by Helena Halme
Now Peter gave Sandy a grin. ‘Very funny.’
As Peter walked back to his cabin, his thoughts once again turned back to the events of the last few months. How he’d been standing in the cold community club in Helensburgh, in front of the Captain of the base at Faslane, and the President and the Sub-Lieutenant. How he’d been taken aback by the similarity of the court martial to court room dramas he’d watched on TV. And how he’d felt as if he was watching the proceedings rather than being part of them. In the end, he’d been found guilty of causing grievous bodily harm to a fellow officer and fined. Of course, even before the court martial he’d been dismissed his ship. And as Lawrence, his lawyer, had said outside the office afterwards, he’d been ‘bloody lucky’.
* * *
Peter didn’t see the dark-haired barmaid at the GX again until several weeks after he’d first spoken to her. He and the Part Three had been to the club a few more times, and Sam had been there too. Peter had taken her back to his cabin twice since the first time. He had to watch it, he told himself now, as he scanned the dark room at the Plymouth Yacht Club for the group of Wrens. It seems they’d given the club a miss this Saturday. Suddenly Peter remembered that Sam was going to see her parents in Yorkshire for the weekend. As his eyes moved along the room, he spotted the dark-haired girl smoking a cigarette on the other side of the bar.
‘Back in a minute,’ Peter said to Simon, and he made his way smartly towards the girl.
‘Do you come here often?’ he said, leaning towards the girl. He noticed she was a fair bit shorter than him. She was wearing a dark top, off one shoulder, revealing creamy white skin. ‘No bra,’ Peter thought and gazed at her small, perky breasts, which were visible under the thin fabric. Her skirt was short, and she was wearing thigh-length cream boots.
He’d taken her by surprise. She turned her face towards Peter, and smiled, getting the joke.
‘I’m Peter,’ he gave her his hand, taking advantage of the smile.
The girl considered the outstretched hand for a moment, and eventually slipped hers into it. Peter held onto her a moment longer than necessary, enjoying the feeling of the slender fingers in his grip. ‘And you are?’
She told him her name was Valerie, ‘Val for short.’
‘Can I have my hand back now,’ she said. Her face was unsmiling but there was a flicker in her dark eyes that Peter liked.
‘And what do you do?’ Peter said. She’d found the formal style funny, so Peter decided to carry on with the same tone.
Val told him she was down from London, ‘Helping my uncle with this place.’
‘And what do you do in London?’
‘You are a nosy beggar, aren’t you?’ Val said and took a long drag on her cigarette. But she was smiling.
‘So if you don’t want to talk, how about a dance?’
Val displayed great style on the dance floor. Her slim body moved slowly, but rhythmically, with the music. Peter wondered if she was a dancer. When a slower piece by Phil Collins came on, she took Peter’s hand and moved away from the dance floor. She leaned against the bar, where Peter had first seen her.
‘You’re a great dancer,’ Peter said into her ear.
Val grinned and lit another cigarette.
‘Would you like a drink?’
Val eventually told Peter that she was studying History of Art at Saint Martin’s College in London. Her family was from Plymouth, and she’d come down for the weekend.
‘You’ve got a real Cockney accent going on there,’ he said.
Val laughed for the first time, ‘Yeah, I share a house with a couple of Cockney rebels, and it’s catching. But I can do Plymouth too.’ Val launched into a West Country accent, and Peter replied in his best Wiltshire drawl. ‘Got to get tis straw out of mi mouth and get mi tracktoor,’ he said, and again Val laughed.
At the end of an evening spent dancing and talking, Peter asked Val if he could see her again.
‘Sure,’ she replied and they agreed to meet up the next day. Knowing everything would be shut in Plymouth centre, he suggested they drive out to one of the village pubs for Sunday lunch.
‘Ok,’ Val said and they exchanged telephone numbers.
Peter scooped up Simon and they took a taxi back to the base. Peter wondered why Val had asked so little about him. He’d said he was in the Navy, which virtually went without saying at the GX. When he’d mentioned he was in submarines, she hadn’t seemed interested. He supposed that, as a Plymouth girl born and raised, Val knew all there was to know about the Navy and its officers. The locals had a name for the Navy – ‘fish heads’ – and most of the Union Street working girls were supported by the Navy. The Navy’s reputation could certainly have been better with local girls. At least the GX only admitted officers; still, as Peter knew full well, that was no guarantee of good behaviour.
