The Chalky Sea

by Clare Flynn

  ‘We’re all in it together, Madam. Got to get on and do our duty, haven’t we?’

  He smiled at her and she realised that something had changed with this war, with this bombing. They were indeed all in it together. Where once she would have handed him a sixpence for wiping her windscreen and never given him a second glance, now she was serving him tea as though they were equals. Funny old world – but Gwen was beginning to think she liked it better.

  She poured herself a large whisky as soon as she got inside the house. One dead and twenty injured. Nine houses destroyed, blasted into oblivion, and sixty more damaged. It was a wonder the death toll was so low, it being a Sunday morning and after the church services had finished. Thankfully many families and most children had been evacuated from the town weeks earlier. There had been no advance warning, as the War Office instructions precluded use of sirens for single raiders. What a stupid rule – all it took was one plane.

  The stench of charred wood and plaster dust still haunted her. She slugged back her scotch, feeling it burn her throat. Gwen was not used to drinking, but if the war went on at this rate she could get accustomed to it – as long as Roger’s supplies held out. Anything to dull the pain of what she had witnessed. The stoicism of the people of Whitley Road had made her feel selfish and self-centred. So far the war had asked so little of her and had barely touched her. Gwen resolved that all that would change from now on.

  Her musings were interrupted by the door opening. Mrs Woods, her cook-housekeeper put her head around. ‘May I have a word, Mrs Collingwood?’ She didn’t wait for Gwen’s answer. ‘I’m sorry but I’ve decided to go and stay with my son and his wife in Hailsham. They’ve been on at me for months. I didn’t want to let you down, Madam, but these bombs dropping has made a difference. I’m not scared, but if I’m going to go I’d rather go with my own kith and kin.’

  Gwen’s heart sank.

  Mrs Woods avoided Gwen’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry to let you down and leave you here on your own, but Mr Collingwood did say as you were planning to go to stay in Somerset with his mother.’

  Gwen stifled her irritation. ‘I’ll be fine, Mrs Woods. When are you planning to leave?’

  ‘First thing tomorrow if it’s all right with you.’

  Damn. How the hell was she going to manage without the woman? Gwen could barely boil an egg. Making tea and toast was the summit of her culinary skill. She forced a smile. ‘I’ll miss having you around, Mrs Woods. And I’ll certainly miss your cooking.’

  ‘Let’s hope it won’t be for long, Madam.’

  Drowning his Sorrows

  Ontario

  Jim ran until he was too tired to run any more, then, exhausted, he walked the rest of the five miles or so into town and spent the night on a bench in the park waiting for morning. He was in too much turmoil to sleep.

  He couldn’t rid himself of the memory of Walt and Alice making love – his brain imprinted with her moaning, their conspiratorial glance burned into his retinas. If he lived to be a hundred he’d never be able to forget this night. His stomach heaved and he dry retched. He was hollowed out, flayed, his nerves exposed and raw. Betrayed by the two people he loved most in the world. The two people he’d believed until tonight loved him best. He’d never been so wretched, so alone, so utterly defeated.

  He watched Alice arrive at the library for work and as soon as he saw her walking slowly up the steps he knew he couldn’t face confronting her. What was the point? The look that had passed between her and Walt was enough to know that he would never get her back. Accusing her of betrayal would make her miserable but would make no difference to the final outcome. Wouldn’t it be better for him to fade away?

  He clenched his fists. How long had it been going on? How had they managed to keep it from him? If Walt were to come by now he couldn’t answer for the consequences. His own brother. Jim wanted to pulverise him. He let himself picture landing punches on Walt’s face; smashing his fists into that smug expression; feeling the bones crunch as he beat him relentlessly; his brother’s handsome face reduced to blood and pulp.

  But the image brought no satisfaction. Why had they betrayed him? He had a right to know. Alice owed him that much.

