by Tim Jeal
‘What are we meant to look for on board?’ he whispered.
‘Anything unusual.’
‘Like what?’
‘If I knew exactly, we wouldn’t be looking.’
They had left their shoes with their clothes and the shingle was already hurting Leo’s feet. He was glad when they moved onto soft mud, until he felt it oozing between his toes. They struggled not to laugh as their feet made lewd squelching noises as they walked along.
The shingle spit from which they chose to swim shelved steeply into the water, forcing them to dig in their heels to stop themselves falling in with a splash.
Justin whispered, ‘Can you see the trawlers?’
‘Aren’t they the smaller ones with the sentry boxes on top?’
‘The boxes are their wheelhouses. You swim to the nearest. I’ll try the other.’
Even now, Leo could not believe what he was about to do. He should come clean at once and tell Justin it was too risky for a poor swimmer like himself; but even as they entered the water he could not bring himself to utter. The water was cold enough to make his legs ache painfully, though seconds after he started swimming the pain vanished. With each stroke, he saw sparks of phosphorescence flicker around his hands. The ships looked deserted, so he doubted whether any sailors were keeping watch. Though he supposed their blackout could be faultless.
Every few strokes, Leo told himself he would give up and swim back to the shore the moment he felt tired. But he swam on, even when his fingers were numb and he had pins and needles up his arms. When reaching the buoy of his trawler, he rested for several minutes, clinging to its ring.
From the land this small ship had seemed to lie very low in the water. Close to, the sides rose high above him, as daunting as an overhanging shelf of rock. There was a wooden ridge that ran round the boat about four feet above the water, so he hoped to pull himself up onto it, if he could find a rope fender. He was swimming towards the stern, looking, when he heard something that made him gulp in water. Men were talking behind the timbers of the hull. Terrified, he launched himself towards the beach.
With the tide in his favour, Leo was soon swept upstream beyond the spit where he and Justin had first entered the water. He landed in watery mud on the far side of a low reef. Stumbling back towards his clothes over barnacle-covered rocks, his whole body was wracked by uncontrollable shivering. He knew he had to struggle on without resting until he could put on his dry jersey.
As Leo reached his clothes, angry shouts echoed from the moorings. He heard a splash, as if someone had jumped into the water from the deck of one of the ships. Seconds later, there was a squealing noise and a heavy smack, which reverberated across the river. A ship’s boat had been lowered fast and hit the water. A searchlight on the MGB’s bridge stabbed the darkness, its beam swivelling from side to side. Leo didn’t know whether to stay or escape. If Justin had been caught, the sailors might bully him into admitting he hadn’t been alone.
Leo waited for ten minutes before accepting that Justin would not be returning. Then he dragged his aching limbs up the beach. Too cold and distraught to brave the woods without help from Justin’s torch, he allowed its beam to lead him swiftly to the stream. Driven by acute anxiety for his friend, he found his way to the road in half the time it had taken them to reach the river.
*
Andrea sat up in bed, averting her eyes as she switched on her bedside light. Blinking, she saw her son standing near the door.
‘What’s wrong, Leo?’
She listened with a sick feeling in her stomach as he stammered out a fantastic tale about swimming to different naval ships – he and his trouble-making friend.
‘Where’s Justin?’
‘Under arrest, most likely. They caught him.’
Wanting to hug and kiss her son because he had not drowned himself, she also wanted to shake him. ‘How could you do anything so downright crazy? You could have gotten in trouble in the water and died.’
‘He was going anyway. So I had to go.’
‘You should have told me. You’re almost thirteen, Leo. Not six.’ She started to dress rapidly, not even bothering to tell him to wait outside. ‘How come you’re sure he’s okay?’
‘The sailors launched a boat for him.’
‘You saw them do that?’
‘I heard it.’
‘Maybe they launched the boat to go ashore. Maybe they never saw him.’
Leo started to make small snuffling noises. ‘He’s a really good swimmer. Really he is.’
Andrea fastened her skirt. ‘We’d better go find him.’ She had a vague memory of having seen a house outside Porthbeer with the navy’s flag flying outside. She picked up her handbag and ran downstairs. ‘Don’t delay me, Leo.’ In the dining room, she downed a mouthful of neat whisky from the bottle. Just then, she heard an automobile stop in the lane.