Eleven
Helsinki, Finland
‘I need to see you,’ Kaisa said, trying to sound as matter-of-fact as she could.
‘Hello, Kaisa,’ Matti said. Kaisa could hear him purring like a satisfied cat at the other end of the line. So this was a game to him, she thought.
‘You know why. Same place today at 5 pm?’ she said.
‘If you insist.’ Matti said.
* * *
Kaisa had discussed the photos with her sister, who had laughed at first. Obviously she hadn’t shown them to her, but she’d told her the worst of it with as little detail as possible.
‘Well little Sis, I didn’t think you’d get up to something like that!’ They’d been sitting in Happy Days Café, having a beer after Sirkka’s shift. Sirkka was smoking, taking a deep drag out of her cigarette and making rings out of the smoke.
‘I thought you’d stopped,’ Kaisa said, picking up the packet of Marlboro Lights, and taking one for herself. ‘Can I?’
Sirkka nodded, watching her sister carefully. ‘So he gave you the photos, but kept the negatives.’
Kaisa nodded.
‘Bastard,’ Sirkka said. Kaisa looked at her and smiled; Sirkka had cut her hair short and the new style made her look younger. Sirkka’s short blonde curls and make-up tonight reminded Kaisa of the times they used to go out together in Helsinki, after their parents had taken them back to Finland from Stockholm in the seventies. She wanted to talk to Sirkka about those times. How they had used fake IDs to go to nightclubs like TF and Botta, where the lower age limit was at least four years older than they were. How had they managed to keep their fake IDs and nights out at grown-up discos a secret from their parents, Kaisa wondered. Then she remembered how their mother and father had been too busy fighting, eventually leading to a second separation and divorce.
‘I’m following in my parents’ footsteps,’ Kaisa thought bitterly. Their parents had always been too preoccupied with their own unhappiness to notice that their daughters were running wild. Their father had tried, she guessed. He’d constantly nagged Sirkka to do her homework, and he’d have fits of rage when she came home with a poor school report, or discovered that they’d stayed out far longer than they should have done. He never told Kaisa off, which Sirkka felt was a complete injustice. This had make Sirkka even more determined to do as she pleased.
‘He might have destroyed them, of course,’ Kaisa said, forcing herself to think of her present, much more pressing problem. Hearing herself utter these words, she knew she was being naïve, deluding herself once again. She was too preoccupied with what Peter was doing. For the past two nights she’d not slept for dreaming about Peter and Jackie entangled between white sheets.
‘Yeah, right.’ Sirkka said, and with her face serious, added, ‘You need to see him. I’m sure he’s still in love with you, so use that to get them back.’
Kaisa had stared at her sister, ‘I’m not …’
Sirkka placed her hand on Kaisa’s arm. ‘No, silly. I’m not telling you to go to bed with him. I mean, just charm him a little, you know, with your look of pure innocence. Flutter your eyelashes and tell him you wan
t the negatives.’
‘You make it sound so simple.’
Sirkka put out her cigarette and took a swig of beer. ‘It is simple. I’m sure if you really try, he’ll do anything for you.’
Kaisa laughed.
‘And what about Peter,’ said Sirkka. ‘Do you really think he is seeing this Jackie person?’
Kaisa nodded. She didn’t dare look at the kind expression on her sister’s face. She was so tired, she knew she’d begin crying again.
‘Well, it might just be a revenge fuck.’ Sirkka took another drag of her cigarette. Her eyelashes looked very dark and long, and Kaisa absentmindedly wondered if she’d changed her mascara. ‘It’s what men do; it makes them feel better,’ Sirkka added and smiled.
* * *
This time Kaisa made sure she was the first to arrive in the café, so she got there a full fifteen minutes early, got herself a coffee and sat down at a table by the window. She wanted to see Matti on the street before he came in.
