‘Perhaps…’ I wasn’t sure whether I could say this, whether it might sound glib. ‘Perhaps, when we’re together, living as man and wife…’
‘Robert…’ She took my hand. ‘This is the hardest bit at all… I love you, I really do, but I can’t marry you.’
Something hit my heart. I tried to breathe, tried to catch my breath. ‘What... what do you mean?’
‘I can’t marry you.’ Tears sprung to her eyes. ‘I’m so, so sorry, but I can’t; not now, not after all this.’
‘But… I don’t understand–’
‘I don’t expect you to.’
‘I’ll look after you, I’ll help you get better, however long it–’
‘No.’ She wiped her eyes. ‘No, I can’t do it to you. You’re a good man, Robert, a kind, decent human being. You deserve better. You deserve a lovely, uncomplicated wife who’ll love you very much.’
‘But I love you, Alice; it’s you I love. I don’t–’
‘Please, Robert, no. I just… Believe me, I love you too but I can’t love you, not properly, not when my heart is so full of hate. It’s self-pitying, I know, but I can’t help it.’
I put my hand to my chest, felt my heart pounding. ‘You’re letting him beat you,’ I said, my voice coming from somewhere faraway.
‘I know that. But if we marry, he’ll beat you too, one day. He’ll destroy us and I can’t let that happen – not to you. I’m not sure you’d be strong enough to cope.’
‘Alice, please…’
‘I’ve decided I want to leave.’
‘Leave?’
‘Devon.’
‘You want to… but where? Where would you go?’
‘London. I have an aunt in Charlton, my mother’s sister, and a couple of friends, so I won’t be alone. I need to start afresh, Robert; I need to put everything behind me.’
‘Including me?’
I became aware of a shadow looming. Looking up, I saw Mr Redman with a cup and saucer in his hand. ‘Sorry it took me so long. I warned you I wasn’t any good in the kitchen.’ He glanced at his daughter. ‘Oh dear, I’m interrupting something, aren’t I? Are you all right, my girl?’
‘Fine. Robert’s been a tonic, but he’s leaving now.’ She shoved her Sherlock Holmes further to one side, accidently pushing the sunglasses off the bench.
‘Oh. So soon?’ He looked at both of us, puzzled. ‘Won’t you at least have your coffee before you go?’
I stood up and felt the earth tremble beneath my feet. ‘No, I won’t. Thank you all the same. I’m sorry to have put you to the effort.’
‘No, not at all. Not at all.’
‘I’d… Yes, well, I’d better be off, I suppose.’
‘If you say so.’
I picked up the sunglasses and handed them back to her. She took them. ‘Thank you, Mr Redman. Alice, I’ll… I’ll say goodbye then.’
She shook her head, her eyes clenched shut, her fingers toying with the sunglasses, unable to speak.
I wanted to reach down and kiss her, to put my arms round her, to hold her. But I knew if I did, I’d never let go.
Chapter 32
The day after finding Joanna, with the sun out, I finally did make a start on sanding the fence. I needed a distraction. Various people passed and wished me good day and commented on the weather. The work, though tiresome, was therapeutic. Angie, flaked out, was lying in the shade on her side, occasionally lifting her head to half-heartedly bark at people. I realised I didn’t know how long Joanna had hidden away – she never said. It could have been weeks; it could have been months. Yet, when I replayed our conversations in my mind, she’d shown no bitterness at those who had treated her so foully. I knew if I hadn’t had found her, she’d still be alive. And yet, she had to know what had happened to Owen. What thoughts must have passed through her head during that last night? Had she died with her faith intact – had she hoped that in death she might be reunited with him? Lost in my thoughts, I hadn’t noticed Pete Parker’s approach until he spoke.
‘You say you found her in Morgan’s barn? Sorry, mate, did I make you jump?’
I was on my knees, tackling the fence. Angie, too tired to bark any more, merely growled, stretched and dozed off again. Straightening myself up, I asked who was Morgan.
‘The old bloke who owns those fields – and that barn. June told me him and his wife left a few months back. Went to stay with their son’s wife up in Barnstable. Their son was killed, you see. They haven’t been back since.’
