The Unforgiving Sea (The Searight Saga Book 2)

by Rupert Colley

‘“I understand.”

  ‘“I’ve met someone.”

  ‘“You have? I am pleased.” He wiped his tears with the back of his hand.

  ‘“He’s very nice. Decent. I’m a grown woman now – I want him to touch me; I want him to take me to bed and fuck me.” I watched him grimace. “But he doesn’t because he’s a decent man. Perhaps he fears he’d be taking advantage of me. Something that never stopped you. We’re engaged. Engaged to be married. Shame you won’t be around to be there, Uncle Vic. You’ll be in some dark, fiery place where men like you go to rot for the rest of eternity. He’s different from all the others. I say ‘all the others’ because, believe me, there were many.”

  ‘“Stop, Alice, you don’t need to tell me this.”

  ‘“Oh, but I do. It’s why I came. So you would know. I lost my virginity, the second time, mind you, when I was fifteen. A boy at school. Piers, his name. After school one day. The bike shed, would you believe? What a cliché. He was the first. By the time I was seventeen, I’d lost count. And it continued. By the time I was twenty, I’d slept with so many strangers, I reckoned I deserved a medal – for services to mankind, at least every man, young and old, within a ten-mile radius of home. I was always careful, mind you. Always careful. After all, wouldn’t want to shame the family, now would we?”

  ‘“Did it… help?”

  ‘“Did it help? That’s exactly the question I used to ask myself – did it help? No, it didn’t. Did I find love? No. Did it purge me of your memory, the smell of sweat, the beer on your breath? No. Today, still, if I smell beer, it makes me sick. And I mean, throwing up sick. So I stopped going with men. I decided – the next man I sleep with will be my husband – wherever he may be. For years, I hated my father. I thought, being twins, you’d be the same. I thought he too wanted to lie on top of young girls and suffocate them. I hated him so much, the poor man.”

  ‘“We were nothing alike.”

  ‘“No, he’s a good, hardworking man; you’re a filthy, despicable man. Like you say, Uncle Vic, nothing alike. I know why you never married now – you never wanted a woman, you just wanted a girl. A girl like me. Well, you had her for a while, didn’t you? I tried to tell my mother once. First, she tried to laugh it off. When I persisted, she slapped me across the face and sent me to my room. I wanted to tell Father. But I couldn’t; I felt too dirty.”

  ‘We were interrupted by a knock on the door. It was Uncle Vic’s nurse. “Is everything all right in here?” she asked. “It’s just I thought I heard raised voices, and we wouldn’t want that, not in Mr Redman’s condition.”

  ‘“It’s fine, nurse,” said my uncle. “Thank you.”

  ‘“We’re just reminiscing,” I added with an exaggerated smile.

  ‘She looked at me suspiciously. “Well, if you’re sure, Mr Redman. You look a little drawn. I wouldn’t want you to tire yourself out.”

  ‘“Quite sure. Thank you, nurse.”

  ‘She was so tall she had to duck as she went out the door. I waited until I could hear her rummaging around downstairs. Rising from the chair, I said, “You ruined my childhood; you almost ruined my relationship with my parents; you almost ruined my relationship with men. And now you want me to forgive you?”

  ‘“Believe me, I’ve wanted to ask you for years. But I felt I didn’t have the right; I knew I’d… well… that I’d damaged you. But now, Alice, now that I am here, on my deathbed… surely, death wipes the slate clean; it makes good men of us all. Until I was confined to this bed, I used to go to church, two, three times a week, and beg God’s forgiveness until I was in tears.”

  ‘I stood up, ready to go. Holding my coat over my arm, I asked, “And did He? Did God forgive you?”

  ‘“Yes, God forgave me, of that I am sure. He would have seen how sincere I was. And that is why, before you go, you have to say you forgive me, Alice. This will be the last time you’ll see me. I beg you.”

  ‘I tapped his Don Quixote with my finger. “I should read this one day,” I said quietly. I walked towards the door, feeling his eyes on my back. The thought of it made me tremble, tremble like a little girl in bed, hiding under her bedclothes, looking at the sliver of light under the bedroom door, waiting for that door to edge open, waiting for the inevitable. I turned the doorknob.