  Decision made, he ran up the steps two at a time and burst into the library. Alice looked up from the pile of books she was sorting and had the grace to appear embarrassed. She whispered something to the woman beside her and, signalling to Jim to follow her, went outside. They walked across to the park in silence and sat down on the bench he’d vacated. They’d sat on this same bench only a week or so ago when Jim had stopped by during her lunch break. How different that day had been. She’d been pleased to see him. Or pretended to be. Waves of nausea rose in his throat. Was she cheating on him then? How long had they been lying to him?

  Eventually Alice spoke. ‘It just happened, Jim. I’m sorry. We couldn’t help ourselves. I was going to tell you last night before supper but I was late and there wasn’t time. Then I was going to tell you after supper but–’

  ‘But you thought you’d go out to the barn instead and make whoopee with Walt.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that.’ She looked up at him with her soulful eyes and his stomach clenched with desire for her. Then he remembered her tanned legs wrapped around his brother’s waist and he turned his head away.

  ‘No? Looked that way to me.’

  ‘Walt was angry because I’d promised I’d tell you about us, and when your mother kept on about you and me getting married I could see he was like a pressure cooker about to blow. That’s why I went to the barn. I wanted to calm him down.’

  ‘And calming him down meant letting him do what we’ve never done.’ Jim slammed his fist into the bench with such force that the painted wood surface cracked. He raised his hand to his mouth and sucked away the blood.

  Alice hung her head. ‘I don’t know what to say, Jim. I never meant to hurt you. Neither did Walt. But we couldn’t help it. We couldn’t stop ourselves.’

  ‘And little brother was happy for you to be the one to tell me what’s been going on? Too gutless to tell me himself. How long have you been sleeping with him? How long?’ He leaned back on the bench, and looked up at the cloudless sky, struggling to contain his emotions.

  ‘He wanted to tell you – or at least for us to do it together, but I thought it was better coming from me. I was going to break it off with you and we were going to wait a while before telling anyone about us. You know… to make it easier on you.’

  ‘Easier on me? How the hell would that be easier for me? We’re not at school. It isn’t some teenage crush. We were going to get married next year. You agreed to be my wife. You told me you loved me. We were going to have a family together.’ Jim’s voice trembled with emotion. He jerked forward on the bench, holding his head in his hands.

  Alice stretched a hand out and laid it on his arm. He shrugged her off as though she were contaminated.

  ‘I did love you, Jim. I still do, but it’s not the same as the love I feel for Walt. The feelings for him exploded in me. When it happened we both knew.’

  Listening to her was torture but Jim forced himself. It was like lancing a boil. You had to get all the poison out before it could heal. But he doubted he would ever heal.

  ‘It began three weeks back. I came over to talk wedding plans with your ma and when we were done she asked me to take some lemonade out to you and your pa and Walt. It was a really hot day. Remember?’ She paused, her voice trembling. ‘You and your pa were up in the top field and Walt was cutting hay down by the creek so after I saw you, I went down to him.’

  Alice paused, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. ‘He asked me to stay and sit with him while he drank, so I could take the cup and pitcher back. We shared the lemonade and got talking.’

  She looked up at Jim, her eyes welling. ‘You know how it was with Walt. He never seemed to like me. I thought he was angry you spent so much time with me instead of with him.’ She looked down, eyes fixed on her k
nees. ‘And then he leaned over and kissed me. I didn’t expect it. I didn’t mean for it to happen. I don’t think he did either.’ She looked up at him. ‘I’m so sorry, Jim. Walt and I knew right away that we had feelings for each other. Perhaps we always had – we’d just hidden them. Tried to pretend they weren’t there. Even to ourselves.’ Her voice broke and she began to cry. ‘It’s all such a mess.’

  Jim’s voice was cold and he felt detached from his body, floating above it, looking down on himself, a thing apart. ‘So you’ve been meeting him every night in the barn then? Lying down in the hay and letting him use you like a cheap whore.’ He felt her tense beside him and heard her sob. He went on, his anger relishing her pain. ‘You’d always told me you wanted us to wait until we were married. I respected you.’

