Night Sky

by Clare Francis

  Julie couldn’t speak.

  He moved closer and took her hand. ‘Tell me at least … What happened to your husband?’

  Julie stared into the darkness and thought: Whatever I say will be wrong. The past was like a terrible monster that kept rearing up in front of her, breathing shame and guilt and eternal damnation. However much he believed he would understand, he wouldn’t. He would pity and despise her.

  She sighed and looked up at the window. The sky seemed even darker now, the glittering stars like lights on a tree. Taking a deep breath, she said slowly, ‘Peter never knew his father. And I – I haven’t seen him since Peter was born.’

  Richard gently squeezed her hand. ‘More fool him. He must be mad. So then … he’s not likely to show up again.’

  ‘Hardly!’ She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. ‘You see …’ She bit her lip. ‘We …’ She spoke so softly that he leant closer to hear her. ‘We were never married.’

  For a moment he didn’t speak and Julie thought that she had been right and that he wouldn’t understand.

  But then he put his arm round her shoulder and said, ‘Bad luck!’

  ‘For me, yes!’

  He said quickly, ‘But you mustn’t think it matters any more.’ He was stroking her hair, slowly, softly. ‘You have a lovely boy. You have nothing to be ashamed of.’

  ‘… Oh yes I do!’ She pulled herself away from him and blew noisily into her hanky. ‘I feel ashamed that it ever happened … Except for Peter, that is. If only …’ She sighed angrily.

  ‘But Julie, lots of people have affairs, and … well, indiscretions, without being married. Society’s incredibly hypocritical about all that kind of thing. They say it’s forbidden – but they’re doing it all the time. The secret is not to worry about it … about the past, I mean. It’s not that important.’

  ‘It’s important to me. I mind! And Peter will mind when he grows up and finds out. No … I made a terrible mistake and, one way and another, I’m going to pay for it for the rest of my life!’

  He said, ‘But how are you going to pay for it? Nobody’s going to make you pay, Julie! You’ll only suffer for it if you let it bother you. Why should you ever pay for it?’

  ‘You know what I mean,’ she said miserably. ‘People talk, people don’t forgive.’

  ‘Do they know round here?’

  ‘Oh, they’ve guessed.’

  ‘But they still accept you?’

  ‘Well … yes.’

  ‘There you are then! What’s the problem? Julie, I can assure you of one thing – it doesn’t matter a damn to me!’ He squeezed her hand again.

  She breathed in deeply. ‘Well, thank you for saying so.’

  ‘It was meant.’ He leant down and she heard him pouring another glass of wine. He handed her the glass. ‘Is that why you came to Brittany? To have Peter?’

  ‘Yes, but please – don’t ask any more!’

  ‘All right.’ He stroked her hair. ‘But all I meant was, have you been here all this time? With your uncle and aunt?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Not much fun.’

  ‘At least I was welcome – which was more than I was at home.’

  ‘Ah. Your parents didn’t understand?’

  ‘Just my mother. My father’s dead. We’re still not speaking, my mother and me.’

  ‘After the war, though, you’ll want to come back, won’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know. The war …’

  ‘It won’t last for ever.’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘And then—’ he paused. ‘You might come on Dancer again perhaps. For a cruise. Would you like that?’

  ‘I’m a rotten sailor.’

  ‘I’ll teach you.’

  ‘No, I meant—’

  He laughed. ‘I know what you meant.’

  He put his arm round her shoulder and they sat for a long while, watching the night sky and talking quietly.

  Eventually he stood up. ‘Time you went to sleep. You still look terrible!’

  She smiled faintly. ‘Thanks!’

  He took her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth, warmly and for a long time.

  As she went down the stairs he called softly, ‘Julie, I’m glad you told me.’

  A little later, when she lay in bed beside Peter, she thought: Perhaps, given time, everything might be all right after all.

  ‘Be careful. The door’s creaky.’ The boy’s whisper was loud in his ear.

  ‘Right-o.’