‘I didn’t know.’
‘No, don’t suppose you did. So what was she doing there? I heard she got chased out of town.’
I had to hold my hand up to shield my eyes. ‘Yes. But why? Do you know?’
‘You asking me? I wasn’t here, was I? I don’t know.’
‘Was it because people turned against her? She was German.’
‘You tell me.’
We considered each other for a few seconds.
‘My mates in the army, they used to say the only good German is a dead German.’
‘Is that what you think?’
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Perhaps. What of it? You’re telling me that you didn’t think that, out on the seas, watching out for those U-boats?’
‘This was different.’
‘Not to everyone, it isn’t.’
‘She wasn’t a Nazi.’
‘I guess not all of them on those subs were either.’
‘She lived here, she was one of us.’
‘I know that. She was alright with me. Decent bloke as well was Owen.’
He considered my handiwork for a while. ‘I still haven’t caught up with that Dan. Maybe he’s hiding out at that barn too. Didn’t see him, did you?’
‘I’d better get on.’
‘And how’s your mate Greggers? If you see him, tell him he owes me two quid. That sandpaper you’re using – it’s too fine, you oughta be using something coarser.’
‘It seems to be doing the job.’
‘Suit yourself.’ He turned to leave. This time, belatedly, Angie got to her feet and barked at him. ‘I guess there’ll be a funeral and all that.’
‘Yes.’
He looked around him. Lowering his voice, he asked, ‘Are you going to the funeral?’
‘Of course.’
‘You’re going to the funeral of a German.’ He spat. ‘You disgust me.’
*
Ten days later, a firm of undertakers brought Joanna’s body back to the village, depositing the coffin with the church. The funeral took place on a bright Monday morning. In attendance, along with Reverend Pritchard, were just myself, an undertaker, Gregory and Mr Jenkins. We wore black, of course. During those ten days, the vicar had ordered a headstone, which had already arrived and been put in place.
With no one to help, the four of us carried the coffin outside to the plot assigned by the vicar, a plot near the outer wall of the graveyard. We admired the new headstone. Reverend Pritchard had opted for the simplest of inscriptions on a basic stone slab. No angels or cherubs here, I thought, as with so many of the older gravestones nearer the church itself. What I hadn’t expected though, was that he’d added Owen’s details, taking my guess of June twelfth as the day he died on. Beneath their names and the dates, were the words By their love, reunited in Heaven. Most apt, I thought. I didn’t point out that he’d spelt Joanna the English way, without the ‘h’ in the middle.
The service was brief. I cast my mind back to the even briefer service we had for John Clair. Nine men died on that boat; John, being the first, was the only one afforded a service.
Afterwards, I thanked the vicar.
‘You know, the police came to see me,’ he said.
‘They spoke to everyone, didn’t they?’
‘Yes, I believe they did. No one admitted to seeing the mob she told you about.’
‘N-no surprise there,’ said Gregory. ‘I w-wonder w-who c-could have urged them on.’
‘No, he wasn
’t here at the time,’ I replied.
‘Yeah, b-but those boys who h-hang out with him, it’d be them.’
‘Possibly, but they would have done it under their own steam. It had nothing to do with Parker.’
‘Well, whoever it was,’ said the vicar, ‘I hope they truly repent.’
‘Bit late for that now.’
‘Yes, I suppose it is. Well, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me…’ Together with the undertaker, Reverend Pritchard returned to the church. Passing them, coming towards us, were William and his mother.
‘We weren’t going to come,’ said Rita. ‘But William wanted to. He’d…’ The boy circled round the grave, peering in, his face creased with concern. We watched him as he wandered off deeper into the graveyard, stopping occasionally to read an inscription.
Rita sighed. ‘It was important to him; he had to come see for himself. I had no idea, you know. I kept wondering why food was missing from the larder. I’d think “tonight, we’ll have leftover chicken… oh, it’s gone.” It never occurred to me that William was taking it until the shopkeeper came to see me. William had been stealing things from the shop. I was furious with him. I had to pay it back. But he wouldn’t tell me, however much I threatened him. He only told me the day she… well, you know. He came back and went straight to his bed. He was so upset. He’s hardly eaten since. He’s always been very quiet, has William, he’s always kept things to himself. A bit of a loner. Like his father. He can’t understand why she’s dead. Robert, will you speak to him? Tell him what she was like.’
