The Restless Sea, page 36
And then a letter arrives for Olivia from Charlie, written before he disappeared. There is nothing quite as depressing as a letter that has been written by someone who may not be alive any more. The writing runs across the paper, transcribed there by a living, breathing Charlie, perhaps the last words he will ever write. Olivia opens it carefully, pushing the image of Charlie bent over it, pen in hand, handsome face furrowed in concentration, solid, dependable arm moving across the page.
Maggie hovers next to her. ‘What does it say?’ she asks, as Olivia gasps.
Olivia is shaking her head, astonished. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she says.
‘Believe what?’ Maggie snatches the paper and starts to read it herself.
‘He’s alive!’
‘Who? Charlie?’
‘No. Jack. Jack’s alive. And Charlie found him …’
‘What are you talking about?’ Maggie’s eyes are as wide as Olivia’s, her neat eyebrows arched high.
‘He tracked Jack down, and he’s alive. It sounds like Jack might have been on the ship that Charlie was protecting.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘We know that Charlie went missing protecting the return convoy, and look there’ – she points at the paper – ‘he says that Jack was safe with the Navy on a return convoy. So he must have been part of the same thing …’
Maggie turns from her and walks towards the window, shoulders slumped.
Olivia follows, trying to put a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder, but the Wren shrugs it off. ‘Oh Maggie,’ says Olivia. ‘Please try not to worry. I’m sure Charlie will be fine. He’s a survivor too …’ She is struggling to keep the joy out of her voice.
Maggie glances at her with eyes full of disdain. Her pretty face is red and blotchy. ‘You know, if it’s true, then it’s all your fault,’ she says.
‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘If you can’t see, then you’re an idiot.’ Maggie chews at her lip, then turns her back on Olivia and resumes staring out at the frosty city.
‘Maggie …’ The ache that has been coming on and off for the past week is now pulsing inside her. She rests a hand on her stomach, willing the pain to subside.
‘He didn’t do it for anyone but you,’ says Maggie.
‘I don’t understand.’ Olivia’s heart begins to race. She cannot bear that Maggie is so upset. And now there is a sharp stab of pain, and something is not quite right, but she is trying to concentrate on what Maggie is saying, even though she doesn’t want to hear the words.
‘If Charlie knew that Jack was on that ship, then he went up to protect Jack for you. Not for me. Not for Jack. For you. Because he knew how much Jack means to you. And now he’s gone. And it’s all your fault.’
Olivia backs away, sitting down heavily in the armchair. She knows it is true. She wants to apologise. Of course it is not what she intended when she asked Charlie to search for Jack. She wants to explain, but the pain is so intense now, and she can feel liquid trickle from between her legs. She won’t make it to the lavatory. She bends over double, bracing herself against the floor.
Maggie crouches down, concerned, her face swimming in and out of focus in front of Olivia. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asks, but as the words leave her mouth, it is all too obvious as the dark blood spreads in a purple stain. ‘Shit,’ she says. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ She places Olivia’s arm around her shoulder, pulling her up. ‘That’s right,’ she says. ‘Lean on me. Let’s get you into the bathroom.’
The pain in Olivia’s womb has already lessened, but it has been replaced by a different pain, a hollowness that feels as if it might chew her up from the inside.
Maggie starts to run a bath, the steam rises from the gushing water, adding to the fog in Olivia’s eyes.
‘We need to get you to a doctor,’ says Maggie.
‘I can’t move,’ says Olivia. She dares not in case she makes things worse.
‘But there might be an infection or something. You need to check it’s all …’ she pauses briefly ‘… to check it’s all gone,’ she says.
‘But it might be all right …’
‘No, darling. I don’t think it’s going to be all right,’ says Maggie, squeezing her arm and stroking her hair. ‘I’m so sorry. So so sorry.’
Deep down, Olivia knows her friend is right. She does not resist as Maggie gently peels away her clothes. She sits there, curled against the sink, wishing she could be left alone for ever.
