The Unforgiving Sea (The Searight Saga Book 2)

by Rupert Colley

  My mother pulled an apologetic face. ‘Come,’ she said, taking my hand. ‘We’d better leave.’

  ‘He’s been terribly upset by Clarence’s death. He doesn’t mean to take it out on you.’ We were back in the kitchen, a lukewarm cup of tea on the table. I sat down heavily.

  ‘Mum, you’ve forgotten the sugar.’

  ‘Silly me. I should have remembered.’

  ‘The wrong son died.’

  ‘No, Robert, don’t you be saying that; it’s not true. It’s just…’

  ‘Yes? Go on, what?’

  ‘Give it time, that’s all I can say. Give it time.’

  Chapter 18

  It was a fine day, sunny with a slight, pleasant breeze. I’d made a list of all the things I needed for my larder and with Angie at my feet returned from the shop with a number of heavy bags having spent far too much. I saw a group of children playing around the bus shelter, many on their bikes. Among them, sitting by himself on the bench within the shelter, was the small boy I’d seen previously at the shop, William, still wearing his herring-bone jacket. It occurred to me that several of them might have been taught by Joanna.

  ‘Hello there,’ I called out to a couple of girls playing tag.

  ‘Hello,’ said one, a girl of about ten with neat ponytails.

  ‘Did you girls know Mrs Gardner at school? Was she your teacher?’

  ‘Yeah but she’s gone now.’

  ‘Do you know where she’s gone?’

  The girl and her friend both shrugged their shoulders. ‘We’re going to have a new teacher,’ said the other.

  ‘Not Mrs Gardner then?’

  ‘Uh-ah.’

  ‘And what about you,’ I said, approaching the bus shelter. ‘It’s William, isn’t it? Did you know Mrs Gardner?’

  He looked at me sullenly from beneath his fringe but said nothing.

  ‘Was she your teacher?’

  Nothing, not even a nod of the head. I thought it best not to pursue it.

  *

  That night, Gregory and I went foxhunting. I went to his house, a little bungalow, not unlike mine: low ceilings, stone floors and dark rugs, old wooden furniture. He showed me the hunting gun, laying it on his kitchen table. Although old, almost antique, it was still an impressive piece of equipment. ‘So this is your father’s? Are you sure you want to use it?’

  ‘No but my c-chickens. The b-bugger tried to take another last night. I rushed out and scared him off. Big b-brute.’

  ‘And you know how to fire this thing?’

  ‘Yeah, b-but I was r-rather hoping you’d do it.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘You’re in the m-military.’

  ‘No, Gregory, you know full well – the merchant navy doesn’t count.’

  ‘Still.’

  ‘Have you warned your neighbours?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘And you got the lamp? Good, let’s go then, get it over and done with.’

  We set up in his backyard, the lamp at the ready, Gregory holding the gun. It was gone midnight. Every few minutes, he’d make the noise of the wounded rabbit, surprisingly loud at this quiet hour. The chickens clucked within their pen. An hour passed, perhaps more, and still we waited. The night, thankfully, was warm but very dark; no moon to see by. I looked up at the stars. Were they really the same stars I stared at for hours at a time far, far away? The deep dark sky and the silence reminded me too much of the boat. I shuddered at the memory.

  ‘Have you seen Rebecca today?’

  ‘No. Shush.’

  ‘Perhaps he can smell us,’ I whispered.

  ‘P-perhaps but he won’t be able to resist hunting out a wounded prey.’ With that, he resumed his whistling. How Angie would have loved this.

  I heard something – a rustle near the fence at the back of Gregory’s yard. I gripped his arm. He nodded and produced another whistle. More noise – something was definitely there. Gregory took the gun and nestled its butt into his shoulder. I rested my finger above the lamp’s ‘on’ switch, ready for Gregory’s order.

  ‘N-n-now,’ he managed to whisper.

