‘Oh, bad luck – but lucky for him he got back at all, by the sound of it. Well, what other news have you got?’
‘What other news am I going to have, stuck in the house all day?’
He gave her a penetrating look. ‘I thought you might have an interesting bit of family news, for example.’
‘I’ve just told you the family news.’
‘Not quite. Hasn’t your mother done a bunk? Isn’t that family news? That’s if it’s true. I might have been misinformed.’
With Graham’s eyes still fixed on her, Lynn pulled Simon towards her and sat quietly combing his hair, saying nothing.
‘I’ll take it that she has, then,’ Graham said, after a long silence. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I didn’t think you’d be interested.’
He burst into laughter. ‘Oh, that’s priceless, that is. After the way your old man put me in fear of my life, you didn’t think I’d be interested to know his wife’s shoved off?’
‘Is that a gem you got from the cognoscenti?’
‘No, the fruit shop, as a matter of fact.’
‘Come on, Simon,’ Lynn said, ‘It’s your bedtime.’
Graham’s unwavering stare came to rest on Simon. ‘Stay where you are, Simon,’ he countered. ‘I’m not a believer in shielding kids from life’s realities.’
‘Well, I am. Come on, Simon,’ Lynn insisted, but before she could get him out of the way, Graham brought the reality in question home to him in one sentence:
‘Your Nanna’s run off with another man, Simon, and left your grandad all on his own! What do you think to that?’
Simon was quiet for a while, digesting the news, then: ‘Is he from Leeds?’ he asked.
Graham looked quite thrown for a moment. ‘I don’t know!’ he said, ‘but I suppose your grandad’s very upset about it, so we’ll have to be really, really nice to him when we see him again, won’t we?’
‘Yeah,’ Simon nodded.
‘Good boy,’ Graham smiled, rubbing his hands: ‘What’s for tea, Lynn?’
‘Why ask me? I should have thought the cognoscenti would have already told you.’
‘What is it, then?’
‘Egg and chips, à la mushy peas and ketchup. We’ve already had ours, seeing you didn’t let me know what time you’d be in.’
‘Wonderful!’ he laughed. ‘What a marvellous start to the weekend! But not a meal I’d want to serve to anybody whose opinion I cared about.’
Graham was very much in the mood that night. After a particularly lengthy and vigorous lovemaking session he lay back with his hands clasped behind his head, gazing dreamily at the shadows on the opposite wall. ‘I always knew your mother had a bit of a spark in her,’ he said, eventually. ‘She’s the sort of woman that needs something extra.’
Lynn had been on the point of sleep, but was roused to wakefulness by that remark. ‘Extra to what?’ she asked
‘Extra to what she gets from your dad, by the look of it. He must have been keeping her a bit short. A lot short, probably, seeing he’s at sea for three weeks at a stretch. I shouldn’t think that would be enough to keep your mother happy. I imagine she takes a bit of keeping up with, in the bedroom department.’
‘Mind your own business, Graham. It’s got nothing to do with you,’ Lynn snapped, repelled by his lurid imaginings about her parents’ private lives.
Graham slid under the covers. ‘I bet she is, though,’ he persisted. ‘I bet she’s quite a goer, your mother. I thought she had a fancy for me, not so long ago.’
‘Huh!’ Lynn snorted. ‘You think there isn’t a woman born who hasn’t got a fancy for you.’
Graham yawned, and turned over. ‘Well, there aren’t many, you’ve got to admit. I don’t know of any, personally.’
‘There’s Janet.’
‘In the words of the immortal Bard, the lady doth protest too much,’ he said.
‘To conceal her burning passion for you, I expect.’
‘Yeah. That’s it.’
Had anyone else said it she would have thought they were jesting, but this was Graham. Egolatry, she thought. If it were a medical condition, that would be the name of it.
Chapter 35
‘You’ll never believe it, Lynn,’ Margaret said, a few days later, ‘you’ll just never believe it . . .’
