The Restless Sea, page 38
‘I just want to find my sister,’ says Jack, his voice thick with anger.
The woman stops laughing. She leans towards them, her grey skin papery in the daylight. ‘If I were you, Jack Sullivan, I’d crawl back into the hole I’d crawled out of,’ she says. ‘That girl won’t want nothing to do with you, running off and leaving her and your mum without so much as a word. You always were a bad one.’
Olivia squeezes his hand more tightly. He feels the tension in his shoulders. ‘Come on,’ says Olivia. ‘Let’s go.’ He allows her to pull him back from the door.
‘If you do find him,’ Mrs Stoogley shouts after them, cackling again with laughter, ‘be sure to give me his forwarding address.’
Jack stops in the street, once they have walked a good distance from Stoog’s home. He braces his hands against the wall of a building, resting his forehead against its cool brick. Olivia comes up behind him, circling her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his back. ‘We’ll find her,’ she says.
‘They could be anywhere.’
‘We’ll keep looking.’
He shakes his head. ‘Everything I touch goes wrong.’
‘Not me.’ She pulls him around so that he is facing her.
He leans his forehead against hers, looks into her pale eyes and sees his own reflection there, and suddenly it hits him, how lucky he is. That despite everything – his past, the Aurora, Russia – despite it all, he is here, still living, still breathing, still here on the pavement with the smell of damp brick in his nostrils and the cold air nipping at his skin. More remarkably, in front of him there is this girl, with eyes the colour of the Arctic sea and hair the colour of the midnight sun, and she has waited for him against all odds. And she is here, this strange girl, who shouldn’t even be friendly with someone like him, and yet is determined to be with him, standing on the pavement too, with the smell of damp brick in her nostrils and the cold air nipping at her cheeks. And around them the world keeps turning and the traffic keeps moving and the people keep walking by.
Jack takes a step backwards, still holding Olivia, but now at arm’s length. The light falls across her face, making the blue of her eyes shine as though lit from inside. It is as if he is seeing her again for the very first time. She smiles a self-conscious smile, a blush sprinkling across the pale cheekbones as she tucks her hair behind her ear. They are both still so young, but he feels as old as the sea.
He drops on to one knee, and Olivia starts laughing and trying to tug him up on to his feet, but he kneels there, feeling the damp from the street soak up into his leg, the warmth of her hand in his, still gazing into her eyes. ‘Will you marry me?’ he says.
And she is still laughing and trying to pull him to his feet, and blushing, and passers-by are staring, but he doesn’t care.
‘Will you?’
‘If you stand up and stop making a spectacle of yourself …’
‘I won’t get up unless you give me an answer …’
‘All right!’
‘All right, you will?’
‘Yes! Of course I will.’
And then he is on his feet and his arms are around her and he can feel their hearts racing in their chests and he buries his face in her hair and lifts her off her feet. And he can do anything. He is invincible.
Later, as they lie talking to each other in the lamplight, he notices a shadow cross her face. ‘No regrets?’ he says. She shakes her head. He leans up on his elbow, strokes her cheek. ‘Is it your family? Are you worried about telling them?’
‘No. I don’t care what they say …’
‘Maybe. But they’re still your family. It’ll be tough …’
‘They’ll come around.’
‘There’s nothing else you’re worried about?’
She pauses for a moment, then smiles across at him. ‘Only that you keep yourself safe when you go back to the ships,’ she says.
And the shadow is gone.
CHAPTER 26
Olivia
Jack has gone to the Prescot Street pool, with his sea bag hitched up over his shoulder, his brow creased, his face serious, but his dark eyes dancing. Olivia does not try to dissuade him – they all have their parts to play. Her own orders have come through, and she is to be posted to HMS Helicon, something that once would have thrilled her. But she is dreading it. Too many memories. Of youth. Of freedom. Of happiness.
