by Helena Halme
Seventeen
Kaisa woke with a start to the sound of the telephone downstairs. She’d fallen asleep on top of the bed, covered only by her towel. The view from the bedroom to the garden below was dark, and she saw it was well past ten o’clock as she hurried to put on her dressing gown while running down the stairs.
‘I didn’t think you were at home!’
Kaisa heard a hint of annoyance in Peter’s voice.
‘I was upstairs. I’d fallen asleep.’
‘Sorry to wake you, but I wanted to see how your trip went.’ Peter sounded a lot softer now.
‘Don’t be, it’s lovely to hear your voice. I missed you in Finland.’ Kaisa told Peter about the wedding, about Sirkka’s pregnancy, and dancing with her uncles. Peter laughed when he heard how mad they’d gone for the salsa. She even told Peter about her grandmother’s garlic pills.
‘But what about you, how is it going?’ Kaisa said.
Peter told Kaisa the first part of the course, held at the Faslane base, had gone ‘OK’.
‘Just OK?’
‘Yeah. It’s difficult to say. I haven’t been drafted off the course yet anyway,’ Peter said.
Kaisa could hear he was smiling. She knew he couldn’t tell her details, but she was relieved he’d passed so far. She also knew she needed to be diplomatic in order to keep Peter’s spirits up. There was another two months to go, with two tense times at sea.
‘How are the other chaps? Do you know them?’
‘Yes, of course. They’re fine.’ Peter was being deliberately short, so she knew he probably was within a hearing distance of the other Perishers, or other staff. ‘Listen, I can come home the weekend after next. We’re training ashore all next week, so I can get a late flight out on Friday.’
‘Oh, darling, that’s wonderful! I’ve got the weekend off too!’
* * *
Kaisa watched Ravi walk up the front garden towards her. They hadn’t seen each other for a few weeks. With their work schedules, Kaisa’s trip to Finland, and the virus hanging over her (and them), there hadn’t been a day when they could get together. If she was truthful, Kaisa had avoided seeing him. The thought of having to tell him he might have AIDS, and talking about her seedy past, hadn’t been an attractive proposition. Kaisa realised she’d wanted to deal with the possibility of an infection on her own. But now, with the danger over, she was glad to see her good friend again.
‘What have you been up to?’ Ravi said, his dark eyes on Kaisa.
Kaisa looked down at her hands, which were hugging a mug of coffee on the kitchen table, where they were sitting. She had never been able to keep anything from Ravi. Even when they had briefly been lovers, he had immediately seen how much she still loved Peter. Ravi had known this even before she had realised that she would never get over Peter. She’d been so close to telling him about the virus when they’d met before Sirkka’s wedding, and now she was glad she hadn’t worried Ravi in vain.
‘Oh, Ravi,’ she said, glancing at her friend. ‘My past has been catching up with me.’
He laughed. She knew nothing would faze Ravi; he was aware of Duncan and how Kaisa had gone to bed with him, so she felt safe in telling him about the awful deadly virus, about the possibility of her having caught it, and about how ill Duncan was.
But when she’d finished her story, and looked up at Ravi, she saw his face was serious. His large brown eyes had widened, and he’d straightened his back. ‘Oh my God,’ he said, covering his mouth with his hand. ‘Is he, Duncan I mean, OK?’
Kaisa shook her head and sighed, ‘No, not really.’
‘But you are?’ he said with the same serious look in his eyes.
‘Yes, the test was negative.’ Kaisa gazed at her friend. ‘But it was an awful time. All the bloody adverts with gravestones on them, and Freddie Mercury looking so gaunt and horrible …’ Kaisa sighed. ‘I didn’t tell you, or Peter, because I didn’t want to worry you. And it was always very unlikely Peter would have carried the virus for five years without falling ill.’
Ravi was staring at Kaisa. His face looked angry now. ‘You don’t know that. Many people can carry the HIV virus and be absolutely fine.’
‘Oh,’ Kaisa said. How did Ravi know so much about it? ‘How do you know, I mean …’
But Kaisa didn’t have time to finish her sentence before Ravi got up and went to stand by the sink, facing the window, with his back to her. ‘You are sometimes so bloody stupid, Kaisa!’
‘What?’ Kaisa said looking at Ravi’s handsome slim frame. He was the perfect shape, with strong shoulders narrowing down into a slim waist, making an exemplary v-shape. He was still wearing his work suit, but he’d taken off his jacket as he sat down, revealing a light-blue striped cotton shirt with double cuffs and gold cufflinks at the wrists. He had a strong physique, and Kaisa could see the muscles in his arms and back tense as he stood holding the sink, leaning onto his arms. Suddenly he turned around and said, ‘I’m gay, Kaisa.’
* * *
Kaisa could hardly concentrate on the news she had to write up on the Monday, even though there was a terrible story about the Unionist MP Ian Gow being killed by an IRA bomb that same morning. She knew she was being unprofessional, when she merely translated the Reuters’ text of the news word for word, and added Mrs Thatcher’s reaction, as well as a rather poignant quote from the MP’s opponent, Labour Party leader Neil Kinnock on how Gow’s only offence was to speak his mind. But she couldn’t think about the IRA and terrorism without thinking about Peter and the kind of danger he was in, being part of the British armed forces. Unlike his best man and best friend, Jeff, Peter had never been posted to Northern Ireland, thank goodness. That and Duncan and now Ravi, there was just too much going on in her head to concentrate on her work. Which she knew she must do.
