The Unforgiving Sea (The Searight Saga Book 2)

by Rupert Colley

  ‘But of course.’

  An elderly farmer with bowed legs accompanied by two sheep dogs passed us. ‘How do,’ he said to each of us in turn. ‘Lovely day again.’

  ‘What are you two gossiping about?’ said Guy, waiting for us.

  ‘My mother thinks I’m a true Irishman.’

  ‘Robert, I didn’t take it that far.’

  ‘Ha, but she’s probably right. You’ve not been to the Emerald Isle, have you, Robert?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You should.’

  ‘One day, I will.’

  ‘Where Mary and Jo come from, out on the west coast, it’s quite a heaven on earth.’

  ‘A blustery one, mind you,’ said my mother.

  ‘This is true. Now, Robert, how about meeting me for a coffee in town next week?’ He was, he said, meeting a friend – half business, half pleasure. He suggested we meet afterwards in a café he knew on Argyll Street.

  ‘Lovely,’ I said. ‘I look forward to it.’

  Chapter 22

  I needed to go out to find a glazier but kept finding excuses to delay my re-appearance in the outside world. I couldn’t quite face it. Then, to worry me more, came a knock at the door. It was still only eight in the morning. Standing at the door, I found June; her daughter a good few feet behind.

  ‘Hello, Robert,’ she said. ‘We need to speak to you.’

  I showed them through to the living room. ‘It’s dark in here,’ said June as she took a seat. ‘Oh, what happened to your window?’

  ‘Here.’ I showed her the sheet of paper.

  ‘Look at this,’ she said, thrusting it at Abigail. ‘Proud of yourself?’ Abigail averted her eyes. ‘My daughter has something to say to you.’

  ‘Oh?’

  We both looked at her as she visibly seemed to shrink in front of us.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered, her eyes still cast down.

  ‘Louder,’ said June.

  ‘I said it, didn’t I? I’m sorry.’

  June rolled her eyes. ‘Go on, why are you sorry, hey?’

  Abigail swallowed. I felt pity for her but knew it wasn’t my place to intervene. ‘I’m sorry I told everyone you tried to hurt me.’

  ‘I’m… well.’ I wasn’t sure what to say. Yes, I felt pity for her but she had to know what torment she’d put me through.

  ‘We’re both very sorry, Robert. Abigail told me the truth this morning. Of course it wasn’t you who assaulted her. You’re not that sort. I know that.’

  ‘It’s OK.’

  ‘It’s just… when she first told me I was so shocked and angry, I didn’t stop to question it. If you could ever forgive us both.’

  ‘Of course.’ Turning to Abigail, I added, ‘I understand why you did it, Abigail, and I suppose you could never have imagined how people would react, but as you can see from my window, they reacted rather harshly.’

  ‘We’ll pay for it,’ said June. ‘Send us the bill.’

  ‘No, that won’t be–’

  ‘I insist. It’s the least we can do.’ She got to her feet, brushing away an invisible speck of dirt from her coat. ‘We’ll leave you to it. There’s someone else we need to go see. Isn’t there, Miss?’

  The girl nodded.

  ‘That young thug has a lot to answer for. I still haven’t decided whether to tell Pete. He’s back this afternoon some time. It’d be for the best if he didn’t know but if he finds out from someone else, there’ll be hell to pay.’ She looked at her daughter, shaking her head. ‘You silly, silly girl.’ They got up to leave, Abigail beating a hasty retreat outside. June offered me her hand. ‘I regret cancelling our dinner date now.’

  ‘Not to worry.’ Frankly, I was relieved.

  ‘Yes, well. Thank you, Robert, and again – many apologies.’

  I tried my best to smile.

  *

  I had to go see Gregory straightaway – he seemed more shaken up by this affair than myself. I found him leafing through sheets of piano music, expecting Rebecca at any moment.

  ‘Well, that’s f-fantastic news,’ he said, once I told him. ‘I hope they were both suitably c-contrite.’

  I laughed. How pompous he could sound. ’Yes, they were suitably contrite.’

  ‘What’s s-so funny?’

  ‘Nothing. Nothing at all. What’s that smell?’

  ‘Smell? What s-smell?’

  ‘I don’t know, like a cross between vanilla and something musky. Is it your aftershave?’

