The Restless Sea, page 24
At Inverness she catches a ride to Poolewe, making it through the checkpoints with ease. She still has her pass, and now that she is returning in a uniform, she barely needs it.
Aunt Nancy’s home is bustling with the usual Wrens and dignitaries. The only place that is empty is the bothy. Aunt Nancy will give over any of her buildings to strangers apart from that one. ‘But of course you can stay there, my dear,’ she says. ‘I’m so glad we’ve all moved on. I knew you had it in you.’ She touches Olivia’s cheek. ‘And I’m so proud of you in that smart uniform. See you tomorrow? For lunch?’
‘Maybe. I’d like to go into the hills, and out to the bay, and to see Mac and Ben. It’ll be my last chance for a while.’
‘I understand, dear. Enjoy your yomps. I’ll be here if you need me.’ And she turns to help a woman with some logistical question. It is as if Olivia never left.
Olivia runs up to see Mac. Mrs Mac is still in her element, baking and washing and looking after the sailors who come to them as if they are her own boys. Olivia apologises for stealing milk from them all those months ago, and Mac whistles through his teeth while Mrs Mac gives her a squeeze and mutters something about true love. Thistle is in the paddock. He nuzzles her gently. She checks the back of his stable, but of course Hans is long gone. She wonders whether he ever made it.
The only thing that seems to have changed is the bothy: it feels empty of warmth, light, and laughter. She collects some coal and gets the stove going, opening the windows to shift the stale air. The shells along the sills are dull beneath a film of dust, and there are cobwebs strung across the corners of the rooms. Something has knocked soot down the chimney, and it takes time to sweep up the gritty mess. She wanders down to the water. The loch is still black with ships. The garden is overgrown: Greer is busy enough in the walled garden and beyond. Olivia picks some delicate blue forget-me-nots and places them in a vase in the kitchen. A faint breeze blows through the open window, bringing with it the smell of salt and seaweed. The sound of the oystercatchers whistling across the loch reminds her that she is finally home.
It doesn’t grow dark until very late. She lights a fire, losing herself in the flames. At almost midnight there is a knock on the door. She goes to it, her heart in her mouth. When she opens it, Jack is standing there, looking down at her, taller, broader than she remembers. His thick dark hair is matched by prickly stubble on his cheeks.
He enters the cottage awkwardly. Olivia takes his coat to hang on a peg. She feels odd, out of sync. She wants to throw her arms around him, but it wouldn’t be right. Jack shows her the new badge he wears on his lapel. It is a knotted rope around the initials M and N. There is a crown on the top with sailing ships. It is made of brass and designed to fit in a buttonhole. He is very proud of it. ‘To show we’re pulling our weight,’ he says.
‘As if anyone could think otherwise.’
‘You’d be surprised. We’ve got no uniform. People put two and two together and get five.’
She is glad she has changed out of her own uniform.
In the kitchen, Olivia makes tea. ‘It’ll be a bit like before,’ she says. ‘We won’t be able to go out on the loch. Aunt Nancy doesn’t know you’re here.’
‘Which means I get you all to myself,’ he says, pulling her close, and at last she can sink into his arms.
Jack is exhausted. This is the first week’s leave he has had in almost a year. There are new, faint lines across his brow and at the corners of his eyes. He has turned from green apprentice to old hand on the endless round of convoys – to America, Canada, Gibraltar, Africa. ‘I don’t want to talk about it now,’ he says. ‘I’d much rather hear what you’ve been doing.’
She knows not to press him. With a pang, she remembers the change in Charlie, the creeping shadows in his eyes. Jack falls asleep on the sofa. She finds a blanket and lays it over him. She sits on the floor and stares at him sleeping there, his face relaxed, the skin smooth and young again.
