The Storm Sister Read online

  Celia left me then, and I knew it was more to give me time alone than because she actually wanted a bath.

  Taking a slug of wine, I put the glass down and, with trembling fingers, opened the envelope. It didn’t escape me that this was the second letter from beyond the grave I had been given to read in the space of a few weeks.

  From me, of no particular fixed abode

  (In fact, I’m on a train from Southampton coming up to meet you at Heathrow)

  My darling,

  This is, I accept, a faintly ridiculous notion I’ve recently got into my head. But as you already know and my mother will reiterate, I’m nothing if not organised. She’s had a copy of my will ever since I first began competing in races. Not that I have much to leave to anybody, but I think it’s easier for those left behind if one makes everything clear.

  And of course, now you’ve arrived in my life and become the centre of my universe and the person I hope to spend the rest of my life with, things have changed. Just because everything is ‘unofficial’ at present, until I put the ring on your finger to add to the chain you already wear around your neck, it seems vital to make sure everyone knows, at least financially, what our intentions are, in case anything happens to me.

  I’m sure you will be overwhelmed and thrilled (hah!) when I tell you that I’m leaving you my goat barn on ‘Somewhere’. I could see the night you first saw it how much you loved it (not) but the land it’s on, with the planning permission, is worth something at least. (‘Something on Somewhere’ – a possible name for the house, do you think?) And I also want you to have the Neptune, my current home on the sea. To be honest, those are my only material possessions of any value. Apart from my moped, but I think you’d be rightly insulted if I left you that. Oh, and I shouldn’t forget the meagre trust fund I have from my generous father – that will at least pay for any further dodgy red wine you care to drink on ‘Somewhere’ in the future.

  Sorry, we’re on a bumpy bit of track just now so forgive the appalling handwriting – I’m sure that I will be snatching this letter back from Mum the minute we come home from this race to at least type it up. But if by the faintest chance I don’t, because I’ve copped it, I can rest easy that all is as I would wish it to be.

  Now Ally – I might get emotional here – I want to tell you how much I love you and what you’ve meant to me in the short time we’ve known each other, which is everything. Literally, you’ve rocked my boat (hope you appreciate the seafaring analogy) and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life holding you as you vomit, discussing the origins of your weird surname and finding out each and every tiny thing about you as we grow old and toothless together.

  And if by any chance you do get to read this, look up at the stars, and know I am looking down on you. And probably having a beer with your Pa as I hear all about your bad childhood habits.

  My Ally – Alcyone – you have no idea what joy you’ve brought me.

  Be HAPPY! That is your gift.

  Theo xxx

  I sat there in the fading evening, laughing and crying at the same time. The letter was so innately Theo that my heart broke all over again.

  Celia and I met the following morning at breakfast. Last night, she’d shown me to my room but had not asked me a single thing about what the letter had contained and I was grateful for that. She told me that she had to go out to register Theo’s death and arrange for his body to be brought back to London, and that we should decide together on a date for the funeral.

  ‘Ally, there’s also something else Theo said in his note to me. He asked if you would play your flute at his funeral.’

  ‘Really?’

  I looked at her, amazed by Theo’s level of forward-thinking.

  ‘Yes,’ she sighed. ‘He’d already issued instructions for the service years ago. A celebratory memorial-cum-funeral service, followed by a cremation – which by the way, he insisted no one was to attend. And then for his ashes to be scattered in Lymington harbour, where he first learnt to sail with me. Do you feel up to it?’

  ‘I . . . don’t know.’

  ‘Well, he told me you played the flute beautifully. As you might guess, the music he chose isn’t conventional, just as he wasn’t. He wanted you to play “Jack’s the Lad” from Fantasia on British Sea Songs. I’m sure you’ve heard it on the Last Night of the Proms?’

  ‘Yes, I know it. I don’t think there’s a seafarer alive who wouldn’t at least know the melody – it’s basically the tune of the old “Sailor’s Hornpipe”.’