There is still no news of Charlie. It is bad enough that he is still missing, but to be part of the cause is a grey cloud that sits heavily in her breast. She misses Jack, fears for his safety out on the seas again. She cannot bear to read the reports any more, does not want to know the name of his ship in case she should see it there in the columns of black and white. She wants it all to stop, so that she can have her happy ending. But there is no end in sight. She is anchorless, drifting. The future is impossible to imagine, but the past invades her mind. Every day she thinks of her baby – their baby. She could not bring herself to tell Jack about it. He has lost too much. But she also wishes she had told him – so that they could mourn their loss together, and because she knows their marriage would be poisoned by keeping such a secret from him. She stumbles along, growing more miserable when she should be thriving.
The night before she is due to leave for Scotland, Olivia goes to Eddie’s Bar with the usual crowd. As always, it is busy and there are plenty of friends and acquaintances to drink and chatter with. But from the moment she arrives, she cannot shake the feeling that she is being watched, that someone is shadowing her. Yet whenever she turns and searches the glowing faces above the sea of navy and khaki, no one catches her eye. She tries to relax into the evening. The lights pick out the flash of polished buttons, regimental badges, stripes of rank, and the occasional splash of colour of women not in uniform. Dancers and drinkers stay close to hear each other above the music, men with hair brushed and slicked into place, women with neat curls held firm with pins. Friends come and go, spots of colour on their cheekbones, their eyes bright with living. Still Olivia feels under scrutiny, the skin on the back of her neck pricking. She loosens her collar and glances about, but there is no one there.
It is not until she is getting ready to go that Olivia feels a feathery touch on her arm. She swings around to see a dark-haired girl hovering at her elbow. Immediately a stab of recognition pulses through her, but she cannot pinpoint exactly where she has seen this girl before.
The girl watches Olivia’s friends slip out into the night. Her eyes are dark, made more so by the thick eyeliner painted around them. ‘Yes?’ says Olivia. ‘Can I help?’
The girl squirms a bit, apparently reluctant to speak, but then she says quietly, ‘Do you know Charlie?’
And then Olivia realises – of course she recognises this girl – she is the one that she had seen Charlie with on a few occasions. She hesitates, wonders how much the girl knows, does not want to be the one that breaks it to her. ‘You mean Charlie FitzHerbert?’ she says.
The girl nods. ‘I need to talk to him. It’s important.’
‘You haven’t heard?’
‘Heard what?’
‘I’m really sorry, but Charlie is missing.’
‘Is he dead?’
‘I hope not … We’re waiting for news … He went down somewhere off Norway …’
A look of despair mixed with confusion flickers across the girl’s face. ‘But when will you find out?’ she says.
‘I don’t know … We have to wait …’
‘But I can’t wait … There’s no time …’
‘Time for what?’
The girl’s eyes shift warily as if she is thinking whether to divulge what’s on her mind. Olivia puts out a comforting hand, to encourage her to confide, but the girl shrugs it off, stepping away and unconsciously smoothing her hands over her dress, letting them linger at her waistline. With a searing jolt Olivia recognises the telltale way that her fingers cradle protectively, and at once the loss of her own child tears again at her insides and she has to stop her knees from giving way.
The girl reads her face and laughs, a sharp, bitter sound. ‘You see …’ she says. ‘I needed to talk to him … but there’s no choice now …’ She moves to leave.
‘Wait,’ says Olivia. ‘Don’t go. There’s always a choice …’
But the girl is not listening. She is slipping away, beginning to push her thin arms into the coat draped over her elbow.
‘Stay, please. I might be able to help …’
The girl stops, twisting her face back around and hurling her words bitterly at Olivia. ‘How? You’ve got the money to pay?’
‘Pay for what?’ Olivia grabs hold of her coat, and the girl tries to wrench away and as they grapple with each other, she suddenly stops and gasps. She is staring at Olivia’s neck. The blood drains from her face and her eyes grow wider and she manages to yank her coat free, but instead of running, she stretches her hand towards Olivia’s throat, and, for a moment, Olivia isn’t sure what she is going to do – the girl seems so volatile. But instead of feeling fingers close around her neck, she feels her necklace dig into the back of her neck. The girl is holding the green pendant up to the dim light, twisting it and turning it, searching in its depths for something she recognises.
