The Unforgiving Sea (The Searight Saga Book 2)

by Rupert Colley

  But first, I had to do something.

  *

  I rushed over to Mr Jenkins, knocking violently on his door.

  He answered with an empty milk bottle in his hand. ‘Robert, what in the… Has something happened?’

  ‘Mr Jenkins, I need to borrow your car.’

  ‘My car? You’re not insured; I can’t just–’

  ‘Please, Mr Jenkins. It’s urgent; I wouldn’t ask you otherwise. My… my future depends on it.’

  He guffawed. ‘Sounds rather dramatic, if you don’t mind–’

  ‘I need to get to the train station in Plymouth by 2:22. Please, Mr Jenkins.’

  ‘If you’re catching a train, how will I get the car back?’

  ‘I’m not catching a train but I need to stop someone else from doing so.’

  ‘Well…’ A tabby cat appeared at his feet. ‘Mirabel, no you don’t,’ he said, shoving it back inside with his foot.

  ‘I’ll pay for any damages – not that there’ll be any.’

  ‘It’s a bit sudden. Oh, what the heck. OK, but just this once, mind you. Hang on.’

  Thank God, I thought, glancing at my watch. I had forty minutes. Just enough time.

  ‘Here you are,’ he said, reappearing, handing me the keys. ‘You’ll find it near the bus shelter.’

  ‘Thanks, Mr J. I’ll have it back to you by this afternoon.’

  ‘Less of the Mr J, if you don’t mind.’

  I ran to the bus shelter. William was playing football with a couple of other boys. He waved to me. I found the headmaster’s car – an Austin, its otherwise shiny hood splattered with bird shit. I hadn’t driven a car in years but one doesn’t forget. It started first time. The petrol tank was almost full. William picked up the ball while I reversed out. I winked at him.

  It was a good ten-mile drive to Plymouth and this dilapidated old thing was incapable of going over thirty miles an hour. Nevertheless, I thought, I still had plenty of time. That was, at least, until I got stuck behind a tractor as soon as I passed the neighbouring village. The road was far too narrow to pass. I honked on the horn, eliciting no response. If anything the driver, in annoyance, was slowing down. ‘Come on, please, come on,’ I shouted. We were moving at walking pace. The minutes ticked by. Covered in sweat, I could feel my heart pounding. Clods of mud flew off the tractor’s back wheels splattering the car bonnet. ‘I don’t believe this,’ I muttered, close to tears. ‘Oh, please, just disappear.’ I felt weak with the heat and frustration. Could I go back, take a different route? No, the road was too narrow to reverse. I was stuck. They’d be arriving at the station any minute – Alice and Mr Redman, parking up their car. ‘Let me pass, you old…’ Then, just at that moment, without slowing down, the tractor swung left into a field, through an open gate, juddering up a muddy track. I thought of Joanna’s barn. ‘Thank God for that.’ As soon as I could, I slammed my foot on the accelerator and speeded down the road.

  The Devonian roads passed in a haze. I could imagine Mr Redman fussing. ‘Now, Alice, are you sure you’ve got everything? Your suitcases, your purse, the ticket?’ ‘Daddy, of course I have; I’m not an imbecile.’ He slips some money into her hand. ‘Here, take this.’ ‘Oh, Daddy, really, there’s no need…’ ‘It’ll help you get going. Just until you find a job.’ ‘But I’ve got a job to go to–’ ‘Just in case. You never know.’ ‘Oh, Daddy.’ She flings her arms round him and kisses him on the cheek, breathing in his odour of piped tobacco. ‘Come on now,’ he says, ‘we mustn’t miss that train.’

  I’d reached the outskirts of Plymouth. The time was two twelve; I had exactly ten minutes. Fortunately, the train station was on the northern edge of the city, meaning I didn’t have to get snarled up in the city centre. The station had been the subject of bombing during the Blitz but now, three years on, things were almost back to normal.