They are up and out of the cottage by five thirty. Jack is used to being on watch, and Olivia is too excited to sleep. The arctic terns are back, skimming the water, their slender white tails streaming behind them like sea swallows. Jack and Olivia spend the week wandering over the hills, revisiting the places they went when they first met. They see the seals out on the point, curled into crescents, fanning their tails in the air. They watch the gannets diving into the sea, their wings folded back as they hurtle into the water with a splash. They forage for wild garlic, and cook it on the beach. At low tide, they search for purple glistening fronds of edible dulse seaweed in the secret bay. It is the safest beach for them to be on: away from prying eyes, and almost impossible to get to.
Olivia asks her aunt if she can dig up some vegetables this time, taking more than she needs and hoping that Aunt Nancy will put it down to her being extra hungry after living on naval rations. They spend as little time in the bothy as possible, worried that Jack might be discovered, only going back to warm some water to wash in.
Jack watches Olivia stir his clothes in the pot she has heated on the stove. ‘Reminds me of my mother,’ he says quietly.
Olivia keeps on stirring, the smell of the soap flakes filling her nostrils.
Jack carries on. ‘That and the candles,’ he says. ‘There was always a candle burning because we never had pennies for the meter. I like the way a candle makes things look better than they are.’
‘You mean the light?’
He nods. ‘It makes everything warmer. And you can’t see the damp and the mould. Maybe that’s why I like it here so much.’
‘Because of the candles?’
‘Because it reminds me of my family.’
Olivia leaves the clothes to soak and walks over to where he is sitting. She reaches out to stroke his hair, and he leans his head against her stomach. ‘You miss them,’ she says.
He lets out a long breath. ‘If she wasn’t using it for washing our clothes, then it was for washing us. We put the tin bath in front of the fire. Betsy hated going in it, but I loved it. It meant it was Sunday, and that school was the next day.’ He pauses. ‘I missed school when I left. We used to get milk there. And food at dinnertime.’ Olivia kisses the top of his head. ‘And then the baths stopped too. We didn’t have enough money for coal. We washed in cold water, but our feet and hands hurt like they were bruised.’
‘Chilblains?’
He nods.
‘We were hungry a lot. That made the cold worse. It’s hard to get warm on an empty stomach.’
Olivia does not know what to say.
‘My mum often went without, so as me and Betsy had a bit of food. If we got one meal a day, we were lucky.’
There is a long silence, punctuated only by their breathing – his heavy and fast, as if reliving the past; hers light and shallow, not wanting to distract him from his memories.
‘I started stealing to help.’
‘It’s understandable,’ she says. ‘You were desperate.’
‘After Walt went, we couldn’t afford new clothes. Betsy used to wear a pair of Walt’s old socks as tights. We held them up with suspenders, but they were always falling down and she was always yanking them up again.’ He smiles at the memory. ‘My mum made new clothes out of my dad’s old ones. She cut them up and sewed them to fit …’
‘She was resourceful …’
‘It didn’t feel right wearing my dad’s clothes. I still hoped he would come back …’
‘I know,’ she says, pressing him into her, willing some of the bad memories to be absorbed into her own body.
‘She used a sewing machine,’ he says. ‘Not just for our clothes, but for others on the street too …’
‘That must have helped …’
‘It did. But she bought it with money I gave her from things I’d thieved.’
Olivia kneels down in front of him and takes his face in her hands. His eyes are black, impenetrable, glittering in the candlelight. She forces him to look straight into her own. He looks so ashamed. ‘Enough,’ she says. ‘You did what you had to. The important thing is you got yourself out of that situation. That’s real strength of character and I think you’re amazing.’
They take a couple of blankets back up to the rowan pool as they did before, making a bed of the soft moss, the smell of peat in their nostrils. They catch snatches of the men on the loch below singing and calling to each other, and of music playing, the sounds drifting out across the water and up into the hills where they lie. It is another dance by the hotel.
Olivia traces Jack’s tattoo with her index finger, enjoying the feel of his skin against hers as they watch the sky turn from pale blue to indigo.
She hears his voice echo in his chest. ‘I’ve got a feeling this one’s a Russian run,’ he says. ‘We’re assembling in Reykjavik.’
