I’ve been so focused on the practical implications of my condition that I haven’t given any thought to the health issues.
We pass a stone marker, like a milestone with arrows pointing in different directions:
East Hill 3m,
Cider Press 1m,
Margo’s Arch 2m,
Fisherman’s point 1m.
Millie without looking, turns south towards Fisherman’s point.
I try to memorise the route, hoping not to get lost on the way back. “How is your morning sickness?”
Millie’s question draws me back.
“So much better thanks to your herbal teas and biscuits. I swear, sometimes, they are all that stands between me and starvation.”
She laughs. “You can always go foraging. This island is full of interesting fauna. Half of those tea infusions you like come from the wild herbs growing on Blue Sage Hill.”
I’d been so busy hating the place, but walking with Millie across the orchards, I find I’m actually enjoying myself. Our feet crunch on dry autumn leaves, every breath I take is clean and pure like a detoxifying treatment. I begin to see why she moved here.
“Why don’t you come over now and take a look at all the berries.” I invite her, hoping to extend this enjoyable afternoon, and to delay my return to the boring database or the dangerous temptation of contacting Clive too soon.
“I wish, but I have to meet the Lady Isobel girls in half an hour.”
“Lady who?”
“Lady Isobel’s Centre for Women. It’s a refuge for women escaping domestic violence. I promised to do a demonstration for some of the teenage girls.”
“Where?” I look around for anything that looks like a women’s refuge. The way Millie talked made it sound like more than a handful of women and girls. Just how violent are the men of this island?
“I’m not going to the centre; they’re coming to my café, Blue Sage Bay. You haven’t been, have you? Why don’t you come, you’ll like it, I promise.”
“Is it far?”
“It’s at the end of the island, but we’ll take the water taxi.”
I’m aware that this is another delaying tactic, another outing to put off my return to researching phone number for transport companies. I close my mind to my deadlines and say “yes.”
The water taxi proves a fun ride, and I don’t even feel seasick. It takes us round the side of the island, past half a dozen tiny coves, and toward an exquisitely pretty headland at the end of long thin strand. We disembark, the young man who runs the water taxi insists on helping us both off the boat since – as he puts it – we’re both in the family way. I should be annoyed at the gossiping island where even the taxi boatman knows my private business. But Millie’s tranquil, soothing company has brought a new serenity to my usually anxious self.
I feel relaxed as we walk up the jetty towards Millie’s café; nothing warns me that this impromptu visit to Blue Sage Bay might change the direction of my life.
Chapter Fourteen
Lessa
Millie’s demonstration is outside the café in a wide circle of potted plants. The girls, eight or nine, look to be in their early teens. They watch while she talks about cultivating different kinds of herbs. She hands out small pots for each girl to choose a cutting and practice. Three girls do exactly as she tells them, another four are less responsive and stand back not communicating much and unwilling – or unable – to trust. I wonder if someone at the refuge simply bundled them up and brought them here against their will. One of them stands as far away from the group as possible, arms crossed protectively over her chest and jumps at every noise. She’s a thin, waif-like girl with long dark hair that hangs messily down her back and makes my hands itch to brush it for her.
Millie goes round the group of reluctant girls one at a time asking gentle questions. “Which is your favourite herb?” or “Can you help me cut the tips of this rosemary bush?” Gradually she engages them in the process and gets them all planting. All except the nervous waif, standing alone at the back. At last, Millie finds a pot with a slightly yellowing plant and signals for me to follow her. She takes it to a place by the railing nearest the frightened girl.
“This poor bay has had a few bad knocks, see?” She drops down to a squat and points to a broken stem. “It needs a little love.”
“Is it dying?” I play along.
“It might. Most people would give up on it and throw it away, which is a shame. Because, with a little care, I know it can flourish and be beautiful again.” Millie’s hand trails gently over the yellowing leaves. “See? If we just trim the broken bits and keep it warm, it should start to get its strength back.”
