First Friends

by Marcia Willett

  Mrs Hampton’s answering snort was expressive and the General raised his eyebrows. She put his porridge before him and tucked Charlotte’s bib more firmly round the child’s neck.

  ‘ ’Ere you are, my lover,’ she said. ‘Let ‘Ammy ‘elp you. What a lovely bowl. Now, where’ve all they rabbits got to? ‘Ave to eat the porridge up to find ’em, we will.’

  ‘Do I take it, Mrs Hampton, that you don’t subscribe to that idea?’

  Once it would never have occurred to the General to discuss personal matters with a domestic. Mrs Hampton, however, had never really quite fitted into that role. She had a dignity and a wisdom that had earned the General’s respect from the beginning and, on one or two occasions, he had found himself seeking her advice. In her company he felt relaxed and, ludicrous though it may sound, safe. He knew that the twins and Charlotte felt it too. He watched the child’s dark eyes fixed trustingly upon her as she spooned in the porridge.

  ‘ ’Tisn’t lots of ‘oneymoons that young mums want. ‘Tis a bit of attention, a bit of fussin’ over,’ she said, at last. ‘She gets like a strained look. That’s right, my lover. All gone!’ She wiped Charlotte’s mouth.

  The General looked worried. She was, after all, only voicing his own doubts. ‘May improve,’ he said. ‘He’s very young. There can be a lot of pressure on these young officers. It could be as simple as that.’

  Mrs Hampton raised her eyebrows disbelievingly but was too polite to contradict him.

  ‘How about a nice egg?’ she asked. ‘Go down well, would it?’

  THE SUBMARINE BERTHED TWO days early and Mark got a lift home with the Navigation Officer who lived at Walkhampton. He was not at all pleased to find Cass in the kitchen when he arrived and even more displeased when she stayed until just before Kate served up supper.

  ‘I had a letter from Dad when we were at sea,’ he said when they finally sat down together to eat. ‘He’s going to buy us a car. He thinks it’s crazy us being stuck out here with no transport. So it is, of course. Anyway, he suggested that I catch the train to Cheltenham and then we can go and choose it together.’

  ‘How very generous of him,’ said Kate, sipping her wine. ‘It will be marvellous but can’t he just send you the money?’

  ‘You know Dad!’ Mark grimaced. ‘Thinks I’d buy a dud, I expect. I’ll have to go up. It’s worth it to have a car and, after all, they’re not expecting us to chip in. He’s told us to keep our money for something else. I’ll only be gone a couple of days. No point in you and the twins dragging up on the train. I’ll be able to come back in the car.’

  ‘We could come,’ said Kate. ‘If it’s only one way. I know your mother would like to see the twins.’

  ‘Well, she’ll have to put up with it, won’t she? I’m not doing a four-hour train trip with two screaming brats.’

  Kate was silent. You’ve been away five weeks, she thought, but even so you don’t want to be with us enough to spend a few hours on a train with us. And they’re not screaming brats! She quickly drank some wine to take the edge off her hurt.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Mark, smiling a little as he pushed his chair back, ‘you’ll have Cass, won’t you?’

  Kate looked at him quickly and knew that he blamed her for Cass’s presence when he had arrived back home and that her exclusion from the trip to Cheltenham was, in some way, a punishment. He hated anyone around when he first got in and Kate, who knew why, had been delighted that Cass had been present so that she had a genuine excuse to become used to his presence again before they made love.

  ‘I didn’t know that you’d be in today, Mark,’ she said reasonably, answering his thought rather than his question. ‘You weren’t due for another two days. You must admit that it’s practically unheard of for a submarine to be in early.’

  He raised his eyebrows as if making note of the—unintentionally—implied criticism. ‘In that case we don’t want to waste any more of this unexpected and unusually precious time, do we? Shall we go to bed?’