‘On air in five,’ a young summer intern with a mop of black hair and a lanky, slim body, shouted from the door. His face looked scared and Kaisa remembered that he’d only started the week she’d gone on holiday.
‘Ok, got it,’ Kaisa replied and forced a smile. The boy disappeared and Kaisa gathered her papers and walked out of the small cubicle that was the Finnish section office and into the recording studio.
As Kaisa waited for the green light of the studio turn red, her thoughts kept going to Ravi. How mad he’d been with her for some reason. He had left soon after their conversation about Duncan and his revelation, and when she’d tried to call him at home later, there had been no reply.
When he had told Kaisa he was gay, she had been so surprised that she’d blurted out, ‘But, you and I, we had sex!’
Ravi had replied, drily, ‘Well, yes, I have been trying to be ‘normal’, as some people put it, for years.’ His face had been tense, his mouth closed and he had exchanged only a couple of words with Kaisa after that. He’d picked up his briefcase and left saying a simple, ‘Goodbye Kaisa.’ He hadn’t even kissed her on the cheek as he usually did.
Kaisa didn’t know what she had done wrong. How was she supposed to know? She decided she had to stop thinking about him, or Duncan, and concentrate on Peter. She’d soon have her husband in her bed again. She missed him so much, but at the same time, she was scared about all the secrets she was keeping from him. She must fix her mind on at least keeping him happy when everything else around her seemed to be falling apart.
Eighteen
There was a faint drizzle when Peter and the other three officers were waiting for their transport out to the submarine. It being a Sunday night, the Faslane base was quiet and Peter was the first one on the speedboat, nicknamed ‘James Bond’. Another joke that the sailors in the submarine service enjoyed. Making fun of their profession was a way of showing the world how proud the men and women working in the Navy were of the senior service.
There were four of them on Perisher. Peter’s old trusted friend, Nigel, had ended up on the same course as him, which had been a total surprise to them both. It was an equally good and bad turn of events. With the f
ailure rate one in four, it meant that one of the men now huddled onboard James Bond would be leaving before it was all over. And failure of Perisher meant you’d never again be allowed onboard a submarine as an officer, or in any professional capacity whatsoever. Peter couldn’t imagine life without submarines, so he’d decided not to think about it, but seeing his friend as one of the other Perishers, he realised it was highly likely one of them would receive that fate.
The other two men on the course, whom Peter had met at the start of the first lessons on the base, seemed very confident and knowledgeable.
One was a loud Aussie with a mop of bleached hair and incredible blue eyes, which looked azure against his tan, so unusual for a submariner, the colour of the Pacific. Peter didn’t usually take any notice of men’s looks, or even their eye colour, but this hunk of a guy stood out like a girl.
Talking over coffee between lessons, Peter and Nigel had decided he must be a pansy, but decided to keep that to themselves. It wasn’t the done thing anymore to talk about people’s sexuality in that way, which was a good thing, Peter supposed. Not that it had stopped Tony from making a comment on any female he met in the pub of an evening or in the mess during the day. It was his constant, over-eager talk about ‘birds’ and ‘leg-overs’ that had made Nigel and Peter suspicious. As long as he didn’t hurt anyone, it was none of Peter or Nigel’s business, was Peter’s take on the guy. It didn’t mean that he had to like him, though.
The fourth officer on the Perisher course was Ethan, a serious Canadian with an impressive comb-over. He was about five years older than the rest of them and was the only one of the four who had come through the ranks. Not having gone through the traditional officer training at Dartmouth gave the man a different demeanour; you could hear the Lower Decks in the way he spoke. But Peter liked him – his large shape and direct manner reminded Peter of his best mate, Jeff.
As James Bond cut through the dark water, bumping its way through the Cumbrae Gap, the shape of the sub they were going to join came suddenly into view, just as they arrived alongside.
‘We’ll be popular,’ Nigel remarked to Peter as they waited to disembark. ‘I bet the poor bastards would rather be in their warm beds with their wives,’ he added, and Peter grinned.
Although an honour, crewing a sub serving as the teaching vessel for the Perishers, as the trainee officers were called, came with real work. And often, to make it harder for the Perishers, the training took place at times when the crew would otherwise be on leave, or they were called in at short notice. The Perisher would not only have to deal with the difficult technical tasks set for them by the course leader, or Teacher, but also with a potentially unhappy and tired crew.
Being the first to board James Bond, Peter was the last of the Perishers to jump onboard HMS Ophelia. The guy in charge of the submarine casing, called the Scratcher, guided everyone onboard. When it came to Peter he said, smiling, ‘Watch your step, Sir, you don’t want to take a dip.’