The doctor’s surgery is bright and modern, everything in it sharply in focus. It is a world away from the blurry fog of the hot bathroom. It is a world without Jack’s baby in it. The nurse is reassuringly matronly, and the doctor is kind, with a foreign accent and a worn face. ‘I don’t think the foetus was ever fully formed,’ he says. ‘It has been dead for some time.’
‘Thank God,’ says Maggie. ‘I’d never have forgiven myself …’
But the horror of this – that Olivia has been carrying a dead child around with her without realising – is added to the horror that her baby is gone.
‘There should be no infection,’ says the doctor. ‘I think everything has passed.’
The matter-of-fact way he says it does not lessen the blow. She feels guilty for ever having wondered whether she should get rid of it. And now she has no choice. She feels guilty for having told Charlie about it, who risked his life to protect a dead baby’s father. She feels guilty that she did not know that her baby was dead and that she did not mourn its passing until now. She lies on the bed and feels empty. Of emotion. Of life. Of Jack’s baby. Of her baby.
‘I’m so sorry, darling,’ says Maggie. ‘I don’t know what else to say. Except it would have been so tough … You wouldn’t have been able to work … And your parents …?’ Her voice tails off. Olivia knows she is trying to help, but she had dealt with all these things in her mind. She would have coped somehow. And now she won’t be able to cope.
‘It is likely that your friend may have the same problem in the future,’ says the doctor.
‘What do you mean?’ Maggie asks.
‘I mean that there’s a possibility that she is unable to carry a baby full-term. But at least she knows this now. Next time she conceives, she will need to see her doctor and explain. She will need to keep an eye on things and take it easy.’
If there ever is a next time. Olivia rolls on to her side and pulls the blanket up around her shoulders.
‘You should tell your husband. You might find it helps. And he will need to mourn the loss in his own way.’
Maggie looks at him and shakes her head.
‘Oh. He did not know?’ The doctor is washing his hands, soaping up the fingers and right up the arms.
Maggie grimaces. ‘Oh. No husband?’ Maggie shakes her head. The doctor dries his hands. ‘If it makes you feel better, you are not alone.’
Olivia doesn’t answer. She just wants them all to leave her in this room. Leave her with her grief and her empty stomach. Leave her to jump into the black hole.
The doctor bends down. ‘I really am sorry,’ he says. ‘It is refreshing to see someone who is not trying to get rid of it for once. I am just sad it did not work out for you.’
There is suddenly a kerfuffle at the door, and the doctor hurries to attend as a woman is dragged in. She is unconscious and carried by two women who look as if they might be her sisters. The doctor points to a table where they lie her down. Olivia can see the sheen of fever on her pallid skin. The doctor moves purposefully, issuing instructions, his hands working over her body swiftly, the only man in a room full of damaged women.
The nurse urges them to leave. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘We have little space here, and there are bound to be more tonight.’
‘Will she be all right?’ Maggie asks, glancing at the lifeless woman as she helps Olivia put her shoes back on.
‘I do hope so,’ says the nurse. ‘Dr Hartmann does the best he can, but these backstreet abortionists … They’re criminal. Knitting needles, castor oil, gin, soap solution, poison. We’ve even had girls who have been told to throw themselves down the stairs. Looks like this one’s got a ruptured womb. Most of them use unsterilised equipment. It’s disgusting. Of course, until it’s legalised, we’ve just got to hope that some of them find their way here.’
Maggie nods. ‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘How much do we owe?’
‘Nothing. We didn’t do anything. Just make sure your friend rests for as long as possible.’
Rest is not possible. Olivia cannot claim leave; she would have to explain her pregnancy to her CO, and that is something she is not ready to do. No. She will soldier on. She will focus on the happiness that is the imminent return of Jack. She is not the only person who is suffering. She will get up in the morning and paint a smile on her face, just as thousands of people do every day, even though they know they will carry their heartbreak within for ever.
CHAPTER 25
Jack
Jack stands on the cruiser’s crowded quarterdeck, half-wishing he had been left behind on the sinking destroyer. The cruiser has made good speed away from the chaos, the planes have long disappeared towards the coast, and the U-boats have been seen off by the Navy. The rescued men are jostling for space, cursing the Germans and talking of home. The sea is less brutal.