  I careered into the car park, coming to an abrupt halt right next to Mr Redman’s car. That meant they were there – inside the station. I ran from the car park into the coolness of the terminal. I felt drenched in sweat. A policeman near the entrance eyed me suspiciously. The clock inside showed two eighteen. Four minutes. I ran past the ticket office, zigzagging round passengers, trolleys and cases. Glancing again at the clock, I tripped over someone’s suitcase. ‘Oi, look where you’re going,’ shouted a middle-aged woman. Ignoring her, I darted onto the nearest platform. Looking up and down its length, I saw no sign of them. But then I heard my name being called. ‘Robert? Robert?’ My heart jumped on hearing Alice’s voice. Squinting against the glare of the sun, I saw her next to her father in the shade of the platform opposite.

  ‘Alice, wait there,’ I shouted.

  I sprinted up the steps of the platform bridge, rushing past a couple and their small child, just as the stationmaster announced the imminent arrival of the London-bound train. I bounded down the other side, taking two steps at a time.

  ‘Robert, what on earth are you…’

  ‘Alice.’ I had to pause to catch my breath. ‘Alice…’ I realised I had no idea what to say. I cursed myself for not having prepared something.

  ‘Hello, Mr Redman,’ I said breathlessly.

  ‘Hello, Robert. Didn’t expect you to come say goodbye.’

  ‘I haven’t.’ We heard the sound of the train approaching. I turned to see its great billows of smoke heralding its arrival, the sun reflecting off its engine.

  Alice led me to one side. ‘Robert, why are you here?’

  Mr Redman discreetly took a few steps back.

  I tried to read her eyes – trying to work out whether she was pleased to see me. All I saw was confusion and a touch of fear.

  'I've come to stop you from getting on this train.' From the corner of my eye I could see the train easing into the shadow of the platform. People behind me gathered their things. Mothers pulled their children in. A young couple fell into an embrace.

  She stared at me as if she didn't understand. 'But, Robert, I'm all set; they're expecting me. I can't just...’

  ‘What? What can’t you do?’

  ‘I came to see you.'

  'You did?'

  'I heard you were back. I wanted to see if you were OK. I knocked. But you were out. A young girl saw me. She told me you had had a terrible time; that you were "recuperating". She had difficulty saying the word. You look a lot thinner.' She glanced at the incoming train. Great swirls of smoke filled the station platform.

  'Don't do it, Alice.'

  'Oh, Robert, it's too late; how can I not? Tell me, I've been worried about you, are you OK?'

  'I tell everyone that I am. But I'm not. The experience… it tainted me.'

  'So that makes two of us. Tainted.'

  Mr Redman had stepped out of view. He had her cases and bags on a trolley. Someone, a woman, shouted my name, making me jump. I realised she was shouting for her son, another Robert. He was behind her, sucking his thumb. On spinning round and finding him, she burst out laughing. ‘There you are, you cheeky beggar,’ she shrieked.

  The train had come to a halt. Doors swung open. A few people unencumbered by luggage jumped out. The stationmaster confirmed the train's arrival. Alice’s eyes kept darting from me to the train.

  'Alice, it's been a year since you left. I have thought of you every hour since. I couldn't understand why you left me. Why should your uncle have affected the way you felt about me. You'd been through hell. I hadn't. But believe me – I have now. I understand now. You get to the point you can’t live with yourself, with the memories. A wise man told me not to let the dead rule my life, and he was right.'

  'A wise man?'

  'He wore a pointy hat.'

  She laughed and thumped me on the chest. People were boarding the train. A middle-aged man helped an elderly woman with swollen ankles on board. The guard appeared with his green and red flags, his whistle already between his lips.

  ‘I brought you this.’ I held out the ring within its box. ‘I think you should take it back.’

 
; She smiled, slipping the box into her coat pocket. ‘The girl outside your house told me you’re going back to sea soon. Is that right?’

  ‘The day after tomorrow.’

  ‘I can’t bear it down here any more, Robert. There’s nothing here. I need to go to London.’

  ‘All aboard for London,’ shouted the guard.

  Mr Redman came into view. Clearing his throat, he said, ‘Don’t mean to pressurize you, girl, but if you’re getting on that train I need to get these cases on now.’

  ‘I’m getting on, Daddy.’ She took my hand. ‘I’m going to London. But when my fiancé here gets back from sea, he’ll be joining me. Won’t you, my love?’

