Night Sky

by Clare Francis

  She stood up and began to walk slowly along the Hoe.

  Easy …

  But she hadn’t been ‘easy’, far from it. It had only happened twice, and then after days of argument and fierce persuasion. Even when she’d agreed to it, she’d had terrible doubts. She had realised that there should be much more love and tenderness and caring. But Bill had been very clever. He had swept away all her arguments and told her she was being too romantic and that life wasn’t like that. He had made her feel very gauche and silly. His favourite word for her was ‘immature’. He told her that all the other officers slept with their girlfriends and no-one thought anything of it. He had made her feel like the odd one out. Yes, he had been very clever.

  She had held out for a long time, then he had threatened to take another girl to the Summer Ball. It was Mother who had been horrified at the thought of Julie not going. The Summer Ball was the social event of the season. She had forced Julie to write to Bill and make it up.

  So she had gone to the Ball and drunk gin, which she had only tried once before, and then wine, which she wasn’t used to either. Afterwards Bill had driven her up on to the moors and it had happened for the first time.

  It was brief and painful and Julie had wept. He had promised her it would be better the next time. But if anything it had been worse. On the second occasion they had driven on to a remote headland. But this time he didn’t say a word, he didn’t even kiss her, he just grabbed her and pulled at her clothing. Then he lay on her and hurt her again, except that it lasted much longer and she hated it even more than the first time.

  Afterwards she had felt miserable and unclean. It had been so beastly, so ugly. If that was love then she didn’t want anything more to do with it. One thing she knew straight away: she would never let Bill do it again.

  She had felt wretched for weeks. Her mother had put her unhappiness down to being in love. Poor Mother! She still thought that Bill was marvellous. Bill was everything she wanted for Julie: he was well-spoken, dashing and a gentleman. Mother had never let Julie go out with anyone she considered common. Julie was not allowed to go to the Golden Dance Hall to meet the non-commissioned ranks like the rest of her school friends did.

  The idea of Bill being a gentleman made Julie smile grimly. She had used the risk of pregnancy as a reason for not giving in to him, but he had swept that aside as he swept everything else aside. Nothing, he had assured her, would happen; he would take care of that. A real gentleman, Julie thought bitterly.

  A small sailing craft had appeared by Drake’s Island and was heading out into the wide expanse of the sound. She thought how pretty it looked, with its white sails and gay red hull. It was skimming over the waves, fast as the wind.

  She walked on and for no particular reason thought of her father. Perhaps it was the boat that reminded her.

  She remembered his dear gruff voice. He had died when she was twelve and it had broken her heart. She still missed him dreadfully.

  Her father would have understood about this. He would have listened and sighed and looked at her with love in his eyes and taken her in his arms and said: Juliette, my Juliette. He would have understood. He would have protected her and found a way for her to survive it all.

  Perhaps he would have taken her away … Julie stopped abruptly.

  She hadn’t thought of that. That would be an answer. To go away. But where? She had only a few pounds saved. As a junior secretary she earned just fifteen shillings a week and it was hard to save on that. Anyway, she couldn’t stay in her present job: she’d have to leave Plymouth and go to a new area and find a new job, and that wouldn’t be easy. And then what? She had few relatives to go to. There was only Aunt Beryl at Ramsgate, and she – well, she was like her mother.

  She had never met her father’s family in Brittany; her mother had always discouraged any contact with them.

  Julie walked down the long flight of steps into Grand Parade and wondered if it was five o’clock yet. She usually went out on Saturday afternoons, either to meet some of the girls for tea at the tea house, or in the old days, to go out for a drive with Bill. She always promised to be back by five-thirty.

  Today she had told her mother she was going into town, but nothing more. Her mother had been suspicious and as soon as Julie got back to the house there would be questions. Then the truth would have to come out, and nothing would ever be the same again.

  Julie turned into West Street and walked down the hill towards Radley Terrace and her home at Number 34.

