Motherland

by William Nicholson

  ‘What about the darkness?’

  ‘It’s not your private darkness.’

  He speaks so softly that Ed doesn’t hear him.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s not your private darkness,’ he says again, louder.

  Ed stares at him.

  ‘We all have to face it,’ says Larry. ‘Kitty too. She’s not a child.’

  Ed goes on staring at him.

  ‘The war won’t go on for ever,’ says Rex.

  Larry returns to his painting. His brush moves more quickly now, applying paint in bolder strokes. Above the hill the sun is burning through the layer of cloud, and in his painting the sky becomes charged with amber and gold.

  Ed has had enough of haymaking. He puts one hand on Larry’s shoulder, squeezing it.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘You know.’

  Rex stays on after Ed has left them, mooching about the stream bank looking for butterflies.

  ‘You should study butterflies, Larry. Their colouring is just like a work of modern art. See there, that’s a Meadow Brown. A really common species. But on each brown wing there’s a patch of yellow, and in each patch of yellow there’s a black spot, like an eye.’

  Larry goes on painting, but he’s grateful for Rex’s presence. He wants to talk.

  ‘What do you think about Ed and Kitty?’ he says.

  ‘Nothing, really,’ says Rex.

  ‘Do you think he’s right for her?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know. That’s rather up to her, isn’t it?’

  Larry changes brushes, and mixes up a blob of blue with a touch of black. He wants the sky to be more dangerous.

  ‘Don’t you think he sounds odd about it all?’

  ‘He’s an odd fellow,’ says Rex.

  He’s found another butterfly worthy of remark.

  ‘That’s a Chalkhill Blue. Isn’t he a beauty?’

  Larry continues to pursue his line of thought.

  ‘You say it’s up to Kitty,’ he says, ‘which it is, of course. But she can only go on what’s on offer. And right now, that’s Ed.’

  ‘Oh, I get it,’ says Rex. ‘You want to make a bid.’

  ‘Do you think that’s wrong?’

  ‘It’s not morally wrong,’ says Rex. ‘I suppose it might be considered bad form.’

  ‘Well, that’s just it,’ says Larry. ‘If one chap announces he’s interested in a girl, does that mean he has some kind of rights over her? Does it mean everyone else has to keep off?’

  Rex thinks about that.

  ‘I think the general idea is you back off while the first fellow takes his shot. Then if he misses, you take a pot.’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ says Larry. ‘But listening to Ed today I started thinking maybe I’m being a bit feeble. As you say, it’s all up to Kitty.’

  ‘Look, Larry,’ says Rex. ‘If you want to drop a hint to Kitty, I should just do it. I don’t see what harm it can do.’

  ‘Really?’

  Larry works away on his thunderous sky.

  ‘What about you, Rex? Don’t you ever wish you had a girl?’

  ‘Oh,’ says Rex, ‘I’m not very good at that sort of thing.’

  *

  Louisa Cavendish receives orders assigning her to new duties in central London, effective from the start of September. This has the effect of concentrating her mind.

  ‘I’m taking the afternoon off,’ she announces.

  She touches up her lipstick, brushes out her corn-coloured hair, tightens her belt, and heads for the private quarters of the big house.

  ‘George,’ she says, finding the lord of the manor in the kitchen as usual, ‘it’s a warm day, and you should be outside. It’s no good to be indoors all the time.’

  George Holland looks at her in surprise.

  ‘You sound like my mother,’ he says.

  ‘Did you like your mother?’

  ‘I adored her.’

  ‘Come on, then. Out for a walk.’

  Not knowing how to refuse, George rises and follows.

  ‘I know we’ve met,’ he says politely, as they make their way through the outer courtyard, ‘but I seem to have forgotten your name.’

  ‘I expect I never told you. I’m Louisa Cavendish. Same family as the Devonshires. I’m a friend of Kitty’s.’

  ‘Oh, very well, then.’

  ‘Why don’t you take your glasses off?’

  ‘I shouldn’t be able to see very much if I did,’ he says.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you don’t bump into things. Here, take my hand.’

