Brighter Days Ahead

by Mary Wood

  ‘It’s just me, then. Well, I’m glad about that. You might understand, when I tell you what Lucinda’s boyfriend was up to, and how that nasty piece of work you met in the pub in London has been threatening me again. She didn’t do it to my face, but she has been dropping snide, threatening remarks to Flo. Anyway, talking of Flo, I can at least discuss something with you in here that isn’t top-secret. We’re moving in together.’

  ‘Ooh?’

  ‘Don’t say it like that, as if you’re suspicious or jealous or something.’

  ‘But I am. I know how you feel about each other. And I’m jealous that it isn’t me moving in with you.’

  Simon felt an uncomfortable feeling creep up his spine. It wasn’t unlike the one he’d felt as a boy, if caught out in a misdeed.

  ‘Hey, I’m only pulling your leg. But be careful, Simon. Flo doesn’t really understand how we are. The whole concept is very new to her. She isn’t worldly-wise, and she could imagine herself in love with you and think you capable of returning those feelings.’

  What Roland said was so near the truth that Simon felt his colour rising. Thinking that to protest would make things worse, he agreed. ‘Yes, I’m aware of that, and I think it has happened to a certain extent. I am trying to be careful.’ A lie. I want Flo to love me . . . Oh God, what am I thinking? ‘We have a housemate. A horsey type, a jolly-hockey-sticks kind of girl. I like her very much. She’ll keep us both grounded.’ He laughed at this as if it was a light-hearted remark, but inside, while part of him welcomed the fact that Belinda was going to be living in the flat with them, he really wished it was just going to be him and Flo.

  ‘Good. But I mean it, Simon, don’t hurt Flo. She’s the best thing to come into both our lives, even though I didn’t know it for five long years. And I, for one, would miss her terribly if we lost her friendship. Shall we go? I need to be alone with you and forget all about this outside world where we have to be so restrained with each other.’

  Simon thrilled at these words, which set up an eager anticipation inside him. ‘Me too, darling.’

  The endearment was whispered, but Roland had heard. The pleasure the words gave him showed in his face.

  Wrapped up in their love and desire for each other, neither noticed the man they’d been wary of quickly finish his tea and follow them out.

  They held hands in the car, before driving off. ‘Tell me about Lucinda, as I don’t want anything to get in the way of our time at home . . . Oh, I didn’t mean that to sound how it did. I’m sorry, Simon.’

  ‘I know what you mean, and I know you would never be callous about Lucinda. You’re right, and I feel the same way – our time together is precious.’ Roland gave him a sideways look and squeezed his knee. His touch sent sensations travelling though Simon. ‘Better not do anything like that or I’ll risk being caught and will make you stop the car right now.’

  Though they both smiled at this, the air between them was fraught with the frustration of the love they had to deny until they were behind closed doors. Their look told each other how they felt. Simon knew he had to break the spell. If they were a man and woman, they could hold each other, kiss . . .

  ‘That was a big sigh.’

  Simon just smiled again. ‘Well, anyway, what I have to tell you is quite shocking.’ He explained how what had happened to Lucinda and Aldric was no different from what happened to them all the time. ‘We can’t choose who we fall in love with, and it’s others who put obstacles in our way.’

  ‘Poor Lucinda. Poor, poor Lucinda. In a way—’

  ‘No, don’t say it. There is nothing that would make her passing a good thing.’

  Roland apologized once again.

  Simon begged him not to. ‘Lucinda wouldn’t want us to be at odds on her account. She made her decision and it went horribly wrong for her, but like us, she had the courage to follow her heart, whatever the consequences might be.’

  They were both silent then and didn’t speak again until they were inside Roland’s house. And then only to declare their love as they clung to each other.

  Simon took longer to fall asleep. He snuggled up to Roland, content to feel the rise and fall of his gentle, restful breathing as he slept. It was enough just to be together. To him, it felt as though his heart pounded a rhythm of happiness around him. This was where he belonged. There would be time enough later to express their love fully. He thought of Flo, and wondered what it would be like to snuggle up to her in this way. But instead of confusing him, he knew with a clarity that gave him peace that it would never match what he felt for Roland. He must do all he could to help Flo see that. To help her understand that for a time he’d been lost, caught in a deeply sad world, and she had been there for him. This had made him misinterpret his feelings of deep friendship-love for the kind of passion that lovers need to share. He deeply regretted that and knew he must make it right somehow.