  Ashley turned the handle and felt the door open. He pulled at it gently, trying to lessen the squeak of the hinges. Finally the gap was large enough for him to squeeze through. He stepped out into the darkness of the farmyard.

  He began to close the door behind him, but there was something in the way. He realised it was the boy. He whispered, ‘Hey! What are you doing?’

  ‘Coming with you!’

  ‘Oh no you’re not. Get back inside!’ Ashley tried to push the boy back through the door, but the small body wriggled past him and shot off into the night. Ashley could hear the pad of his feet receding into the distance.

  He swore under his breath and, closing the door, followed after him, stumbling slightly as his foot met an obstruction.

  The boy was waiting at the gate which led into the pasture behind the house. He was jumping up and down with glee. ‘Beat you!’

  ‘Look, young man, your mother will kill you if she finds out!’ He thought: She’ll kill me too.

  Peter sighed with the exasperation of dealing with an adult. ‘But I often sneak out here on my own.’ He clambered on to the top of the gate. ‘Anyway she’s not back from work yet. She won’t know!’

  ‘That’s not the point,’ said Ashley reasonably. ‘We might get caught.’

  ‘Oh no. The soldiers never come here. Come on! Let’s go up the hill. Sometimes you can see the lighthouse from there.’ He jumped to the ground and hopped impatiently up and down while Ashley climbed over the gate.

  Then he was off again, running across the grass, a small black blur fading into the grey of the early winter evening. Ashley gave up the idea of chasing after him, and strode forward, stretching the muscles of his legs, breathing the cool fresh air, drinking in the delicious moments of freedom.

  How he had needed this. He hated being cooped up. It drove him mad. He knew how animals felt now, doomed to stay in cages for ever. Slow death.

  He pressed on, pushing harder, wanting to feel the sweat on his body and the ache of tiredness in his limbs.

  He hated the thought of being locked up for much longer. The only compensation was Julie, of course. He had been intrigued by her from the beginning. She had an other-worldliness, a gentle serenity that appealed to him. At the same time she was quick to laugh, and he liked that too. Damn it, he liked a lot about her.

  But the revelations of the previous evening had subtly changed things. It had cost her a lot to tell him the truth, he had seen that, and he admired her for it. But it made him feel – what? – a sort of responsibility towards her, and that rather frightened him.

  Yet he knew he cared for her. Nothing had changed that.

  And nothing had changed the fact that he wanted to make love to her. Quite apart from being lovely she had an earthiness, a suggestion of passion, that made her extremely attractive. What was more, he was sure that she wanted him too.

  He tramped on, thinking that perhaps responsibility wasn’t a bad thing. After all, it had to come at some point in one’s life.

  ‘Woo-hoo.’ The soft cry came from a short way ahead. Ashley climbed the last few yards to a wall at the top of the hill and peered around. There was no sign of the boy. ‘Come out, you rascal.’

  There was a giggle. Ashley followed it and, reaching over the wall, lifted the boy up and into the air. ‘Got you!’

  Peter wriggled and tried to get free. Ashley held him high for a moment longer then let him fall into his arms. The boy dropped his head against Ashley’
s chest and lay there, panting slightly. Ashley hugged him and thought how much fun it would be to have a child of his own one day.

  The giggling started again. Peter squirmed out of his arms and dropped to the ground. ‘Come on. I’ll show you the rabbit warren.’

  They investigated the warren, although there wasn’t much to see in the darkness. Then they looked for the beam of the lighthouse, but saw nothing and decided there were no convoys passing that night. Ashley stared into the darkness, trying to make out the deeper shadows of the sea, and thought longingly of the MGB. Later they walked again, along the wall and round the other side of the hill.

  It wasn’t until Ashley saw the hooded headlights of a vehicle on the road that he realised they’d been gone a long time. He ran back to the top of the hill and looked down. The headlamps had stopped outside the farmhouse.

  The boy came panting up behind him and saw the lights too. As they watched, the headlights went out.

  The boy grasped Ashley’s sleeve and cried, ‘It’s the Germans! The Germans!’

