by Tim Jeal
Even if Mike gave his version later, mum wouldn’t know which was true. So why go back to the field at all? To see if it looked as if Mike had bought it. If the Velocette was a blood-stained heap of scrap, Leo reckoned he’d be better off saying nothing to his mother. But how could he be sure he was a goner, even if the bike was a write-off? Sometimes people survived really dreadful accidents. Around him, the earth was carpeted with bluebells, but he was too jittery to notice. Suddenly he knew he didn’t want Mike to be dead. What made him want to vomit was not knowing if he was. A new thought tormented him. If Mike had continued straight on, instead of veering, he would have hit the cycle’s front wheel and brushed it aside without harming himself. Instinct made him swerve like that. It wasn’t to save me. Pure instinct. He didn’t give me a thought. But what if the opposite was true? Alone among the bluebells, Leo started to scream.
Leo was cycling again, as fast as he knew how, scraping his legs as the grocer’s van whizzed by, forcing him into the hedgerow. But now he had to know Mike’s fate. He imagined him lying bleeding and couldn’t bear it another minute. Thank God the van driver had come past that broken gate. If a body had been lying there, he would have stopped for sure. Yet by the time Leo approached the field, he didn’t know what to expect. Mike’s body could have been flung behind the bank.
Leo tiptoed through the space where the gate had been. Bits of broken wood were scattered in front of him. On the far side of the meadow, a farmer and his dog were driving fawn-coloured cows into another field. Nearer to hand, Leo saw a beast lying motionless on its side. One of its legs was twisted oddly. On coming closer, he noticed a bleeding hole in its head as if it had been shot. The Velocette was propped against the bank near the shattered gate. Apart from a torn front tyre, not a lot seemed wrong with it – nothing obvious anyway, except for a few dents and scratches. He knelt to take a better look. No blood anywhere. Maybe the front wheel was a little bent, but it was hard to be sure without getting it to turn. But Mike was going to be all right. Leo’s chest swelled. He wanted to pray to God, which he hardly ever did. In fact he didn’t do it now either, because already Mike could be walking into Trevean Barton, or have reached the telephone box in Porthbeer.
Must tell it my way first, thought Leo, running to his bike. Now he was sure Mike was alive, he no longer felt bad about planning to tell lies to get the better of him. Mike had lied, too.
*
At first overjoyed to see her son, Andrea was soon regarding him with bafflement. Leo had just told her, stammering with rage, that Mike’s motorbike had missed him by inches and had sped on by.
‘But, sweetheart, he couldn’t have seen you.’
‘Yes, he did, mother.’
‘Though he was driving so fast?’
‘He saw me.’
Dazed by his anger, Andrea murmured, ‘I guess he stopped someplace along the lane?’
‘I didn’t hang around to look.’
‘Why was that?’
‘He could have been mad at me.’
Andrea shook her head as if to clear it. ‘After driving too fast, he would be mad at you?’ From the beginning she had suspected that events might not have been as Leo had described them and now she felt certain.
As if sensing her doubts, Leo muttered grudgingly, ‘I may have been a few feet out from the side of the road.’
‘But he was still driving too fast?’
‘Lots too fast. He must have had a hell of a shock when he saw me trying to scram.’
‘But I’m sure he was relieved.’
Leo hung his head. ‘I think I moved the wrong way, mum. I didn’t have time to think.’
Fear clawed at the pit of her stomach. ‘He wasn’t hurt, was he? Look at me, Leo. He didn’t fall off?’
His eyes would not meet hers. ‘No.’
‘How do you know if you didn’t hang around?’ She knew her voice had risen sharply but could not help it.
‘I saw he’d made it round the corner.’ Oh God, thought Andrea, Mike would have been on his way to see me when this happened. To her amazement Leo cried angrily, ‘I got a worse shock than him. He shouldn’t zoom along country lanes at ninety mph scaring the daylights out of people.’
‘All right, darling,’ she mumured, feeling too sick and anxious to continue the conversation. The only important thing now was to get to the telephone before him when Mike called.