‘Where’d you get this?’ she says, her voice a whisper, her hands trembling.
And suddenly the truth hits Olivia: she doesn’t recognise this girl because she’s seen her with Charlie. She knows her because she has the same dark, wild eyes as Jack, and she says, ‘Betsy?’
But the girl has dropped the glass pendant, and she is backing away, tripping against the chairs and bumping into people as she goes.
‘Stop!’ Olivia calls.
But Betsy doesn’t stop, and through the haze of heat from the bodies, Olivia sees tears well up in her painted eyes. Then she turns and runs, barging through the crowds as if the devil is chasing her.
Olivia cannot sleep that night. She fiddles with her necklace in the quiet of the flat until it is as early as she dares to drive to Carl’s house. Carl is back with his family and getting used to life on civvy street. He has a job in a sheltered workshop that provides employment for people with disabilities; an increasing necessity with so many injured men returning home. Olivia hammers on the door with her important news. Mr Mills answers, bleary-eyed, but not surprised at being woken. Nights are often broken these days.
Carl comes limping out into the street after a few minutes.
‘Take me to Snowsfields,’ he says, after she has explained. ‘Stoog has got to have the answer.’
‘But they wouldn’t help last time …’
‘There’s always been bad blood between them and Jack. But Agnes and I used to be close.’
The sky is beginning to lighten by the time they reach the slums. Carl makes Olivia wait in the car. A mist sits over the warren of ramshackle buildings and narrow alleys, and it seems to her that it swallows Carl up. A lone dog trots past, in the same direction as Carl. It sticks close to the shadows, holding its body low as if expecting a blow at any moment. Then it too is gone and she is left to watch the empty street again, feeling her own yawning emptiness well up inside her.
She is relieved when she finally sees Carl’s broad figure emerge, a grim look on his face.
‘Got an address,’ he says. ‘Old Compton Street in Soho.’
‘And Betsy’s with him?’
He nods curtly. ‘Sounds like it.’
‘Let’s go,’ she says, turning the ignition.
‘I’m not sure it’s the kind of place I should be taking a young lady like yourself …’
‘You must know me better than that now.’
He slams the car door and glances across at her. ‘I thought you might say that …’
The rest of the city may be yawning from its slumber, but Soho never sleeps. Olivia feels safe next to Carl. Their pace is slow but purposeful. She turns her collar up against the gaudy music that trickles out of cracks in the buildings, ignoring the whistles of a passing soldier. Carl shoots the man a look, and he backs off, hands raised, as if offended that they could think badly of him. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ says Carl, and Olivia nods. ‘One thing, before we go on,’ says Carl, stopping to face her, his face serious. ‘If she is there, I think you should wait to tell her about you and Jack getting married. She’s going to be feeling very alone. Jack’s the only family she’s got left …’
‘I’ll wait. Maybe it’s best coming from Jack?’
‘I think that’s right. I’m sorry. You know I hate lying as much as the next man …’
‘It’s fine,’ says Olivia. ‘I understand.’ She knows about secrets.
The paint is peeling from the door, which leads to some flats above a shop. None of the bells works. Carl bangs on the wood with his fist. There is no answer. He bangs some more. Eventually they hear the shuffle of footsteps, and a pasty-looking girl with smudged lipstick opens it a crack.
‘Shove off,’ she says. ‘We’re closed for business.’
‘I’m looking for someone,’ says Carl.
‘Everyone’s looking for someone. Come back later.’
Undeterred, Carl presses on. ‘Goes by the name of Stoog.’
The girl hesitates for a moment, as if racking her brain. Then she shakes her head slowly. ‘No,’ she says. ‘No one by that name here.’
‘Reginald Stoogley?’
She raises her eyes, as if looking for an answer in the rotting doorframe. Then she shakes her head again. ‘No. No one by that name either.’
‘Look,’ says Carl, ‘we know he’s here. His family gave us the address.’