  ‘“Alice, please…”

  ‘I turned to face him one last time – a man on the edge of death, about to slip into oblivion, his leaden eyes beseeching me. “Hell’s not good enough for you. I hope you rot, you bastard.”

  ‘“No, Alice, nooo!” The effort of screaming after me left him convulsed in a fit of coughing, fighting for breath. Gently, I closed the bedroom door.

  ‘“What’s going on, what’s happening?” On hearing the commotion, the nurse had come running up the stairs. She charged into the bedroom, shooting me a filthy look as she passed me on the landing. “Mr Redman, what on earth…” Turning to me, she snarled. “What have you done to him?” I watched from outside the bedroom as she patted him rigorously on the back, reaching for the glass of water. “What has that wicked woman done to you, you poor man? I knew she was trouble.”

  ‘I walked back down the stairs, passing another cat, and left.

  ‘As I walked out of the front door, I saw someone hurrying up the gravel path. Looking up, I saw that it was the vicar they’d been expecting, a tall, thin man with brown-framed glasses. “You’ll find the patient upstairs,” I said.

  ‘“Yes, thank you,” he said, slowing down.

  ‘“You’d better hurry,” I said. “He’s in need of your God.”

  ‘He seemed rather bemused by my comment. “Right. Yes, thank you.” Throwing me another bemused glance, I watched him enter the cottage, closing the front door behind him.

  ‘Robert, are you OK? Robert? You look rather pale.’

  Chapter 29

  I had so many fitful dreams during the first few days back at home – of being on that boat. I dreamt that we were in the midst of a storm, our little boat being tossed about on the waves. Ahead of us, we could see a shaft of light descending from the heavens. Owen, on his feet, had his arms raised towards it as the rain and wind swirled around him, shouting, his voice lost to the storm. However hard we tried to reach it, to seek the sanctuary of the light, the further the waves pushed us away from it. I awoke with a start. Angie crawled up the bed to say hello, her short tail wagging. The weather outside was dismal.

  Having dressed, I went to the shop, braving the drizzle, and bought a few more provisions for Joanna. ‘Expecting guests, are we?’ asked Mr Hamilton.

  ‘Something like that.’

  I had no room for Angie in the basket, thus I left her at home as I cycled back to the barn. By the time I got there, there was a hint of sun breaking through the dense clouds. Leaning against the hedge, was William’s bike. As I cycled and slipped up the muddy track, William passed, running, as if escaping something. ‘Hey, William, stop a minute.’

  I’d taken him by surprise; he hadn’t seen me until I spoke. He faltered for a moment, skidded to a halt, almost losing his footing. He looked frightened, as if I’d caught him doing something wrong. He seemed to be crying. ‘What’s the matter, William?’

  For a moment, I thought he might speak, but then, instead, he ran off. I turned the bike round, slipping on the mud. ‘William,’ I called after him, trying to keep my balance. A can of tinned pears fell out of the basket. Cursing, I had to dismount to retrieve it by which time I’d lost the will to chase after him. I had to go see Joanna. But the boy’s expression had worried me – something was wrong; I could feel it.

  I pushed my bike to the top of the hill, then cycled the last bit as the track flattened out. Dropping the bike, not caring about the shopping, I pushed open the barn door, shouting Joanna’s name. Quickly, I ran to the far end where she’d set up her little home. She wasn’t there. But lying on the seat of the armchair, the frame and the glass from the photograph. The photo itself was gone. ‘Joanna? Joanna!’

 
; I dashed back outside and ran round the whole building, scanning the fields all around. Nothing. I returned inside the barn, now short of breath, and it was only then that I noticed for the first time, to one side in a darkened corner, a second ladder, this one reaching up to a sort of loft. Peering up into the space above me, I knew she was up there. Repeating her name quietly, I slowly climbed up the ladder, testing each rung, wanting to delay having to confront what I knew lay ahead of me. With my heart beating wildly, I felt myself tense up as my eyes reached the floor of the loft. There, suspended above me, a shadow, a figure. ‘No, Joanna, no.’ Scrambling up the last few rungs, I ran over to her, only to fall as my leg went through a rotten floorboard. Sprawled on the dusty floor, my left leg dangling through the hole, I forced myself to look up. Using her scarf, Joanna had hung herself from a roof beam. On the floor beneath her, the photograph of her and her husband.