  She turned to look at him, her cheeks wet with tears. ‘It only happened once before last night. We didn’t plan to do it again until we’d cleared things up with you. But Walt was angry that I hadn’t told you. We started to argue and then we were… well… we kissed and one thing led to another and we couldn’t stop. It was me too. Don’t blame him. It’s… it’s passion… between us. It’s so strong. We can’t help ourselves. Maybe that was the problem, Jim. You had me on a pedestal. Walt treated me like a woman.’

  Jim jumped up from the bench. He couldn’t bear to look at her, to hear the unconscious cruelty of her words. Alice reached for his arm but he jerked away and began to run. He didn’t look back. He would never look back.

  After drawing his pitifully small savings from the bank, Jim walked into a diner and asked if anyone was heading to Toronto and could give him a ride. He was going to sign up for the army. A smiling waitress offered him coffee on the house and he had three offers of transport. He chose the man who looked least likely to want to talk.

  They reached Toronto too late in the evening for Jim to get to the recruiting office. Signing up would have to wait until morning. This was his last night as a free man before the army told him what to do. He couldn’t wait to be in uniform – obeying orders without having to think would be a blessed relief. With a bit of luck he might even get himself killed and he wouldn’t have to worry about what to do when the war was over. One thing was clear. He would never go back to the farm. It would be hard to leave his parents and knew it would be harder still on them but he had no choice.

  He made his way to one of the city’s beverage rooms – the only public places where one could drink beer. The interior was shabby and the atmosphere was fuggy and smelled of stale beer and cigarette smoke. Men leaned against the bar and sat around at tables. There were no women – they were not permitted in beer parlours. There was little talking, apart from placing orders at the counter. The place was intentionally uninviting. Jim didn’t care. The miserable surroundings suited his mood.

  He paid for his drink and sat down at an empty table, quaffing the beer quickly and returning to the bar for another. He drank, hoping to numb the pain, wipe out the memory of Walt with Alice’s legs wrapped around him and forget that his dream of marrying and having children with her was gone.

  He’d lost count of how many beers he’d drunk, when a man approached his table. Tall and wearing a suit that might once have been considered smart, but now looked as though it needed a good brushing, the man nodded and asked if he could join him. Jim shrugged.

  While they drank, the stranger, whose name was Miller, regaled Jim with the story of his life, a familiar tale of declining fortunes, characteristic of many men since the Depression.

  ‘Then they took the house. That was the last straw. She walked out on me. Said she never wanted to see me again. Took my little girl with her and went back to Calgary. What became of standing by your man? What about all those vows she made in church? Might as well have said “until death or repossession do us part”. I had a good job when we married. Chief teller in a bank. As soon as they foreclosed on the bank and I was thrown on the scrap heap, she didn’t want to know. Ran home to Daddy. Since then I have to get by on whatever casual work I can get.’

  ‘Why don’t you join up?’ Jim spoke at last, aware that he was slurring his words.

  ‘Won’t have me. Don’t think I didn’t try. Failed the fitness test.’ Miller paused and looked at Jim. ‘That’s what you’re doing then?’

  Jim nodded as he stared into the bottom of his beer glass.

  ‘Stand me a beer, mate, and then you can tell me your story,’ said Miller.

  Jim slid a bill across the table. ‘You line them up then.’

  When the man returned, he clinked glasses. ‘So, what brings you here drowning your sorrows, farm boy?’

  Jim decided he was beyond caring about his pride. Self-esteem was a thing of the past and he was grateful that someone was prepared to listen, so he told Miller his story. When he finished, he expected jeers, ready to be the butt of the stranger’s jokes.

  Instead Miller flung an arm around his shoulder. ‘Tell you what you need, farm boy. You need a woman. Fastest way to forget a woman is in the arms of another one. Drink up and let’s go.’