  ‘Yes. I’m afraid you’re right.’ Ashley took the boy’s hand and led him back to the darkness of the wall. ‘I think we’d better wait here, don’t you?’

  *

  Julie felt sick.

  She looked at the clock again. Half past eight. And still no sign.

  She sat absolutely still, her eyes on the wall, her hands tightly clasped in her lap. Tante Marie sat opposite, her face tortured with worry. Neither spoke: neither could begin to imagine what they would do if something dreadful had happened.

  The familiar sound of scraping chairs came from the parlour. The two soldiers had finished their meal. The front door banged as they went out. Julie sprang to her feet and, going to the back door, opened it a crack. The soldiers had brought an armoured car with them tonight, she had no idea why. They had parked it in the yard. Now they were getting into it and slamming the doors. She prayed that, if Richard and Peter were out there, they wouldn’t choose this moment to return.

  The car started with a roar and two dull beams of light sprang out and illuminated a corner of the farm yard. Then the lights were swinging away and the sound of the engine faded into the distance.

  Julie took a jacket off the back of the door and hurried out into the night. When her eyes were accustomed to the darkness she started up the yard, towards the back pasture. She couldn’t be sure they had gone this way, but it seemed likely. They certainly wouldn’t have gone on the road.

  She opened the gate and went into the pasture. She let out a small gasp.

  Two figures, one small, one tall, were running towards her.

  She stood waiting for them, shuddering with relief, then stepped forward and scooped Peter up into her arms. Without a word she carried the child back through the yard, into the kitchen and straight to bed.

  As she undressed him, Peter glanced nervously at her face. ‘Sorry, Mummy.’

  Julie narrowed her lips and said at last, ‘I’m going to say this once and only once. Don’t ever, ever do that again. If you do, I’ll hit you so hard you won’t know what time of day it is. D’you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Mummy.’

  She tucked him up and, without another word, turned out the light.

  She went into the kitchen and, ignoring Ashley, crossed to the mantelpiece and shook a cigarette out of a packet. Her hand was trembling as she lit it.

  ‘Julie, I’m very sorry … I meant to go out just for a second or two, but …’

  Julie inhaled deeply on the cigarette and, gritting her teeth, stared dumbly at the mantelpiece. She didn’t trust herself to speak yet.

  ‘Peter followed me. Of his own accord. That’s not to say I shouldn’t have dragged him back …’ He put his hand on her shoulder. ‘It won’t happen again.’

  Eventually she said stiffly, ‘We’ve done out best, you know. To make it bearable for you. I know that going outside for a few minutes at midnight isn’t as much fun as walking round the entire countryside …’ She made a wheeling gesture with her hand. ‘But it was safest. For you – and for us!’ She spat out the last words, then exhaling, shook her head. ‘If you knew what I’d been through in the last hour you’d … understand!’ The unaccustomed cigarette was making her dizzy and she stubbed it out.

  He sighed heavily. ‘I’ll go back to my room.’ The way he said it, it might have been prison.

  She realised it was a prison to him. She turned to say something softer, more understanding, but he was already gone.

  After a moment she lit a candle and followed him. She climbed the narrow staircase and, through the banisters, saw him lying on the bed staring at the ceiling. She paused at the top and said matter-of-factly, ‘I know it’s awful for you, I do realise that. But it shouldn’t be long now. Before you can get away.’

  He stood up and came over to her. ‘I will go mad if I have to stay much longer. You see that, don’t you?’

  She nodded and said briskly, ‘And you must understand that I’ll go mad if you take any more risks.’

  He smiled ruefully. ‘It’s a bargain. Anything to avoid your wrath again.’

  She said firmly, ‘I was only angry because I was so worried.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Not at all.’ She turned quickly and went down the stairs.

  Most of the potatoes were half rotten. Methodically, Julie cut out the bad sections, peeled the remainder, however small, and chucked them into the pot. Nowadays you wasted nothing.

  Tante Marie was tenderising a piece of beef, beating it with a large wooden mallet, until the meat was almost flat. They always had meat on Saturday evenings and, because they had their own chickens and cattle, often twice during the week as well. Most people were not so lucky.