Kaisa had taken the photos with her, to make her case more forcefully, she guessed. But she kept the envelope in her handbag, planning to bring it out at the right moment. While waiting, she looked around: only two other tables were occupied in the small room. Of course, it was a Monday, and the weather had turned that morning, with cold rain, occasionally changing into sleet, falling steadily. Everyone apart from a crazy person like Kaisa would be rushing home after work, not stopping for a coffee with an ex-fiancé. Kaisa let out an involuntary snort. Once again in her life, she wondered how she’d got herself into such a bloody mess.
A man sitting at a table on the opposite side of the café looked up at Kaisa. When Kaisa responded to his stare, he averted his eyes and went back to reading the evening paper, Iltasanomat. That’s what she should have done, to distract herself, picked up a newspaper from an R-Kiosk on her way down from Sirkka’s flat. But she’d been too preoccupied with trying to keep dry. The rain had been so heavy that her winter boots were soaked. As she sat and waited to confront Matti, she realised that the other customers would be able to hear what she had to say. Of course, she should have suggested somewhere like The Happy Days Café, which was always bustling whatever the time of day – or weather.
As planned, Kaisa saw Matti as he parked his car on the other side of the street. He had no umbrella and the rain, which had now turned into hail, was settling on Matti’s fur hat. He hadn’t worn the hat the last time they met, though Kaisa remembered him often wearing it when they were together. It was nicknamed the Russian, because all the Soviet leaders wore one in winter, and the Finnish politicians copied them. It had become a popular hat in Finland. After her year in Britain, seeing so many men wearing them made Helsinki look like a Soviet bloc country in Kaisa’s eyes. She remembered with fondness how Peter had made that same comment to her the first time he’d visited Helsinki. Kaisa had been very upset with him because of it. Of course, she’d not been angry with him for long; they were so in love then.
Kaisa sighed and watched Matti as he made his way towards the café. In spite of the weather, he didn’t seem to rush. After patiently waiting for the traffic lights to turn green, he walked with a steady pace across the wide road, which the tramlines divided into two. Kaisa’s mouth felt dry and she fought an urge to leave unnoticed before he got to the other side.
It took a while for Matti to get himself out of his coat and hat, both of which were covered in hail, which seemed to melt as soon as you saw it, leaving a puddle on the floor of the café. But all the while, as he shook himself like a wet dog, his eyes were on Kaisa.
‘Nice to see you again,’ he said. He was beaming, as if this was a meeting of two old friends. ‘I’m getting a coffee and a Berlin bun. Can I get you anything?’
Kaisa shook her head and waited for Matti to go up to the counter and order.
‘I want the negatives too,’ Kaisa said as soon as Matti returned with his coffee and the large bun topped with pink icing. While he was getting his coffee, she’d taken the photographs out of her bag and placed them on the table between them.
Matti was quiet for a while, studying his hands, but not looking at Kaisa or the photos.
Kaisa glanced around the café to see if the man with the newspaper was listening. To her relief, he seemed to be engrossed in his reading. The girl serving at the counter had disappeared, and the café was now almost empty except for Kaisa and Matti, and the man behind his evening paper.
‘The photographs are mine, so it’s only fair I should have the negatives,’ Matti eventually said.
‘Why?’ Kaisa said, and when Matti didn’t reply, she leaned across the table and whispered, ‘So that you can develop another set and ogle at them while you’re …’ Kaisa glanced in the direction of Matti’s crotch.
‘Don’t be so crude,’ Matti spat out the words. His eyes had a look of pure hatred, just as they had when she’d told him about Peter, in her bedroom in Lauttasaari. She’d found Matti waiting for her when she got back from her secret meeting with Peter the day before he sailed back to Britain aboard HMS Newcastle. Kaisa had been in a trance from the Englishman’s kisses and his promises to write and see her again. And then, bang, a confrontation with Matti had brought her back down to earth. His eyes had had the same dark threat to them then as they did now.
Kaisa lowered her gaze and said, ‘But it’s not fair. These pictures, they’re of me. Me before …’
‘Not fair!’ Matti had raised his voice, and both Kaisa and Matti glanced briefly around the café in embarrassment. But the place was empty. The man with the newspaper had disappeared without Kaisa noticing.
