by John Hanley
He backed away as she dragged me into the corridor. The door to the lounge opened and several faces peered out at the commotion.
‘Get back in there, you cretins. Mind your own business and stay away from me!’ she screamed at them, still dragging me like a stubborn dog.
The faces disappeared and the door closed quickly.
‘Saul, your parties are getting worse. Which door, damn it?’
He pointed to the one opposite.
She barged in and spun me around her so that she was between me and the door. She slammed it and turned the key. The room was empty with only a soft glow from a bedside lamp. It was clearly Saul’s parents’ room as it was dominated by a large double bed. She rushed at me and flung her arms around me.
‘You bastard. What have you done to me?’ She pushed me away and pummelled my chest with her fists. The attack reached a crescendo of anger then slowed to a steady beat until her shoulders slumped and she started to sob. Great, breathless, heaving sobs.
She blinked at me, used the backs of her hands to stem the tears and tried to get her breathing under control. She stared, took in my bare feet and legs and sodden shirt tails and her wracking cries started to transform, like a change of musical key, to hysterical laughter. She pointed at my legs and tried to speak but couldn’t control her tongue. She turned back to the door, pulled the key out and flung it into the far corner of the room.
She took a deep breath. ‘We don’t leave here until we’ve sorted this out. Understand?’
I nodded, though I still shivered. From shock, cold, exhaustion, relief? I had no idea.
She advanced towards me again and pushed me, gently this time, onto the bed. ‘You’re wet. You must be cold. Get in the bed, you need to get warm.’
I wanted to resist. I really did, but I couldn’t find the strength. I started to slide under the covers.
‘Take your shirt off first – you don’t want to dirty the sheets, stupid.’ Her voice was much warmer now.
I undid the studs, which had almost defeated me after my swim, shrugged out of the shirt and turned to the bed.
‘And those as well.’ She pointed to my underpants.
I stepped out of them, tingling all over, with the goosebumps of anticipation softening my resistance. I slid under the cool silk sheets and pulled the blankets and counterpane up to my chin – my own pathetic Maginot Line.
She waited for me to settle then reached behind and undid the clip holding the top of her zip. She eased the long dress off her shoulders and shook herself out of it. She was naked underneath. She unclipped her diamond necklace and earrings, dropped them to the floor then moved her scented beauty to the bed.
I shuffled along and made room for her. Her body was cool against my rapidly heating skin. She rolled onto her side and caressed my face with her fingers.
‘Kiss me, Jack.’
There was a hammering on the door. Saul’s stage whisper. ‘Beware the siren voice.’
‘Ignore him. He’s drunk,’ she said
That didn’t make him wrong. He was too late though, I’d already been lured onto the rocks. She pressed her mouth to mine and forced my lips open. Adrenaline surged through me and I kissed her back, gently at first, then with mounting urgency.
She rolled over, pulled me onto her and ran her hand along my back. She teased her tongue over my lips then eased her legs apart. ‘Jack, please love me, now. Don’t stop.’
Shifting her position, she pulled me deep and moved with me, slowly at first then, catching my rhythm, she started to dictate the motion, rising up and plunging down.
I was lost, captivated by the primal movement yet I paused. ‘What about –’
‘Shush, it doesn’t matter. I’m safe. Just relax. Let’s move together, gently this time, slowly, there, feel me through your body. Love me, Jack.’
I tried to ride the wave as it built under me, tried to stay on the crest and control it, prolong it, but it swept me up and rushed me forwards until I shuddered into the shallows and lay panting gently on her, my chest pressed into hers.
She wrapped her legs around me, trapping me inside, and kissed me passionately. ‘Thank you, Jack. You’ll never know how important that was.’
‘I’m sorry if I was too quick. I’ll be better next time.’
‘Don’t be silly. You were fantastic, Jack. Now rest for a while, be still.’
She wrapped her arms around me, pulled my head into her neck and caressed the small of my back.