  Before he drifted into a peaceful sleep he felt a longing for the war to be over, so that he and Roland could go abroad together. He thought of their holiday in Paris two years ago, and how liberated the arty set there were. The freedom that he and Roland had experienced, in being able to express themselves publicly, had been exhilarating. The poor Parisians – what must life be like for them now, imprisoned and shackled by the Germans?

  A crashing sound catapulted Simon from sleep. Beside him, Roland shot up to a sitting position at the same moment, responding to the shock of the noise and the sudden emergence from sleep to wide-awake terror. The flash of a powerful camera bulb blinded them both. Each reacted the same way, by covering their eyes with their arm.

  ‘Police!’

  Simon uncovered his eyes to see someone he thought for a moment was Oliver Hardy, of Laurel and Hardy fame. Is this a joke? Please God, let it be.

  The large man with a bulging stomach, blacker-than-black hair protruding from a bowler hat and sporting a moustache held up a leather wallet and flashed a police identity badge. Beside him stood a thin, poker-faced man of small stature, pointing a camera at Simon and Roland. He was engaged in taking photos from all angles. Of them, of their clothes left hanging over a chair and of the room.

  ‘Now then, gentlemen, what do we have here? Get out of that bed and get dressed – you’re coming with me.’

  Realization that this was happening dawned on Simon. ‘No. No . . . We weren’t doing anything.’

  ‘I think yes, sir. You have been caught in an act of gross indecency. You are both under arrest.’

  ‘Oh God!’

  This gasp of fear from Roland compounded Simon’s terror. His mind wouldn’t work properly. He couldn’t rationalize anything that was happening. The only feeling he registered was fear. We’ll go to prison. Oh God, I can’t. No!

  ‘Get dressed, you’re coming with me to the station. There you will be charged. Tomorrow you will come before a judge. You’re looking at an easy war, gentlemen. One spent behind bars. Though it doesn’t look as if either of you has done anything to help the war effort so far.’

  This incensed Simon. ‘I am a serving officer in the Royal Navy, sir. Roland is too old for conscription and is a volunteer ARP.’

  ‘Well, I beg your pardon. In that case, once at the station we will contact the Military Police and give them our evidence on you, and they will deal with you. But you, sir, will be dealt with in the civil court, and I can tell you now: you face a good few years behind bars. Now both of you, get out of that pit of degradation and get dressed!’

  ‘What’re you in here for, then? You don’t look like no thief or owt.’

  Simon looked warily at his cellmate. But for the presence of this rough-looking, hard man with whom he shared the windowless, dingy police cell, smelling of urine and body odour, he knew that he’d be weeping his heart out. For Roland, more than for himself. He held hope inside him, at having to face a military court. They would recognize the extreme importance of his work and would probably allow him to return to it, with a sentence of no leave for a year, and
hard labour to be undertaken at the times when he should have been on leave. But for Roland, there was no such hope. Simon couldn’t see any alternative to him going to prison.

  ‘I take it you don’t want to tell me. You ain’t one of them shirt-lifters, are you? You look like one. If you are, don’t even think of coming near me, man. I’ll snap every bone in your bleedin’ body, if you do.’

  Disgust and despair clothed Simon. Will there ever come a day when love between two consenting adults, such as me and Roland, will be accepted? Why can’t people realize that we were born different? We aren’t perverts.

  ‘Obviously, being the age you are, and fit and strong, I don’t have to ask you why you’re here.’

  ‘What? What’re you saying? Talk straight, man.’

  ‘I’d say you’re either a conscientious objector or an avoider who has been hiding from conscription. A coward, who’s been caught and faces being brought to justice.’