‘I’ve tried speaking to him before.’
‘He’ll listen to you now. Now that he knows that you were also her friend.’
‘I’ll try my best.’
William had stopped to look at a headstone, bending down and running his finger over the letters. I left Rita and Gregory standing over Joanna’s grave. ‘Hello, William,’ I said, approaching him. He looked up at me. ‘You know, Joanna was a good woman. But not everyone realised that. She was German so, I suppose, people thought that made her bad. But it wasn’t true – we both know that.’ He rose to his feet. He’d been examining a grave to a woman, a councillor’s wife, who’d died in eighteen-something. ‘She was frightened of those people, but she liked you, William. She told me what a good boy you were and how kind you were to her. She was married to a friend of mine, a very good friend. But he died – in the war – like your father. He loved her very much. She didn’t know he’d died; I had to tell her. But just because she… she wanted to be with him in heaven, it doesn’t mean your mother would do that. You know that, don’t you?’ He nodded. ‘Your mother wouldn’t leave you. She loves you too much to leave you.’
He looked at me inquisitively. ‘Do you think there is a heaven?’ He spoke in a surprisingly deep voice for an eight-year-old, slowly, as if he thought about each word before saying it.
‘Yes, I do. Look at all these graves round here,’ I said, waving my hand. ‘Each one a person. I believe that each and every one of them is in Heaven, alongside Joanna and her husband. Alongside your dad.’
‘Yes, that’s what I thought.’
He smiled briefly before making his way back to his mother, his hands in his pocket.
Chapter 33
‘Don’t you smoke any more, Robert?’
Uncle Guy and I met in a small café in Argyll Street near the Barbican in Plymouth. The place with its yellow wallpaper was small, its round tables and chairs squeezed in. A large blackboard offered the menu and a poster on the wall depicting two small children declared, Children are safer in the country. Leave them there. Guy had come in ten minutes late, his trilby and the shoulders of his mackintosh darkened by rain.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I lost the habit while at sea. Haven’t taken it up since.’
‘Very sensible.’
I ordered him a cup of tea and a slice of Victoria Sponge which he insisted on paying for.
‘So, how are you?’ he asked, stirring two spoonfuls of sugar into his tea, spilling a little on the oil tablecloth.
‘Oh, fine, just fine.’ I didn’t like to tell him that I’d found my best friend’s wife hanging from a beam in a dusty barn. Instead, I told him about my dog and how I was enjoying my leave, away from the sea.
‘It’ll be difficult for you when you go back.’
‘Yes, I’m dreading it and looking forward to it at the same time. It’s coming round all too soon. In some ways I feel nothing could be as bad. Surely, I won’t experience anything like that again.’
‘Yes. From what I hear, the Germans’ ability to knock out our convoys has been greatly reduced. Tell me, Robert, was Clarence on the boat with you?’
‘No, he went down with the ship.’
He shook his head. ‘The poor chap. It’s been hard on your parents, very hard. He was a good lad.’
‘I’ve lost my brother, you lost yours.’
‘Yes. I did. I still miss him, you know. He was a jolly lad, irritatingly so at times, but still, after almost thirty years, I miss him very much. I often wonder what he’d be doing now. Whether he’d be married, what job he’d be doing, that sort of thing. You’ll think the same about Clarence for years to come. Possibly for the rest of your life.’ The café door swung open bringing with it a breeze. Two young women in long camel coats and wide-brimmed hats, their arms linked, staggered in, giggling. They sat on a table behind me and, talking loudly, lit up cigarettes. ‘I was on a ship that was hit once.’
‘Yes, you said.’
‘Hmm.’ He swallowed a large chunk of cake, waving his hand in front of his mouth. ‘Excuse me. Yes, 17th November 1917. Nice cake this. You sure you won’t have some?’
