The Restless Sea, page 45
CHAPTER 31
Jack
Jack has no trouble in finding decent berths: there is an endless supply of merchant ships that need crew and officers, particularly of Jack’s calibre, with his discharge book full of exemplary records. Whenever he is discharged from one ship, he signs on to another, finding comfort in the routine and hierarchy of the vessels, which work in similar fashion, even if the size of their crew or type of cargo differs. The constant change suits him: there is no chance to build meaningful friendships. He travels the world, running the gauntlet of the Atlantic, transporting the arms and ammunition, food and fuel needed to keep Britain going. Although he has not taken the exam, he is now second mate, with responsibilities for navigation and watch-keeping as well as overseeing cargo operations when in dock. As he studies the nautical charts and tide and current, his thoughts settle. He finds he can remember Mart and Burts, Si and David, without being overwhelmed by a black cloud. The scars on his arms begin to heal.
He absorbs Olivia’s letters, amazed that she and Carl have found Betsy, and reassured that his sister is safe in Scotland. He longs for the day he will see them both, but still does not take leave, as Olivia assures him it will be easier for them all to meet in London in the new year. And then comes the double bombshell about Betsy’s pregnancy – and her own. He is shocked about Betsy, but it is nothing compared to the news that Olivia had carried her own baby – their baby. He cannot believe that she did not share it with him when they were last together in London, but then he remembers the state he was in; he did not make it easy for her. He remains on the ships, trying to work out what he will say when he sees her, building up the courage to face both of the women he has let down.
Then it becomes harder to find a position on a ship: so many are being requisitioned and diverted to the south coast of Britain. The sailors are not stupid; they know that something is afoot. There is a rumour that there is to be a vast assault on the French coast involving thousands of ships. This could be the end of the war – or the end of him. Now is the time to take the leave he has accrued. It is time to face up to his past.
Jack arrives in London on a sunny May afternoon. There are birds singing in the rubble, and the city seems cleaner than when he was last here. He passes some GIs demonstrating the jitterbug on the pavement while onlookers clap and smile. Everywhere he looks, there are uniformed men from every Allied country, many of them walking hand-in-hand with uniformed women. He passes a couple entwined beneath a tree; groups relaxing on the grass. The colour of the advertising hoardings seems brighter; there is expectation in the air.
As Jack reaches the flat, his steps falter. It has been so long – more than a year. How could Olivia still feel the same about him after all she has been through? He stands in the street and removes his hat, twisting it nervously in his hands, but before he raises his hand to knock on the door, Olivia is opening it, smiling at him, gripping him in the circle of her arms.
‘I’m so glad to see you,’ she says, pulling him inside.
Jack follows her up the stairs. She offers to take his coat, hanging it on the peg in the hall. He is relieved to see that there are no other coats apart from hers. He leans his sea bag up against the wall and follows her into the sitting room. She turns to face him. They are dancing around each other like strangers.
‘Well, say something,’ she says, her pale eyes searching his anxiously.
The light is streaming through the window, picking out a golden halo above her head. She is something wonderful, something perfect. He is in awe. She tucks her hair behind her ear, and it reminds him of the gangly girl he met all that time ago on the loch. But she is a woman now. A woman who has travelled the length and breadth of the country, giving orders to men like him.
‘It’s going to be all right,’ he says. And as he says it, he is sure it’s true, and she nods, and they hold each other again, and he realises that she isn’t that different: she still needs him, and his heart swells and he knows he will protect her at all costs.
But there is still the problem of his sister.
Jack yells Stoog’s name from the street. Faces appear at neighbouring windows, passers-by cross to the other side of the road. Jack does not care. He keeps yelling until the door opens and he forces his way in, breaking Stoog’s nose with the palm of his hand as he does so.
‘Where is she?’ he says, wheeling around to glare at his old friend.
There was a time when they were evenly matched, but Jack is far stronger now after years of physical work, and Stoog does not even try to defend himself as Jack gathers him up by the shirt. ‘Where?’ he says. The blood is running from Stoog’s nostrils, a dark, glistening trail that flows unchecked from his chin. Jack pushes him away with disgust, and Stoog backs off, holding his nose.
‘Betsy?’ Jack’s voice rings out around the house, sending the dust from the lampshades in the hall, and echoing up the staircase.
Stoog glances to the stairs, and Jack follows his gaze and his heart leaps. There she is. Older, taller, but still the same Betsy, with her tangle of dark hair and her huge eyes.
She is down in the hall in seconds and he cannot believe that she is really here, in front of him. He reaches out and she grasps his hand. ‘You know it’s not just me any more?’ she says.
He nods, noticing for the first time the small child clamped to her hip. Betsy points at Jack. ‘Alfie, this is your Uncle Jack,’ she says.
The child arches away from him and Betsy tuts and tries to prise his fingers from her waist. She finally unpeels him and places him on the floor, ignoring the pleading hands that grab at her skirt. She turns to Jack, hesitates for a moment, and then they are both hugging and sobbing, and Jack is holding her away from him so he can look at her face again.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he says as he clutches her to him again. It is all he can say; he is lost for words. Once he thought he was the only surviving member of his family. Now there are three of them.