  The man’s movement was swift. Simon had no time to defend himself. The blow caught him on his chin and sent him reeling backwards, hitting his head on the brick-exposed wall. Dazed, he saw the next punch coming; it was aimed at his stomach. Somehow he managed to roll out of the way. Caught off-balance, mid-punch, the man fell onto the bed. Something snapped in Simon – it wasn’t going to happen again.

  He grabbed the man’s arm, twisted it up his back, hooked his foot around his ankle and rendered him incapable of being able to stand up. The man’s hollering resounded around the walls of the cell and echoed down the corridor outside. The sound of keys jangling and chains rattling gave Simon a sense that help was at hand. Releasing the man, he thought he would only need to report his aggression to the police officer, who would surely attend and then he would be safe.

  It was an assumption he regretted immediately, as a crushing blow caught him in his kidney area, bringing him to his knees. Large, rough hands grabbed each side of his head and jerked him forward in a violent movement that smashed his face onto the man’s bent knee. His nose cracked, his front tooth left its socket and dug into his tongue. Pain seared through every part of him.

  The sound of a key in the door offered a morsel of relief. Help was at hand. The door creaked open, but closed within seconds. God, they aren’t going to help me!

  With this realization came a sense of his own life being in danger. Survival instinct gave Simon strength. Grabbing the man’s legs, he jerked them forward with all the power he could muster. The man crashed backwards, and his back jarred on the brick base of the bed. His head smashed into the wall. His body slumped to the ground. He landed on his knees, his lifeless eyes staring into Simon’s.

  The scream started deep inside him and rose to come from his mouth in a blood-curdling sound that had many feet running towards the cell. The door opened. ‘Christ, he’s killed him!’

  Another voice shouted, ‘Get the doctor, now!’

  A hand pulled Simon roughly to his feet. Other hands grabbed his arms and yanked them painfully behind him, then snapped on tight-fitting handcuffs.

  Blood blurred his vision, ran from his nose and dripped into his mouth, but the police handling him showed no mercy to his screams of agony as they dragged him backwards down the corridor. Roland’s voice came to him, muffled but full of anguish. ‘Simon, Simon, what’s going on? Are you hurt? SIMON!’

  He couldn’t answer, but could only moan his agony through a rasping throat.

  ‘Shove him in the solitary cell till the doctor gets here. Branyard, you were the first on the scene: charge him with murder and read him his rights. Wright, have you contacted the Military Police yet?’ To the man saying that he’d not been able to get through, the voice barked, ‘Do it, man – and do it now. This is a civil matter and we need to establish that.’

  As the men dragging Simon lifted him roughly onto a bed in a cell that he could just make out had padded walls, the voice came to him again. Only this time it was very close to his ear and full of malice: ‘Bloody queer-boy, we’ve got you now. You deliberately killed a man. Witnessed by one of me own coppers, it was. You’re a dead man, Nancy boy. Dead on the end of a rope is where you’re going to end up. And rightly deserved – ponce.’

  The door closed, leaving Simon in a blackness like none he’d ever experienced in his life. Not one beam of light showed from anywhere to relieve the impenetrable darkness. Thoughts of it being like a coffin had him shivering with the sheer horror of the situation he found himself in, until a pain in his head devoured all thoughts, taking his body and mind to the limits of his endurance, and he went into a swirling blackness. Different from the blackness of the cell, this place he was floating in had beams of light that caused an intangible feeling of happiness to bathe him. It lifted him and twisted and turned him, as if playing with him. He must go and tell Roland about it. Get him to join him here.

  ‘Come with me, Roland. Come on, we can be happy here.’ Why isn’t Roland answering me? Why does he keep saying my name? ‘Roland! I’m here.’

  Another voice came to him. ‘Lucinda?’ Turning from Roland, Simon looked upon his beautiful sister. Her hand was outstretched. He took it and felt euphoria pass through his weightless body. ‘Come, Simon.’

  He couldn’t refuse. He didn’t want to refuse. An earthly voice called him, desperation clear in the tone. ‘Simon. Simon!’ Now it sounded as though Roland was shouting into a hollow pipe, as his voice echoed and faded. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. He was free . . . Free.