  I ran over some of the notes in my head, notes I’d played many years ago, but still knew intimately. Everything about the request was so Theo: it encapsulated his love for sailing and his innate joy in being alive.

  ‘Yes, I think I’d love to play it.’

  Then, for the first time since his death, I burst into tears.

  During those next few dreadful days, we battened down the hatches as the media camped outside the door. We lived like recluses, only venturing out to buy food and both of us a black dress for the funeral. And as we went through the ghastly tasks that made me respect Pa Salt far more for his self-orchestrated burial, my respect for Celia also grew. Even though it was obvious Theo had been everything to her, she was never greedy with her grief.

  ‘I don’t suppose he ever mentioned it to you, Ally, but Theo always loved Holy Trinity Church on Sloane Street, not far from here. He went to a prep school a stone’s throw away, and that was his local church. I remember watching him sing the solo in “Away in a Manger” at a carol service there when he was eight or so,’ she said with a fond smile. ‘What do you think about holding his funeral service there?’

  The fact she was including my opinion in her decisions touched me beyond belief, even if my comments were irrelevant. She’d had a lifetime of knowing Theo – her only son – and yet she had the grace and empathy to see and understand what I felt for him. And what he had felt for me.

  ‘Whatever you think is best, Celia, really.’

  ‘Is there anyone you want to invite to the funeral?’

  ‘Apart from who you’ve invited already, like the crew and the general sailing fraternity, no one knew us as a couple,’ I replied honestly. ‘So, I don’t think they’d understand.’

  But she did. And often, when we both found ourselves in the kitchen at three o’clock in the morning, when the pain was at its starkest, we’d sit at the table and talk endlessly about Theo, trying to find the comfort we craved. Small memories, of which Celia had a vast thirty-five-year reserve, whereas mine spanned only a matter of weeks. Through her, I came to know Theo better, and never tired of seeing a childhood picture, or reading a misspelt letter he’d written from boarding school.

  However much I knew this was not reality, I was comforted that Celia and I were keeping him alive with every word we spoke. And that was the most important thing of all.

  12

  ‘Ready?’ Celia asked me as our car arrived in front of Holy Trinity Church. I nodded, and with a quick squeeze of hands in mutual solidarity, we climbed out past the clicking cameras and walked inside. The church was cavernous and the sight of it packed to bursting with standing room only at the back almost reduced me to the tears I’d sworn I would not shed.

  Theo was already waiting for me on the altar as I walked down the aisle towards his coffin with Celia. I swallowed hard at this dreadful parody of the wedding we might have celebrated, had he lived.

  Taking our seats in the front pew, the service began. Theo had chosen a mixture of music for his memorial service. After the vicar’s address, it was my turn. I joined the small orchestra of violins, a cello, two clarinets and an oboe that Celia had managed to gather together at the front of the church. Sending up a silent prayer, I placed the lip plate of the flute to my mouth and began to play. And as the rest of the orchestra joined me, and the tempo became faster, I saw the congregation begin to smile, and then, one by one, rise. Until they were all on their feet, performing the traditional ben
ded-knee movement of the ‘Sailor’s Hornpipe’ jig, every one of them with their arms crossed and held out in front of them. Our little orchestra upped the pace, playing as if our lives depended on it as the congregation bobbed faster and faster up and down in time to the music.

  As we finished, a roar went up from them, and the cheers and clapping began. There was an encore, as of course there always was whenever the piece was played. I took myself and my flute back to the front pew and sat down beside Celia. She squeezed my hand tightly.

  ‘Thank you, my darling Ally, thank you so very much.’

  Then Rob walked to the front of the church, ascended the steps in front of Theo’s coffin and adjusted the microphone.

  ‘Theo’s mother, Celia, has asked me to say a few words. As you all know, Theo lost his life saving mine. I can never thank him now for what he did for me that night, but I know his sacrifice has brought terrible suffering to Celia and to Ally, the woman he loved. Theo, from everyone who has ever crewed with you, we send our love, respect and thanks. You were simply the best. And Ally’ – he looked directly at me – ‘this is what he asked to be played for you.’

