‘Who were they?’
‘I don’t know – no one, everyone. I still have my faith, and I tell myself that, at heart, they’re good people who lost their senses for a while, their sense of proportion. Tell me, Robert, tell me what to do.’
‘I’ll take you home, you can’t–’
‘No, I can’t.’
‘You could stay with me.’
‘I can’t go back there, you must understand.’
I tried to think, where could I take her? ‘Perhaps… Listen, Joanna, tomorrow we’ll catch a bus into Plymouth, and we’ll go to the HQ of the merchant navy there. I’ll buy you lunch–’
‘I have nothing to wear.’
‘Give me your keys, I’ll bring you a set of fresh clothes. We’ll throw ourselves on their mercy. They’ll sort you out with something, I’m sure. After all, Owen was one of theirs. It’s the least they could do.’
‘Owen. My lovely Owen.’ She clasped her hands together, as if in prayer. ‘I’ll never see him again, will I? I know I’m stating the obvious, but it doesn’t seem real. I’ll never hear his voice again, that lovely Devonian accent he had. He’s in a better place, of that I’m sure. Oh, Owen, Owen…’ She rose to her feet and, turning her back on me, started crying. She strolled away towards the centre of the barn, her shoulders shaking. Leaning against the Ford, caught in a shaft of sunlight, she raised her eyes to the roof, as if seeking God’s explanation.
*
I cycled home, Joanna’s house keys in my pocket. Ignoring Angie, I ran upstairs and opened the drawer to my bedside table. The ring was still there alongside the crucifix.
From home, I walked briskly to Joanna’s house carrying a small suitcase. Yes, there on the front door, was an outline of the swastika. I hadn’t noticed it before but now, on seeing it, it was obvious. She’d repainted the door but not with enough layers to obliterate the graffiti. Looking behind me, hoping no one would see me, I unlocked her front door and entered the dark hallway. The air reeked of staleness and neglect. Locking the door behind me, I switched on a light. There was a hat stand and, on the wall, a sepia photograph of a middle-aged couple and a framed map of Devon. A dustpan and broom leant in the corner. The house seemed deeply quiet, I hadn’t expected otherwise, but it was the depth of silence that unnerved me, as if the house itself had known that no one had talked within these walls for weeks. Stepping into the living room, the light bulb blew as soon as I tried turning it on. Upstairs I found Joanna’s bedroom. Its fussy, floral-patterned wallpaper made the room feel smaller than it was, the bed was neatly made, a teddy bear snug under the blanket, propped up against the pillow. A dusty copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover on the bedside table on her side; and on Owen’s side, a motoring magazine and a book on Victorian ships. A scratching noise made me jump. ‘Hello?’ I said nervously. Turning round, I realised it was the branches of the apple tree scraping against the window pane.
There was no sign here, or elsewhere, of the break-in Joanna had described. Whatever mess they’d made, she’d thoroughly cleared up after them.
On her chest of drawers was a framed photograph of them both. The image of the two of them together stopped me short. It was taken perhaps a year or two before the war, on a beach, the sea and a couple of distant bathers behind them. Leaning in towards each other, their shoulders touching, they looked so happy. Together with its frame, I slipped the photo into the pocket of the suitcase I’d brought with me. I quickly chose a number of items from her wardrobe. I had no idea what she’d prefer, so, having quickly scanned the small array of clothes in front of me, I chose things that I thought would prove practical – jumpers, woollen skirts, a couple of nice blouses and so forth.
Propped up against the dressing table mirror, I noticed an envelope. Hesitating only a moment, I opened it. Inside were a couple of letters in German, a photograph of an elderly couple, perhaps her parents, and her marriage certificate. She and Owen had got married in Plymouth in January 1939, a few months before the war. Her maiden name, it said, was Johanna (not Joanna) Gräfe, she was twenty-nine at the time, a good seven years older than Owen.