  Chapter 30

  ‘So this was what time exactly?’ The policeman, whose name I had already forgotten, peered down at me from his great height, his pencil and notepad in hand. We were standing in my living room – two policemen and myself. Another two waited outside in their car.

  ‘I told you; it was about half past nine. I don’t know the exact time.’

  ‘And the last time you saw her alive was last night? How did she seem then?’

  ‘She was upset. Wouldn’t you be? Hounded out of your home by people you thought were your friends?’

  ‘But you don’t know who exactly these people were, you said so yourself, sir.’

  ‘No,’ I sighed. ‘I don’t know. She seemed unwilling to tell me.’

  The four policemen had arrived in the village by car, its siren blaring, screeching to a halt outside my cottage. I’d rang them from the village phone box the moment I’d returned. Their appearance inside sent Angie into a fit of frenzied barking. One of them tried to stroke her only to have his hand almost bitten off. Back outside, I squeezed onto the backseat of their car. I directed them to the field but not without a number of villagers noticing. I waited outside the barn while they went in. I had no desire to see Joanna again. One of them gave me the photograph. The tallest one asked me a few questions. What was she doing there? How long? Why? How did I find her? Did I know her? Having padlocked the barn door and on returning to the cottage, he asked me the same questions again. I decided against telling him about William. By now, a small crowd had gathered outside my door. As I showed the policemen out, everyone took a step back as if fearing contamination. The tall policeman told me he’d arrange for the body to be picked up straightaway, and that’d there be a post-mortem. He told me also that he would be back within a couple of days to question the villagers. ‘All of them?’ I asked. ‘All of them,’ he replied for everyone to hear.

  ‘Have you been arrested?’ asked Mrs James. ‘Post-mortem on who?’ asked another. ‘Why do they want to question us?’ ‘What’s happening, Robert?’ asked Mr Jenkins.

  ‘OK, let me speak, I’ll tell you.’ I did wonder whether announcing it like this was wise but, I thought, they’d find out soon enough, and it wasn’t as if there was anyone who needed to know first. Looking at them, their number increasing by the minute, I spied Pete and June Parker amongst them. And so I told them. There were gasps all round. People shook their heads and said ‘poor woman’.

  ‘Hanging, you say?’ asked Jenkins. ‘How awful, how terribly awful.’

  *

  I went to find Reverend Pritchard. His wife at the vicarage told me he was at the church. Turning the ring-handle, I pushed open the church door, momentarily pleased by the satisfying creak of the door hinges. My shoes echoed on the stone floor as I approached the altar. The hymn numbers from the previous Sunday’s service were still on display, above a papier mâché model of Jesus in his white gown with a vivid pink face. The vicar appeared from the back at the church. ‘Ah, Robert,’ he shouted, waving at me. Still wearing his dog collar under a grey jumper, he beckoned me over.

  ‘I need to speak to you, Reverend, that is, if you’re not too busy.’

  ‘No, not at all. Come, let’s sit down,’ he said, offering me a pew.

  Sitting in the pew in front, he turned round to face me as I told him about Joanna and the visit from the police.

  ‘This is shocking news,’ he said. ‘I’m truly sorry to hear this. You know, she came to see me once. Her husband had just gone to sea, and she was suffering because of her nationality. It’s strange how people get. Sometimes they need to vent their anger, and in this instance it was Joanna who became the focus of their viciousness. These people, they must have known she was German by birth only. She told me she’d been married before – that’s what brought her to England in the first place.’

  ‘She still had her accent.’

  ‘Yes, and people didn’t like that. Prejudice, Robert, is a difficult thing to break down. I told her to go to the police, but she had no wish to.’

  ‘Didn’t you advise her to leave?’

  ‘Leave?’

  ‘The village.’

  ‘Me? No. Oh, no, I wouldn’t have done that.’

  ‘No.’ I didn’t believe him.

  ‘I’ve no idea how long these post-mortems take, do you? In the meantime, I shall arrange a funeral. It’s the least I can do.’

  ‘Yes, that’d be good. Thank you.’