My body flooded with relief. She loved me after all, had come back to me, despite my stupidity. I was dazed but glowed with happiness. I tried to put my feelings into words, muttered clumsy phrases.
She listened while she kissed my eyes, her breath sweet and warm on my cheek. ‘Shush, relax and sleep.’
I surfaced through multiple layers of cool water, my eyes blinking awake, aware of a scrabbling sound in the room. Caroline wasn’t in the bed. I lifted myself up on my elbows. My head throbbed, heavy anvil blows clanging inside. She was in the corner of the room, on her knees, searching for something.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m looking for the bloody key.’
‘Why? Come back to bed.’
‘I’ve got to find it. I need to go.’ Her voice was becoming strident. She had changed yet again.
I crawled out of the bed and along the carpet and made a lunge for her naked back. She slapped me off.
‘Stop it. We’ve got to find the key.’
‘Okay, if you insist.’ I wriggled around, half searching, rather enjoying the sight of her bottom as she crawled around. I was growing hard again and made another attempt to wrap my arms around her.
She turned fiercely on me. ‘The key first!’
My probing fingers found the little piece of metal. I clasped it in my hand and retreated to the bed. She darted after me and tried to prise it from my grasp.
‘The key after,’ I said.
Furious, she slapped at me and caught the top of my head with her fingers.
‘Hey, that’s enough. What’s wrong?’
She grabbed my wrist in one hand and bit my fingers to force me to release the key.
I pulled away, angry now. ‘What’s changed? Why are you so anxious to go?’
‘Bastards. Men, you’re all bastards.
‘You’ve been with him, haven’t you? Haven’t you?’
‘No. I haven’t –’
‘That’s what all this is about. You’ve been with him and you want me as your…’ I struggled for the word, ‘insurance.’ The thought was too horrible.
‘No, Jack, you’re wrong. Nothing happened. I was angry with you and turned it onto him. We argued. I took him back to his hotel then drove around trying to find you.’
I closed my eyes. ‘And how did you do that?’ I already knew the answer.
‘Well, there was no one else around so I went to Rachel’s.’
‘For Christ’s sake, you stupid woman. Why the hell did you do that?’
‘I had to find you, Jack. I thought she would know where you were.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She was very polite. Suggested I try here.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘She was calm, almost disinterested.’
‘You had sex with him, didn’t you?’
‘No. I swear we didn’t. I wouldn’t. How can you say that after what we just did?’
‘It’s because of what we just did that I can say that.’ My head was pounding but it wasn’t the alcohol.
‘You don’t know what you’re saying. That’s so cruel, Jack.’
‘Save the crocodile tears. You’re not fooling me again.’
I spoke quietly now. Resigned to the fact that she had used me once again and this time had gone too far. She obviously hadn’t been able to control Kohler and he had left his seed inside her.
He would disappear and she would be left to carry the burden. But there was always the fall guy, Jack. Let him
think that any unfortunate result would be his and he would have to look after her, marry her.’
I held out the key. ‘Here, take it, go on.’
She stared at me. ‘Do you really believe that if I got pregnant I would have the baby?’ She gathered up her dress and struggled into it.
I watched her in silence, the key cold in my hand. I didn’t know what to think. I was immobilised again.
She finished her adjustments and held out her hand. I dropped the key into it and watched her turn away. She opened the door and paused on the threshold.
‘You silly, silly fool. You have no idea what you have thrown away.’ Then she was gone.
The front door thudded behind her.
22
Sunday
‘‘‘Put out the light, and then put out the light:’’’
I banged my fist on the rusting bonnet of the old Renault.
‘“If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,
I can again thy former light restore,
Should I repent me –’’’
‘Why are you talking to the tractor in Old English? It’s French, for God’s sake.’ Alan had crept up on me.
Startled, I turned, book in hand, and waved it at him. ‘Do you think, Saul is Iago?’
‘What are you talking about? Does “Yago” mean a Jewish pain in the arse?’
‘Alan, you are a “ foolish gnat”. Haven’t you read Othello yet?’