‘They lied, then,’ says the girl.
Olivia can tell Carl is beginning to feel ruffled. He doesn’t ask much from people, but he does expect them to be honest. ‘I think it’s you that’s lying,’ she says.
Olivia stands square as she feels the girl’s eyes look her up and down with disdain. ‘I don’t know what you think this is,’ she says, ‘but we don’t cater for your sort at all. Try somewhere else.’
Olivia ignores the jibe. ‘What about Betsy?’ she says. ‘Betsy Sullivan?’
The girl starts to close the door, but Carl keeps his hand on it, and the girl is unable to push any further. ‘Answer the lady,’ he says.
‘Don’t know no one of that name either. Now fuck off.’
‘Maybe you know her as Elizabeth …?’ says Olivia.
‘No. I’ve told you …’ Their voices are rising.
‘You’re not even listening …’
A man’s voice suddenly calls from inside the building.
‘What the hell’s going on out there?’
‘Some toff and her sidekick sticking their noses in …’
‘Tell her to sling her hook.’
Carl suddenly straightens up, cocking his head to listen. ‘Stoog?’ he says. ‘Reg Stoogley? Is that you?’ He tries to peer beyond the girl into the darkness, but she is blocking his view. ‘Stoog? I know it’s you …’ Carl’s voice is louder this time, and he easily pushes his way into the hallway. The girl staggers backwards and Carl follows, Olivia behind. The hall smells heavily of perfume and cigarette smoke. There is no natural light because the windows are covered in blackout.
‘I know you’re there, you bastard,’ Carl says again, and Olivia is surprised; she has never heard Carl use bad language before. There is a movement to one side, and Olivia can just make out the thin, tall body of a man in the shadows. He steps towards them as the girl scurries off towards the staircase.
‘Well, well. If it isn’t the daddy’s boy,’ says the man, baring his teeth. ‘How’d you find me? No, no. Don’t tell me. That stupid sister of mine …’
Olivia feels Carl tense. ‘I’m not here for trouble. I’m looking for Betsy,’ he says.
But Stoog is not listening. He is eyeing Olivia. ‘You’ve done well for yourself, haven’t you? Pretty little creature. Like the ones in uniform, do you?’
Olivia fights the urge to step away. Now that her eyes have grown accustomed to the dim light, she can see he has small, mean eyes that are darting across her body. She glares back, defiantly, hoping she looks unruffled. Inside, she is quivering.
‘Bit hard around the mouth, though,’ says Stoog. ‘I’m sure I could find you something more suitable …’
‘Just tell us where she is,’ says Carl. ‘We know you’ve seen her, and Jack’s looking for her …’
‘Jack?’ says Stoog, and Olivia does not miss the brief look of fear that flashes across his face. Then it is gone, and Stoog is on the offensive again. ‘He’s alive, is he? Well, you can tell him I haven’t seen Betsy since she was sent away. Just about the same time that he did another runner …’
Olivia is wondering how they are going to talk him around when she senses another figure move on the stairs. The girl from Eddie’s Bar has appeared on the bottom step. Even in the partial light, she is unmistakably Jack’s sister. The echo of Stoog’s voice dies to a silence as she walks towards them. The building seems to hold its breath.
‘Go back upstairs,’ says Stoog, his voice quiet and threatening.
But the girl draws closer, walking slowly, as if in a dream.
‘I said go upstairs,’ says Stoog, spitting the words this time.
But the girl has reached Carl and she is looking up at him with wonder. ‘Carl?’ she says. Her voice is quiet, as if she doesn’t dare say his name out loud in case he is a mirage that will evaporate at any moment.
‘Betsy, thank God!’ Carl holds out his hand, but she backs away, shaking her mass of dark, tangled hair. ‘It’s all right,’ he says. ‘We’ve come to get you …’
‘But where have you been?’
‘Working on the ships. Like we always said we would …’ His voice is calm and measured, as if talking to a frightened animal.
‘Jack …?’
‘He’s alive. He’s desperate to see you.’