  Again, I felt Celia’s hand on mine, as one of the choir stood up and gave a beautiful rendition of ‘Somewhere’, from West Side Story. I tried to smile at the secret joke that Theo had meant for me, but the poignancy of the words moved me beyond measure. As it finished, eight of Theo’s crew members from the Fastnet Race, including Rob, gently hoisted the coffin onto their broad shoulders and began to file out of the church. Celia led me with her, the first in the procession of mourners who fell in behind the coffin.

  As we made our way out, I saw some familiar faces sitting in the church. Star and CeCe were among the crowd, smiling at me with love and sympathy as I passed them. Celia and I stood outside on Sloane Street, watching as Theo’s coffin was placed in the hearse that would take his body on its solitary journey to the crematorium. As it drew away and we both said a silent final goodbye, I turned to her and asked how my sisters had known.

  ‘Theo asked me in his letter to contact Marina if anything happened to him, so that she and your sisters would be aware. He thought you might need them.’

  The congregation gradually trickled out of the front of the church and milled around on the pavement, greeting each other quietly. Several people made a beeline for me, mostly sailing friends, all offering their condolences and expressing surprise at my hitherto hidden musical talent. I glanced around me and saw a tall man wearing a suit and dark glasses standing apart from the crowd. Something about him looked so desolate that I excused myself from the pack and went over to him.

  ‘Hello,’ I said. ‘I’m Ally, Theo’s girlfriend. I’ve been told to tell everyone that they’re welcome to come back to Celia’s house for something to eat and drink. It’s only five minutes’ walk from here.’

  He turned to me, his glasses shielding any expression in his eyes. ‘Yes, I know where it is. I used to live there.’

  And then I realised this man was Theo’s father. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you.’

  ‘I’m sure you can probably understand that, however much I’d like to come back, unfortunately I won’t be welcome.’

  I didn’t know how to answer him, just looked at my feet, embarrassed. It was obvious he was grief-stricken and whatever had happened in the past between him and his wife, he had lost a son too.

  ‘That’s a shame,’ I managed.

  ‘You must be the girl Theo told me he was going to marry. He sent me an email just a few weeks ago,’ he continued in his soft American drawl, so different to Theo’s clipped English tones. ‘I’m going to leave now, but here, Ally, take my card. I’m in town for the next few days and it would be great to talk to you about my son. Despite what I’m sure you’ve heard about me, I loved him very much. I guess you’re bright enough to know there’s always another side to every story.’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied, remembering Pa Salt once telling me exactly the same thing.

  ‘You’d better get back, but it’s been great to meet you. Bye for now, Ally,’ he said as he turned and walked slowly away from me. I felt despair leaking from his every pore.

  Turning back to the rest of the crowd, I saw CeCe and Star waiting respectfully for me to finish my conversation. I walked towards them and they both threw their arms around me.

  ‘My God, Ally,’ said CeCe. ‘We’ve all been leaving you messages on your mobile since we heard! We’re so, so sorry, aren’t we, Star?’

  ‘Yes.’ Star nodded and I realised she was close to tears herself. ‘It was such a beautiful service, Ally.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘And wonderful to hear you playing the flute. You haven’t lost your touch,’ CeCe added.

  I saw Celia waving to me and indicating the large black car waiting at the kerb.

  ‘Listen, I have to go with Theo’s mum, but will you come back to the house?’

  ‘I’m afraid we can’t,’ CeCe said. ‘But listen, our apartment’s only over the bridge in Battersea, so when you’re feeling a bit better, just give us a bell and pop round, yes?’

  ‘We’d really love to see you, Ally,’ said Star, giving me another hug. ‘All the girls send their love to you. Take care of yourself, won’t you?’

  ‘I’ll try. And thanks again for coming. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.’

  As I climbed into the car, I watched the two of them walk down the road together, and felt hugely touched by their presence.

  ‘Your sisters are so sweet. What a wonderful thing it is to have siblings. Like Theo, I’m an only child,’ Celia commented as the car moved away from the kerb.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I asked her.