It was a rare thing for Margaret to use the telephone, so as soon as she’d heard her sister’s voice Lynn had known she must be ringing about something earth-shattering.
‘What?’
‘. . . the letter the owners have sent to one of Jim’s sister’s friends. Her husband was on the Sprite . . .’
‘Telling her he’s safe and well, I hope,’ Lynn said.
‘No! They’ve admitted there’s no chance of that, because they’re deeply upset about the terrible loss of life, caused by this inexplicable tragedy to a well-ordered sh-ship and wish to send you our sincere sympathy . . . And she’s got three bairns!’
‘Unexplained tragedy? To a well-ordered ship? That bloody leaky old death trap that threatened to sink every time there was a swell, and they’re calling it a well-ordered ship?’
‘It’s aw-awful,’ Margaret said, and dissolved into sobs.
‘Well, what else can you expect? I doubt if their sincere sympathy will stretch to coughing any money up. They’re telling her from the outset: don’t think of trying to pin the blame on us. We’re not having it! Because if the families could manage to pin the blame on them and make it stick, they might have to dig into their deep pockets, and that would make them “deeply upset” – like nothing else could! Genuinely, deeply, upset!’
Margaret’s reply was lost in crying.
‘Margaret, Margaret – ring me back when you’re a bit calmer,’ Lynn said. ‘On second thoughts, don’t. Go home and make yourself a nice hot cuppa. I’m coming down there as soon as I’ve done Graham’s tea.’
Graham was in late, as usual.
‘I’m going down to our Margaret’s after tea,’ Lynn announced.
‘You can’t. I’m going out. A couple of the chaps from work are teaching me to play bridge.’
Lynn shrugged. ‘All right, I’ll take our Simon with me.’
‘You can’t. He’s got school tomorrow, and it’s nearly bedtime now.’
‘I’ll take him with me, and we’ll sleep at my dad’s. I’ve still got a key.’
‘What about school?’
‘He can miss it for once. It won’t hurt him.’
‘No, he can’t. I’m not having it. School’s important, and tomorrow Simon goes to school.’
‘Ring your mother and ask her to babysit, then.’
‘I’d like something to eat. It’s been a long day, and I’m hungry.’
‘All right,’ Lynn said, and disappeared into the kitchen like the obedient, well-tamed little wife she felt herself in danger of morphing into.
Margaret put her boys to bed and leaving Jim’s twelve-year-old niece sitting in the house with them she walked with Lynn and Simon along Hessle Road in the direction of Boulevard. The pubs were just turning out, and the frost-rimed road was full of people walking briskly along in little groups, occasionally stopping for a moment to chat with others. A party of clean-shaven, smartly dressed young deckhands were approaching from the opposite direction, a bit less unsteady on their feet and a lot more subdued than was usual in young fishermen after a night on the beer.
‘Hey, Margaret,’ the tallest of them called, ‘you know that life raft from the Sprite? It was found over a fortnight ago – on the thirteenth! And an Icelandic trawler picked up a Mayday on the twelfth, only a couple of days after they left Hull. No wonder it was the silent trawler! They were probably all dead on the thirteenth . . .’
‘But the gaffers were cracking on they were trying to contact her up to a day or two ago!’ Margaret said.
‘Humph! There’s a lot of things that don’t really add up,’ another said, with a significant raising of his eyebrows.
> ‘No. You wonder what’s going on. It sounds like the union’s trying to get to the bottom of things, though. There’s even an MP going round asking questions.’
‘There’s a lot of questions about this job, and he wants answers. He’s taking it to the House of Commons.’
‘And now it looks like there’s another one gone missing. Another one they’ve had no radio contact with for days. Different owners, though.’
‘What, another ship? Which one?’ Lynn could hear the tension in Margaret’s voice.
‘The Prospero.’
‘Oh, them poor lads!’ she exclaimed – but Jim was not on the Prospero, and to Lynn, her sister’s relief was almost palpable.
‘Who’s the nipper?’ a curly-haired young deckie asked.
‘Simon, my nephew. Lynn’s son.’