She opened the door. A sailor was leading Justin up the path. The boy was wrapped in a grey blanket and was barefoot. He no longer looked cocky, just scared and rather pathetic. As soon as she had ushered them into the sitting room, the sailor cleared his throat.
‘I’m Petty Officer Lee, madam. Sorry to call at this hour, but this young gent was caught trespassing on one of HM’s ships.’
The man’s uniform was not quite the same as the officers’ at the club. When he removed his hat, she saw that he was older than she’d thought – about forty. Out of the corner of her eye, Andrea saw that Leo looked almost as scared as his friend.
‘Come and sit down, Justin,’ she said, gently steering him to the sofa and then sitting with her arm through his. ‘I don’t imagine he did any harm,’ she remarked coldly to the petty officer.
‘I wouldn’t know about that, madam. It’s up to Captain Borden and Lieutenant Commander Harrington to decide whether to call in the police.’
‘To arrest a boy of twelve?’ she gasped. Leo began coughing as if to drown her words.
‘Best ask the officers, madam. They’re expecting you both at ten.’
‘Where?’
‘The Polwherne Hotel – it’s naval property now. On the right as you leave Porthbeer on the Tregwidden road.’
‘What if we stay home?’
The petty officer lowered his voice. ‘I’d be sweet as sugar if I was you, madam. For the kid’s sake.’ He winked at her, and then turned to Justin. ‘Just answer their questions, lad, and you’ll be fine.’
Andrea said sharply, ‘He looks like a spy, does he?’
The man’s friendliness did not waver. ‘Let’s leave all that to the officers.’
‘It was a prank for Chrissakes.’
‘Leave it, mum,’ whispered Leo.
‘I’ll be getting back to bed, madam, if you don’t mind. G’dnight boys.’
After closing the door behind him, Andrea felt faint with anger. Why this stupid pretence that something awful had been done? It was cruel and pointless. Justin still seemed on the verge of tears.
‘Don’t be a ninny,’ she murmured. ‘What can they do?’
‘I dunno.’
‘Not a thing.’ She smiled at them both, but their faces remained glum and chastened. She kissed Leo, and gave Justin a hug, which he did not resist. ‘Don’t worry, Justin. What you need right now is a hot bath. Leave those sailors to me.’
CHAPTER 5
When Rose brought in eggs and bacon for breakfast, Andrea dutifully oohed and aahed for the second day running, implying how lucky they were to have gained unrationed access to farm produce. The girl accepted this tribute in silence, making sure her employer noticed when she stared pointedly at Justin – though whether this was because he was wearing his school suit, or because Rose still had a grievance against him, Andrea couldn’t tell.
‘Why do ’ee wear Sunday best on Friday?’ the girl demanded, as she passed behind Justin’s chair.
‘He’s visiting some officers,’ said Andrea brightly, as if this was a rare privilege.
‘I’m getting a medal,’ ad
ded Justin.
‘Don’ ’ee go tellin’ fibs. I waked up and saw ’ee come home like a drowned rat.’ She leant forward and snatched away his empty plate.
On the way to Porthbeer Justin remained very quiet, staring out at the hedgerows as if in a trance. As Andrea tried to think of something comforting to say, she noticed how tight his suit jacket was. Feeling tearful on his behalf, she said, ‘Don’t let them get to you.’
‘I won’t be cheeky, if that’s your worry.’
‘It would also be smart to promise you’ll never go near those ships again.’
‘I promise.’
‘Promise to them, Justin, not me.’
‘Okay, Mrs Pauling.’
‘Okay, Andrea.’
Her spirits plunged as she became aware of the great effort Justin was making to seem unafraid. She said gently, ‘You don’t have to pretend to be so gutsy, you know.’
He seemed puzzled. ‘You think I should make out I’m scared when they ask their questions?’
‘Showing respect will do fine. What I meant was you can share your feelings with me if it helps you.’
Justin did not reply but gazed intently into the woods on his side of the car. Suddenly he cried, ‘Stop here. Now!’