  He looked embarrassed, as if I had just discovered a dirty secret. ‘M-maybe,’ he muttered, concentrating on a piece of music.

  ‘It’s nice,’ I said, feebly. I guessed it was for Rebecca’s benefit.

  ‘You don’t think it’s too overpowering?’

  ‘No, no, not at all,’ I lied.

  A figure passed the window. ‘H-here she is,’ said Gregory.

  ‘In that case, I’d better go,’ I said, rising to my feet.

  Rebecca and I passed at the front door. ‘Oh, hello,’ she said, holding my gaze. ‘How are you, Robert?’

  ‘Yes, fine, thanks.’ Why, I wondered, did she render me so nervous?

  ‘You’re leaving already? Don’t go on my account.’

  ‘H-he’s just leaving, aren’t y-you, R-Robert?’

  ‘Yes. Absolutely.’

  I returned home via the shop. I had no need for anything; I popped in merely to gloat, I have to confess, because they would have heard by now. This time, it was empty, just Mr Hamilton wearing his apron, behind the counter, re-arranging his display of chocolate bars.

  ‘Ah, Robert,’ he said on seeing me. ‘How are you? Erm, Mrs Parker was here earlier. She, er, told us it wasn’t you who… you know.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh dear. I think I owe you an apology, Robert. We all do. Of course, you wouldn’t do something like that; not a man like you. I am sorry.’

  ‘Yes, no one stopped to question it; that’s what I find so upsetting. Everyone just assumed. Someone threw a brick through my window the other night.’

  ‘No. Hooligans.’ He shook his head. ‘Listen, care for some soup?’

  ‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’

  ‘No, I insist. It’s a new brand. Mushroom. A gift by way of an apology; a peace offering, if you like.’ He held out a tin for me.

  I took it. ‘OK, thank you.’

  ‘You know Parker comes back today? Not exactly a joyful prospect. The man was a one-man crime wave. Let’s hope the army’s instilled some decency into him.’

  ‘Yes. Thanks again for the soup.’

  *

  It was a pleasant day – a good day, I thought, to sand the fence after my last aborted attempt. I’d been putting it off too long; I still felt physically weak. I wondered whether I’d ever be strong again. Hamilton’s mushroom soup, his peace offering, was indeed very pleasant. Having rummaged around in the garden shed, I found some sandpaper. I’d been working for about twenty minutes, with Angie sunning herself, when I became aware that I was being watched. Looking up, I saw the boy, William. He was on his bicycle with a bag swung round his back, and had stopped nearby to watch me with an inquisitiveness that, had he been an adult, would have been deemed quite improper.

  ‘You all right there?’ I called out.

  He didn’t answer. His eyes narrowed as he looked around, staring off into the distance. Eventually, he placed a foot on a pedal and cycled slowly off. Why, I don’t know, but I rushed through the house, into the yard at the back, and grabbed my bicycle. Calling Angie back in, I locked her inside the house, and sped off in the direction the boy went. Seeing him in the distance passing by the church and through the square, I slowed down – I didn’t want to catch up with him. Standing up on his pedals, he speeded up as he cycled along a lane leading out of the village. I kept up, staying behind by a couple hundred yards. He didn’t look behind. He kept going – a good mile or so. Eventually, he veered right and disappeared from view. I heard the sound of an engine approaching. Cat
ching up, I saw that he’d turned up a path evidently used by tractors, given the strip of long grass separated by two muddy tracks. After a few yards, it swung right, presumably leading to a field. I was about to follow, when the car came into view, an old black Austin. It beeped its horn on seeing me. I didn’t recognise the driver, a young chap wearing a cap, but there, in the passenger seat, I saw Pete Parker with his jet-black hair, his heavy eyebrows, wearing a khaki shirt. He gave me the thumbs up. The car stopped, and Parker, leaning over the driver, shouted through the open window. ‘I heard you were dead, mate?’

  I shrugged my shoulders, forcing out a feeble laugh. ‘You heard wrong.’

  ‘So I see. What are you doing out here, then?’

  Why had his question unnerved me? Because, I suppose, following a small boy on his bike felt wrong. ‘I was just on my way back,’ I said.

  ‘Right.’ He considered me for a few seconds. ‘See you later then.’

  The driver grinned at me. Parker said something to him, and he laughed. The driver revved the engine and off they went, leaving a trail of dust in their wake.