‘Oh, I get it. Another of your Shakespearian fantasies. We thought you’d had your fill playing that bloody Jew in that awful play. Don’t you realise how embarrassing that was?’
He grabbed the book. ‘Othello, the Moor of Venice. Hang on, wasn’t your play about Venice? But it wasn’t about a Moor; it was about a Christian merchant, wasn’t it – played by Marcks? Now that was a bloody joke for a start. Anyway, what’s a Moor when he’s at home?’
I pulled the book out of his hand and placed it on the groundsheet where I’d left the carburettor I was meant to be repairing. Alan had obviously slept through the casket scenes in the play. ‘The Moor in Othello is a black man, a famous general.’
‘Oh, now you want to play a nigger as well as a Jew? What’s wrong with you, man?’
‘I don’t want to play Othello, I’m just trying to understand how his closest adviser, Iago, can poison his mind so easily.’
‘Ah, ah. Now, I do know about poison and Shakespeare. Very fond of that, especially in Romeo and Juliet.’
‘Not that sort of poison, you “clay-brained peasant.” He persuades Othello that his wife has been unfaithful and he kills her – “puts out the light.” Then he finds out Iago has been lying and has him tortured to death.’
‘Not one of his comedies then?’
‘No, Alan. It’s about jealousy – “the green-eyed monster.”
‘Oh, I get it now. You and that bitch Caroline. So you think Saul might be poisoning you against her. Bloody good luck to him, I say. He probably wants her for schlong exercise. From what I hear, she won’t need to be asked twice.’
I froze and glared at my brother. I felt the blood rushing to my face and clenched my fists. That bloody woman had destroyed my relationship with Rachel, had made me suspicious of Saul and now I was angry with Alan because he might have told the truth about her.
I gritted my teeth. ‘What are you doing here, anyway?’ I noticed the rifle slung over his shoulder and the spotting scope peeking out of the canvas shooting bag on his hip. ‘I heard some shots earlier. Was that you trying to hit the barn with your eyes shut?’
‘Ha, bloody ha. If you must know, I was sighting the new Aldis scope I picked up at Bisley. Good grouping at 400 yards now.’
‘Pity you didn’t have it for the competition. Remind me where Victoria came.’
‘I’ve had enough teasing about that from Dad.’
‘Fifty-third wasn’t it – out of seventy-six, and you let those Guernsey “donkeys” beat you.’
‘Alright, alright. At least I had the top score of our team.’
‘Hah, did the rest forget their spectacles?’
‘You’re just jealous because I scored more than you did last time.’
‘Hang on. Did you say you’ve been zeroing it at 400 yards? Where, for God’s sake, Alan?
‘Relax, I was only shooting along the cliff and into the hedge. There’s enough earth there to stop the bullets.’
‘So long as you don’t get the elevation wrong, send some over and puncture any of Charlie Le Riche’s cows. I hope you checked with Father first.’
‘He won’t mind,’ he looked slyly at me, ‘will he?’
‘Not until he gets a complaint from the constable. He had enough problems getting permission for the range in the top field. Shooting across there’s not legal, is it?’
‘Suppose not. But I’ll say I was firing blanks to scare off the crows.’
‘And who’s going to believe that? I suppose you’ll be shooting out the light at the end of the breakwater next to check your long-range grouping.’
I wish I hadn’t let that thought out because he strode towards the tractor and unslung his old Short Magazine Lee-Enfield Mark III, or Smellie as he called it. He rested it on the bonnet and pressed his right eye into the rubber cap of the telescopic sight. It only had a three times magnification but was a lot more effective than the basic iron sights. I picked up the spotting scope and tried to zero in on the navigation light on the end of the breakwater.
‘How far do you reckon, Jack?’
I tried to focus on the problem – anything to take my mind off my misery.