*
They met on the headland at the mouth of the estuary, Mike having arrived in the automobile in which she had first kissed him – the one with RN painted on the hood in chipped white letters. It was late afternoon but the sun had not quite lost its warmth. Across the wind-flattened grass, banks of rose-pink thrift fluttered bravely. The headland was known locally as the Beacon after one of the many bonfires, warning of the Spanish Armada’s approach, which had been lit there – another interesting local fact that Andrea had never managed to share with the boys.
They had left their automobiles on a farm track and walked down, hand in hand, onto the flat-topped bluff. Mike’s left hand was bandaged. Not a deep cut, he’d told her on the telephone. There were dark circles under his eyes and he was tense and restless. She wanted to hold him but knew he was angry.
‘He’s a lying little toad,’ had been Mike’s first reaction when she’d relayed what Leo had said. But Andrea had found it impossible to believe that the boy had deliberately pushed himself into Mike’s path. She still couldn’t accept it.
Mike turned to her with a tight little smile. ‘Funny to think I’d be dead now if I’d hit a gatepost instead of a nice fat cow.’ As if his back was hurting, Mike eased himself onto the grass. ‘Let’s hope I’ve not used up all my luck for the month.’
‘Maybe you won’t need any for a while.’
He lay back and gazed up at the sky. ‘I looked at myself in the mirror this morning, and I could have sworn I wasn’t there. I’d left hours ago.’
‘What time will you be out there?’ she asked, glancing at the ocean beyond the reef.
‘Just before midnight.’
‘It’s awful I didn’t ask before, but is Tony safe, and the others?’
‘I’ve heard no names – just numbers of “parcels” to be collected. He’s fine I expect, though his boat’s been found. So there’s a hell of a kerfuffle going on. The Boches are sending direction-finding vans all over the place and closing harbours.’
‘Can’t you delay your mission, Mike?’ Her tone was scared, almost imploring.
‘Not a chance. The BBC messages have gone out.’
The wind was blowing back his hair, making him look as he had on the day she’d first seen him at Elspeth’s. Fighting back tears, Andrea fumbled in her bag. ‘Take this with you, darling.’ She handed him a length of green ribbon. ‘I wore it when we played tennis.’
He raised the hair-ribbon to his lips. ‘Ivanhoe before the tournament. I’d tie it to my breastplate, if fake fishermen wore them.’
‘You sound so bitter.’
‘And that’s surprising?’ He fixed her with sad, indignant eyes. ‘Quite apart from what I’ll be going through in the next few hours, don’t you think I’ve good reason to feel a little miffed? Your twelve-year-old son tried to kill me. Really did his best. And what do you say to me on the ’phone?’
‘He panicked, darling. He chose the wrong way.’
‘I was there, Andrea. He had plenty of time to avoid me. He’s found out about us. Must have.’
‘It’s possible.’
He leaned across and clasped her hand. ‘It happened, and it changes everything. If I come back alive, we can’t have a repeat of today.’
‘I know.’
‘Either we’ll have to part, or you’ll have to tell your family about me and face the music.’
Andrea felt she was being rushed into deciding something tremendously important without being given time to think. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to argue. If she never saw him again, what would she think of herself for making their last
meeting wretched?
‘It’s hard, of course it is,’ he said, relenting. ‘I hoped it wouldn’t come to this; but since we love each other, we’ll get through it somehow. Unless you tell them, something worse will happen.’ His brown eyes held hers. ‘Do it for Leo, too.’
‘I will, after you’re back.’
He noted her qualification and smiled. ‘Thank you, my darling.’
‘You do still love me?’ She was scared that Leo’s behaviour had done lasting damage to his feelings for her.
He squeezed her hand. ‘You know I do. Let’s forget the little beast for five minutes.’ Mike stared out to sea for a long time. ‘Suppose it’s this time tomorrow and there’s still no sign of me. Will you come back here, and stay for a while?’
‘Darling, of course I will.’
She hugged him to her, very tightly, as if some great wind was tearing him away.