‘Well, Simon, never let anybody get you on a trawler – never ever! Not even in the middle of summer. You’d be better off going to Hell for a pastime than going to sea for a pleasure trip.’
The tallest fisherman jerked his thumb in the direction of Boulevard. ‘There’s a woman up there collecting signatures.’
‘What for?’ Lynn asked.
‘A petition.’
‘What for?’
‘Safety. Safety on trawlers.’
‘She’s demanding all sorts of changes.’
‘Says she’s taking it to London an’ all. She’ll bash on the Prime Minister’s door, if she’s got to. Maybe bash him, as well, to listen to her talk.’
‘We’ll sign,’ Margaret said.
‘We will. It can’t hurt, can it?’
‘Might even do a bit of good. She seems determined enough,’ the curly-haired lad said. ‘Ta-ra, then!’
‘Ta-ra, then.’
‘Ta-ra!’
‘See ya!’
The sisters walked on with Simon between them. As they neared the Halfway public house a big, handsome woman with a headscarf over her bouffant hairdo stepped forward, barring the way. She was dressed in a thick coat and heavy boots, and the vapour of her breath hung on the cold air.
‘Is that the petition?’ Lynn asked, nodding towards the clipboard she was holding.
‘You’ve heard about it then?’
‘Yeah. We’ll sign.’
Margaret took the board and signed. ‘My husband’s at sea now – not due back until the tenth of February,’ she said. ‘And my brother sailed for Bear Island yesterday.’
The woman gave a grim nod. ‘And my son’s fishing off Iceland. Something’s got to be done, love, and it’s up to us women. The men can’t do it; they’re never at home long enough.’
Lynn thought of Alec, and said nothing. She took the board from Margaret and read the heading: ‘Petition for Fishermen’s Safety’. She signed, and gave it back. ‘They’re saying the Prospero’s missing now.’
‘There’s been no radio contact for days, so – not much hope,’ the woman said.
‘Give me a handful of them forms,’ Margaret said. ‘I’ll get plenty of signatures. I’ll take ’em into Birds Eye.’
‘Give me some, as well. I’ll get as many as I can,’ said Lynn.
A few steps further along the road Margaret burst out with an anguished: ‘Oh, poor lads! Oh, but thank God it’s not Jim! Does that sound awful?’
‘Does it sound awful to want your husband alive, when you’ve got four young sons and you’re expecting another baby?’ Lynn exclaimed. ‘What do you think?’
Chapter 36
Their father’s house was freezing when Lynn opened the back door and the three of them stepped into the kitchen. Simon peered into the darkness and shivered.
‘Where’s my Nanna?’
Lynn groped for the light switch. ‘She’s gone away. Your dad told you,’ she said. ‘Brr-rr! I think it’s colder in here than it is outside.’
‘I don’t like it here without my Nanna. I want to go home.’
‘I don’t like it here without your Nanna either, but it’s too late for us to go home now. Don’t worry, it’ll be warm in bed. I’ll put the electric blanket on.’
Margaret filled the kettle while Lynn went into the hallway to turn the heating on, and then with Simon hard on her heels she ran upstairs. She flicked on the bedroom light and as she walked across the carpet to close the curtains felt a squelching under her feet. A drop of water fell with a splash in front of her. On looking up she saw that the ceiling was bulging.
‘Oh, for crying out loud!’ she groaned. She knew next to nothing about electricity, but had a feeling it might not mix very well with water, so she turned the light off. ‘What the heck did your grandad turn the heating off for? He ought to have left it on low; he might have known the pipes would freeze. He’s an engineer, for pity’s sake!’ She ran back down to the kitchen, to ferret under the sink to find a bucket and a screwdriver.
‘What’s up?’
‘Burst pipe! There’s water pissing all over the bedroom carpet. Take these upstairs, while I get the stepladder. There’ll be no chance of getting a plumber at this time of night, even if we had the money to pay one.’