Andrea did as commanded and watched in astonishment as he disappeared between the trees. Just as she was beginning to think he had run away, he reappeared, pushing the bicycle she had lent him. Together they slid its muddy wheels into the car’s trunk. As he sat beside her again, she was dismayed to see tears spilling down his cheeks.
‘Hey, don’t do that,’ she soothed. ‘What’s wrong, honey?’ He pointed to his grey trousers where the bicycle’s chain had left an oily mark. His earlier calmness made this sudden breakdown over a minor misfortune seem more shocking to her. Of course today of all days he would have wanted to look his best, and now he couldn’t. She gave him a handkerchief from her bag and he dabbed at his eyes before handing it back. ‘No, keep it,’ she insisted, ‘for luck.’
He surprised her with a wobbly smile. ‘Thanks,’ and after a brief pause, ‘Andrea.’
The Polwherne Hotel already looked a little down at heel, with the paint peeling from the drainpipes and window-frames and grass growing on the tennis courts. When Andrea had given her name to the sentry at the gate, he picked up a primitive looking telephone and rang through to the house.
Permission granted, they drove in, parked beside some Nissen huts and then walked round to the front. On a tall flagstaff with a crosstrees, a white ensign was flapping loudly, casting a moving shadow on the lawn beside the river. A long way out on the shimmering water – or so it seemed to Andrea – were some grey ships and a couple of others painted in patches of greys, browns and blues.
‘Did you swim to one of those?’ gasped Andrea.
‘To that one.’ He indicated a small ship, further away than the rest.
‘That’s amazing, Justin,’ she murmured, meaning it.
‘Thanks.’ To her relief he grinned at her but almost immediately his face resumed its strained expression.
It was a sunny morning and seagulls were wheeling and screeching overhead, their breast feathers looking improbably white. A naval motor boat, manned by two Wrens in bell-bottom trousers, tied up at a small pontoon and landed a red-faced officer. Let’s hope he won’t be seeing us, she thought, on entering the house.
Although painted signs bore witness to the house’s former use – Reception, Tudor Bar, Reynolds Room, whatever that might have been – all vestiges of comfort had gone with the long vanished carpets and furniture. To protect the panelling, whole walls had been covered in brown hardboard, an ideal surface for the notices which proliferated.
‘Ugh! Just like school,’ muttered Justin.
A sailor wearing white gaiters and a matching belt ushered them along a corridor to a room facing the front lawn. A photograph of the King in naval uniform hung on an otherwise empty wall behind a table. A blackboard, with rows of chairs facing it, reinforced Justin’s earlier comparison.
The sailor said briskly, ‘Wait here, please,’ and went out.
As Andrea sat down she wished she had worn a different suit. Her cream-coloured wool which she had chosen for its youthfulness now seemed too young with its knee-length skirt and short jacket. She placed her handbag over her knees, thinking, as she did, that she would have been less likely to be patronised if she had worn a more matronly outfit. The man who had brought Justin home had said they would be seeing a Captain Borden, whom Andrea had never met, and Lieutenant Commander Harrington, whom she had. She imagined Borden would be older than Harrington, whose age she guessed to be about the same as hers, though possibly he was younger. She remembered his cold hands and Sally’s remarks about his indifference to admirers. Something else had remained with her since their brief meeting at Elspeth’s: a suspicion that his inscrutable good looks masked an iron will responsible for his elevation above more relaxed contemporaries such as Tony Cassilis.
This impression seemed to be confirmed as he entered the room and ignored her in favour of a grey-haired companion whom she now recognised as the officer she had seen stepping onto the pontoon. Harrington turned his handsome face towards her at last.
‘Mrs Pauling, let me introduce Captain Borden, our senior naval officer on the river.’ He smiled at his superior and nodded in Justin’s direction. ‘And that, sir, is Mrs Pauling’s alarmingly aquatic son.’
Andrea said sharply, ‘Justin is my son’s friend.’
‘No offence meant, madam,’ muttered Captain Borden, seating himself next to Harrington on the opposite side of the table. ‘I understand you took great exception to the boy being ticked off by Petty Officer Lee.’
