Whenever the vision of any clock moved across her eyes she searched every cranny, as if exploring the house for the first time, which made it easier not to let Sailor know the clock wasn’t where it should be. Even so, it was nowhere to be found, and from deciding to say nothing so as not to spoil his fun in thinking she hadn’t twigged its disappearance, she said when he came out of the bathroom looking fresh from his wash: ‘Sailor, I can’t find that carriage clock anywhere.’
His embarrassment showed as usual by a firework crackling of knuckles. She couldn’t feel regret at Sidney’s heirloom going west, and didn’t care that she would never see it again, but had asked without intending to.
He faced her across the table. ‘I suppose it’s time I told you. I owed a big bill at the off-licence, and when I showed him the clock he agreed to take it in exchange. Otherwise he would have had me in court.’ He sat as if waiting for a sentence of doom. ‘I’m sorry, love.’
‘I wish you’d asked me.’
‘I should have done. I don’t know why I didn’t.’
First the car, and now this. Money had to come from somewhere for their drinking. Nobody could afford to go at such a rate. She laid a hand on his wrist, unable to bear the least sign of his misery. ‘I’d do anything for you, Sailor. You know that, don’t you?’
He nodded. They were silent, like two thieves caught out instead of one. Speculating as to who was the biggest made her smile, which gave him hope. She would rather not have known, and searching for an explanation as to why she had brought the matter out made her laugh.
The sculptured fixity of guilt on Sailor’s face dissolved. ‘There’s only one thing to do, if that’s the way it takes you. The pubs’ll be open in ten minutes, and it’ll be nice sitting there to forget our troubles, if that’s what they are.’
To prepare them for the walk he took a half-gone bottle from the top of the television and poured two powerful drinks. She liked his style, and his timing, and the first sip of whisky was as welcome as if she had been waiting for it all day.
On their way to the pub it was no longer necessary to keep up with his pace, and she even adjusted hers so that he could stay level. He sat in his usual corner, little framed hunting scenes on the wall behind, pipe well chimneying. His arm lost its slight shake after the enabling liquid of the first strong bitter had gone down.
People who had known him from his caretaker days called out: ‘Hello, Sailor, how are you? Still at that titty-bottle, I see!’
Knowing himself to be a waymark of their ordered lives lit his eyes back to a hundred watts. He only nodded, however, not wasting words, though he liked being popular. What man didn’t, Ann thought, or any man at all, come to that. Some greetings were so brazen she wondered whether he had known the woman before meeting her. Still, such attention only increased his value in her eyes, and the esteem for her in his, and she knew that the more esteem he felt for her the more he loved her, which made the love between them as perfect as any could be.
Walking home hand in hand she stopped to kiss him beneath the corner sodium, not caring what anyone might think. A feeling of carefree youth had come back to her on living with Sailor.
‘I love you.’ He relaxed his embrace. ‘I can go through the shoals and the shallows with you.’
One day he went out on his own and was away longer than usual. The sky was black with a threat of rain, and streetlights came on as he reached for the gate latch. He sat in the armchair as if he would never get up again.
She stroked his face. ‘I wish you wouldn’t overdo it, Sailor. You aren’t as young as you were.’
‘I know. I walked too far.’
‘Where did you go?’
He yawned. ‘To damn near Strelley and back. When I get going it’s hard to stop.’
‘That’s miles away.’
‘No buses went by, and when I was near home three shot by.’
‘If I’d been with you I’d have called a taxi.’
‘It’s all right, love. I’m better now I’m back with you.’
She followed him down the spirals and discovered it was where she wanted to go. If he pawned or sold their possessions it was only because she had always wanted to do the same. All that mattered was for two people to use them so that they could live the way they wanted. Love wasn’t love unless you could break free of the crushing pressures inside yourself.