He crouches down, holds out a hand. ‘Hello, Alfie,’ he says, but the boy shrugs away again, his eyes large as his mother’s. He lets go of Betsy’s skirt and falls to the floor. He cannot walk yet. He shuffles backwards. Jack cannot help noticing that his hands are grubby, the nails black with dirt. He stands. ‘You’re both coming with me,’ he says.
Stoog emerges from the shadows, spitting the blood from his mouth. ‘She don’t want to go anywhere. She’s staying with me,’ he says. Jack holds up a warning finger, and Stoog stops dead. ‘You think you’re better than us now, do you?’
‘I know I’m better than you,’ Jack replies.
‘Leave it, you two,’ says Betsy.
‘Get your things,’ says Jack, without taking his eyes off Stoog.
‘Don’t hurt him, Jack.’
‘I’m not going to hurt him. I’m going to kill him.’ Jack flexes his hands.
‘You won’t,’ says Betsy. ‘You’ll leave him alone.’
The child starts to cry, and Betsy lifts him reluctantly on to her hip. A thin dribble of snot hangs from his crusted nose.
‘I’m not coming with you,’ says Betsy.
‘You bloody are,’ says Jack.
‘I don’t want to live with you and Lady Manners.’
‘You’re not staying here.’
‘This is my home.’
Stoog leers at him, cocking his head to one side. ‘You should listen to your sister. She’s a sensible girl.’
Jack grabs Stoog by the neck and slams him against the wall. ‘Shut your fucking mouth.’
‘Leave him alone,’ says Betsy, her voice high with fear.
Jack squeezes, feels Stoog’s windpipe hard and gristly beneath his palm. ‘I swear I’ll fucking kill him if you don’t come with me.’
He senses her move behind him and tightens his grip so that Stoog’s breath comes ragged and wheezing.
‘Now,’ says Jack. Stoog’s skin is beginning to change colour, and his eyes are bulging.
‘All right. All right.’ Betsy opens the door, Alfie clinging to her. When they are safely outside, Jack relaxes his grip, and Stoog gulps great breaths of air, bending double and rubbing his neck, coughing and choking at the ground.
‘How could you?’ Jack says. ‘How could you end up doing this?’
‘We all do what we can to survive.’ Stoog will not look at him.
It takes all Jack’s resolve not to finish him then and there.
Back at the flat, Jack cannot believe that his sister is actually here – in the same room as him – alive and so … adult. Almost a woman.
Olivia fetches a cloth to try to clean Alfie’s face, but he retreats, shuffling on the floor behind his mother. ‘He doesn’t remember me,’ says Olivia.
‘He’s been all right. There’s a couple of girls who’s good with babies,’ says Betsy.
‘You didn’t need to leave.’
‘I didn’t want to stay.’ Her face is hard again.
Throughout that first evening, Jack cannot help occasionally reaching out to touch Betsy’s cheeks, her nose, her hair. It is as if he has found a part of himself that he didn’t realise was missing. Betsy fills him in with her own story. Jack knows she is leaving parts out, but he is so full of joy to have found her again that he doesn’t want to risk it by questioning her, even though something needles at him every time he looks at the child.
When Jack finally goes to bed, he feels such a rush of tenderness for Olivia as he strokes her arm in the dim light. He has the two people he cares about most in the world under the same roof. He can tell she is still awake: her breathing is shallow and her eyes glitter in the dark. ‘Thank you for finding her,’ he says. ‘I can never repay you.’
‘You don’t need to repay me,’ she says. ‘Just promise to stay with me for the rest of my life.’
‘That’s all in hand,’ he says, kissing her forehead and tucking her hair gently behind her ears. He falls asleep with one arm draped across her body, for once not haunted by the image of his sister, but safe in the knowledge that she is here, in the next-door room.
Jack is strict with Betsy, laying down rules and not letting her out without him as a chaperone, as if he can force the past from her and replace it with a future. Betsy is different. It is not surprising. Jack does not want to think about how she has survived with Stoog. But after a couple of days, when she appears to have accepted the new tilt to her world, he finally has to ask the question that has been burning in the back of his mind. He waits for a moment when she seems relaxed, playing with Alfie on the floor, tickling the boy until his fat giggles fill the room. Olivia is writing another letter to Charlie at the table by the window.
‘Bets,’ says Jack. ‘How can you be sure that Charlie is Alfie’s father?’
Betsy immediately sits up and glares at him. ‘You don’t trust me?’ she says. ‘Your own flesh and blood?’
‘You’re different.’
‘Of course I’m bloody different.’
‘I wish I’d been there to help.’
‘Well you weren’t, and now I’m all grown up.’
‘Not to me. You’ll always be my little sister.’
‘I’m no kid any more,’ she says, standing and slowly turning around. The light catches the lines on her face, the dips and curves of a woman’s body.
‘What can I do to make it better?’
‘Nothing. It’s too late.’
‘There must be something.’