  A few hours later, she lay beside him staring into the darkness feeling frustrated and used. There was certainly no mental communication between them. Mark withheld himself, his aspirations, his doubts, unwilling to let her into his own private self. Nor was he prepared to make any efforts to get to know her as a person, being more concerned in remaining remote and unapproachable. He seemed even more remote when he was with her than when they were apart for then she was able to imagine him differently, more open, confiding and close. His letters were very expansive for he seemed able to express himself more easily in writing. Yet when he came home it was as if he were a stranger. She tried to talk herself back into familiarity, hearing herself gabbling on and on. She would offer him food and drink, still talking. He would stand watching her, slightly amused, unhelpful, waiting while she tried to talk away the strangeness and invoke desire, longing, lust—anything that would help her through the painful act which, to her, was almost rape. After any period of celibacy she could not feel instant passion. She needed love first: tenderness, caring, an exchange of experiences during their separation and so on into the act of love-making as a form of communication when words failed.

  She never got it. Sometimes he would take her on the sitting-room floor, sometimes on the landing and sometimes in the bedroom. It hardly mattered where to him. If they were in bed, Mark would roll away and be asleep in minutes, unconcerned as to whether or not her enjoyment was as great as his.

  She avoided him as often as seemed reasonable when he was home for any length of time: getting up early in the morning, pretending to be asleep when he had finished reading at night. It didn’t always work and he became angry if he suspected that she was trying to put him off. Then there was an element of real cruelty when the act, inevitably, took place. She craved real affection, warm hugs and comforting cuddles, but she had learned early that these things meant but one thing to Mark. It was better to do without.

  She eased her taut muscles, rolled on to her side and concentrated on the idea of a new car: she would learn to drive and when Mark went back to sea, she and the twins would spend long happy days exploring. The idea of such independence filled her with excitement and presently she slept.

  MR WEBSTER INSISTED ON A sensible estate car much to Mark’s disappointment. He fixed little chairs to the back seat for the twins and during that summer, when Mark had gone back to sea and Kate had passed her test, she explored the moors until she knew nearly every road and stream.

  They picnicked at Believer Bridge and at Cadover Bridge, where the twins paddled in the shallows, and on the sandy beach at Bigbury where the twins paddled in sun-warmed rock pools. They drove to Torcross and along the line with the sea on one side and Slapton Ley, that wonderful freshwater lake with so many different birds, on the other. When they went to Totnes or Dartmouth, Kate, never forgetful of earlier kindnesses, invited the General along and they explored the delightful old towns together, taking it in turns to push the twins in the double pushchair. On one occasion, Kate took Mrs Hampton to see her sister in Exeter whilst the General baby-sat and, while the two sisters gossiped over their tea, Kate slipped into the Cathedral and listened to Choral Evensong. And always, on her journeys home, when she saw the great outcrops of the moor, indigo against the golden evening sky, she felt her heart expand with a joy and gratitude that made her want to weep and laugh and her troubles and fears were swept away into a silent litany of thanksgiving.

  Summer gave way to autumn and Kate’s heart continued to rejoice and then, suddenly, it was Christmas and amidst the excitement of the puddings, the secrets and the decorations, here was Cass, arriving in Kate’s kitchen and they were hugging and laughing and both talking at once.

  ‘I must sit down,’ said Cass, at last. ‘I’m six months pregnant and the little bugger’s giving me hell!’

  Six

  In the early spring, Mark was appointed to a submarine in refit in Portsmouth dockyard. She hadn’t long started her refit so that it meant she would
be in dry-dock for at least a year. This was a tremendous blow to Kate as the dockyard was on the opposite side of the harbour from Dolphin, the submarine base.

  Kate hated the idea of leaving Devon although she had known very well that there would be little chance of Mark’s staying on. At this time very few submarines ran out of Devonport and she had prepared herself for the move. She felt quite confident that a year together, leading a more normal life, was all that was needed to bring her and Mark closer together, to strengthen the bond as it were. And perhaps it would give him and the twins time to get to know one another. He never seemed to want to play with them and was uninterested in their new achievements and exploits. Of course, he was very young himself and busy with his career, Kate told herself. Nevertheless . . .