She kept a glistening sort of order in the house, everything spick and span, as if to spite Fate at her surrender to the way it said she should live. Energy came from she didn’t know where as she pushed the Electrolux in and out of the bedrooms. A green cloth suitcase with a number stencilled across in black lay at the bottom of the wardrobe. She lifted it, to suck dust from the corners. What he kept inside she didn’t know. Her own papers were stowed in a cigar box of Sidney’s which she kept on her dressing table. Now and again she threw away old bank statements and cheque stubs, or took out cashpoint and credit cards when they were short of money.
She swilled dishes and cutlery, and stowed everything in its place until she felt exhausted. By the time Sailor came down from the mists of sleep, she had cooked the breakfast he was so fond of, and put biscuits and coffee out for herself.
‘I eat so much of a morning,’ he quipped, ‘that you’d think I was going to be hanged.’
‘Except it’s almost midday,’ she smiled, ‘so it’s a bit late for that.’
He took the empty plate to the sink, looking around before lighting his pipe. ‘The place is as clean as a new pin. I don’t know how you do it, my love.’
‘I have to,’ she said. ‘I like it that way.’
‘Same here. Squalor would be the death of me. You get a horror of it after a life on the mess deck.’
He went for a walk, so she put on the front-room light and gazed at the jigsaw, finding it hard to pick from the multitude of pieces. About a third was done, and the ominous French ship was taking shape through smoke and bloodshed. A chair eased her aching back, and she wasn’t sorry to lose the overall view.
Dabbling among the blue-grey of the upper right she found three pieces to slot in. Then she stared, discouraged at what was yet to be done, though glad they had accomplished so much. The mast of the Victory was reassuring in its girth. Sailor had assembled it in earlier days, his face like a child’s while it came together. She smoothed a finger up and down, as if there were no curving interlocking lines and she was carressing three-dimensional wood.
He made no mention of her progress, but sat in his usual armchair by the fire. ‘You look as if you went a long way,’ she said.
‘I did, but not too far from you, and that’s what keeps me going.’ After a silence he turned to her. ‘I saw a face I had to leave behind.’
His fear alarmed her. ‘What face?’
‘I can’t explain. I just want to rest, love.’
If there was more to his walk than was hinted at she would only find out by following him, but would die of shame if he turned and saw. On the other hand maybe the act of doing so would prove her love.
Whisky cooled his tea, and she reached for the bottle to pour some in hers as well. ‘Eating and drinking will wake me up.’ He drained his cup, and took a piece of cake. ‘Do you believe in God?’
Such a question could only be answered by saying yes.
‘Why?’
‘I’ve got to,’ she said.
He relished another fill of potent tea. ‘What sort of a chap do you think He is?’
‘I don’t know. How could I ask?’ The talk disturbed her. ‘But I’m sure He’ll look after us.’
He stroked Midnight, who jumped down, sensing his unease. ‘I think He’s got it in for me.’
‘Why’s that, Sailor?’ She couldn’t bite her tongue and keep silent. ‘Is anything wrong with your life?’
He altered tack, her question warning of further turmoil. ‘I’d just like to be able to make you happier.’
‘I’m as happy as I want to be, and it’s all because of th
e way you care for me.’
‘I get this ache up my left arm.’ He lifted it, let it fall. ‘It might be rheumatism.’
‘You should see a doctor.’
‘It comes and goes.’ He splashed more whisky into his cup. ‘But this puts the melters on it.’
She would believe in God a little less if He had it in for Sailor. ‘Still, you should call at the doctor’s,’ though she knew he wouldn’t, and hoped her heart would go bang before his, a massive cardiac explosion landing her in the middle of nowhere for ever and ever.
Blue veins pulsed on the back of his hand. ‘I will. But if God has it in for me I can’t say I blame Him. If I’d been Him I would have killed me years ago.’
Silence was the only way to question him. She stroked his face, a drop of clear water falling onto her hand, and he fell asleep before she could ask.
He only came alive in the morning after getting at the bottle. Nor did she feel part of the world till the first strong drink had gone down. Neither said much after it had. The lines of walls and windows sharpened as the liquor took effect, and whoever felt like it stood up to make breakfast.