‘Is it fair that you left me for some foreign sailor, who has now, by all accounts, left you. As predicted by me. I was good to you, Kaisa, as was my mother.’
‘Don’t talk to me about your mother!’ Now it was Kaisa’s turn to raise her voice. ‘You should have heard the names she called me after I broke up with you.’
‘Well, didn’t you deserve those names, the way you cheated on me?’
‘I didn’t …’ Kaisa began, but a sudden sense of hopelessness overwhelmed her and she felt tears well up inside. She must not cry, whatever happens, she told herself. Snatching the photographs, she placed them back in her handbag and got up.
She put her coat on, not looking at Matti, who had also got up and now took hold of Kaisa’s arm. ‘Please Kaisa.’
Kaisa lifted her eyes to him and said, as calmly as she could, ‘I think you are being horrible. Those pictures are of me, and you should not have them anymore. We were engaged to be married, that’s true, but you know as well as I know that I was only 15 and you were 22 when you seduced me. By the way, I believe that is illegal now.’ Kaisa held her gaze steady on Matti. His eyes were still dark, but his mouth twitched at the word ‘illegal’. ‘With that in mind, I had every right to change my mind as I did.’ Kaisa paused and was about to leave it at that, but added, ‘And you know full well that I was never unfaithful to you. On the contrary, after we broke up I still slept with you for months, out of pity, even though I had already promised myself to another man. And that, as well as falling for you when I was only 15, I regret bitterly.’
Matti opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
‘You can post the negatives to Sirkka’s address, or even give them to her at the hotel. When I get them, and only then, will I reconsider my decision to report you to the authorities.’
Kaisa left the café, and not caring about the rain outside, ran along the street towards Sirkka’s flat.
Twelve
Tom’s flat on the top floor of a Jugend-style house on Neitsytpolku, had a sea view towards the small islands in the Gulf of Finland. The name of his street, ‘Virgin Walk’, wasn’t lost on Kaisa, especially later in the evening, when she walked along it to the nearest tram stop, on her way home.
The meal Tom was preparing as Kaisa stepped into his beautiful apartment, with its bay widow overlooking the sea, was pasta bolognese (his mother was Italian). He’d
brought some cured bacon back from Milan.
‘It’s called pancetta,’ Tom said, and smiled at Kaisa. In Italian, he sounded even more charming, and Kaisa was tempted to ask him to speak Italian to her, but felt silly. She didn’t know him well enough, yet.
The wine, too, was from Italy, a deep red that warmed Kaisa’s throat as she drank it. The first kiss happened in the kitchen, when Tom was cooking. He’d asked Kaisa to come and taste the sauce. They stood very close to one another by the stove, gazing at the boiling red mass of the meaty sauce, and Kaisa could feel his taut body tense as her thigh touched his. She felt Tom’s eyes on her when she licked a small spoon clean of the sauce.
‘It’s good,’ she smiled, and when she gave the spoon back to him, he grabbed hold of her hand. She felt his hot breath on her.
‘Come here,’ Tom said. He pulled her towards him and bent down to kiss her mouth.
His lips were fuller than Peter’s and he squeezed Kaisa tightly, while he pushed his tongue into her mouth. Kaisa was tense, but she tried to relax, tried to feel something. Tom didn’t seem to notice her lack of commitment, and pulled away only in order to see to the cooking. He gave Kaisa one of his wolfish grins and put a little of the pasta water into the sauce. ‘This thickens it,’ he said.
The food Tom had prepared was delicious, although Kaisa had no appetite. She had great difficulty eating the long strands of the special pasta – also brought back from Italy, and Tom, laughing, showed her how to twist the pasta in a spoon with her fork. But she didn’t mind not being able to eat; she didn’t want her tummy to be bloated. They finished the bottle of wine while talking about music, about their respective friends in Hanken and what they were doing now. Kaisa skipped most of the story of her short marriage. She simply said, ‘It didn’t work out.’ Tom didn’t ask her to explain further. He told Kaisa just as little about what he had been doing in Italy for best part of a year, and Kaisa in turn didn’t ask him to elaborate.