Looking through a chest of drawers, I fished out a few pairs of undergarments, trying to overcome my inherent sense of embarrassment at rifling through a lady’s underwear drawer. I also took a hairbrush and a small bottle of perfume. The latter, although not practical or essential, I thought might help cheer her up a little. Folding everything neatly into the suitcase, I crept downstairs, still conscious of making too much noise, and had a quick look around. Opening a small cupboard in the kitchen, the intense, foul stench hit me – I staggered back as fruit flies took flight. The bowl of fruit was blackened. I found a washing up bowl, and with a long wooden spoon, dragged the stinking mess into the bowl, and threw it into her dustbin outside. Returning to the kitchen, I took some cans of food and made to leave. Locking the door firmly behind me, I left, relieved that no one had seen me during my little escapade.
*
I cycled the mile or so back to the barn, this time taking Angie – I thought she might cheer Joanna up a little. I found Joanna much as I had left her. Sitting in the armchair, her eyes closed, as if relaxing in her living room at home. A standard lamp and a radio was all that was missing.
‘Hello, I arrive bearing gifts,’ I said, presenting the suitcase. Angie trotted around, delighted at so many new smells.
‘Oh, Robert, this is wonderful,’ she said, shifting through the contents. ‘Oh…’
‘Anything the matter?’
‘The photo.’
‘I thought…’
She sat down and resting the photograph on her lap looked at it intently. ‘Such happy times,’ she said to herself. ‘And now Owen’s gone, and I’m living like a fugitive with only the mice for company.’
I knelt beside her and took her hand. ‘We’ll sort something out, Joanna, I promise.’
‘I don’t think I can face it; it’s all too much.’
‘I’ll help. I’ll do everything I can. Oh, and I brought you this…’ I gave her Owen’s ring.
She took it and held it up to the light, a faint smile on her lips. ‘With this ring… Thank you, Robert.’
‘I think it was perhaps the last thing he said – to make sure that whatever happened, I stayed alive in order to give you his ring.’
‘And now you have.’
‘Yes, and now I have.’
I watched her as she slipped it on, trying out different fingers. Admiring it, she said, ‘None of my fingers are big enough, but I shall still wear it.’ She held up her hand admiring the two wedding rings. ‘How could it have gone so wrong?’ she said. ‘We were so happy. We’d always wanted children but once the war started, we felt the time wasn’t right. Perhaps it was a good thing – how could I have looked after a child with all this happening around me? But I wish now…’ She wiped her eyes.
‘He would have made a great father, I’m sure.’
Angie started growling, her tail erect.
‘Angie, stop it.’
‘There’s a lot to interest her here. Will you tell me about it?’
‘About Owen?’
‘I know you told me but I want to know more. What happened to your ship, and Owen, how did it happen? How did he die? I want you to tell me everything.’
‘If you’re sure.’
She stroked Angie, who licked her hand. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I’m sure.’
And so I told her my story.
*
It was almost dark by the time I returned home. I’d tried to persuade Joanna to come with me. It didn’t seem right to leave her there, in that barn at night-time. But no, she said she preferred the barn to the village, saying that she’d never want to step foot in it ever again. I offered to stay the night with her. Again, she said no; she had a lot of thinking to do; she needed time, she said, to absorb the story I’d told her. And so, reluctantly, I left her, promising her I’d return the following day. I left her with her husband’s ring on her fing
er and still clutching the photo of her and Owen.
Chapter 28
A year previous
Two days after seeing Alice in hospital, I returned. I found her sitting up in bed, flicking through a glossy magazine, looking much stronger. The bandage around her head had been removed; her hair, quite gleaming, had been washed. ‘Robert, hello.’ Her voice had come back but none of her usual cheeriness. I asked her how she was and she said fine in a voice that implied she was anything but. We talked about the food and the nurses and the old woman opposite who kept crying out at night, keeping everyone awake.
‘So, what happened? How did you crash the car?’
‘I’ll tell you. Let’s go sit in the courtyard.’