  I flicked the switch and the yard was suddenly thrust into a sheer white light, brighter than day. And there, its eyes caught in its beam, just a few feet away, was the fox. The deafening crack of the gun rattled the silence of the night. The fox seemed to fly across the yard in a ball of fur and blood. Gregory screamed. The chickens erupted into a flurry of agitation and noise. Dogs all round the village, or so it seemed, started barking. Unlocking the gun, Gregory rushed over. I joined him, kneeling over the shattered body. The fox was dead, his torso a mess of blood.

  ‘Wow, a direct hit, Gregory.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, but there was no hint of triumph in his voice. Shaking his head, he added, ‘Poor beast. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It had to be done. It was him or your chickens.’

  ‘I feel s-sick.’

  I patted him on his shoulder. He was distressed, regretting taking the life of such a fine creature. ‘Come on, let’s go back in. I’ll come by in the morning and clear him out, if you want.’

  He nodded. I helped him up. Removing his glasses, he wiped his eyes.

  ‘Are you OK, Gregory?’

  ‘I will n-never in my life ever kill another living an-animal.’

  *

  I left Gregory preparing to go to bed, still upset. I stumbled home in the dark, passing through the village centre with the church spire silhouetted against the black sky. Passing various front gardens, the air smelt deliciously of night stock. I heard whispered voices coming from within the bus shelter. Immediately, I recognised Abigail’s plaintive tones. ‘No, Dan – my dad will kill me.’

  ‘And how’s he bloody going find out?’

  ‘Mum will know and she’ll tell him.’ She was crying.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, how will she know?’

  ‘She just will.’

  I cleared my throat.

  ‘Who’s that?’ said Dan. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said on seeing me. ‘Our very own war hero.’

  ‘All right, Dan.’

  ‘You spying on us?’

  ‘I was just passing.’

  ‘At this time of night?’

  ‘Yes, at this time of night.’

  He considered me for a few seconds. ‘Sod this, I’m off. You coming, Ab?’

  ‘No,’ she said, unseen by me inside the shelter.

  ‘I’ll take you home,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll go by myself.’

  ‘No.’ He made to snatch her hand.

  ‘Get off me.’

  ‘She said no,’ I said, hoping I sounded authoritative enough.

  ‘You what?’ said Dan, squaring up to me.

  Now, a few months back, before the sea had taken its toll on me, I would have felt strong enough to hold my ground. Not so much now. Nonetheless, I had to see this through. ‘Go home, Dan. I’ll walk Abigail home.’

  He held out his hand for her. She shook her head. He considered his options for a few moments. How could he back down without losing face?

  ‘I’ll see she gets back OK,’ I added, hoping to make it easier on him.

  ‘Right. OK. I’ll see you later then, Ab. But this ain’t finished, right?’

  ‘Just go, Dan.’

  He shot me a filthy look before limping off into the night.

  ‘Come,’ I said to her.

  She emerged from the shelter, clutching her handbag to her chest, looking round as if making sure Dan had gone. Her hair was dishevelled, her make-up smudged. She wore a flowing floral dress but her white blouse, I noticed, was torn. ‘I’m alright,’ she said. ‘I can walk by myself.’

  ‘No, I said I’d take you, and I will.’

  We walked slowly, Abigail wrapping her arms round herself.

  ‘Are you cold?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you want to tell me what that was about?’

  ‘No.’

  I wondered how to frame the next question. ‘I
s everything OK, Abigail? Did Dan hurt you in any way?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  We walked the rest of the way in silence, Abigail’s eyes fixed on the road in front of her.

  A car passed us by, its headlamps momentarily catching us in its light. Who it was, what sort of car, I couldn’t tell – it was too dark to see.

  We arrived at her home. ‘Here we are,’ I said, pointing out the obvious. She retrieved a key from her handbag and, without a word, without looking back at me, walked up to her door and went inside. On closing the door, I heard shouts from within – June had been waiting up for her and was understandably cross that her daughter had returned so late.

  Chapter 19

  The following morning, a lovely day, I decided to make a start on sanding the fence. I was hunting round for some sandpaper under the stairs when Angie jumped up and started barking. There was someone at the door. It was Abigail, looking breathless and in a state of some anxiety. I invited her in while Angie ran round her in circles. She took a seat in my kitchen, her knees clasped together and, turning down my offer of tea, stroked the dog. ‘Get down, Angie,’ I said.