‘Too far – about 1,300 yards with at least a 100 foot drop. Too many variables. Height differential is only the first problem. With wind drift, slight differences in powder load, atmospheric pressure and uncertainty about yardage it could take you several clips before you got the range. By that time you’d be under arrest and Father would be waiting to shove the barrel somewhere you wouldn’t like it.’
He grinned as he adjusted the sight. ‘I bet Dad could do it, though.’
‘He probably could but wouldn’t. He’s drummed safety into us enough times, though he seems to have failed with you.’
He shrugged. ‘Strange thing he said to me when I showed him the scope. You know he refuses to talk about what he did during the war.’ Alan had adopted a conspiratorial tone. ‘Well, he said that these scopes were at their best at dawn and dusk.’
‘So?’
‘Well, do you think he might have been a sniper? I bet he killed loads of Germans.’
‘Why don’t you ask him?’
‘Don’t be daft.’ He levelled the rifle and squinted through the scope. ‘You know, anything up to 600 yards would be a simple shot with this. I could sink any of those boats with a couple of bullets from this angle. Straight through – they wouldn’t know what had hit them. Blow out their bottoms – no problem.’
‘No, you imbecile, the bullets would go straight through their planking and leave small exit holes. You’d need several magazines to turn their bottoms into colanders.’
‘Scare their crews though, wouldn’t it?’
‘I think we’d all be a lot safer if you put the rifle back in the gun safe and played with your toy soldiers instead.’
‘Don’t patronise me.’ He lowered the rifle. As usual, he’d gone from being silly to angry at the same speed as a bullet leaving his rifle. ‘You’re as blind as the rest of them, Jack. Laugh now, but we’re going to need all the soldiers we can get soon – especially those who can shoot straight.’ He grabbed the scope from me and put it back in his sack. ‘Anyway, I came to find you because dinner is ready, which is more than can be said for Alphonse here. I thought you were fixing his breathing.’
‘Ha, Ha. Alphonse is no more. He is a dead tractor, an expired vehicle, sans breath, sans heart, sans everything.’ Most of the farms still used horses in preference to these new fangled contraptions. Hands full of oil, yet again, I could understand their reluctance to chang
e.
‘Never mind that. Come on, before they start shouting. There’s another surprise waiting for you.’
I wrapped up the pieces of carburettor in an oiled cloth and followed my brother across the top field and down into the dip where the farmhouse had stood for several generations.
I touched one of Boadicea’s cylinder heads with my fingers. ‘Still warm, what’s he doing here?’
‘I don’t know. But it’s a nice surprise – should be a bit of fun if he and Dad start up.’
We skirted the bike and approached the kitchen door. Alan went in first while I gathered my thoughts. This could be about the photographs I’d collected from Joan’s house on Friday – I hadn’t had the nerve to go near the club since my performance at the dance.
I had examined the photos with a magnifying glass and there could be no doubt. Kohler’s face was very clear. He was posing with three other Germans, all wearing the national badges of the Third Reich on their tracksuits. I’d asked Joan if she thought Kohler had recognised her but she doubted it as she had only been sixteen at the time and a member of the British team, which had avoided mixing with their hosts. Joan was leaving the following day for a training camp in France and she hadn’t objected to my borrowing the prints. I’d agonised about whom to share them with but, in the absence of any other inspiration, I had gone to Uncle Fred.
He’d been pleased to see me and intrigued with my information. Now he was here risking my father’s wrath. He must have discovered something of importance.
‘Jack, come on, love. Uncle Fred is here.’ Mum’s voice was clear above the clatter of the saucepans as she reached the final stages of preparing dinner. I took Fred’s outstretched hand. He didn’t seem to mind the oil. Alan was struggling to open a bottle of our homemade cider.
My father clattered down the stairs and filled the room. His face was already flushed. He advanced on Fred. ‘Why are you still here? I told you to bugger off five minutes ago.’
‘Aubin, don’t start that again. He’s not here to see you. He wants to talk to Jack –’
‘Well there he is. Bugger off and talk outside, the pair of you. And don’t be long. We’re about to eat.’