‘He was making way too much fuss over a silly prank.’
Borden stared back at her stolidly. ‘You think so.’ The deep creases on either side of his high-bridged nose gave him a sneering expression. ‘You think trespassing on naval property in wartime is something to be laughed about?’
Andrea sat up very straight. ‘Captain Borden, I did not say that.’
Harrington cupped his chin in a hand, and, to Andrea’s surprise, smiled encouragingly. ‘Go ahead, Mrs Pauling, and tell us exactly what you think about Justin’s escapade.’
‘My son was there, too. It was just a boys’ dare to swim out to the boats.’
Borden suddenly barked out, ‘Tell me, boy, did your friend get on board too?’
‘No, sir. He’s a bad swimmer.’
Captain Borden’s skin was sunburned and blotched with large freckles. In Andrea’s eyes, he looked self-important and peevish in his creased uniform with its rows of medal ribbons. ‘But you’re a good swimmer, eh, Justin?’
‘I’m better than him.’
‘So why didn’t you decide to win your bet by swimming across the river? You wouldn’t have failed.’
Andrea looked anxiously at Justin, but he said calmly, ‘It’d have been less fun, sir.’
‘Why’s that, boy?’
‘No chance of being caught.’
‘I see.’ Borden shifted his heavy body on his small chair. ‘So you were happy to play silly buggers with the navy for a bit of excitement. Too bad if you’d banged your head when you jumped over the side, or if one of our ratings had been drowned going in after you.’
‘They launched a boat, sir.’
‘In the middle of the night, just for you.’
‘I promise I’ll never do it again.’
Afraid that Justin was about to cry, Andrea felt suddenly distraught. ‘That’s enough, Captain.’
‘Why’s that, madam?’
‘Because he’s said he’s sorry.’ Borden’s exasperation with her for intervening made her angry. ‘So he saw inside a patrol boat. Is that such a big deal?’
Harrington faced her with an affability she decided was bogus. ‘In the navy we tend to think that even humble gunboats and armed trawlers shouldn’t be treated like public property.’
‘Damn right
,’ agreed Borden. ‘Minor warships are bloody well invaluable. Who else looks after our coastal convoys and protects our fishermen from E-boats? Nobody.’
Andrea inclined her head. ‘Captain Borden, I didn’t question their value, only your sense of proportion.’ While Borden’s face went a deeper shade of red, Harrington seemed to have trouble keeping a straight face. Andrea feared he was laughing at her. ‘If he’d gotten aboard a new submarine or a secret airplane, I’d be on my knees to you. But all he did was climb onto a dirty old …’
‘That will do, madam,’ thundered Borden. He gestured to Justin to leave his chair and come closer. The boy did not look at Andrea before obeying. ‘You listen to me, young man. If I hear you’ve been within a thousand yards of one of His Majesty’s ships, I’ll have you in police custody within the hour. You and your friend almost rammed HMS Stork the other day. Why was that?’
‘It was a mistake,’ quavered Justin. ‘My friend’s no good at sailing.’
‘Just tell him from me to stay away, will you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Or you’ll both find yourselves in police cells.’
‘Yes, sir,’ faltered Justin.
Borden pushed back his chair and rose. ‘I hope your mother won’t tell you it doesn’t matter, because it most certainly does.’ He thrust out his jaw. ‘Just remember that.’
‘You know I’m not his mother,’ cried Andrea, addressing Borden’s back as he turned to leave. The moment Justin began to sniffle she realised she should not have corrected the man. Her remark would have seemed a rejection to Justin. To make up for it she hugged him and then he really started to sob. Until then, the whole scene had been poignantly reminiscent of that famous painting of the brave and lonely boy being questioned: When Did You Last See Your Father? Not that a gruff old salt and a stereotypical stiff upper-lipped young officer could be expected to be touched by anything so vulgarly sentimental.
While trying to comfort Justin, Andrea started to feel let down by Leo. It was too bad of him not to have told her about the sailing incident. Though even if the boys had actually hit the side of a warship, that couldn’t excuse Borden for having spoken to Justin like a criminal – particularly after he had apologised.