  She removes his glasses and he takes her hand. They walk out past the chapel. Louisa does not want to be seen by the camp.

  ‘I expect you could do this walk with your eyes shut,’ she says. ‘We’ll go up onto Edenfield Hill.’

  She turns him towards the cart track that runs up the flank of the Downs.

  ‘It’s strange without my glasses,’ he says. ‘The world feels very different.’

  ‘Different good or different bad?’

  ‘Less alarming, somehow.’ He turns to her with a shy smile. ‘Rather a good idea of yours.’

  ‘And what do I look like?’ says Louisa.

  ‘Somewhat indefinite,’ says George.

  ‘Describe what you see.’

  He stares at her.

  ‘White face. Eyes. Mouth.’

  ‘Ten out of ten so far.’

  ‘Sorry. I’m being dim.’

  ‘What impression does my face make?’

  ‘Rather impressive. Rather fine.’

  ‘Okay. That’ll do.’

  They walk on to the top of the hill. A steady warm wind is blowing in off the sea, bringing with it flocks of gulls with their harsh cries.

  ‘Can you see the view with your glasses off?’ she asks him.

  ‘Not exactly. I get the feeling of it, though.’

  ‘What feeling?’

  ‘Spacious,’ he says. ‘Roomy.’

  ‘Liberating?’

  ‘Yes. That’s the one.’

  ‘You see, I was right,’ says Louisa. ‘You should get out more.’

  They walk a little way along the ridge.

  ‘Don’t you hate the war?’ says Louisa.

  ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I think I do.’

  ‘Having to give up your house. Having all those ghastly huts in your park. Having all the servants leave.’

  ‘Yes,’ he says with a sigh. ‘It was all so different in my father’s day.’ Then he adds after a moment’s thought, ‘But I’m not the man my father was, of course.’

  ‘He was a great man, I hear.’

  ‘He was a giant,’ says George. ‘He made his fortune from nothing, you know. People think it was luck, that he stumbled on this little pill that everyone wanted, and that was that. But it wasn’t luck at all. My father was the sort of man who could make the world do his bidding.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’d like to have a giant for a father,’ says Louisa.

  ‘No,’ says George. ‘He did rather frighten me.’

  He comes to a stop and peers at Louisa in his half-blind way. Then all at once his face crumples. To her dismay she realises he’s about to cry. Without his glasses his face looks soft and helpless.

  ‘I’ve never said that before,’ he says.

  ‘What you need is a hug,’ says Louisa.

  He comes awkwardly into her arms and lets her embrace him. Then pressing his face to her shoulder he begins to sob. She strokes his back gently, not speaking, letting him cry himself out like a child.

  He takes out a handkerchief at last, and dries his eyes and blows his nose.

  ‘You’ve been left alone too much, haven’t you?’ she says.

  7

  The conference room was built as a ballroom for the great London house, in the days when it belonged to the Duke of Buccleuch. Now, its tall windows bandaged with tape and blinded by blackout curtains, it exists in the perpetual
gloom of underpowered electric lights. Here the commanding officers of the Canadian forces in southern England have gathered for a briefing by the chief of Combined Operations. Mountbatten, flanked by his service heads, wears the uniform of a vice-admiral of the fleet.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ he announces. ‘We have been given the go-ahead. Your boys, weather permitting, will see action this summer after all. Naturally I can’t give you a precise date today. But my message to you is: stand by!’

  This is met with murmurs of approbation.

  ‘The relaunched operation goes under the code name of Jubilee. Detailed orders for each sector are now being drawn up. My staff will issue them within a matter of days.’

  He then invites questions. General Ham Roberts speaks first.

  ‘Is there any concern, sir,’ he says, ‘that the element of surprise has been lost?’

  ‘Because of Rutter, you mean?’ says Mountbatten, nodding encouragingly.

  ‘Yes, sir. The Germans can hardly have failed to notice something was afoot last time.’

  ‘You’re perfectly right,’ says Mountbatten. ‘So what are the Germans thinking? They’re thinking that we couldn’t possibly be so stupid as to lay on the same operation again.’