  I threw my arms round her and kissed her until the sounds of the station, the snorting of the train, the slamming doors, the announcements, children screaming, receded into a faraway distance. I breathed in her smell; a smell of warmth, light perfume and hair lacquer.

  ‘Will you join me?’ she whispered in my ear.

  ‘You know I will. I’d join you on the moon if I had to.’

  ‘This train ain’t going to be held up for you two lovebirds,’ shouted the guard. ‘If you’re getting on, you have to get on now.’

  ‘Alice, please,’ urged Mr Redman. ‘Everything’s on board, above your seat.’

  Letting go of me, she quickly hugged her father. ‘Thank you, Daddy. I’ll miss you.’

  Mr Redman and I watched her climb the steps onto the train. I closed the door behind her. Lowering the window, she reached out and took my hand. ‘I love you,’ she mouthed.

  ‘I love you too.’

  The guard blew his whistle and waved his green flag. With a snort and a fresh puff of smoke, the train creaked into motion and gently eased away. ‘I’ll be waiting for you,’ she said, as our hands were pulled apart.

  ‘I love you,’ I shouted.

  She blew me a kiss.

  The train chugged away from me and into the sun. Rooted to the spot, I watched as it turned a bend and, picking up speed, disappeared from view. Soon there was nothing left but a few wisps of grey smoke curling up into the bright sky.

  Silently, Mr Redman passed me a handkerchief. I hadn’t realised but there were tears in my eyes.

  ‘You planned this, didn’t you, Mr Redman. You came to see me yesterday wanting me to do this.’

  ‘No, no. What on earth makes you think that?’ he said, unable to suppress a grin.

  I tried to hand back his handkerchief. ‘Thank you, Mr Redman.’

  ‘Keep it,’ he said, waving it away. ‘And I think from now on, you should call me Tony.’ He slapped me on the shoulder. ‘Because by the looks of it, you’ll soon be my son-in-law after all.’

  Epilogue

  Dartmoor in Devon, June 1945

  Dartmoor, eleven o’clock on a blustery June morning. It may be summer but the fact has bypassed this desolate part of the world. Sitting in my parents’ car affords me no respite from the cold. I turn my collar up against the wind blowing in from across the hills. I’m expecting him to appear any moment now. I just have to be patient and wait.

  The view is beautiful in its own bleak way. The hills covered in mist, the gathering of sheep, the bracken, the outcrops of granite. A blackbird sits on the fence at the far side of the car park and squawks.

  I have returned to Devon specifically for this occasion, arriving last night. I have been a resident of London for only the last four weeks, since the end of the war, at least the end of the war in Europe. I am no longer a serving member of the merchant navy; I am a humble civilian once again, working in a London bank. Not the most ideal of professions and certainly not one to stir any passion, but it’s a job and for that I have to be thankful. I'm a married man now. Have been for all of two weeks. I often find myself smiling for no particular reason beyond the fact that I am happy at last; happier than I ever thought I would be; happier than I deserve to be. I enjoy living in London with my new wife. We rent one floor of a house in the southern suburbs in a street that was half demolished by German bombs. The work of rebuilding has already begun. Alice, having been in London for a year, is quite the girl about town. She works as a typist for a local newspaper. And I still have Angie, my little Jack Russell.

  It feels rather strange returning to Devon and its sleepy ways. I'm staying a couple of nights with my parents. It's the first time I've seen them since I left almost a year ago to return to sea. My father, at last, has finally decided to join the world, and has ingratiated himself into various local committees. He’s bought a dog, a golden retriever he calls Bunty, and takes her for long walks every day. He has been injected with an energy I've not seen since his working days. My mother too looks better than I’ve seen for years. She and the village vicar are in discussion, planning a church plaque in memory of my brother. There are photographs of Clarence all over the house. His presence is still very much part of the fabric in my parents' home. I’m sleeping in my childhood bedroom. Nothing much has changed. Still the same fake-Turkish rug of all shades red, the toy soldiers lined up on a shelf in order of their era, a seagull mobile hangs from the ceiling, a framed map of the British Isles and of course my books – Sherlock Holmes being my favourite as a boy. Clarence and I were lucky – we each had a room, something we didn’t have when we still lived in Manchester.