Through the mist of her apparent wellbeing Sailor sat with smouldering pipe, looking as young as ever. In the hours that passed he told matelot stories in a clear voice, Ann not caring that they’d been heard before. The ghost that threatened him was harmless while he talked. After tea they sat drinking till going to bed at eleven, by which time two bottles had gone dry.
He rubbed a hand across his eyes as if to order the thoughts behind. ‘It gets worse, and I don’t know why that should be.’
She hoped he wouldn’t say, as if any revelation would be too late. ‘What does?’
‘It’s eating me to death. I’m starting to see them everywhere. I know it wasn’t my fault, but that don’t help, though I had to live through it.’
To tell something dreadful about herself might have comforted him, but all she could do was listen, pulling Midnight onto her lap for comfort. ‘I don’t know what you mean, Sailor.’
‘It’s my first wife I’m talking about. She did it on me a few times, though I was no angel, either. We had a daughter, a wonderful girl she was, and then my wife told me she was somebody else’s. She let me know in such a way that I could see a mile off how true it was. I’d loved Melanie for ten years as my own kid, but she had been put into my wife by somebody else. I went mad. That sort of thing’s murder land.’
Ann didn’t know whether her face went flour-white or blood-orange red at the certainty that he had killed his wife, and that that was his appalling secret.
For a smile he managed a bleak jack o’ lantern grimace. ‘No, my love, I never touched her. It was too big a blow. I’d take nobody’s life. Nor have I ever gone in for hitting women.’
She wished there was some way of stopping him, because what did anything from the past have to do with the way they lived now? His blue-glow eyes looked ahead, as if he was telling everyone in the world because he could hardly bear to let her know, or recall it himself. ‘You should have told me before, Sailor.’
‘How could I?’ He turned to her, and she felt close again. ‘I couldn’t bear the sight of her, so I lit off. Not long after, she killed herself, and left a note saying it was because of me. I’d ruined her life. I was the worst person she’d known, the worst in the world. That’s why I couldn’t tell you. Nothing she said was true, but with a person like that you’ve got to take the responsibility. If I’d told her I’d forgiven her for what she did she might not have done it. It didn’t occur to me. Even if I didn’t mean it, I could have said I forgave her, then maybe she wouldn’t have gassed herself.’
‘I’ll never believe it was your fault, Sailor.’
He didn’t hear. ‘If I couldn’t believe that, I might live in peace for the rest of my life. But let me go on, because you haven’t heard the rest of it yet. Though Melanie wasn’t mine I never held anything against her. And she was my daughter by the time I’d brought her up. She left home at eighteen, and I saw her a time or two. She was happy enough. We got on so well she said she’d come and live with me when I left the Navy.’
‘That was nice,’ Ann put in.
He looked at rain making tracks down the garden window, unable to face her. ‘She did the same thing as her mother, took pills and killed herself when she was twenty. She did it out of the blue, just like that.’ His glass was empty, and he leaned towards her, his expression as dead as if he’d had no rest from the day he was born.
‘You can’t say it was your fault.’
‘I’ve got a conscience, though. The sharks were set on me, and they won’t let go.’
He had never been altogether hers, but at this moment he belonged to her more than he ever had, more than she could have thought possible. ‘It does no good to torment yourself.’
‘I know, and I feel a bit calmer for telling you. I did want to let you know about it on the day we were married, but I couldn’t bring it out. Troubles shared are troubles doubled, in any case.’
‘They wouldn’t have been, not with me.’ Troubles shared are proof of love. ‘And what if they are?’
She decided from now on to check what liquor was brought into the house, and when he came back with an off-licence plastic bag of new supplies she asked where the money had come from. ‘We can’t afford to go on drinking at such a rate.’
‘Never you mind about that, my love. We’re managing very well, as you can see. We’ll be all right, as long as the rent gets paid.’
‘That’s because I take it straight out of the pension every month.’