‘Are you allowed?’
‘They’re fine about it. They say a little exercise and the fresh air will do me good.’
I helped her slip her dressing gown on. To my surprise, she had to walk with the aid of a walking stick. Holding onto my arm, we hobbled slowly, very slowly, down the stairs and out into the courtyard. A few benches and a number of tables, chairs and sun umbrellas were dotted round a rectangular patch of freshly-cut grass, along with little statues of cupids. Bushes in large pots added to the greenery. This little haven had been spared of bombs. We found ourselves alone and sat on a bench overlooking the grass.
‘Are you warm enough?’
‘Just about.’ She lit herself a cigarette and, closing her eyes, breathed in the smoke. ‘Robert, I need to tell you about something, something I’ve never spoken about before – to anyone. I don’t want you to interrupt. In fact, I rather you didn’t look at me either.’
‘OK, as you wish.’ Self-consciously, I fixed my attention on a lawnmower next to a cupid on the other side of the courtyard.
‘This is not easy for me. I’d swore I would never tell anyone but… but if we’re to have a future together, you need to know what you’re letting yourself in for. The accident last week… I’m not even sure it was an accident. I was driving too fast as usual. Far too fast. I wasn’t concentrating; my mind was so clouded in anger. I took a bend too quickly. Lost control. The next thing I knew I woke up in hospital. Apparently, I hit a tree.
‘Your father said–’
‘No, please, darling, you mustn’t interrupt. You’ll think me strange but I need to pretend you’re not here otherwise I won’t be able to finish this, and I must. I have to tell you. Last week, my parents went to Exeter to see my father’s brother, his twin in fact, Victor, Uncle Vic. They spent the day there. I knew he was ill but they came back and told me he had cancer of the kidneys. The doctors reckoned he hadn’t long to go. Possibly just days. He desperately wanted to see me, Father told me; I had to go see him; you know, one last time. I said no, I didn’t want to.’ Fishing a handkerchief from her dressing gown pocket, she blew her nose. A plump man in brown overalls appeared, checked the bins and returned back indoors.
‘Father tried appealing to my better nature, using words like duty and family. He even tried to threaten me with words like disinheritance. In the end, I decided to go. Not because of anything Father said but because I wanted to. This was on Thursday. I went straightaway before I changed my mind, or rather before I lost my nerve. Uncle Vic’s always lived alone, never married. Lives in a small cottage outside Exeter – ivy on the outside walls, little gravel path, that sort of thing. All very quaint. And inside, its low beams and horse brasses and logs in a basket by the fire. There was a nurse downstairs, a woman in her fifties, I guess, very tall for a woman, and gangly. “Are you Alice?” she asked. “Oh, how lovely. Your uncle’s been talking about you such a lot. We weren’t expecting you but I know he’ll be delighted to see you.” She told me he needed round-the-clock care now. “He gets tired very easily, so you won’t be able to stay for long, I’m afraid.” The shorter the better, I thought. “We’re expecting the vicar.” She looked at her upside-down watch on her starched white uniform. “Quite soon, in fact. If I’d known you were coming… Well, you’re here now. Let me go wake your uncle up and make him look a little more presentable for you.” And off she went.
‘I waited about ten minutes, sitting in a squashy armchair being pawed at by a ginger tom, horrible beast. I almost turned tail and ran but, I thought, I’ve come this far, I’m not leaving now. I’d been to the house before but only a couple times and not for many years. It reeked of cats and stale smoke.