CHAPTER 18
When Andrea entered the living room, Leo and Rose were sitting together listening to the news on the radio. Mostly it was the same old story: more night raids on London, British withdrawal from Greece continuing, and yet another setback in North Africa. As soon as she had sunk into an armchair, Andrea knew she would be unable to sit still. Because Mike would not be on his way to France for many hours, it distressed her to imagine him still at the Polwherne Hotel, and therefore within reach. But if she did call him, would he even be able to spare the time to talk?
As Leo turned off the radio, Rose jumped up, gabbling about a pan on the stove. The sight of the two of them together had surprised Andrea, but with Leo so young what could be the harm in it? He would have wanted to hear the news because his father was in London – not that many details of individual raids were given over the air.
‘What did dad say in his letter?’ he asked, sitting on the arm of her chair, effectively trapping her. She must have looked at him blankly because he went on, ‘I saw it in the hall this morning.’
Since Andrea had skimmed through the letter, she remembered its contents only sketchily. ‘He’s been out of London,’ she said, trying, for Leo’s sake, to sound interested in his father’s movements. He stared back at her, worried.
‘I think he’s working on triggering devices for bombs. Mainly delayed action.’
‘He told you that?’ she asked shakily.
‘No. I saw a drawing in his room.’
Andrea said gently, ‘I can’t imagine he’ll be asked to defuse anything.’
‘I suppose not.’ Leo smiled gratefully. Andrea was immensely relieved that he seemed happy to talk to her. Certainly Leo would not be beside her now if he had found new evidence of an affair – and without such evidence he would never have attempted to harm Mike, deliberately.
Not long after supper Leo went up to his bedroom, saying he wanted to write to his father.
‘I’ll send dad your love,’ he promised, after kissing her goodnight, the first time for several weeks.
‘Thanks,’ she murmured, wishing he had decided to stay a little longer. But it was wonderful he had talked at all, and this was what she would tell Mike, in twelve hours’ time, God willing. Yet in her heart she knew he would not be pleased. Mike had wanted an excuse to bring matters to a head, and, disliking Leo, would not want her relations with her son to become close again.
With this difference of opinion looming, and Mike on a mission, too, Andrea was thankful to have in her possession a bottle of the sedatives which Peter’s Oxford doctor had prescribed for him. Two of these small white tablets would guarantee oblivion until seven or eight in the morning, and by then there should only be a few more hours to wait.
When Andrea passed her son’s door, shortly after nine, and saw that his light was out, she went to bed. A half-hour later she took her pills and was soon dreaming that she was with Leo and Mike as they drifted down the river in an elegant white sail boat. Though she hugged Mike from time to time, Leo didn’t mind.
*
As Leo crept through the woods, doing his best not to step on twigs or scrape his shins, the whisky bottle in his string-bag slapped comfortingly against his leg. Straining his eyes in the darkness, he expected at any moment to see the mudflats shining between the trees like dirty silver. The tide was coming in, but, having studied the published table, Leo reckoned there would not be enough water in the creek to float the trawlers off until after eleven. This left him just over an hour.
Even in daytime, these woods were dim and shadowy. Hazels grew thickly between the oaks, vying to force their leaves skywards through the dense canopy. On this moonless night, the darkness seemed to press in on Leo almost like blindness as he passed beneath thick evergreen trees. At times he flicked on his torch for a few seconds, rather than lose all sense of direction – though he knew that by doing this he was not allowing his eyes to get used to the darkness.
Nearer to the creek, the soil resembled garden leaf mould and muffled his footfalls. He rubbed the dark mulch onto his legs and face as night camouflage. Wearing dark blue shorts and a matching sweater, he felt all but invisible. The creaking and sighing of the trees increased his confidence, since his steps would be hard to hear. Considering how panic-stricken he’d been during his earlier escapade with Justin, it was a welcome surprise, on this occasion, to feel calmer.