  Before Jim had time to protest, they were outside the beer parlour and moving down the street. He felt unsteady. What was he agreeing to? What had he come to? Then he told himself Miller was right. He needed to forget Alice by replacing the memory of her with that of another woman. He was done with respecting himself.

  The brothel was as seedy as the beverage room had been, but this time there were women. In fact that’s all there were – half a dozen of them in varying degrees of undress. Miller was evidently a regular. Several of the girls called to him and one jumped up and grabbed him by the tie, leading him out of the room. He looked over his shoulder and called out to Jim, ‘Enjoy, farm boy! You could be dead before the year’s out.’ Then he was gone.

  Jim stood in the middle of the room, uncertain what to do next. An older woman, her face caked in make-up, appeared from behind a curtain.

  She winked at Jim and said, ‘Any friend of Mickie Miller is welcome in this house.’

  It dawned on him that procuring clients for the brothel was probably a lucrative solution to Miller’s employment problems – or at least a guarantee of preferential rates for himself. The madam snapped her fingers and nodded at one of her girls. ‘Make sure our guest gets everything he needs, Penny.’

  A pretty redhead took him by the hand and led him from the room.

  Once inside the bedroom, Jim’s head began to spin and his mouth tasted sour after all the beers. Penny ran her hands over his chest and murmured, ‘Cash first, handsome. Two dollars. On the nightstand, please.’

  Jim reached into his back pocket and pulled out the bills, dropping them onto the table. His heart pounded against his ribs under the light pressure of her fingers. Then her hand moved lower and cupped him through the fabric of his trousers and he felt himself harden.

  ‘Mmm, nice,’ she said.

  She pushed him back onto the bed and straddled him, her fingers rapidly working at the buttons of his shirt and pants. Miller was right. The best way to forget Alice was in the arms of another woman. All that frustration caused by Alice’s reluctance to do more than the most elementary sexual activity would soon be eased. But don’t think about Alice. Focus on Penny who had now managed to open his shirt and pull off his trousers. He closed his eyes but it made it impossible not to imagine it was Alice touching him instead of the hooker.

  He couldn’t go through with it. As the girl’s hands moved to release him from his shorts, an overpowering need to be sick overwhelmed Jim and he pushed her off and flung himself across the small room to a washbasin in the corner where he vomited copiously. He’d drunk more beer tonight than in his whole life and on an empty stomach.

  ‘What the–’ Penny cried, now sitting on her haunches on the bed. ‘What the hell you think you’re doing, mister? No refunds,’ she added. ‘And it’s extra for messing up the basin.’ She moved behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘You’re a first-timer? Had to drink to get you
r courage up, did you, mister?’ She handed him a towel. ‘Don’t worry. You’ll be safe with me. I’ll give you a good time.’ She moved her hand around him and slipped it into the front of his shorts.

  Jim pulled away from her and grabbed his pants from the floor beside the bed. He pulled them on and reaching into his pocket, threw another couple of bills on the bed. ‘I’m sorry, Penny. Nothing to do with you. You’re a lovely looking woman.’

  Then he was out of the room, running down the stairs, through the back door and onto the street.

  He hadn’t held back all those months with Alice to let his first sexual experience be with someone who had to be paid to do it. Making love was meant to be special, not sordid, not a financial transaction, like buying a beer. All of a sudden he was sober. Now he needed to find his way back to the YMCA.

  Staying Put

  Eastbourne

  It was always the same dream: blood diffusing in water. While it was happening Gwen was aware it was a dream – but knowing that didn’t make it any less terrifying. Was there a name for dreams that replayed things that had actually happened? She would have been able to cope with sea monsters, Nazi invasions, running away from an unknown terror. But this?

  Was she condemned to revisit this for the rest of her life? The water biting into her ankles like shards of ice cutting her to the bone; running through parched fields weighed down by the sodden leather of her shoes, water sloshing under her soaked socks, knowing as she ran – as she had known then – that it was too late. Nothing to be done. Alfie was dead. Her twin brother was gone and life would never be the same.