‘I bless you for that, but leave the rest to me.’
They tried to drink less, but two bottles were finished all the same, levels going down like sand in an egg timer. When Sailor fell out of his chair and lay full length before the fire he was hard to rouse. Bringing the story of his wife and daughter into the open had made things worse, a despairing thought she found impossible to endure while heaping blankets over his body so that he wouldn’t be cold in the night.
She rested her ear on his chest to find out if he was breathing. How daft to think he’s dead. His body shuddered, a heartbreaking sigh from deep inside. Midnight’s furry weight warmed her knees when she sat in the next chair knowing that before long she would get up and pour herself another drink.
Her credit card had gone from the cigar box, so it was obvious where the money was coming from. A smell of frying bacon filled the kitchen, Sailor singing with sleeves rolled up as he stood by the stove. Fearing the edict he knew must come, the ditty faded. She put two slices of bread in the toaster. ‘We’ve got to stop drinking, Sailor.’
His cheeks were purplish, hands shaking as he pushed the spatula around the pan. ‘Just as well stop living. Nobody knows how long they’ve got on this earth, and if I don’t drink I won’t last as long as if I do.’
Her look made him alter his mind. ‘That can’t be so.’
He set eggs, bacon, sausage, fried bread and tomatoes before her. ‘You may be right. We’ll give it a try.’
She carried two large bottles of water from the supermarket to pour into their glasses. ‘It’s time we had another go at the puzzle. It’d be marvellous if we could get to the end.’
‘I’ve been trying for years, but I was waiting to finish it with you.’ He was smiling with pleasure. ‘Come on, let’s get cracking.’
They had never fitted so many at one time. He completed the main deck of the Victory, and found the sail that was to become Nelson’s shroud, while Ann put together the uneven line of marines. ‘Now for the mizzen starboard tackle,’ he said.
He looked better after the nap. At moments she felt the hardship of resistance, and looked around for a drink, hands shaking no less than his. She caressed a glass, but wouldn’t be the first to give in, the struggle so consuming that she no longer bothered to clean the house.
Sailor came back from a walk, a half-bottle showing from each pocket. He put them unopened on t
he sideboard, and lay back in his chair. She sat by him on the arm. ‘What happened, Sailor?’
‘I turned a corner at the top of Hillcot Drive, and saw one of ’em.’
‘Who?’ She dreaded the answer.
‘Melanie looked at me from over a hedge, and the blood stopped in my veins. She was wearing a blue frock, and smiling like she used to be when she waited for me to come home after months at sea with a present. But she screamed, terrified. Her mother was there as an old woman, and she never was one. She came out of the door and tried to pull Melanie inside. I walked away as quick as my legs would take me. I didn’t care in what direction I made distance. They’ll chase me into the grave. Sometimes it’s all right for weeks. Then it hits me again. It gets worse.’
‘Maybe it’ll go away,’ though she didn’t see how it could, because as he talked she was seeing them herself, a flash of both by the kitchen door, doll-faces glaring at her with loathing.
He stood, pale and unsteady. ‘I’ll be in the front room, doing a bit at the puzzle.’
He took the terrors with him, as if they were built into his broad shoulders. She found him asleep, a few pieces in a clenched hand. She caressed him, then punched and pleaded till a half-opened eye made a window of light into his soul. ‘Come on, Sailor, let’s get you upstairs.’
The manoeuvre took half an hour, but she hoped he would stay in bed for as long as it took to bring him peace. The time she sat by him couldn’t be measured. Talking more about his curse would break the spell, she hoped, and it seemed to, for after three days in bed he walked almost normally to the pub, wearing his cap and the indestructible duffle coat, and using the stick Sidney had hiked with in his youth.
‘Smoke, noise and beer smells are my natural element after sea water,’ he smiled on opening the door. It had become hers as well, the one atmosphere in which she and Sailor could be alive together. ‘This’ll drive the sickness out,’ he said when they sat down to the first drink. ‘I’ve never known it to fail.’
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