  My final year at sea passed without incident, the U-boat menace, as it had been called, had been reduced to the point of almost non-existence as the German navy had been rendered virtually powerless. The work however remained vitally important to the war effort – shipping supplies across the oceans. Not that I ever saw another mule. We were, perhaps, the unsung heroes of the war.

  A car draws up near me. I watch as a tall man in a mackintosh and a trilby steps out. He looks like a policeman. Tipping his hat at me, he walks off towards the prison entrance.

  I still think of the boys on the boat and I wonder how their loved ones are getting on. I think of John Clair’s mother, Charlie Palmer’s wife, and wonder whether Harris Beckett’s wife settled down with the butcher. I do hope not. Beckett may have turned nasty in the end, but, then, who was I to judge? We all had, in our own way. It was like an illness – it affected different men in different ways. All I know is I survived when, perhaps, I didn’t deserve to; I have a wife and I have a future, and occasionally, when the night is at its darkest, I hate myself for it. I twist my wedding ring round my finger. I can’t help Owen, I can’t help Joanna, but I am helping Alice. She too has her dark days but they become fewer and fewer. And there’s someone else I can help. Not for long but I can take him home and settle him in. This is why I am here today.

  Leaving the car, I decide to wait near the entrance, a stone archway set in a solid, stone wall leading to another archway further along with a large wooden door. The door opens with a satisfying groan and the man in the mackintosh comes out. He strides past me, tipping his hat. I nod in return. I look at my watch. 11:15. He’s late but I imagine there’s much paperwork to be done and forms to be signed. A poster encased in a glass frame on the wall tells me that Princetown Prison was originally opened in 1809, designed to cater for French prisoners of war from the Napoleonic Wars. I’m about to read more when the heavy doors open again. And there he is, clutching a small suitcase, his hair caught by the wind, his jacket, also, flapping in the breeze. The door closes behind him. I hear the key turn in the lock. He glances back at it, as if surprised he should be left outside to fend for himself. He waves on seeing me. We approach each other, meeting halfway between the two arches.

  ‘Robert,’ he says, shaking my hand. ‘It’s g-good to s-see you.’

  ‘And you, Gregory. How are you?’

  ‘N-not too bad. All things considered. Not too b-bad. T-thank you for doing this.’

  ‘It’s the least I can do.’

  We walk to the outer archway where he stops to gaze around at the surrounding countryside. He breathes in the fresh air which carries the scent of heather and damp grass, taking in the moors and
the silence. ‘So, this is what p-peace looks like.’

  ‘It most certainly is.’

  ‘I’d quite forgotten.’

  ‘Let’s go embrace it then.’ I take his suitcase for him. ‘Come on, you ex-jailbird, let’s get you home.’

  THE END

  Other works by Rupert Colley

  FREE DOWNLOAD

  My Brother the Enemy

  Fear on the streets. Death on every corner. But the real enemy is the brother at his side.

  A short, heart-wrenching historical novella on a large canvas from the founder of History In An Hour.

  My Brother the Enemy is a story of jealousy, sibling rivalry and betrayal, and a desperate bid for freedom, set against a backdrop of Nazi oppression and war.

  Sign up for Rupert’s New Releases mailing list and get a free copy of My Brother the Enemy.

  Click here… rupertcolley.com.

  Now that you have finished The Unforgiving Sea, won’t you please consider writing a review? On Amazon US or Amazon UK. Reviews are the best way readers discover great new books. I would truly appreciate it. Thank you.

  Other works of fiction

  The Woman on the Train ‘Someone saves your life. How far will you go to repay the debt?’

  A war-time debt threatens to ruin a musician’s career and much more.

  Read an extract here.

  Available from Amazon US and Amazon UK.

  This Time Tomorrow – ‘Two brothers. One woman. A nation at war.’

  A compelling story of war, brotherly love, passion and betrayal during World War One. The first part of the Searight Saga, pre-dating The Unforgiving Sea.

  Read an extract here.

  Available from Amazon US and Amazon UK.

  The White Venus – ‘When the ties of loyalty are severed, whom do you trust?’

  Set in Nazi-occupied France during World War Two, a coming-of-age tale of divided loyalties, trust and a tragedy never forgotten but never mentioned.