Betsy is quiet for a moment. And then she says, ‘You can get rid of her.’ She points at Olivia, who puts down her pen.
‘I can’t do that,’ says Jack.
‘Then you’re no family of mine.’
‘Betsy, please …’
‘What is it about her that you so prefer over me?’
‘Don’t make it have to be a choice …’
But Betsy is not listening. Her face has contorted into rage, and she stalks up to Olivia and picks up the paper she has been writing on, then waves it at Jack. ‘You’d better watch your back,’ she says, throwing the words into the room as if they contain all the anger that has been locked away inside her for so long. ‘He’s the one she really loves. When he comes back, you’ll be for it. Then you’ll be all alone. And don’t think I’ll be there for you …’
‘Stop it! Just stop it!’ Now it is Olivia’s turn to be affronted. She stands and grabs the letter back from Betsy. ‘How dare you say that? Charlie’s a good man and a good friend, but I don’t love him …’
‘Such a good man that he leaves a girl like me in a state like this …’ She points at Alfie.
Jack watches them circle each other warily, the two women he loves: one dark and furious, spitting like a wildcat; the other pale and sad. He knows who he believes, and it is a painful thing. He takes a deep breath and steps forward, sees Betsy angle her head in defiance, the twitch of satisfaction in the corner of her mouth as she glares at Olivia. But it is not to Betsy that he is headed.
Betsy’s angry stance deflates with her confidence when she realises that Jack is reaching out for Olivia’s hand as the two of them turn to face her. Jack clears his throat. ‘You should know that we’re getting married,’ he says. ‘When this is all over. We’re getting married, and that’s a fact. Now we want you to be part of our family, but the only choice has to be made by you: whether you’re with us or against us.’
Betsy stares at Jack: he cannot bear the look in her eyes; there is despair and even hatred there. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she says. ‘I won’t believe it.’
‘It’s true,’ says Olivia, her voice low and calm.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘We thought it was better coming from Jack.’
Betsy grows hysterical, pleading with Jack: ‘But she didn’t tell you about Alfie, did she? If she lied to you once, she’ll always lie to you …’
‘She did it to protect me. Not to spite me.’ He is thinking about the other baby, the one that Betsy doesn’t know about, and he knows that Olivia is too because she is squeezing his hand hard.
Betsy stamps her feet, and she seems so very young that Jack is reminded of the child he left at the station all those years ago. ‘You can’t be with her. She’s not like us …’
‘I don’t even know what we’re like any more …’
‘I want to go back to Stoog. I know where I am with him.’
‘Don’t. Stay with us. We’ll support you both …’
‘Why won’t you listen to me? I don’t want Alfie. I never wanted him. It wasn’t meant to go this far.’
Now Olivia raises her voice: ‘What do you mean?’ she says.
‘You think Stoog’s all bad. Well he’s not. He looked out for me. He kept me for himself. Never made me work like the other girls. We used to blackmail men. I’d go for the married ones. Get them back to the house, and then as soon as they’d dropped their trousers, I’d scream blue murder and tell them how old I was. No need to go all the way. Then I’d threaten to tell their wives or go to the police. They’d pay me extra to keep my mouth shut, and I’d done my bit.’
Olivia shakes her head. ‘So why did you pick on Charlie?’ she asks. ‘He wasn’t married … And I assume you slept with him …’
‘Charlie was different. He was the first punter who was actually nice to me. He used to search me out. Talk to me. No one else did that. When he told me his parents was dead and he had no wife, I knew he must have plenty of money to spare. We thought we’d be able to pretend there was a baby and get at least a couple of hundred quid. So him I did have to go to bed with. He didn’t want to sleep with me, so I had to work hard at it. Then I actually got pregnant …’
‘How can you be sure that Stoog isn’t the father?’
‘Stoog was always careful. He knew what he was doing.’ She laughs, but in a bitter way. ‘Charlie didn’t …’
Olivia sighs. ‘And you had no feelings for Charlie at all?’
‘He was just an easy target …’
‘No feelings – even though he was kind to you …?’ Olivia is shaking her head, her eyes wide with disbelief.
Betsy glances down at her hands, picks at her nails. ‘When you put it like that it sounds …’
‘Wrong?’
Jack sighs. ‘It was wrong,’ he says. ‘Can’t you see that?’
Betsy looks at her brother, and it seems as if the look is somehow less harsh.
‘What happened to us?’ says Jack, stepping towards her. ‘What happened to you?’
Betsy’s bottom lip is trembling. ‘You left me,’ she says. ‘I came home and you’d gone …’
‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.’ He reaches out, but she pushes him away. ‘I’ll make it up to you somehow …’
‘You hate me …’ she says as her breath catches in her throat and she begins to sob. ‘I hate myself …’
‘I could never hate you,’ he says. ‘You’re my sister. Nothing you can do will break that.’
At last she allows him to put his arm around her bony shoulder, as if delivering up responsibility, letting her older brother take charge. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘It’s all so fucked-up. I don’t know what I’ve done …’
And now there is something that he has not heard in her voice since he found her: kindness.