  *

  I’d eaten lunch and fed the dog. Turning on the radio, I settled back in my settee to listen to an afternoon play, when I heard another knock on the door. Angie leapt from my lap, barking. It was Parker.

  He’d changed and was wearing a checked shirt and a pair of black trousers. ‘I understand my family owe you an apology.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ I said. ‘Your wife came to see me earlier today.’

  ‘Are you going to invite me in?’ he said, peering over my shoulder into the house.

  ‘Sorry, yes, come in.’ I showed him through to the living room where he plonked himself in my settee. So much for the radio play. ‘Can I get you anything? Cup of tea?’

  ‘Got any beer?’

  ‘No. Sorry.’

  ‘I’m alright then.’ He took in his surroundings, appraising my meagre room and its paintings. ‘What happened to your window?’

  ‘Long story.’

  ‘Like that, is it?’ He crossed his legs. ‘How’s your dad?’

  ‘My dad?’

  ‘Send him my regards. Not that he’ll thank you for it. Your old man and me, well, we didn’t see eye to eye. Remember that time he came to visit you and your brother in his car? I only wanted a quick look inside. God, man, you’d think I was trying to steal the crown jewels. Your dad, he thought I was, I don’t know, from the wrong side of the tracks, let’s say.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘No? I reckon he did. Thought I was a bit rough.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Rather be a bit rough than go round as if I had a spoon stuck up my arse. No offence. You’re not like that.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Pleasure. So, yeah, about Abbie. She’s a wayward one, that one. Always had a will of her own. Girls, eh? They grow up so fast these days; think she knows it all. When I left two years ago, she was still daddy’s girl, now look at her. I’m no longer the top dog. She’s discovered boys. What can a father do? But she’s still young and there’re not too many boys around, what with the war. So, she hangs round with a reprobate that even the army wouldn’t touch with a bargepole. Colour blind, he reckons. No brain, I reckon; nothing between the ears. He’ll have even less when I catch up with him.’

  ‘I thought it was because of his limp.’

  ‘Well, there’s that too. I reckon he and your mate, Greggers, are in competition to be crowned the village idiot. Now, he’s another who’s escaped doing his bit.’

  ‘Not his fault, surely?’

  ‘There’s always a job to be had if you put your mind to it. You and me, we do our bit, don’t we? Risking life and limb for king and country, while Greggers puts on his stutter and hunkers down here, all nice and safe. I mean, shit, how does a stutter stop you from firing a rifle?’

  ‘It’s not so much his–’

  ‘So, have you seen him?’

  ‘Gregory?’

  ‘No, this… this Dan bloke.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘No, no one has. He’s gone to ground. Don’t blame him. I’ll root him out, don’t you worry. Anyways, it wasn’t right of Abbie to go telling all and sundry it were you, and I’m sorry for that.’

  ‘It’s fine but thank you all the same.’ I couldn’t help but wonder how he took the news, whether Abigail escaped with no more than a shouting down. I hoped so.

  ‘So, I heard you had a tough time of it. Lost at sea, I hear.’

  ‘Yeah. It wasn’t easy.’

  ‘I bet.’ He considered me a few moments. I think the mere fact that I had suffered had perhaps boosted me in his estimations.

  ‘You were in Italy, I hear,’ I said, wanting to divert the conversation away from me.

  ‘Yeah. Bloody tough, I tell you. Lost some good mates and all. Finally managed to get meself some leave. ’Bout bloody time too.’

  ‘Good to be back?’

  ‘Thought it would be but… you know, now I’m here, I’m already looking forward to going back and being with the boys. That’s the thing about the army – you make some bloody good mates. Not like the retards here. Hey, I see I’ve got back in time for the football tomorrow. I hear you’re not playing. What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘Doctor’s orders,’ I lied.

  ‘Right. So instead we’ve got Greggers in defence. I reckon your dog here could make a better go of it. Now, listen, come down the pub tonight, the Ship.’ He winked at me. ‘I’m having a little welcome home party.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not sure if–’

  ‘Come on, man. I got Greggers to play the piano for me. I’ll stand you a drink. Least I could do for you after that… misunderstanding.’ He pronounced the word slowly.

  ‘Well, yes, OK then. I will. Thank you very much.’

