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We didn’t want to wait. We both wanted to start a family straightaway. We were working crazy

hours, our jobs were demanding, the timing wasn’t ideal, but too bad. This had always been our

main priority.

We worried about the stress of our daily lives, that it might prevent us getting pregnant. The

toll was starting to be visible on Meg; she’d lost a great deal of weight in the last year, despite all

the shepherd’s pie. I’m eating more than ever, she reported—yet her weight kept dropping.

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.