  She had watched enviously at Christmas, looking on while Tom played with and read to Charlotte, hugged and kissed her and called her endearing names. The twins adored him, too, and he would lie on Kate’s sitting-room floor while they swarmed all over him. Mark, meanwhile, looked on with a tolerant but disdainful smile and, with a tiny disbelieving shake of the head, would turn away to switch on the television which he had bought for himself as a Christmas present with the car money—an extravagance which had shocked Kate. Perhaps, she thought, he might behave differently with a daughter. Seeing Cass pregnant again had made her feel tremendously broody.

  The move would bring her closer to Cass who was living in a married quarter in Anglesea Road at Alverstoke now that Tom had been appointed to a submarine running out of Dolphin. It meant, however, that Kate would have to make the long drive round the head of the harbour or take the Gosport Ferry whenever she wanted to see her.

  ‘It’s a pity that it’s Portsmouth,’ she said to Mark. ‘It’s so dreary on that side of the harbour.’

  ‘Well, you don’t have to come,’ he said, displeased as always by any form of criticism of the Navy, direct or implied. ‘You can stay here and I’ll weekend.’

  ‘But the boat’s in refit, for heaven’s sake!’ said Kate. ‘You’ll be ashore for at least a year.’

  Mark shrugged and lit a cigarette. He remembered walking in the park at Mercury the day before he proposed to her. He had weighed things up very carefully. Although he hadn’t seen much of it, he had realised that he wouldn’t like living in the Mess on a full-time basis: too social and too organised. Another thing was that he hated chatting up girls so that he could have sex; having to turn on the charm and deal out the flattery was so exhausting and he was not particularly successful at it. Fortunately, his good looks had got him by so far but he wouldn’t want to have to find a new girlfriend each time he came back from sea. Emotional dramas were messy and tiring and casual sex was worrying—one might catch something. A wife was the answer and Kate had seemed so malleable to him that he was sure he would be able to train her to his ideas and that he would always be in control. So far that had been true but life had become less comfortable since the twins had arrived so that, for a moment, the idea of Mess life seemed positively attractive.

  ‘Well, don’t you want us with you?’ Kate asked. ‘Wouldn’t you hate to be living in some shore establishment? We can be properly together, like an ordinary family. Refits are so boring for seaman officers, aren’t they? You’ve said so yourself. Nothing much to do. It’ll be lovely to have some time together. The twins hardly know you.’

  ‘Then don’t go on so much about how you hate Portsmouth! It’s up to you.’

  ‘Well, I can’t stay here anyway, the lease is up soon. Of course we’ll come. Where will we live?’

  ‘Oh, there are loads of married quarters on the Portsmouth side of the harbour,’ said Mark. ‘That’s no problem. It’s not like Alverstoke. I suppose I’d better get in touch with the Married Quarters Officer.’

  In due course, they received a letter with the address of an unoccupied quarter which they were obliged to inspect before they could agree to take it and early one morning they all set off to Portsmouth. It felt strange to return and to see the familiar landmarks. Kate hardly knew the Portsmouth side of the harbour. They had sometimes crossed by ferry to go to the Keppel’s Head and during Fourth Year Courses she had stayed at the Nuffield Club for parties and a ball and then, on the Sunday mornings, they had explored the Old Town and walked along Southsea front before Kate had caught the train back to Cornwall.

  The quarter, however, turned out to be at Eastney, a drab and dingy area behind the Barracks at the farthest end of the sea front where the road swings back inland. There were five or six concrete blocks of flats standing at intervals on the open grassy area of the estate, each block containing six flats, two on each floor. Kate sat in the car and stared at them with dismay. They appeared to have nothing to commend them. Each block was overlooked by another block, there were no gardens and no way to keep the twins off the road if they were to go outside to play.

  Taking the key that they had collected from the Married Quarters Office, Mark went to check that this was indeed the right place. Kate’s last tiny flicker of hope died when he reappeared and waved. She released the twins and together they went to look at the flat.

  The entrance was cold, dark and cheerless. Their door was on the left, immediately opposite the door to the other ground-floor flat. The concrete staircase with its iron handrail led straight up and then turned left and out of sight. Kate shivered. Mark unlocked the door and they went in.