  He pauses, and looks at the assembled commanders with his infectious boyish smile.

  ‘So that’s precisely what we’re going to do!’

  *

  The last half of the drive back takes place in silence. The brigadier evidently has much on his mind. Kitty concentrates on her route, watching the road for the potholes caused by the endless convoys of heavy army vehicles. For much of the way she has the road to herself, and is able to maintain a steady fifty miles an hour. The petrol tank is on the low side. She makes a note to herself to fill it up tomorrow.

  As they weave their way round the outskirts of Brighton the brigadier becomes conversational.

  ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you, Kitty,’ he says. ‘Where do you come from? What do you call home?’

  ‘Wiltshire, sir.’

  ‘Is that a fine part of the world?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Hills and woods.’

  ‘I miss my home,’ he says. ‘I miss it real bad. My boys’ll be turning ten soon. I haven’t seen them for two years. Do you know Canada at all?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Why would you? I grew up in a little place on the shores of Lake Huron called Grand Bend. Feels like a long way away now, I can tell you.’

  He gazes out of the car window as they drive along the foothills of the Downs.

  ‘This is pretty country,’ he says, ‘but it looks small to me.’

  Kitty delivers the brigadier back to headquarters, and returns the Humber to its garage. She looks in on the Motor Transport Office to hand in her work docket and to request petrol for tomorrow. Louisa is there, and some of the other girls, and Sergeant Sissons.

  ‘Don’t forget the clocks go back on Saturday night,’ says Sissons. ‘End of double summer time.’

  ‘Is that good or bad?’

  ‘Another hour in bed, isn’t it?’

  ‘Anything on for this evening?’ says Louisa.

  ‘My night off,’ says Kitty. ‘I need it.’

  ‘All right for some,’ says Louisa.

  She’s looking at Kitty in an odd way.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing,’ says Louisa. ‘Sweet dreams.’

  Kitty climbs the terrace steps into the main house, suddenly feeling the strain of the long drive. She thinks maybe she’ll just lie on her bed and read. She should be writing to Stephen, should have written to him days ago, it’s not fair to leave him dangling. Except she never asked him to fall in love with her. How can you fall in love with someone you’ve only met twice? Then she thinks of Ed and blushes. But what can she say to Stephen? That she’s met someone she likes better? Dear Stephen, I value your friendship but I don’t want to tie you down. And so on.

  She has no means of communicating with Ed, and no idea when she’ll see him again, but she thinks about him all the time. Not in a making-plans sort of way: it’s more that the idea of him is a permanent presence in her life now, which causes her to feel differently about everything. Because of him the immediate future has become unpredictable and exciting.

  She can hear her mother’s warning voice: Don’t get in too deep. What are his prospects? How’s he going to provide for you? But her secret dreams of Ed have nothing to do with marriage. It’s not about living happily ever after.

  I want to get in too deep, Mummy. I want to be swept off my feet, and not be able to do anything about it. I want adventure.

  She climbs the dark and narrow nursery stairs to the corridor in the eaves. As she goes she begins the process of unbuckling her belt, then undoing the four brass buttons of her uniform jacket. She loosens her tie and undoes the top button of her shirt. She’s tugging the tie out of her collar as she enters the nursery bedroom.

  Ed is lying on her bed.

  He puts a finger to his lips.

  ‘Shut the door,’ he says softly.

  She shuts the door.

  He lies there in his shirtsleeves, his hands behind his head, his shoes kicked off his feet. His eyes hold her with that mocking gaze.

  ‘How did you know this was my room?’

  ‘Louisa told me,’ he says.

  ‘I’m going to kill her.’

  ‘That would be an overreaction,’ he says.

  She stands there gazing down at him, confused but excited. She’s not sure what he expects her to do.

  ‘How about saying hello?’ he says.

  He makes no move to get up. She goes nearer to the bed. His arms reach up and draw her down. They kiss, in a polite, almost formal way.

  ‘Hello,’ she says.