  As she drew near the bottom of the hill two women came round the corner, walking arm-in-arm. One of them was Maggie Phillips. Julie’s first thought was to turn round and get away, but she realised that Maggie had seen her and was waving. It was too late. She made herself walk on.

  ‘Hello, Julie! Well, it’s a long time since we saw you round these parts.’ Maggie gave a dazzling smile between vermilion lips. She modelled herself on Joan Crawford, down to the padded shoulders and the peep-toe shoes. ‘We thought you’d got too grand for us.’

  Julie felt herself blushing. ‘No, I – I haven’t been doing anything special.’

  Maggie looked at her enquiringly and said, not unkindly, ‘Oh, it’s like that is it? No more boyfriend, eh? Oh well, there’ll be others.’

  Julie gave her a thin smile and nodded.

  ‘What about coming to the Golden tonight then? Joan and I are going, and maybe Phyllis. It’ll be fun – they’ve got a really good American-style band tonight.’

  ‘Thanks … it’s kind of you but I can’t. I …’

  ‘Oh come on. It’ll be good fun. We’ll get a table and sit all demure and ladylike on the side.’ She giggled.

  Julie shook her head. ‘Really, my mother’s not keen …’

  ‘Your mother doesn’t own you, does she? Break loose, my girl, that’s what I say! What about next Friday then? Joan and I are going to the Rialto with two nice Navy lads. They can bring along one of their mates. Go on, say you will. It’s the new Gable–Crawford movie!’

  Julie felt worn down and heard herself say, ‘Oh, all right.’

  ‘We’ll meet you outside for the early house then. Byeee!’

  Julie walked quickly away. She could have kicked herself. Why had she agreed to go to the pictures? She didn’t want to go anywhere with anyone, let alone a group of strangers. Why did she always agree to things she later regretted?

  She paused at the corner of the street and thought: Yes, that’s the problem. I agree to things I don’t really want to do. Why? Why had she agreed to Maggie’s suggestion? To avoid unpleasantness perhaps. But no, there was more to it than that. She had wanted to please Maggie. That was the key: she had been anxious to please. Just as she always tried to please her mother. And her employer. And Bill. She hated to remember it now, but she had tried to please him too.

  Julie thought: What a revelation. I live to please other people. And look where it’s got me! Into the oldest trap in the world.

  As she approached the house she found she was dangerously near to tears. She turned and walked quickly away from the house until she felt more composed. Then she blew her nose and retraced her steps.

  It would be time for tea at Number 34, and she mustn’t be late.

  Julie leant back against the chair and wondered how much longer it would be before she could get to bed. She was desperately tired. The emotion and tears of the last few hours had left her feeling drained and now a small ache at the back of her neck was threatening to become a fullblown headache.

  Anyway there was nothing new to say, nothing that hadn’t been said already.

  Julie rubbed her neck and turned to look out of the window into the twilight. The road outside was lit by the soft glow of the street lamps which cast a pale light into the small front room. Normally Mother would have the curtains drawn and the lamps lit by now. But the ritual had been forgotten and the room seemed eerie and unreal in the gloomy darkness.

  There was a loud sniffle and Julie looked back at
her mother.

  Mrs Lescaux was sitting on a low stool, rocking back and forth. Now and then her body shook with a great sob and her breath came in long shuddering gasps. At other times she moaned and shook her head and put a large wet handkerchief to her eyes.

  Julie sighed and wondered what she could say that would help. But there was nothing …

  Mrs Lescaux blew her nose loudly and raised her head. ‘How can you be sure he doesn’t love you, that’s what I want to know.’

  ‘I just know, Mum.’ They had been over that one half a dozen times already.

  ‘Well how do you know?’

  Julie closed her eyes. ‘I told you, he’s been avoiding me. And …’

  Mother said impatiently, ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, I saw him with another girl. She seemed much more his sort.’

  Mrs Lescaux got wearily to her feet and moved to a chair nearer the window. Julie saw that her eyes were red-rimmed and bloated, and her face mottled with angry red patches. She had never seen her mother look anything but neat and composed before, and it made her feel terrible.

