“A much worse loss occurred when I was fourteen, and Sam died. He looked so big and strong but his heart was never good and it let him down too soon. His death seemed to take most of the zest out of Miriam.
“After I graduated from university, I worked in various institutions like this. Perhaps I was drawn to them because of having grown up with the enigma of Grandfather always close by. When I became director here at Eildon House I tried to coax Mother to come and live nearer to me. But she just couldn’t imagine not being in Duncairn.
“One morning five years ago, she was found by some fishermen at the foot of Tam’s Brig, a place up in the moors. What she was doing up there, I don’t know. She may have fallen off the bridge or she may have jumped. Either way, I suppose it was a good thing: by then she was ready to die. I just wish she’d found a less horrible way to do it.”
I was shocked to hear the way Miriam had died. The owner of the Bracken Inn, tactfully perhaps, hadn’t mentioned it. I’d never forgotten that day long ago when Miriam and I had gone up into the hills and looked down from the ruined bridge into the turbulent waters and rocks beneath. I tried not to think of her crumpled body at the bottom of the gorge.
But Sarah’s narrative was unrelenting.
“The worst thing was that when they found her on the rocks, the birds had pecked out her eyes,” she said. “She used to warn me never to fall asleep in the moors because of them.”
To hear about Miriam’s death and the mutilation by the birds was very hard to bear. The very first time we’d met, she’d warned me about them, too.
“She was buried in the cemetery alongside my grandfather and Sam,” Sarah said. “When she died, I lost my best friend. I loved her and Sam very much and they loved me. It took me a long time to be able even to think about them without crying. I still go to Duncairn from time to time to lay some flowers on Miriam’s grave — and talk to her.”
5
After a while, perhaps because of the confessional aura of the room, I began to justify myself to Sarah. I made it clear to her that I’d never have willingly deserted her mother, for my time with her had been the happiest in my whole life. The day Sam Mackay told me they were going to be married, I’d rushed straight up to the manor to ask Miriam how that could be possible, to beg her to change her mind. She knew I was there, she even looked out the window at me, but she wouldn’t open the door.
Yes, I was the innocent party — the party sinned against — no matter what Sarah might have heard to the contrary.
“But I didn’t hear anything to the contrary,” Sarah said. “Mother told me precisely what happened that last day when you came to her door, much the same way as you describe it. That moment preyed on her mind and was one of the major causes of her unhappiness all her life afterwards.” She spoke slowly and emphatically. “Refusing to see you was the hardest thing she ever did. But you must believe this: she did it for your own sake. She knew you loved her — in fact, that you loved her too much to give her up. So she took matters into her own hands. She decided to make the sacrifice herself.”
I didn’t understand.
“She’d come to the conclusion that it would be an awful thing for you if she were to inflict herself and her family baggage on you,” Sarah said. “She was aware of how uneasy you were about Grandfather and his addiction. But she couldn’t just up and leave him to fend for himself. And if you’d come to live with her in the manor, would you really have been able to put up with the sight of him every day, year after year? She felt she’d be ruining your life, and she couldn’t accept that. So she just cut you off.” Sarah looked right into my eyes. “She knew you’d be badly hurt, but she was sure you’d be able to recover as time passed.”
Hearing this, I felt a little uncomfortable, but I knew Miriam’s assessment of me had been right. When I wasn’t deluding myself about my eternal love for her, I’d actually spent long periods of my life getting along quite well without her.
“She was very wise about love,” said Sarah. “She used to tell me that first love is often a kind of self-love, a delight in the idea of being in love. In your case, she was afraid that to preserve that idea you’d have insisted on staying with her no matter how harmful it might be to you in the long run.”
Again, I understood how well Miriam had seen through me. I’d been so smitten with the notion of myself as the great lover I’d barely given a thought to the reality of what might have happened if we’d stayed together. Would it have taken very long for me to start resenting her — even hating her — for being stuck with her and that old man in their gloomy manor? But instead of facing the truth about myself, I’d spent my life blaming her for making true love impossible for me thereafter. My “broken heart” had become an excuse for my self-serving behaviour over the years.
“Sam knew all about your relationship with her because she’d told him everything, even before you did,” said Sarah. “But he still loved her and wanted to marry her. She tried to be as good a wife to him as she could. But unfortunately, you were the only one she really loved. She never got over you.”
The only one she really loved. What a grim irony, to hear that. All these years I’d convinced myself that I’d loved her and that she hadn’t loved me. Now I had to face the truth: my broken heart had never been more than a piece of self-indulgent nonsense— whereas she’d truly loved me.
“Yes, for the remainder of her life you were like a ghost that kept haunting her,” said Sarah. “She knew you’d always believe she’d treated you badly, and that made her feel tremendously guilty.” She paused and shook her head slowly. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my profession, it’s how good we are at guilt. My mother just piled it on herself for having done something in your best interest.” She sighed. “What a price we have to pay for being human.”
WE SAT SILENTLY for a while. Then, I suppose to get away from this sad topic, Sarah told me that she herself was engaged.
“We’re planning to get married in the next year or so,” she said. “He’s a lawyer in Edinburgh. We’ll try and find a house in some little town between there and here so that we can both continue with our work.”
Children? I wondered.
“We’re not planning on having any,” she said. “Mother would probably have thought that was a good thing. She was sometimes afraid that our family was cursed. Even if her fear wasn’t rational, it was quite understandable.”
OUR TIME WAS RUNNING OUT. Sarah made me promise, next time I was in Scotland, to come and visit her again for a more extended period. She’d love to show me more of the kinds of patients she had to deal with at Eildon House — she knew I’d find them fascinating.
This keenness, like a child wanting to show off her toys, reminded me of Dupont and how proud he’d been when he introduced me to his prize volunteer, Griffin. At the thought of what that had led to, I shuddered.
THE PHONE ON HER DESK RANG. She talked into it for a few moments then replaced it with a sigh.
“Oh dear,” she said. “The people from the ministry have arrived for our meeting. I’m afraid it’s something I can’t get out of.”
I assured her I understood. Anyway, it was probably about time for me to start heading for the airport — my flight was due to leave at four, with a much earlier check-in. She said there was no need to drive back the same route I’d taken. She pulled a map out of her desk and showed me a quieter, alternative road to the coast. At that, we both stood up.