  ‘No, but it was the most wonderful, uplifting service. And I can’t tell you what it meant to me to hear you play.’ She paused for a few seconds then sighed heavily. ‘I noticed you talking to Theo’s father, Peter, just now.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He must have been hiding at the back of the church. I didn’t see him when I came in. If I had, I’d have asked him to come and sit up front with us.’

  ‘Would you?’

  ‘Of course! We may not be the best of friends anymore, but I’m sure he’s as equally devastated as I am. I presume he said he wouldn’t come back to the house?’

  ‘Yes, although he did say he was in town for a few days and would like to see me.’

  ‘Oh dear. It’s so dreadfully sad that we couldn’t even be reunited for our own son’s funeral. Anyway,’ she said as the car pulled up in front of the house, ‘I’m so grateful for your support. I couldn’t have got through this without you, Ally. Now, let’s go and greet our guests and celebrate our boy’s life.’

  A couple of days later, I woke up in the comfortable, rather dated guest room in Celia’s house. Flower-sprigged Colefax and Fowler curtains hung at the windows, matching the counterpane of the large wooden bed I was lying in and coordinating with the now faded striped wallpaper. I glanced at the clock and saw that it was almost half past ten. Since the memorial service, I’d finally begun to sleep again, but almost unnaturally heavily and I would wake in the morning as if I had a hangover, or had taken one of the sleeping pills that Celia had offered me but I’d refused. I lay in the dim light feeling just as exhausted as when I’d gone to bed – even though I’d slept solidly for over ten hours – and contemplated the fact that I really couldn’t continue to hide away here with Celia, comforted as we were by our endless talk of Theo. Celia was off to Italy tomorrow and even though she’d kindly said I was welcome to join her, I knew I must move on.

  The question was, where I would go from here?

  I’d already decided that I’d contact the Swiss national sailing team coach to tell him I wouldn’t be joining him and the crew for the Olympic trials. Even though Celia had told me repeatedly that I mustn’t allow what had happened to ruin my future and diminish my passion, every time I thought about getting back on the water, a shiver ran through me. Perh
aps one day it would pass, but not in time to begin what I knew would be months of arduous training for the most important sporting event on the planet. There would be too many people at the training camp who’d known Theo, and even though talking to his mother had provided a wonderful outlet, I felt incredibly vulnerable when anyone else mentioned him.

  But now that I was without Theo and also no longer sailing, the days in front of me were suddenly empty, an endless void I had no idea how to fill.

  Perhaps, I mused, I was the new ‘Maia’ of the family, destined to return to Atlantis and grieve in solitary splendour as she once had. I was fully aware that Maia had taken wing and flown off to her new life in Rio, which meant I could easily go home and install myself in her nest at the Pavilion.

  What I had come to understand from the past few weeks was that I had lived a gilded life before, and if I was to judge myself and my faults, I would have to acknowledge that I had always looked down on anyone weaker than myself. I hadn’t understood why they couldn’t get up, dust themselves down from whatever trauma they had borne and move on. Brutally, I’d begun to realise that until one had experienced loss and deep pain oneself, it was impossible to truly empathise with others in the same predicament.

  Trying desperately to remain positive, I told myself that at least what had happened to me would perhaps make me a better person. And inspired by this thought, I eventually pulled out my mobile. I was ashamed to admit that I hadn’t turned it on since Theo’s death, over two weeks ago now. Seeing the battery was dead again, I plugged it in to charge. I went to take a shower and as I did so, heard the insistent ‘pings’ of the backlog of voicemails and texts arriving as the mobile came back to life.

  Drying myself and getting dressed, I mentally prepared myself before picking up my phone and scrolling through the endless text messages from Ma and my sisters, and the countless others who had heard about Theo. Ally, I wish I could be there with you, I can’t imagine how you must be feeling, but I’m sending you all my love, Maia had written. Ally, I’ve tried to call you, but you’re not picking up. Ma’s told me and I’m devastated for you. I’m here for you, Ally, night and day, if you need me. Tiggy x.