The woods thinned out near the head of the creek where the ground sloped steeply to a narrow stream. Leo slid down on his bottom and then waded across, placing his feet gingerly. The sound of the flowing water made him want to pee, which he paused to do, before emptying the stream water out of his sandals. The creek itself lay ahead of him across an open tract of moss and reeds. Judging by the vegetation, the tide never reached this level, so he still had no idea how much water would be under the boats by the time he reached them. Retreating to the treeline, he moved along, parallel with the creek.
When he first caught sight of the trawlers, they looked small and insignificant, dwarfed on both sides of the water by tall black trees. His heart began to race. Would he really have the courage to go through with it? He sat for a moment on a fallen tree and drank some watered down whisky from his bottle. He felt a shiver of pride, recalling how brilliantly he had acted with his mother. She wouldn’t have imagined in a million years that he’d been planning something. Nor would she have had the faintest clue that he had found her rubber thing. Unless his nerve failed, everything would be different in future.
From Leo’s present viewpoint, he could not tell whether or not either ship was joined to the bank by a gangplank. But seeing a lamplit tent, he guessed they must be. With the tide already halfway up the timber props, the sailors under canvas could hardly be expected to wade through mud and water to get aboard. As Leo crept towards the creek, an unexpected gust of wind dabbed his cheek. Away from the trees, the darkness seemed to pale a little. He lowered himself to the ground and crawled through the grass. From the bank itself, he could see water glinting in the central channel. A powerful smell of mud and seaweed filled his nostrils, laced with a faint savour of fresh paint.
After one more swallow of whisky, he abandoned the bottle. After ensuring that his empty pickle jar could not knock against his water flask, he thrust several damp rags into his pockets. Then, grasping a long snaky root, he let himself slip below the level of the bank. His cautious and distressingly squelchy progress along the foreshore had begun.
CHAPTER 19
When Mike had been an undergraduate, he had sometimes discussed ideas such as whether reality was experienced in consciousness or in things, and then had tried to work out how, in either case, he could live his life with the greatest intensity. Or was real vividness and edge only possible in art? A decade later, looking out for enemy aircraft over the Channel, he knew that the most intense experiences available to any man were not chosen or sought out, but were flung at him.
Entering the cramped wheelhouse from the bridge, Mike grinned at Pierre Norbert, his Breton coxswain. The Frenchman always wore a dirty old guernsey which he swore had
given him the luck to survive as long as he had. The spokes of the wheel had worn a large hole in the wool where his paunch touched it, but this, he said, only gave the garment greater efficacité. Standing beside Norbert was Martin Cleeves, a young sub-lieutenant, who made no secret of his admiration for Mike. Prematurely balding, gentle, serious-minded, Cleeves was also athletic and had been a keen yachtsman before joining the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve. As a first lieutenant, he was not a patch on Tony Cassilis, who had never been an admirer of anyone. But since every commander was compelled to act a part, Martin’s high expectations of him did not dismay Mike. They might even drag from him a bravura impersonation of relaxed self-control. He’d heard it said that a man draws his own portrait through his actions. But this was wrong. In life most men tried to resemble the person they wanted to be, rather than the one they actually were.
Mike took up his binoculars again and swept the horizon. The clouds were breaking up. Already visibility was disconcertingly good. The wind was also dropping and Mike feared that, further inshore, they might experience the peculiar kind of calm that made even a muffled exhaust echo for miles. Smooth water would also mean phosphorescence. Yet, regardless of such facts, even the meek Martin Cleeves was trying hard not to show excitement. Mike was excited, too – as a gambler might be excited, imagining a winning streak. How magnificent if, against all odds, he could bring everyone home alive.
The rendezvous would not be Beguen Island, where the Germans had found Tony’s boat, but a place about ten miles to the east. Not that today’s chosen beach would be risk-free, since it was overlooked, at a distance, by a German gun emplacement. According to Naval Intelligence, the Germans would not expect the English to be such fools as to land under their noses. Instead their patrols would be scouring coves where there were no fixed defences. And this was what Mike tried to believe, as Luciole and her sister ship, Volonté, sighted the village near Pointe de Beniguet.