  ‘What day did Owen die on?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly. June eleventh, twelfth? He was the last to go. By then I’d lost track of the days.’

  ‘Yes, I understand.’

  No, I thought, you don’t understand. No one could.

  Chapter 31

  A year previous

  After I returned home from visiting Alice in hospital, I sat for hours in a daze. I couldn’t understand any of it. Why would a man, a grown man, do such a thing, to exploit a young girl, his niece, his own flesh and blood, for his own devious means? It made me ashamed to be a man. Angie sat on my lap. I felt proud of Alice for standing up to him, for refusing to offer him absolution. And what of the accident? The thought she may have done it on purpose chilled me. She was my future wife and there’d never been a sign that she was anything but a happy, carefree woman, enjoying life and all it had to offer. Did it change the way I felt about her? She’d been with so many men. It didn’t matter. I visualised her in my mind, remembered her laugh, the feel of her hand in mine, and I knew, if anything, I loved her more intensely than before.

  I’d wanted to go visit Alice again but she’d said she needed to be alone; to come to terms with what had happened. I had to swallow my disappointment but I understood.

  On Tuesday, I received a phone call at work. It was Mr Redman, Alice’s father. She was back, he told me, she was home. Still rather gaga, he said, but if I wanted to visit, say Thursday, that’d be fine.

  And so, on Thursday, I went. The Redmans certainly lived in a fine Victorian house in the middle of nowhere. At the front of the house, in the middle of the drive, stood a dried-out fountain. Mr Redman welcomed me in. We stood in the hallway with its black and white diamond floor and its heavy wooden doors. Mrs Redman, he said, was out but he could just about rustle up a cup of coffee if I wanted. ‘I’m not normally allowed in the kitchen,’ he said with a wink. ‘Sugar?’

  ‘Just the one. Thank you.’ I couldn’t help but look at him and think of his twin brother. ‘How’s your brother?’ I asked. ‘Alice told me–’

  ‘I’ll let her tell you. You’ll find her at the back of the garden.’

  The garden had a throwaway look about it, everything was overgrown and disorganised; I knew somehow it wasn’t for the lack of care but instead it had been cultivated as such – allowing nature to assert itself with minimal interference. Following Mr Redman’s instructions, I found Alice at the far end sitting on a bench wearing a yellow summery dress and a pair of sunglasses, reading beneath the shadow of a weeping willow.

  ‘What are you reading?’

  ‘Oh, Robert, you made me jump.’


  She made to get up. I noticed her walking stick leaning against the bench. ‘No, don’t stand.’ I leant down and kissed her cheek.

  ‘Sherlock Holmes,’ she said, removing her sunglasses.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ I sat next to her.

  ‘The book – Hound of the Baskervilles. You know, our local master of the hounds names every one of his dogs with a name beginning with an R. Can you imagine?’

  ‘I don’t think I could think of that many names beginning with R.’

  ‘Exactly. Funny to think he might have a dog called Robert.’

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘He’s dead.’

  ‘Uncle Vic?’

  ‘Yes, he’s dead. He died earlier this week.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, it is.’

  We sat quietly listening to the silence of the garden – the bees, the rustle of the wind in the leaves of the willow tree, the singing of a sparrow. ‘Funeral’s tomorrow,’ she said after a while. ‘I’m feeling a lot better but…’ She lowered her voice. ‘I’m pretending not to be so I have an excuse not to go. Not that I mind seeing his coffin being lowered into his grave – in fact, I’d be happy to see that; no, it’s all the reminiscing afterwards. What a fine chap he was; oh, how we shall miss him, what a shame he never had any children. All that claptrap. It’s bad enough here at mealtimes – Dad can’t stop waxing lyrical about him, conveniently forgetting that most of the time they hardly got on. Uncle Vic was right – death wipes the slate clean. But not as far as I’m concerned. I hate him; I shall never stop hating him. I was doing all right – I invented my new persona, became the cheeriest girl one could meet, the one with the sharp tongue and the high heels but that was all it was – an invented persona, a disguise. Last week, seeing him again, made me realise that. Do you know, there’s not been a single night when I haven’t gone to sleep without that man on my mind. He may be dead but he’ll continue to haunt me for the rest of my life, I know that now.’