‘No, I’m fine.’
‘Me and a whole load of poor buggers like me were being evacuated from France across the Channel. I’d just lost my leg and was still in some pain. We were caught by a mine not far out from Dover. The ship, the Derby she was called, went down like a potato. A bit like you experienced, I imagine. But then I was straight onto a lifeboat, onto another ship and home. I didn’t have to endure weeks out in the middle of the ocean without a bite to eat. It must’ve been terrible for you.’
‘It wasn’t easy.’
‘I bet. Did anyone survive? Apart from yourself?’
‘No. Most went down with the ship.’ My mind flashed to Smithy, trapped against a wall by a truck, screaming at me not to leave him, the utter fear in his eyes knowing he was down to his last moments and could do nothing to prevent it.
‘Robert, you OK?’
‘Hmm? Yes, sorry.’
He took a sip of tea, then stirred in another half spoonful of sugar. ‘Your mother was on the Derby.’
‘What? My mother?’
He laughed at my disbelief. ‘Yes, she was a nurse. A very good nurse.’
‘My mother? A nurse during the war? I never knew.’
‘It’s strange how war does that do a person. We do these incredible things, see terrible things, sometimes do the most heroic deeds, yet we never talk about it. Like you, Robert – a moment ago. You just remembered something, didn’t you? I saw it in your eyes. But you can’t talk about it – not even to an ex-soldier like me. And it’ll always be there, I warn you now. You never forget these things, however much you want to. You can’t rid your mind of the dead but, I warn you, you mustn’t let them rule your life.’
‘Yes, I suppose.’ I finished my tea, placing the cup back down carefully on its saucer. ‘My father – he’s another who never talks about the war.’
‘Well, no, he wouldn’t. He wasn’t there.’
The two giggly friends burst out laughing, drawing the attention of everyone in the café.
‘Yes, he was. He told me – the Essex Regiment.’
‘No, I was in the Essex, fourth battalion. Your father did his bit, mind you, but he did it behind the lines, so to speak. He was based in London, something to do with logistics and transport. Then just after the war, he was moved to Manchester. You were sti
ll a baby. Then, he moved down here. Well, that was mainly Mary’s doing. Me and Josephine were already here; we came in ’25, just after we were married, and your mother wanted to be near her sister. So your father worked in Plymouth for a long while, perhaps twenty years or so, then retired.’
‘I… I don’t understand. Logistics and transport? But he said… No, you must be wrong, he has the medals. He has them… framed.’ I remembered how they had disappeared from my parents’ dining room when we all had lunch in there.
‘No, no. You’ve got confused, Robert. I’ve seen those medals. He just bought those, like a collector. They’re behind glass, so you won’t be able to see, but they’d have the recipient’s name written on the rims.’
‘Are you… are you sure?’
‘Of course.’
My father had lied to me, to us. The women on the table behind burst out laughing again. I felt like yelling at them, telling them to shut up. All this time, he’d had lied to me.
‘Robert, I ought to be going.’
‘What? Yes, OK.’
‘I’m tired. And when I get tired, my leg begins to hurt. It starts to throb and it’s rather unpleasant. So, if you don’t mind…’
‘No, no, you go, Uncle Guy. It’s been nice talking to you. Yes, very… nice.’
Chapter 34
‘I understand, you’re no longer taking piano lessons with Gregory.’
I had come to see Rebecca and was sitting in her kitchen, sipping black tea. The kitchen was large, covered with a dark red rug and sporting a hefty black stove on which sat a couple of dirty pans. At my feet, a tabby ginger cat rubbed itself against my leg, purring loudly. Propped up on the dresser were a couple of framed photos of Rebecca and a young, good-looking man with a sweep of dark hair. Drying in the corner, my umbrella lay opened. The sunny morning had turned wet.
She covered the pans with a couple of tea towels, as if hoping to make them disappear. ‘I just felt as if I was getting nowhere. I’m not that good, if I’m honest.’ Behind her, stacked on an ironing board, a pile of clothes waiting her attention.
The Unforgiving Sea (The Searight Saga Book 2) Page 20