Lynn dragged the stepladder up the stairs and then by the light from the landing she clambered up with the screwdriver and bucket to make a hole in the plaster and let the water run out, then climbed back down the steps while trying to keep the bucket under the stream.
‘Where’s the stop tap?’
‘Under the stairs.’
Lynn pushed the steps out of the way and set the bucket under the dripping water. Then downstairs again, followed by Simon, to get under the stairs and grope for the brass stop tap. It took all her strength to turn it off.
She called upstairs: ‘Put the plug in the bath and turn the taps on, will you?’ and then went into the kitchen to fill the sink bowl and every other receptacle she could find, before letting the rest of the water run down the sink. Simon watched her, tired and bewildered.
Margaret came rattling back down the stairs with the stepladder. ‘I’ve turned the heating off again now the hot water tank’s empty, so you can’t sleep here tonight – you’ll freeze. You’ll have to come back to my house.’
‘No, we’ll be as snug as bugs in a rug when we get in bed, and we’ve got enough water for about a million cups of tea. We’ll have the first one now, shall we?’ she said, brightly, and thought: oh, Mother, Mother, Mother, why did you leave us?
They was a hammering at the door, and a familiar shape outlined beyond the glass.
‘It’s Graham.’ Margaret said.
Simon’s face lit up and he ran to the door. ‘Dad!’ he shouted.
Chapter 37
The ice was thick on the rails and on the wire ropes, thicker on the upperworks and likely to get worse, everywhere. Buried in layers of woollens and covered by wet weather gear the men on deck were working like fury in the northern twilight – with axes, lump hammers, anything they could get hold of to crack it off.
Alec had just risked life and limb to get the ice off the radar scanner when the skipper yelled from the bridge at the top of his lungs to make himself heard above the howling wind.
‘Greener!’
The men below dropped everything and hung on for dear life to anything they could grab as a wall of green water edged with a crest of white rose up as high as the foremast and smashed down on them, swilling across the deck, propelling everything before it and sweeping the feet from under them – a killer wave. Then it was gone, mercifully with nobody washed overboard.
‘The next sea, and we’ve had it,’ the bosun yelled. ‘Another sea like that, and we’ve had our chips.’
Sea water froze on their faces, forming icicles on noses, beards and eyebrows as they made their way to the galley to get some tea. The warmth of the galley fire caused blue and swollen hands and fingers to hurt intensely.
‘It’s the worst bloody place he could have picked, the west side of Iceland,’ a young deckhand said. ‘My dad reckons there’s nowhere as bad as this for gales, even in summer. It can b
e fine weather, then a wind springs up out of nowhere and brings the frost with it. You haul the nets in, and the fish are covered in ice.’
‘Aye, and in two seconds flat the sodding ship’s covered in ice and you can’t even get to the land for safety,’ said another. ‘You end up having to ride it out, and hope for the best. Why the hell he came here . . .’
‘’Cause he thinks the fish are here, and only three days steaming and you can get your gear down – that’s why,’ one of the less excitable souls ventured. ‘Go nor’ nor’ east, and it’s five or six days. And you get bad weather anywhere.’
‘Not as bad as here. The west side of Iceland’s where angels fear to tread, my dad says.’
‘Did you feel her?’ the one of the older deckhands demanded. ‘Nearly on her beam end, she was. There’s a bloody hurricane blowing up her arse, and he wants to put the bastard gear over the side again. This in’t the first time I’ve done this trip – I’ve done it many a time, and in bloody bad weather, but this skipper’s a bastard lunatic. He’ll lose her and us with her if he don’t stow the trawl and turn her head to wind.’
The rest of the crew relieved their feelings in worse obscenities.
Alec drank the hot tea and let them get it all off their chests. Then he made his brief contribution: ‘We will lose her if we don’t knock that ice off, so finish your tea and save your breath for chopping.’
He herded them back on deck and was the first to take a swing at the ice. He had to keep them at it. If fatalism took a hold, they would just stand around and wait for the worst. Abandoning hope was not an option.
The Would-Be Wife Page 19