  Roland sat up straight, trying to take in what had happened. How had Simon visited him? Where had he gone? His logical mind wouldn’t let in the truth. No one can float through walls. It must have been a figment of my imagination. The fact that I was thinking of him and in an extreme state of anxiety, and in fear of my own situation, must have caused me to hallucinate. It’s the only explanation.

  The sound of footsteps coming nearer, and then stopping further up the corridor, had him listening intently. ‘He’s in here, Doctor. You’d better take a look at him first, and then attend the dead man.’

  Roland heard the keys jangle once more and a lock snap back, then a heavy door creaked open. ‘Good God, he’s dead!’

  The rasp of agony that coursed through Roland’s body and forced itself through his throat was a release from the pain that kicked him in the gut and strangled his heart. ‘No! God, no, no, no. No!’ Tears streamed down his face, mingled with snot, without him being able to stop them. His strength left him. He slumped off the edge of his bed and sank onto his knees. ‘No, God. No, please don’t do this. Simon! SIMON.’

  A policeman appeared at the bars of his cell. ‘Shut up, queer-boy. We’ve enough to contend with. Your filthy, murdering lover-boy is dead, so put that in your pipe and smoke it!’

  Shocked into silence, Roland heard the doctor’s authoritative voice: ‘Officer, that isn’t called for. Now I need to examine both bodies. Despite what you saw, this man has been so badly injured that he has died from his wounds. I’m only a doctor, not an investigative officer, but even to me this smacks of a fight having taken place between two men, and not an incident where one man has wantonly killed another. Who started the fight, I don’t know, but as neither of the victims can be questioned, I think logic tells us one was the aggressor and the other was defending himself. I would put my bet on this man not being the aggressor. You say he is an officer of His Majesty’s Forces. And yes, he may have tendencies that you don’t like or agree with, but—’

  ‘Tendencies, as you put it, Doctor, that are against the law.’

  ‘Quite, but on the other hand you have a known criminal, whom I have attended here on many occasions, who is capable of extreme violence and who, to me, seems more likely to be the perpetrator of any crime committed here.’ Roland knew the solace of some relief slicing through his extreme pain, as the doctor went on: ‘Therefore, no matter what your officer said he saw, I would not be so quick to judge. An autopsy will tell us how each of them died, and will more than likely solve the mys
tery. In the meantime, open up this man’s cell. He is in shock and needs to be attended to.’

  Roland felt some hope on hearing this. The police officer turned towards him. ‘Get away from the door – sit on your bed.’ A simple command, but one holding intense hate and disgust. The doctor whom he’d only heard speaking and hadn’t been able to see through the barred window of his cell door, entered the room. Roland looked up into a kindly face that was known to him.

  ‘Roland! My dear fellow. I – I . . . Officer, help this gentleman up onto the bed, and don’t hurt him. My God, Roland, how on earth have you landed up here?’

  Roland couldn’t answer. How had he not recognized Peter’s voice? Tears clogged his throat.

  ‘Officer, what is this man doing in here?’

  Roland cringed as the sergeant stepped forward. ‘Gross indecent act with the deceased you have just been attending to, Doctor. He is to face the judge in the morning.’

  ‘Oh, Roland, I’m so sorry. You know that your friend has passed away, don’t you? I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Help me, Peter, help me.’

  ‘Of course I will. Dear, dear, what sad circumstances you find yourself in. I’ll give you some medication that will put you out for a while . . . No, don’t refuse it, Roland. You’ve had a massive shock, on top of the shock you sustained by whatever circumstances brought you here. I need to shut that off for you and give your body time to recover. I’ll contact Frazer for you. I’ll get him to come and see you first thing in the morning. As you know, he is the finest lawyer going. Have you had a drink since you arrived?’

  Roland shook his head.

  ‘Officer, fetch this man a hot, sweet tea, please.’

  Roland didn’t want tea, but he didn’t want to hurt his kind friend. All he wanted was answers. Everything Peter spoke about – Simon being dead, himself needing to be under sedation and requiring another friend, Frazer, to help him – was alien to him. How did all this happen? ‘How?’