  Then he pulls her onto the bed, and she finds herself lying half across him. Now he’s kissing her properly. She feels his lips on her lips, his hands on her back, his body warm beneath hers, the rise and fall of his chest. She lets him overwhelm her, saying to herself, I have no choice. From the moment she entered the room and saw him lying on her bed she ceased to take responsibility for her own actions.

  He shifts to the edge of the narrow bed and arranges her beside him, now kissing her forehead, her ears, her neck. She closes her eyes, wanting to feel his lips on her eyelids. His fingers move down her throat. He starts to unbutton her shirt. When he reaches the third button she holds his hand with hers.

  ‘Wait,’ she whispers.

  The room has two dormer windows and a corner tower window. On this summer early evening it’s filled with light. Kitty is ashamed to be seen in her army-issue underwear.

  She leaves the bed and pulls the blackout curtains closed. The room is plunged into darkness, but for a faint thread of light coming under the door.

  She feels her way back into his arms. Liberated by the darkness, she lets his hands go where they will. He takes her shirt off, and her brassiere. She feels the light touch of his fingers on her bare breasts. Her skin tingles. Her entire body begins to tremble. She wants his touch. She wants to feel his body against hers.

  ‘Not fair,’ she whispers. ‘You’re still dressed.’

  He pulls off his shirt and they lie together naked from the waist up, kissing eagerly. The more he touches her the more her body awakens, and the closer she wants to be to him. She knows now what will happen, and knows that she wants it. She’s been wanting it since he kissed her on Mount Caburn. Since he came back to her on the quay at Newhaven, not killed after all.

  Kitty has never been naked like this with a man before. She has never made love. She’s not ignorant, there are girls in her unit who give graphic descriptions of their nights out, but every moment is new to her. She has no words for what she’s doing now other than the crude slang of toilet walls, the laughing exchanges in the training camp dorm. You should have seen his equipment! I screamed like a stuck pig. Takes a big hammer to drive a big nail.

  She feels it now, swelling against her body, this
mystery that is his desire for her. She pushes against it and feels it grow hard. He takes her hand and places it on the ridge it makes. She moves her hand gently up and down, learning its form by touch in the darkness. Then his fingers are unbuckling his belt and opening his trousers. Her hand slips inside to touch his naked body there. It’s warm and soft and strong and hard all at once. She holds it and strokes it, not knowing how tightly she should grip, and feels it give little twitches of response. All her body is hot now, her skin is burning. She wants him, she wants all of him. She wants him so close that he drowns her thoughts in the smell and touch and feel of him.

  Now his hands are tugging gently at her skirt. Of course, she must be as naked as he is, it’s obvious. She moves quickly to unbutton her skirt, and unpop the clips on her stockings. As she does so she feels his hand between her legs, moving right up inside her knickers, and she becomes still. She wants his touch so much that she’s holding her breath. He strokes her there, and she shivers with nervous intensity. His touch makes her body new for her, as if there has never been discovered before. He explores her unknown land, he inhabits her. She lets her legs part so that his hand can move more freely over her and into her.

  I’m all yours, Eddy. All of me is yours.

  Now she’s undoing the hooks and eyes of her suspender belt and letting it fall away. His hands slip inside the waistband of her army knickers, blessedly invisible in the dark, and pull them down over her buttocks and thighs. She helps him with twists of her legs to get them off. Now all she’s wearing are her lisle stockings.

  His hand is back between her legs, stroking, probing, burrowing. She feels for his erection, and holds it between her palms. Her eyes have become more accustomed to the dark, and the single thread of light lets her see a little. She looks up to his face and thinks she sees him smiling at her.

  ‘Ah!’

  She gives a gasp of surprise. His fingers have found a place to touch that sends shocks of pleasure all through her body.

  ‘Oh, Eddy! Oh, Eddy!’

  He kisses her breasts, lingering over the nipples, tweaking them with his lips. Kitty feels as if she has never had a body before, as if his touch creates it. She wants to hold him so close, so close that she ceases to exist. She wants to give herself to him and lose herself in him.

  ‘Darling,’ she whispers. ‘Darling, darling.’