‘The nurse came down and told me I could go see him. The bedroom was bathed in sunlight, giving it an almost ethereal feel. It was uncomfortably warm – the windows were closed despite it being so hot outside. I saw the tail of a cat disappear beneath the bed. The sound of the ticking clock on the bedside table, next to a vase of irises, seemed very loud. The bed itself, a single, was unusually high. I was taken aback by the man in the bed. My throat went dry on seeing him. He was my father’s twin and he looked like him. Not any more. He’d lost so much weight and looked deathly pale, his cheeks had sunk in, and what was left of his hair had turned white and wispy, the bags under his eyes were like huge rubbery sacks. So, this is what death looks like, I thought to myself. He was wearing a pair of stripped purple pyjamas. “Alice, oh, how lovely, lovely, to see you. Come in, come in, my dear. Take a pew.” With a bony finger he pointed to a chair next to his bed. I noticed how long his fingernails had grown. The thought of touching him made me shudder. “How are you?” he asked. Even his voice had changed. Gone was the booming voice he had, now it was all thin and raspy. I took my coat off and put it on the back of the chair.
‘“Fine,” I said. I glanced round the room. There was a painting of a waterfall above his bed; and there was a copy of Don Quixote on the bedside table next to a glass of water, its bookmark was only a few pages from the beginning. There was a mauve dressing gown with oversized tassels hanging off the back of his wardrobe. “Father said you’ll be dead within a few days.” I hoped to shock him by my callousness but he just laughed it off.
‘“Always the master of stating the obvious, was my brother. I think by the mere fact of living longer than me, he thinks he’s won in some way. Life has always been one big competition for your father.”
‘“He’s a competitive man; that’s why he’s always done well for himself.”
‘“You’re right; he always had to be better than me – faster, richer, better dressed, nicer house. I always reckoned it was because I was older than him. I was the first one out, you see. Twins, eh? He’s done well, I give him that, but I put it down to me – his perpetual need to be more successful drove him all his life.” He shook his head. “I was never like that, never felt the need to prove myself all the time.”
‘“You got your own back, though, didn’t you, Uncle Vic? You had something of his. He never knew it but it was enough for you.”
‘He sighed heavily. “Perhaps you’re right.” He looked at me pitifully with his grey, dead man eyes. “Alice…” He reached out his bony hand for me. He saw me recoil, sitting on my hands. “Alice, thank you so much for coming to see me, to hear me out. I didn’t think you would and I wouldn’t have blamed you if you hadn’t. As your father says, I’ll soon be dead. And I know I can fall off this mortal coil quite happily if… if I had your forgiveness.”
‘“Forgiveness? Forgiveness for what, Uncle Vic?”
‘He swallowed. I watched his bony Adam’s apple bob up and down. “Please, Alice, don’t make this more difficult than it already is. Please… tell me you forgive me.”
‘“Forgive you for what, Uncle Vic?”
‘“You mean to punish me. I understand.” He rubbed his eyes. “To forgive me for coming to your room at night.”
‘“Oh, that? I forget; how many times was it? Once, twice maybe?”
‘“No, many times over the years. I’m sorry. It was wrong of me, I know that now. Wrong and depraved.”
‘“Why? I’ve always wanted to know – why?” I had to stop myself from screaming the word out.
‘“It’s a question I’ve asked myself
repeatedly. I don’t know why. I used to enjoy my stays in your house, especially as your mother was such a good cook and your father bought expensive and very nice beers, but then I would come away full of self-loathing, hating myself. Perhaps it was my inferiority complex; I was always such a failure next to your father and his work and his lovely family and his big house and his new cars.”
‘“So you thought you’d get your own back by coming to his daughter’s bed at night and lying on top of her, suffocating her, letting your hands wander to places no decent man should go, and making sure she felt your–”
‘“Stop!” Tears rolled down his sunken cheeks. “Stop, please, Alice, just stop. I’m sorry, believe me when I say it. If I could turn back time–”
‘“But you can’t, can you, Uncle Vic? You can’t.”
‘“No. I can’t. I’m sorry. I truly am. Just say you forgive me and I can die a happy man; I beg you.”
‘“The worst part was that you looked so much like my father. It felt as if Dad was doing this to me, these unspeakable things. At least you smelt differently. I love the smell of his piped tobacco, always will.”
The Unforgiving Sea (The Searight Saga Book 2) Page 18