  Mother said, ‘What do you mean by that? More his sort?’

  ‘I mean … she was more his class, Mother.’

  ‘I don’t see what that’s got to do with it! You’re as good as anyone else. As good as anyone. No!’ She shook her head vehemently. ‘That can’t have anything to do with it!’

  Julie thought that class probably had a lot to do with it, but it was best not to say so. Instead she nodded and said, ‘Well, maybe I’m wrong, maybe that didn’t make any difference. But the fact is he doesn’t love me, Mother.’

  ‘But you can’t be sure of that! Perhaps he just never told you … Anyway, love can grow. Take it from me.’

  Julie thought: Oh God, how do I make her understand? She said gently, ‘Mother, please believe me when I tell you this. He doesn’t love me.’

  He had come to the house for tea a couple of times and Mother had gone to a lot of trouble, making cakes and sandwiches and laying everything out properly. But though he had been polite enough, she had sensed a mocking edge to his comments when he thanked her for the tea or admired the china or enquired about her mother’s health. Now Julie could see that he must have thought it all rather quaint, the tea parties with the lace doilies, and Mother’s refined manner, and the polite conversation.

  If I’m right, Julie thought, then I’d rather die than let him know I’m in trouble.

  Mrs Lescaux cleared her throat again. ‘You must try once more, try to tell him at least. He might well ask you to marry him. How can you be certain he won’t?’

  ‘Oh, I’m certain, please believe me.’

  ‘I’ve a good mind to tell him myself. Or his commanding officer. He’ll probably be ordered to marry you.’

  Julie felt a surge of anger. ‘Mother, if you so much as think about doing such a thing I shall never speak to you again!’

  ‘Well! That’s a fine way to speak to your own mother! There’s a daughter’s loyalty for you!’ She started sobbing again. ‘And after the way you’ve treated me! Bringing such shame on me, such shame!’

  ‘Oh Mother, please don’t start all over again. I told you, I’ll go away. No-one will ever know.’

  ‘Go away! On what? Where will you go?’ Mother shouted angrily.

  It was a good question. ‘I’m not sure yet. But it would be the best thing, Mum. At least that way no-one will know, and … And you can make up some story about me getting a job somewhere else …’

  Mrs Lescaux dabbed at her eyes again and shook her head. ‘Well, if there’s no other way … But—’ She threw her head back, looked up at the ceiling and closed her eyes in a gesture of suffering. ‘But … goodness knows where the money’s to come from. It’ll cost, mark my words. I can’t send you to Aunt Beryl’s, I just couldn’t face that. That means a boarding house – dreadfully expensive. And you wouldn’t be able to find work, not in your condition!’

  ‘I could go to Brittany.’

  ‘What—?’

  ‘Well, it’s out of the way, isn’t it? And Dad’s people would probably take me in. For a while at least.’

  ‘No—!’ Mrs Lescaux looked horrified. ‘You’ve never met them. You don’t understand. They’re not like us. They’re …’ She sighed with exasperation. ‘They’re … farmworkers … fishermen, that sort of thing …’

  Julie remembered her loving kindly father and thought that, surely, his family couldn’t be so different from him. He’d come to Plymouth on a French frigate before the Great War and met Mother at a tea dance in the town. Later he had returned and they had married. He’d worked at the fish market, eventually rising to foreman and wearing a suit that always looked uncomfortable on him. To please Mother, he’d never spoken French or talked about his family – at least within earshot.

  With Julie it was different. At bedtime he spoke to her in French, telling her stories about the mythical sea creatures of Breton legend; talking about his family, his childhood and Brittany itself. Sometimes he even spoke Breton, the strange harsh language which was his native tongue.

  He had been a good father and she had loved him with all her heart.

  ‘No,’ her mother said decisively, ‘you can’t go there. They wouldn’t be very understanding, you know! You must go somewhere else. You could be back four or five weeks after the – event. They might even give you your job back.’ She sniffed again. ‘Oh, what a muddle, what a muddle!’