  ‘Ah, that’s a pleasure,’ he said, stretching his arms behind his head. ‘We’ll be there from about eight. Should be a laugh.’

  *

  The hubbub of animated conversations could be heard halfway down the street as I approached the pub. The place was packed, smoke everywhere despite the windows being open. The ‘Welcome home’ banner with its two exclamation marks had been put back up. I spotted, or rather heard Parker, in the middle of a group of men, laughing while holding his glass up. He saw me and shouted at the young lad behind the bar, telling him to get me a pint and put it on his tab. I mouthed a thank you and sauntered over to the bar where the lad poured me my drink. Further along, old Bill Fraser propped up the bar, smoking his pipe. He saluted on seeing me.

  Hearing my name, I saw Gregory and Rebecca sitting with Jenkins, the headmaster, and Mrs James, in the corner of the pub.

  ‘This is the quietest spot in the whole place,’ said Jenkins as I perched on a stool next to him. ‘A bit more raucous than your do. I’ll not be staying long.’

  ‘Are you making a speech?’

  ‘No, thank God.’

  ‘Are you playing the piano?’ I asked Gregory.

  ‘I-I’m t-trying t-t-to get Re-Rebecca to play.’

  ‘No way,’ she screeched. ‘Not in front of all these people.’

  ‘Hello, Mrs James,’ I said.

  ‘Hello, Robert.’ She tried to smile. ‘Erm, Robert, I’m sorry… you know, about the other day and all that.’

  ‘It’s all right. The whole village has been apologising to me.’

  ‘Should think so too,’ said Jenkins. ‘Disgraceful business. No disrespect, Mrs James.’

  ‘None taken,’ she said.

  ‘So, Gregory,’ said Jenkins. ‘Are you all ready for the football tomorrow?’

  ‘No.’

  Jenkins slapped his knee. ‘Don’t look so glum; it’ll be fine.’

  ‘All in a good cause,’ said Mrs James.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘R-Robert, d-do you…’ Poor Gregory, he couldn’t speak. We all waited, embarrassed for him, hoping he’d be able to finish his sentence. Rebecca twisted t
he stem of her wine glass. He leant back, defeated by his own disability. The air hung awkwardly in silence as elsewhere, around us, shouted conversations only highlighted our discomfort.

  Eventually, Rebecca broke the silence by asking me about Angie. Her parents had had a Jack Russell, she told me, and we launched into a conversation about dogs and horses. She was to be the new teacher, starting in September; a replacement for Joanna. Jenkins and Gregory spoke about music but I had the feeling that Gregory was keeping his eye on me.

  Parker approached us, already swaying slightly. ‘All right, folks? What’s the matter with you all? Cheer up; it’s a party not a bloody funeral,’ he said, waving about a tankard of beer. ‘Good turnout, isn’t it? So, how about tinkling the ivories for us, eh, Greggers?’

  Gregory muttered something.

  ‘What did you say? Go on, give us a tune. Let’s do it now. I’ll buy you another drink.’ Gregory tried to say something, to protest. Ignoring him, Parker turned his back. Raising his glass, he shouted, ‘OK, everyone, bit of shush please. Hey, shut up, will you?’ Quickly, the pub turned quiet. ‘Silence in court.’ Having gotten everyone’s attention, he continued. ‘Ladies and gents, boys and girls, it’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Put your hands together for our very own tunesmith, the master of the ivories, Mister G-G-Gregory…’

  His friends laughed and cheered raucously as Gregory, his face like stone, took his drink and, with a nod to Rebecca, made his way to the piano. People shouted out their requests, bombarding Gregory with the names of various songs. Resting his glass on the top of the piano, he launched into a rendition of It’s a Long Way to Tipperary. People applauded and started to join in. Parker and a couple of his mates danced a jig in the middle of the pub while, at the far end, his wife and daughter watched with rather appalled expressions.

  Jenkins leant over towards me. ‘He didn’t have to mock him like that.’

  ‘No, that was nasty.’

  ‘And calling him Greggers – very disrespectful, I thought.’

  ‘He’s good though, isn’t he?’ said Rebecca. ‘He’s a good teacher as well. Very patient.’

  ‘He’s a good man.’

  We sat and listened for a while and watched the men dance and the women clap in time with Gregory’s playing. Rebecca jiggled in her chair, tapping the rhythm on her knee.