  ‘She’s all right.’

  Tonight, I was due to have dinner with her mother. ‘So what brings you here in such a hurry?’ I asked while drying a cup and saucer that didn’t need drying.

  ‘Last night – I don’t want you to tell my mum.’

  ‘I had been thinking about it.’

  She looked at me with fright written all over her face. ‘No, you can’t.’

  ‘So tell me what happened then?’

  She was wearing her yellow dress with small red spots. Pulling her dress over her knee, she crossed and uncrossed her legs. ‘Dan, he – he wants to… you know.’

  ‘I see. But… you don’t.’

  ‘No. I’m not…’

  ‘You’re not ready yet.’

  ‘Yes, that’s it. I’m not ready yet. Anyway, it’s not as if we’re engaged or anything.’

  I took a seat and sat opposite her. ‘Abigail, did Dan… did he, how shall I say this, did he force himself on you?’

  She pulled on a loose strand of her hair. Sucking it, she shook her head.

  ‘So why are you crying, Abigail? I noticed last night your blouse was torn.’

  ‘He… he tried to. I had to…’

  ‘Go on.’

  She scanned the kitchen, her eyes wide with apprehension. ‘I had to push him off. He’s strong though. It was difficult. It was... it weren’t nice.’

  ‘Did he hurt you?’

  She shook her head again, staring now at Angie lying at my feet.

  ‘You have to finish with him.’

  ‘No,’ she cried. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I…’

  ‘Yes? You can tell me.’

  ‘I love him.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘But I’m only sixteen. He’s nineteen though, so he reckons we should… you know. Mum doesn’t like him, thinks he’s rough. He is, I suppose. And if she tells Dad, he’ll kill him, I know he will. She tells him everything I do and he gets… Dad gets angry.’ She looked up at me. ‘Please, don’t tell my mum.’

  I felt the need to rest my hand on her shoulder, to reassure her. Here was a young, attractive girl on the verge of womanhood but still, in essence, a small girl. It was the small girl that now sat in front of me sucking on her hair. I couldn’t help but feel pity for her. ‘OK, I won’t tell your mother.’

  ‘You promise?’

  ‘I promise.’

  She sighed with relief. ‘Thank you. Thank you.’

  Abigail’s visit disturbed me. I’d promised her but already I was regretting it. Her mother had a right to know; Abigail had to be protected. Yet, a promise is a promise, even one made in haste. My enthusiasm for sanding the fence had evaporated. I decided I’d go visit Gregory. That, I thought, would cheer me up.

  *

  I wanted to see whether Gregory had recovered from his bout of fox killing. Along the way, I stopped off at the shop. Despite having bought so much recently, I’d forgotten a few essentials. I was just dismounting my bike when I saw the boy, William, charging out of the shop with Mr Hamilton in his wake. ‘Oi, you boy, come back here, you little bugger!’

  The boy didn’t stop, running down the road and around the corner.

  ‘Are you OK, Mr Hamilton?’

  ‘Oh, Robert. Did you see that?’ He had a couple of sausages in his hand. ‘That little scamp. I just caught him shoplifting.’

  ‘I’ll chase after him.’

  ‘No, no, don’t worry; I’ll get him. Would you believe it? Does he not think I don’t know who he is or where he lives? Anyway, what can I get you? Have you found your teacher yet?’

  ‘Joanna? Unfortunately, no.’

  The sudden appearance of June in front of me took me by surprise. Hamilton returned inside. ‘Robert, can I have a word? Have you seen Abigail?’

  What could I say? I said no, the lie, so easily said, piercing me from within.

  ‘She said you walked her home last night.’

  ‘Did she? Well, yes, last night I saw her.’

  ‘Was she OK? Was she upset?’

  ‘She – she didn’t say much. It was late. I think she was tired.’

  ‘Was Dan with her?’

  ‘Not when I saw her.’

  She considered my answers for a few moments, her eyes boring into me. ‘Why?’ I asked. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘No. Perhaps. I don’t know. Listen, Robert, about tonight.’

  ‘Dinner? I’m looking forward to it. Do you want me to bring anything?’