  Julie frowned. ‘Mother, I don’t think I could come back. You see – there’d be the baby.’

  ‘What are you talking about? You won’t even see it. It’ll be taken away straight after the – after the event.’

  ‘But I’m not sure …’ A vivid picture came into Julie’s mind, of a tiny baby lying in her arms. The baby was looking uncertain and frightened; it was crying and reaching out for her, for her. She hated the thought of someone taking it away and sending it to a strange, anonymous place that she’d never be allowed to see or to know about, a place where – God forbid – it might not be loved. She said, ‘Suppose I wanted to keep the baby …’

  Mrs Lescaux snorted. ‘Don’t be so silly! It’s out of the question! All the girls who – who have this problem have their babies adopted. It’s quite normal.’

  Julie shook her head. ‘But I think I might want to keep the baby very much. I’d never forgive myself if I gave it away.’

  ‘Now I’ve heard everything! How selfish can you get! First you get yourself into trouble, then you want to ruin my life as well as your own! Really! You young people just don’t care!’

  ‘Please don’t shout, Mother.’

  ‘I’m not shouting!’ Mrs Lescaux closed her eyes and blew her nose again. Then she said, more quietly, ‘The only way to keep the baby is to marry, don’t you understand that!’

  Julie felt sick. They were going in circles, nowhere, in circles.

  ‘At least try to see him once more. Do just that for me, just that one thing. Is that too much to ask?’

  ‘But I won’t tell him. I won’t tell him.’

  Mrs Lescaux shook her head in exasperation. ‘All right, all right. But at least see if he still cares for you. Please, I’m asking you this one thing. Please.’

  Julie stared angrily at her hands. She hated the thought of trying to see him again. It would be humiliating and shaming and it wouldn’t help, she knew it wouldn’t. Anyway, what excuse could she find for visiting him? She would rather die than just turn up and ask to see him; he would think that she still liked him, that she was still prepared to go off in the car with him … The thought made her shudder. ‘Mother, I can’t just go and see him, not like that, he’ll think I have no pride.’

  ‘Well, you didn’t, did you—’ Mrs Lescaux bit her lip.

  Julie stared at her mother and the tears came again. She had cried so much she didn’t think she could manage any more. But the tears came nevertheless, rolling effortlessly down her cheeks. She suddenly thought: I can’t face an
y more.

  She was tired of crying, tired of arguing. Her head throbbed and her throat ached. All she wanted to do was sleep. She would do anything for that, and for the privacy of her own room.

  Wearily she said, ‘All right, Mother, you win. I’ll try to see him tomorrow.’

  The bus lurched into bottom gear and began to climb slowly up the hill behind Millbay Docks. It was only a mile or two to the Naval Dockyard, a journey which would take fifteen minutes at the most. Julie felt a rising panic. She had found only the flimsiest of excuses for going to see Bill and she had the unpleasant feeling that he would see straight through it.

  But it was the only pretext she had and it would have to do.

  Back in the early summer Bill had taken her to a party aboard a small sailing boat moored in a creek near the dockyard. Late in the evening a few people started to sing sea ballads and everyone stopped to listen. Some of the ballads were mournful, about the cruelty of the sea and the separation of lovers. Julie had been rather taken by them. The evening had been still and utterly peaceful and, though the lights of Plymouth were brightly reflected in the calm water, the city seemed very far away. Julie had looked out beyond Drake’s Island to where the water was dark and cold, and she’d thought how romantic it all was. The sea, so vast and cruel, which asked so much of the noble men who sailed on it … And the songs, they were so lovely, so sad, with their tales of brave sailors who withstood so much only to drown in the icy water.

  Afterwards she told Bill how much she’d loved the songs. Two days later he thrust a book in her hand. It was a pocket edition of Naval Songs and Ballads. It was the only present he’d ever given her.

  And now she was taking it back.