Olivia senses something – a deep fear they have been trying to avoid, a darkness like the sun being blotted out for ever by an eclipse. He has told her about the convoys he has sailed on, about the cold of Canada and the heat of Africa and all the places they have delivered supplies to around the world. And he has also told her how the Russian convoys are the ones that strike the coldest fear into the sailors’ hearts. ‘I thought the Aurora was a lucky ship?’ She tries to sound bright and confident, but she has to force the words from her throat.
‘So they say.’ Olivia moves her head to rest it in the dip below his shoulder, breathing in his warm, safe smell. They listen to the trickle of the burn. They watch the stars come out, one by one, pinprick holes in a threadbare blanket.
‘The Germans know what we’re doing now,’ he says. ‘They’ve taken out more and more of us in the last few trips.’
Olivia doesn’t know what to say. There is nothing comforting about heading into the path of the enemy.
‘I don’t want to go again,’ he says.
She rests a hand on his chest, feels the heart beating inside beneath the flesh and bone, just like her own. ‘I don’t want you to go either,’ she says. There is no doubt in her mind. She wants to be with Jack, and she gives herself wholeheartedly to him on the hillside as the grey loch glints like cold steel in the moonlight below.
The day before Jack’s ship is expected, they are clambering down on to the secret beach, when Olivia stops dead in her tracks. Jack follows her gaze. There on the rocks, where the burn dissolves into the sea, is an otter. Jack doesn’t spot it until a second one appears from the water, its wet fur catching the sunlight. The wind is blowing inshore, and the creatures aren’t aware of them.
The otters chase and skip and bound and hop after each other, racing along the shoreline and back to the burn, diving in, twisting, turning, bounding out again. Sometimes they are such a tangle of white chests and webbed feet, bristly whiskers and beady eyes that it is hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. But as soon as they notice Jack and Olivia, they stand up on their hind legs before diving into the water together, in perfect symmetry, noses first, thick tails behind.
‘They’re the first I’ve seen here,’ says Olivia, exhaling at last. ‘That is most definitely a sign of good luck.’ She squeezes Jack’s hand.
‘How’s that?’
‘You should know. It’s tradition: an otter protects against drowning. You’re going to be fine.’
Jack pulls her close. ‘If we’re talking of luck,’ he says. ‘I want you to have this.’ He draws a gold chain from his pocket and holds it up in front of her. There is a pendant on the end that flashes green in the sunshine.
‘It’s lovely,’ she says, catching the pendant in her hand and holding it up to the light, looking at the star glinting at its centre. ‘It’s very unusual. What is it?’
‘It’s a piece of glass,’ he says. ‘My sister found it.’
She lets it go and it swings from his hand. ‘You can’t give me that,’ she says. ‘It’s too precious.’
‘You’re precious.’
‘Where did she find it?’
He winces. The memory is painful. ‘Cherry Garden Pier. It was our favourite haunt on a Sunday …’
‘What did she look like?’
‘Me. Only smaller. Skinnier.’ He smiles as he remembers. ‘That was the last time I saw her properly happy,’ he says.
‘Keep it until you find her.’
He shakes his head. ‘Please take it,’ he says. ‘I had it made for you especially.’
She stretches up to kiss his cheek. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she says. ‘Thank you.’
She turns to let him fasten it around her neck. Then she unties her knife from around her waist. ‘It’s not quite in the same league, but I want you to have this,’ she says.
‘Won’t you need it?’
‘You can return it when you come back.’
‘I will.’
‘Promise.’
‘I promise.’
As they climb back over the hill, and the loch spreads out below them, Jack spots a familiar shape on the water. The Aurora is here.
CHAPTER 16
Jack
They hold each other all night, their arms and legs intertwined, each trying to ignore the fact that the ship is out there, crouching on the loch. Olivia drifts off in the early hours, but Jack can’t sleep and he can’t say goodbye. He leaves before Olivia is awake. He looks at her soft face in the pale morning light. The worry is gone. The skin is smooth and brown. She breathes gently against the pillow, her lips slightly parted. He kisses her cheek. He doesn’t think there can be anything softer and more beautiful than her skin.