A man is elbowing his way through the crowd. ‘Sullivan?’ he shouts. ‘Jack Sullivan?’
The seamen shake their heads and move out of the way until Jack is left facing the man. ‘Jack Sullivan?’ the man says again.
Jack nods.
‘Come with me.’
Jack follows, ready to be isolated again. The sailors stare at him as he goes.
But instead of heading down below deck, the man pushes his way up into the bridge. The captain is busy inspecting charts and talking, but as soon as Jack’s escort whispers in his ear, the captain stops what he’s doing. He comes towards Jack, his hand outstretched. ‘Honoured to have you on board,’ he says. ‘We’ve just been told you were part of that July convoy. Must have been hellish. No doubt you have quite some story to tell.’ Jack does not reply.
Jack’s escort says, ‘I’m sorry, sir. I think the man is overwhelmed.’
The captain nods, and says, ‘Of course. Of course. Anything you need, Sullivan, let the purser here know.’
Although the ship is packed with survivors, Jack is given his own cabin. A steward brings him cocoa and warm food, and he is left alone again. He does not eat. The ship surges and sways beneath him. It takes most of his strength not to let the panic take over. There is a small mirror by the sink. He barely recognises himself any more. He picks up a razor and begins to shave, scraping the grime away. He wonders what it would feel like to score the blade into his flesh. He resists the urge, washing his face and hands endlessly in the warm water instead. When he looks at himself, clean-shaven in the mirror, he is shocked to see his father staring back at him with sad eyes.
After a while, the captain comes to see him again. ‘You’ll have a proper debrief in London,’ he says, ‘but I’m going to recommend you for a Lloyds war medal for bravery.’ Jack stares at the wall. He thinks about Mart and Burts. The Old Man and Russell. Don’t they deserve something too? When the captain has left, Jack washes his hands again, rubbing and rubbing at them until the water grows cold. He cannot bear to look in the mirror in case his father is still there, staring back at him.
They arrive at Loch Ewe without further incident. Jack does not come on deck. He does not want to see the hills and the beaches, or the ships that are waiting to return to Russia. He does not want to see what was the last view of Britain for so many of his friends. The loch is full of ghosts. He stays below deck until they reach Portsmouth, a few days later, and Jack is led blinking into the daylight as the ship docks. The Navy men are lined up along the rails, rows and rows of circular white hats watching another ancient, bombed city roll past.
Jack is taken to the naval hospital. The doctors are amazed by his resilience, shaking their heads and muttering as they tick off their lists. The only signs of his ordeal are slight damage to the toes on his left foot and mild malnutrition. They are happy that he answers their questions with a yes or a no; he is clearly a man of few words. He allows them to poke and prod, regaining his strength during long hours of sleep interspersed by decent food. He is not questioned closely on why he was missing for so long; miraculous stories of survival are still filtering through from Russia. He does not ask them to contact Olivia. He cannot think how he will face her, what he will say, how he can ever explain the last few months. He wants to see her, but he does not want her to see him.
Two weeks later, Jack is due to be discharged. They have given him clean, new clothes, and he is wondering where he will go, which port, which seamen’s home, when the ward sister comes to tell him that someone is here to collect him.
And now here is Olivia walking tentatively towards his bed. She looks different somehow. Perhaps it’s the uniform.
‘Jack!’ she says. ‘I can’t believe it. I’d almost given up hope …’
He tries to welcome her, even as he feels his body shrink away. He cannot understand why he is so glad to see her yet his voice is coming out flat and dull. ‘Me too,’ he says. It is not how he wants it to be at all.
She touches his arm and he flinches involuntarily. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘You must be exhausted.’ Still he says nothing. He wants to, he really does, but he can’t think of anything to say. She rattles on: ‘You’re probably wondering how I knew you were here? Do you remember my friend Charlie? He wrote and told us what had happened. You’re a hero,’ she adds.
Jack presses his fingers into his eyes. When he takes them away, she is still there, bright, almost glowing, but he feels numb. She tucks her hair behind her ears. ‘You’re being discharged,’ she continues. ‘I’ve come to take you …’ She stops, biting her lip. ‘I’m to take you back to London,’ she says. ‘If you want?’
