reflecting the low sky.
In February she turned sixteen. The day was bright and sunny and bitterly cold and she made the decision that she would wait no longer. He wasn’t coming, that was certain. I can’t waste my life waiting for someone I don’t know. Someone who has a life that I know nothing about.
There wasn’t much work on the nets just now, not enough for her and her mother, so Jeannie applied for a job at a ship’s chandlers. It was warmer working indoors and she soon familiarized herself with the marine hardware, the navigation rulers, pumps and anchor chains which she couldn’t lift without assistance. She knew most of the customers and enjoyed the banter, and so one March Saturday as she left the shop at four o’clock she had more of a spring in her step than she had had for a long time.
She walked home along Sandside with her eyes on the sea as always; the sun had almost set and its rays suffused the waves, turning them to a sparkling flush. She turned her gaze landwards, and there he was.
‘Jeannie!’ He looked as she remembered him. The same grin, the same dark eyes, and the full mouth which had so enchanted hers.
‘I’d given up on you,’ she said softly.
‘Don’t do that, Jeannie. I said I’d come.’
‘You didn’t say when.’ She wanted to cry with relief that he was here.
‘I couldn’t. Work, you know.’
She did know. Fishermen had little time off. ‘You could have sent a postcard,’ she said weakly.
He
‘Would this be a new friend?’ Mary took the kettle off the fire and made a pot of tea as she talked. ‘You’ll be careful, Jeannie?’
‘Of what?’ Jeannie washed her hands at the sink and sat at the table. ‘I said we were just talking.’ And kissing, she thought, her eyes glazing.
‘It’s just – well, if you don’t know somebody very well, you have to learn to trust first.’
Jeannie looked up at her mother and licked her lips. Could she tell? Does she know by my face that I’ve been kissing someone?
‘When you first met my father – how did you feel?’ she asked. ‘Did you know that he was the one you were going to marry?’
Holy Mother, Mary thought. Is it worse than I thought? She’s only fifteen! And you were seventeen, a voice in her head reminded her.
‘He was the one I hoped to marry,’ she said softly. ‘I was completely bowled over by him, but I asked around, tried to find out about him, asked who knew him and of course everybody did. Every lassie who lived on Sandside wanted him.’ She smiled. ‘But he wanted me , and nobody else!’
She gazed at her daughter, who was picking at the crab in a desultory way. ‘I thought that you and Ethan …’ she murmured.
Jeannie nodded. ‘So did I,’ she said. ‘I care for Ethan, but he never says anything. Perhaps he thinks I’m too young.’
‘Which you are,’ her mother agreed. ‘Does he see any other girl?’
Jeannie shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. I’d know if he did.’ But I think it’s too late, she thought. If Ethan had kissed me in the way that Harry did and asked me to wait for him, I would have done; but not now. There was a tinge of regret in the thought, for she felt that Ethan would have been true, whereas Harry … She heaved a sigh. I know nothing of him. He might be married already – except he did ask me to wait. Was he just fooling around with a girl from another town? I hope not, cos I’ll wait anyway.
And so she did. All of that autumn and winter too, past Christmas and into cold January, but he never came. Ethan suspected something, she thought, for once or twice she found him looking at her in an enquiring way when she made an excuse not to go for a walk when he suggested it.
‘Is there something wrong, Jeannie?’ he asked at last.
‘No.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s too cold. Don’t feel like going out.’ And it was true, she didn’t. The air was no longer bracing, but cold and raw, the sea no longer sparkling but dull and grey, reflecting the low sky.
In February she turned sixteen. The day was bright and sunny and bitterly cold and she made the decision that she would wait no longer. He wasn’t coming, that was certain. I can’t waste my life waiting for someone I don’t know. Someone who has a life that I know nothing about.
There wasn’t much work on the nets just now, not enough for her and her mother, so Jeannie applied for a job at a ship’s chandlers. It was warmer working indoors and she soon familiarized herself with the marine hardware, the navigation rulers, pumps and anchor chains which she couldn’t lift without assistance. She knew most of the customers and enjoyed the banter, and so one March Saturday as she left the shop at four o’clock she had more of a spring in her step than she had had for a long time.
She walked home along Sandside with her eyes on the sea as always; the sun had almost set and its rays suffused the waves, turning them to a sparkling flush. She turned her gaze landwards, and there he was.
‘Jeannie!’ He looked as she remembered him. The same grin, the same dark eyes, and the full mouth which had so enchanted hers.
‘I’d given up on you,’ she said softly.
‘Don’t do that, Jeannie. I said I’d come.’
‘You didn’t say when.’ She wanted to cry with relief that he was here.
‘I couldn’t. Work, you know.’
She did know. Fishermen had little time off. ‘You could have sent a postcard,’ she said weakly.
He
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