He creeps into the hall with his clothes in his hand and dresses. He quietly opens the door and glances back into the bothy one last time. There is a pain in his chest that he could do without.
He clicks the door to and grabs the bicycle. He is at the jetty in no time. The early morning sun falls across the hills that he has come to know so well. Delicate wisps of clouds touch their peaks. What he would give to be going back up there today. He can almost smell the heather and the bog myrtle.
He persuades one of the Wrens to take him to the Aurora. As they draw near the ship, he sees she has a new gun above her stern. She is very low in the water; her holds already packed. There is a whistle and a shout as he approaches. Carl leans over the side and waves at him. Jack is pleased to see his friend’s face.
Apart from a couple of new men, including a gunner, the Aurora’s crew is the same. The Old Man is in the wheelhouse studying a chart, running his finger across the grids and boxes. He nods at Jack. There is no hanging around. They have refuelled and are due to set sail within the hour.
They travel to Hvalfjordur with three other merchant ships and a small naval escort. On the way, the escort spots a floating mine and blows it up. After the peace of the hills, the explosions and gunfire, and the fountains of water and billowing cloud set Jack’s teeth on edge. An empty feeling opens like a hole in the pit of his stomach. It gets worse as they steam up the familiar fjord four days later. The jagged, snow-topped hills are the same, but on the water there are more – many more – ships from all over the world, and particularly America. The ragged Stars and Stripes – battered from the journey across the Atlantic – flail in a biting wind above the small and rusty, dark and dirty workhorses of the seas. All the ships are low in the water, and as the Aurora draws closer Jack can see why: above the rammed holds, many have trucks, tanks and even aeroplanes lashed to their decks.
This time only Captain Andersson and First Mate Russell are allowed to leave the ship. They meet the commodore and captains of the other vessels on shore to discuss the route, signals and formation of the convoy. Many of these ships have been here for weeks, and the mood is edgy. There have been fights and incidents with the Icelanders. The American sailors have been consigned on board. Frustration and rage hang like clouds around their ships: they have made it all the way from home, and across the Black Pit, and now they are stuck on board, tripping over each other, desperate to stretch their legs and see something other than uniforms and insipid food. The men are sick of the sight of each other.
Jack and the rest of his crew are happy to stick on board and watch as more ships chug into the fjord. They have been through so much together – things that no friends or family would understand. Besides, it keeps them away from the ugly rumours and whispered news about recent attacks on the Russian run. The previous convoy lost eight merchant ships. The Admiralty don’t even want this convoy to get under way while there is still the perpetual light of the Arctic summer. But the politicians win, and the order comes. Jack and Carl have just started the first dog watch. The sky is grey. Jack tries to count the ships that are leaving with them, but when he gets to twenty-six, he gives up: the two columns stretch as far as he can see and well beyond. The Stars and Stripes now fly alongside the red flag of Russia with its golden sickle, the blue cross of Norway, the blue and red stars of Panama, and the Dutch – and of course the Red Duster of the British merchant marine.
At the front of the convoy the commodore sends his messages through the flags and signal lamp, the next boat repeating the message, and the next and the next, until they all receive the order to speed up or slow down or change direction.
As soon as they are out of the fjord, the sea starts to surge and swell. The sun disappears. In its place comes a steady battering of sleet. The stream of ships begins to form up nine abreast in four rows. Their British, American and Russian naval escort forms a protective ring of firepower. Jack glimpses anti-aircraft ships, submarine trawlers, minesweepers, corvettes, destroyers – they’ve heard there are even British and Russian submarines. There is almost one warship for every merchant ship. The Navy men stand to attention at their bows, rows and rows of peaked hats beneath the pale steam streaming from mighty funnels. The light reflects off the water, off the ships, off their guns, their depth charges, their rockets.