He tries to nod his agreement. The move is almost imperceptible. He hates himself for the lethargy, the inability to communicate his gladness at seeing her, but still he cannot find the energy even to smile.
‘Have you got anything else to bring?’ Her voice is brisk, forced. He shakes his head. He has been stripped of everything. There is nothing left except for what she sees: a survivor, a thief.
‘Come on, then,’ she says. ‘Let’s get you back. I’ve got a place to stay. Once you’re there and you’ve had a wash and a sleep, you’ll feel much better …’ But he can hear the uncertainty creeping into her voice.
Olivia has been drafted to a shore establishment at Chelsea, so it makes sense to stay at the flat. Maggie is there too, anxiously waiting for the post every day. There has been no further news since the telegram from Charlie’s squadron CO.
Jack tries to console her: ‘Your friend helped save a lot of lives that day,’ he says. ‘Not just mine.’
But Maggie turns away, using her red hair as a shield. She seems to have trouble meeting his eyes. She clearly does not want to talk to him, which only makes him feel worse: that someone has risked their life to save someone as wretched as he is.
Olivia fusses over him. There is something sharp and unnatural in the way she laughs sometimes. She is holding something back. Perhaps she has come to her senses. Perhaps she is regretting ever having got involved. He longs to hold her close, but all he can do is push her further away, to avoid the inevitable.
She grabs hold of his hand as he passes. ‘I need to speak to you,’ she says. Her pale eyes search his face. He dreads what they will find there.
‘I’ve told you. I can’t talk about it yet,’ he says. He cannot share his thoughts with her, they are too dark, too frightening.
‘I know,’ she says. ‘And I’m not going to make you. You’ll do that when you’re ready.’
He thinks he will never be ready.
‘It’s something else,’ she says. Her face is clouded, secretive. He wonders what she is about to reveal. He is not sure he is ready for more darkness.
He sits down on the edge of the bed, and she sits next to him, her hand on his arm. He tries not to pull it away, and it stays there, heavy, leaden. He notices something he has not noticed before: the shadows beneath her eyes and the ghost of a sadness behind her smile. He puts it down to her anxiety about him. She clears her throat. ‘I’ve been trying to find your sister,’ she says.
A jolt goes through him. He was not expecting that. ‘And?’
‘I traced her to where your old school was evacuated to in Devon …’ She withdraws her hand from his arm and twists it nervously in her lap. ‘But it seems she ran away, and no one knows where she went.’
Jack sags forward on the bed, putting his head in his hands. ‘That’d be right,’ he says.
‘But it doesn’t mean you should give up hope.’
‘Hope? Don’t talk to me about hope. There is no hope.’
‘There’s always hope.’
‘Don’t you see? It means she’s dead too.’
‘No. Why do you think that?’
‘Where else would she have run but home? And you know what happened to that.’ He can almost taste the rubble, the dust.
‘She could just as easily have gone somewhere else …’
‘There wasn’t anywhere else.’
‘A friend?’
‘She didn’t have any friends. She stuck to me like a shadow.’
‘Maybe there was someone after you …’
‘Stop being so fucking positive.’ He cannot help saying it, even though it is exactly what he loves about her. ‘Can’t you see I’ve brought this on myself? My mother died alone because of me. Why not my sister too?’
Jack is sent to talk to members of the naval intelligence staff, who fire questions at him that he finds impossible to answer. He can’t sleep. He looks at Olivia and her smooth skin, her perfect smile, but he sees Anya and her gaunt cheeks, her missing tooth. Olivia’s attempts at cheerfulness grate on his nerves. Maggie’s moroseness is as bad. He thinks about Dmitri and Elena and their empty larder. He thinks about Betsy in the rubble. He thinks about dying. He is already partly dead. He doesn’t feel the cold any more. When Olivia says, ‘You need to wear a jumper or you’ll freeze to death,’ he loses his temper. ‘You have no idea what it’s like to freeze to death,’ he shouts.
