She walked back to me, placed herarms around me and pulled me to her. I felt a cold soft barrier betweenus that slid smoothly against my skin as she moved from side to side."Mummy is wearing her changing apron and rubber gloves baby, can youfeel them," she enquired."Yes Mummy," I replied quickly, anxious to avoid another slap.She walked round to the back of me, placed her hands on my shoulders andpushed me gently forwards. As I shuffled my feet forwards I felt anobstruction in front of me."That is your changing mat baby, kneel down then roll over onto yourback," she instructed me.The cold surface was sticky beneath me and my arms dug into my back.She walked round the mat pushing my legs apart and kneeled down betweenthem. She undid the strips of the soaking nappy and pulled it off. Mygenitals shrank as the cool air hit my wet body."Ahh, look at baby's tiny tinkle!" she remarked. I then felt even colder as she wiped something around my lower body.Judging by the smell, I guessed. She sent messengers on horseback and in the fastest ships in her fleet. Finding no news of him, she would walk to the beach, no matter the weather, and climb out onto the furthest rocks with the wind streaming her beautiful green silk dress and long red hair out behind her. There she would take her message to the sailor, carefully sealed in a green glass bottle, and throw it into the tide, hoping against hope that it would reach her beloved. It was an act of faith and an act of hope, and a token of her deep love and commitment to him, and an exercise in futility. But she could never be sure. Tides of seas and life are fickle, and don’t always follow the proper narrative arc. What she did know was that reply came there none. The winter grew long, and the storms grew vicious and the skies blacker and the clouds the colour of treacle, and still she climbed the rocks, and still she threw the bottles. And time passed, with her sailor lost to her and the life and love that she knew she.
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