  Tante Marie put the meat into a pan on the stove, added dripping, garlic and herbs, and left it to cook.

  Julie smelled the aroma of garlic and herbs and remembered that it was Sunday the next day and she could spend all day with him.

  She smiled and realised she was staring into the pot, the potatoes forgotten. Tante Marie was watching her, a frown on her forehead. ‘Juliette … Your uncle will be a little late tonight. I think—’ She lowered her voice. ‘I think there’s some news.’

  Julie looked up sharply. ‘Some news?’

  ‘From – away. But I’m only guessing. I’m not sure. I just thought … I might warn you.’

  Julie tried to hold on to her thoughts, but they were shooting off at tangents. News. A boat? Coming soon, probably, then he would go away, she would be alone, he would be safe, she would be miserable …

  After she had put Peter to bed she went up to see him and they talked and she thought: It will never be better than this. I’ll never feel closer or warmer towards anyone than I do now.

  It was not until nine that Jean returned. Richard was just telling her about his sister who was married and lived in Sussex when Julie suddenly tensed. Somewhere in the house there was the sound of a door opening.

  Richard looked at her. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Nothing. Just my uncle. I’ll be back in a moment.’ She left him and hurried down the stairs and found Jean already at the bedroom door, waiting for her.

  She followed him into the kitchen. He whispered, ‘We’ve heard! They’re sending a boat on Wednesday. Unless the weather’s bad. We’ll know for sure on the night – the BBC will broadcast a message.’

  ‘And the boat will take everyone – the sailors and the airmen?’

  He nodded.

  Julie blinked. ‘Wednesday night, then.’ She touched her uncle’s arm in thanks and went back into her room. She closed the door and leant against it for a moment. It was only four days away.

  She climbed the narrow stairs, slowly, and didn’t turn her head until she reached the top. The moment Richard saw her face he stood up and frowned. He said, ‘What is it?’

  She made herself smile and said brightly, ‘It looks as though you’re going home!’

  He came towards
her and grasped her arms. ‘When?’

  ‘Wednesday night – unless the weather’s bad.’

  ‘Good Lord above!’ he laughed. ‘Marvellous! Marvellous!’ He closed his eyes and clenched his fists and threw back his head and grinned with delight. ‘Oh, marvellous!’

  Julie smiled gently and tried to look glad, for his sake.

  He took hold of her arms again. ‘Julie, I’ll miss you …’

  She nodded silently.

  ‘Wednesday … that’s four days. Let’s make it the best four days we’ve ever had! What do you say? Let’s have a wonderful time! I’ll take you out to the Ritz for dinner tomorrow night.’ He smiled wrily. ‘That means I’ll buy another bottle of wine off your uncle and we’ll eat off the packing case together, properly … Then the next night—!’

  As he talked she watched him and thought: Only four days.

  She reached out and touched his face. He stopped talking and smiled at her. Then, when he saw the expression in her eyes, he leaned towards her and kissed her on the mouth, gently at first, then, when he felt her mouth moving under his, much harder.

  He said, ‘I want you, Julie.’

  She put her lips to his ear and whispered, ‘I want you too!’

  She cried. Afterwards.

  He touched her cheek and felt the tears and said, ‘Julie, Julie! What is it?’

  She pressed her head against his shoulder and said, ‘Nothing, nothing. I’m so happy, that’s all.’

  He turned towards her and stroked her back, following her spine with his fingers until he reached the curve of her bottom. Then he pulled her against him and kissed her again, very softly, murmuring, ‘Julie, Julie … silly old thing, don’t cry!’

  ‘But it’s only because … it was so lovely!’

  ‘Yes!’ He squeezed her against him. ‘It was, wasn’t it?’

  And then she cried again, very softly, not only because it had been so lovely but because she could see the past six years for what they really were: barren and lonely. All the routines, Peter, meals, work, going through the motions of life … And all that time she had only dimly imagined what it would be like to have all this.