  ‘No, I think… What I mean to say is that… Look, I don’t think it’d be a good idea.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Look, I’m worried about Abbie, and Pete’s back in a few days. You know what village gossip is like; it might starts tongues wagging. I’m… I’m sorry.’

  *

  Standing outside Gregory’s door, I could hear the piano coming from inside. Someone was practising their scales – and not very successfully. I wondered whether I should return later but the thought occurred to me it might be this Rebecca, and the temptation of seeing the object of Gregory’s desires was too much to resist. I knocked. The piano stopped but there was some delay until Gregory finally answered the door.

  ‘Am I disturbing you?’ I asked.

  ‘W-well, we’re just s-starting a lesson but y-you can come in if you want.’

  He led me through to his living room where, sitting at the keyboard, was an attractive dark-haired woman perhaps in her early thirties in a fetching light green dress and a red jacket. ‘T-this is R-Rebecca. Rebecca, this is m-my f-friend, R-Robert.’

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ she said, offering her hand. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you. You must be pleased to be home.’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘W-well, I, I mean, we n-need to c-carry on.’

  ‘Yes, don’t let me disturb you. In fact, I’ll come back later. I only wanted to...’ I hesitated, somehow I felt Gregory wouldn’t want me to mention the dead fox in front of his pupil.

  ‘I’ve d-done it,’ he said, reading my mind. ‘T-thanks anyway.’

  ‘Excellent. I’ll… leave you to it.’

  ‘Bye bye, Robert,’ said Rebecca, smiling brightly. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  ‘And you.’

  I did wonder, as I left, whether Gregory’s stutter was more pronounced in front of her.

  *

  Dressed in my pyjamas, I was cleaning my teeth, when, near midnight, I heard the urgent rap on my front door. Angie, lying on my bed, leapt off and charged downstairs, barking frantically. Who on earth could that be at this time, I wondered, concerned. I knew that whoever it was, this didn’t bode well. With a heavy heart, I unlocked the door and pulled it open.

  ‘You bastard,’ yelled June, marching in uninvited.

  I stepped back. ‘What?’ With Angie yelping at our feet, she pum
melled me on the chest with her fists. ‘June, stop, stop; what’s the matter?’

  ‘I trusted you, you bastard.’ I caught her fists. ‘It was you; she told me; she told me everything.’

  ‘What? Who?’

  I let her go. Her eyes were red. Speaking through clenched teeth, she spat out her accusation, ‘Don’t pretend you don’t know. Proud of yourself, are you?’

  ‘June, please, calm down. Get down, Angie,’ I said, pushing her away with my foot. ‘Is this about Abigail?’

  ‘Oh, so you admit it. How could you, I trusted you, how… She’s just a child.’ She collapsed in tears.

  ‘And she told you it was me? It wasn’t me, June. I swear to you, I did not touch her.’

  ‘No?’ she screeched. ‘She told me it was. Should I not believe my own daughter? I should tell the police, but no, I don’t want to upset Abbie any further.’ She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘But you listen to me, if you’ve not left this place by the time Pete returns, he will kill you with his bare hands.’

  ‘June–’

  She put up her hand. ‘Don’t. I don’t want to hear it, you pathetic excuse of a man. He’ll kill you, I swear it. That German whore got what she deserved and you will too.’

  ‘But, June…’

  Throwing me a hateful look, she sniffed, turned and left. With my heart thumping, I watched her stride away into the night.

  Gently, I closed the door. Feeling weak, I climbed back up the stairs and got into bed. Angie leapt up and snuggled down. Promise or no promise, Abigail had to tell the truth. I told myself I had nothing to worry about. We would soon have it cleared up. The thought didn’t console me.

  I turned off the light.

  It was only after a few minutes, as I played the conversation back in my head, I wondered who on earth was the German whore?

  Chapter 20

  The following morning, I had an early visitor. ‘I’ve j-just been to the shop,’ said Gregory. ‘What have you d-done, Robert?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Everyone’s t-talking about you. Something t-to d-do with that girl. Her mother’s accusing you of all s-sorts of things. Said you–’