Spare

Friends recommended an ayurvedic doctor who’d helped them conceive. As I understood it, ayurvedic medicine sorted people into categories. I don’t recall which category this doctor sorted Meg into, but she did confirm our suspicion that Meg’s weight loss might be a barrier to conceiving.

Gain five pounds, the doctor promised, and you’ll get pregnant.

So Meg ate, and ate, and soon put on the recommended five pounds, and we looked hopefully at the calendar.

Towards the end of summer 2018 we went to Scotland, the Castle of Mey, to spend a few days with Pa. The bond between Meg and Pa, always strong, grew even stronger during that weekend. One night, over pre-dinner cocktails, Fred Astaire playing in the background, it emerged that Meg shared a birthdate with Pa’s favorite person: Gan-Gan.

August 4.

Amazing, Pa said with a smile.

At the memory of Gan-Gan, and the link between her and my bride, he suddenly became buoyant, telling stories I’d never heard, essentially performing, showing off for Meg.

One story in particular delighted us both, captured our imagination. It was about the selkies.

The what, Pa?

Scottish mermaids, he said. They took the form of seals and cruised along the shore outside the castle, within a stone’s throw of where we were sitting. So, when you see a seal, he advised, you never can tell…Sing to it. They often sing back.

Oh, come on. You’re telling fairytales, Pa!

No, it’s absolutely true!

Did I imagine—did Pa promise—that the selkies might also grant a wish?

We talked a bit during that dinner about the stress we’d been under. If we could just convince the papers to back off, we said…for a little while.

Pa nodded. But he felt it very important to remind us—

Yes, yes, Pa. We know. Don’t read it.

At tea the next day the good vibes continued. We were all laughing, talking about one thing and another, when Pa’s butler burst into the room, pulling a land line behind him.

Your Royal Highness, Her Majesty.

Pa sat bolt upright. Oh, yes. He reached for the phone.

I’m sorry, sir, but she’s calling for the Duchess.

Oh.

We all looked stunned. Meg tentatively reached for the phone.

It seemed Granny was calling to talk about Meg’s father. She was responding to a letter Meg had written her, asking for advice and help. Meg said she didn’t know how to make the press stop interviewing him, enticing him to say horrid things. Granny now suggested that Meg forget the press, go and see her father, try to talk some sense into him.

Meg explained that he lived in a Mexican border town and she didn’t know how she’d ever get through the airport, through the press surrounding his house, then through that part of town, and back again, quietly, safely.

Granny acknowledged the many problems with this plan.

In that case, perhaps write him a letter?

Pa agreed. Splendid idea.

53.

Meg and I went down to the beach in front of the castle. Chilly day, but the sun was bright.

We stood on the rocks, looking out at the sea. Amid all the silky islands of seaweed we saw…something.

A head.

A pair of soulful eyes.

Look! Seal!

The head bobbed up and down. The eyes very clearly watched us.

Look! Another!

Just as Pa instructed, I ran to the water’s edge, sang to them. Serenaded them.

Arooo.

No answer.

Meg joined me, and sang to them, and now of course they sang back.

She really is magic, I thought. Even the seals know it.

Suddenly, all over the water, heads were bobbing up, singing to her.

Arooo.

A seal opera.

Silly superstition, maybe, but I didn’t care. I counted it a good omen. I took off my clothes, jumped into the water, swam to them.

Later, Pa’s Aussie chef was horrified. He told us that this had been a supremely bad idea, more ill-advised than diving heedless into the darkest water of the Okavango. This part of the Scottish coast was teeming with killer whales, the chef said, and singing to seals was like calling them to their blood-soaked deaths.

I shook my head.

It had been such a lovely fairytale, I thought.

How did it get so dark so fast?

54.

Meg was late.

We bought two home pregnancy tests, one for a backup, and she took them both into the bathroom at Nott Cott.

I was lying on our bed, and while waiting for her to come out…I fell asleep.

When I woke, she was beside me.

What’s happened? Is it…?

She said she hadn’t looked. She’d waited for me.

The wands were on the nightstand. I only kept a few things there, among them the blue box with my mother’s hair. Right, I thought, good. Let’s see what Mummy can do with this situation.

I reached for the wands, peered into their little windows.

Blue.

Bright, bright blue. Both of them.

Blue meant…baby.

Oh wow.

Well.

Well then.

We hugged, kissed.