  A long corridor led away from the front door. To the left was a small and very old-fashioned kitchen with cracked linoleum on the floor and grubby, yellowing paintwork. Next door was the bathroom, more linoleum and grubby paint, and opposite was a very large room which was evidently both sitting room and dining room. The bright covers of the three-piece suite made no attempt to harmonise with or even vaguely match the curtains or the square of carpet—all reproduced en masse in naval quarters all over the country. It was a scene that was to become depressingly familiar. Kate was to learn that she could walk into a quarter in Chatham, Faslane or Plymouth and be confronted by an identical scene. ‘Oh, I had that suite, those curtains, that carpet in Smugglers Way . . . Otterham Quay Lane . . . Crapstone . . . visiting naval wives would cry and, plonking their offspring on the well-known carpet and getting out the cigarettes, would settle down to a morning’s gossip.

  Kate went back out into the passage. The three bedrooms opened up fan-wise from the far end of the corridor. The master bedroom was very large, the blankets neatly folded and piled on the bed together with the pillows. All except linen and towels was supplied. Everything was there waiting for the long and tedious task of checking against the inventory with the person from the Married Quarters Office: three blankets, double, one stained; one mat, coir, bathroom for the use of. On and on it would go until he had gone and one could pack it all away and bring out one’s own possessions—only to drag it all out again many months later and display it ready for inspection, the sharp eyes searching for new cracks, chips or stains.

  ‘What do you think?’ Mark was watching her.

  Kate hesitated. ‘Are you quite certain that there isn’t anything else available?’ She saw the closed expression on his face and waited for the impatient tone in his voice. She was not disappointed.

  ‘I’ve already told you that this is the only quarter available. We can take it or leave it. I have to give them our decision when we take the key back.’

  ‘But you said there were plenty of quarters in Portsmouth.’

  ‘There are. There are four more in this building alone. Naturally, I’d assumed that, with the twins to look after, you’d want to be on the ground floor. I also assumed that you’d like to be near the sea. Of course, if you’d prefer a grotty little flat in the middle of Portsmouth or to be stuck out at Drayton, I’m sure they’d be only too pleased to find you something.’

  Kate walked to the bedroom window and looked out. Face it, she said to herself. Anything after Devon is going to be a let-down. Just over there is the sea and we can walk to the beach
in minutes. And we shall all be together. That will make up for an awful lot. I mustn’t spoil it by starting a row. She turned back into the room.

  ‘OK.’ She smiled at him. ‘We’ll manage. It’ll be nice to be so close to the beach and we can drive into Southsea to shop.’

  She was rewarded at once by his own smile; his relief was patent.

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine. The rooms are big, aren’t they? Would you like us to take the twins down to the beach?’ He’d already vetoed a visit to Cass, now living in a hiring in Alverstoke, saying that he must get straight back to the boat. ‘I think they deserve a break.’

  They looked at the twins who were standing, shoulder to shoulder, staring at themselves in the looking glass set in the door of the huge ugly wardrobe. Kate laughed.

  ‘Why not?’ she said. ‘May as well start making ourselves at home.’

  LEAVING THE BUNGALOW AND the moors was every bit as agonising as Kate knew it would be. The General was sad to see them go but bore up like the stoical old soldier that he was.

  ‘Got a home here if ever you need it,’ he said, shaking hands gravely with the bemused twins. “Only need to pick up the telephone. Come for a holiday.’

  Kate flung her arms around him. ‘Thank you for everything—finding the bungalow, showing me the moor, everything. It’s been wonderful. I shall come and see you often and you must stay in touch. Not just through Cass. You must write and tell me how the moor is looking . . . She swallowed back tears, her face buried in his rough tweed jacket.

  He held her tightly. ‘Oh, my dear.’

  Mrs Hampton was in the kitchen waiting her turn. She gave Kate two little parcels. ‘That’s for ’em to open on the journey,’ she said, her eyes suspiciously bright. ‘ ’Tis a long way for two li’l mites. They’ll get bored. An’ this is for you. No call to open it now.’