Peter stopped and stared at the Scratcher. Was that a jibe at his past? Since the fight in the pool with Duncan, the bastard who’d taken advantage of Kaisa, he’d heard them all; ‘Bonking Boy’, ‘Giving Swimming Lessons?’ and ‘Taking a Dip?’ or a ‘Dive’ were the most popular ones. In the darkness, Peter couldn’t quite make out the man’s face fully. He’d pulled his hand up into a salute, which hid his expression.
‘Thank you Scratcher,’ Peter said and quickly followed the other officers below.
In his bunk that night, Peter couldn’t stop thinking about the next day. The Perisher sea trials were notoriously difficult, but he believed he’d prepared well. He’d revised all that he’d learned in the past few weeks, and he’d taken copious notes during the lectures. There wasn’t anything there that he’d not remembered well. He knew his mental arithmetic was as good as the blonde Australian’s, and the older Canadian’s; only Nigel could just about beat him on that score – on a good day. But he couldn’t help worrying that they’d bring up Kaisa and Duncan and the fight in the Faslane pool. Would the ‘dit’ have done the rounds in the boat when they heard he was one of the Perishers due to come onboard? Of course it would. Would he be taunted by his past in the control room the next day? As Peter stared at the bottom of the bunk on top of his, where he could hear Nigel’s gentle snores, he resolved that he would let any remarks wash over him. Wash over him! That was an apt expression.
* * *
After five days at sea, during which each of the Perishers had done two or three turns at the periscope in the control room, Teacher announced it was time to go to the buoy and have a run-a-shore.
‘Let’s have a beer or two!’ They headed for Brodick on the Isle of Arran, and disembarked the submarine. Teacher had arranged for the Perishers and crew to check into The Douglas Hotel, an impressive sandstone building jutting out behind the ferry port and jetty in the small Scottish island town.
The first beer tasted sweet, and each man downed his pint in seconds.
‘Another round?’ Nigel said, quicker than was healthy for any of them, Peter thought. He glanced at his friend, smiling.
‘It’s a run-a-shore, come on! And we’re still all here. That’s something to celebrate,’ Nigel said.
Of course, the other three men nodded their assent.
Peter was tired, but also exhilarated. His trials had gone well; so far he’d made only one mistake in not attacking when he should have done. Instead, he’d taken the sub down to a safe depth, away from the oncoming frigate. But he’d seen all the other Perishers make similar small mistakes, and although he knew attacking was important, the safety of the submarine and crew was imperative. Besides, Teacher had told Peter that he was doing well. What’s more, there had not been one comment about his past, and although he knew this was no guarantee it wouldn’t come up later, it was a huge relief to him. Peter knew it was bound to come up at some point; he suspected Teacher might even instigate some reference to Peter’s past to put pressure on him, but he was glad that at least for now, he wasn’t the butt of the jokes in the control room as he’d feared. He’d also managed to phone Kaisa earlier in the evening to confirm the good news that he was coming home at the weekend. Peter leaned back on the wooden seat and allowed himself to think about her beautiful breasts. There were only five more days until he could have her warm body in his arms.
As Peter tipped the glass of his second pint, he was pretty satisfied with himself. He smiled at the barmaid, a blonde girl who had blushed when the four Perishers had entered the bar and Peter had ordered their first round of drinks. The girl was very pretty, and a few years younger than him. That felt good too; there was still some charm left in him.
When it was Tony’s turn to get a round in, he persuaded the barmaid, in his loud Australian manner, to serve them the drinks at their table to save him having to go to the small bar. There were a few locals gathered around, with some of the sailors from the sub, but it wasn’t exactly busy. Peter wondered if it ever was.
The girl, whose name, Katie, Tony had managed to wrangle out of her, brought four pints over on a tray. But as she bent over to place them on their table, she accidentally spilled a little on Peter’s lap.
‘Oh no, I’m so sorry,’ she exclaimed and blushed.
‘Don’t worry,’ Peter said, laughing. He began to brush his trousers, to get rid of the liquid before it had a chance to soak into his cords, and the girl also began rubbing his thigh with a tea towel.
‘Let me,’ she said, bending down. Suddenly her cleavage was inches from Peter’s face. She was wearing a tight black top, and Peter got a scent of dried flowers – roses. He tried to turn his head away from the soft, milky white skin. He could clearly see the top of the girl’s breasts, and thought he even saw the pink shade of her areola. He lifted his eyes and saw she was looking at him. Her eyes were a pale green colour, and he noticed that her hair was really strawberry blonde, almost ginger. A whistle from Tony made him turn around. Quickly, he lifted himself up.
&
nbsp; ‘No harm done,’ he said and pulled his lips into a polite smile. What was he doing flirting with a barmaid? Get a grip, he thought and sat down again, not looking at Tony or the girl. The barmaid, Katie, now even more red in the face, moved away, muttering ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s fine,’ Peter said, trying to smile in a polite, and not at all flirtatious way.
When the girl had gone back to her station behind the bar, Peter turned to Nigel, ‘So, did you get hold of Pammy?’
‘Wow, wow, wow!’ Tony said instead, ignoring Nigel. He got up and patted Peter on the back, ‘You’re in there, mate.’
‘She’s a good-looking lass,’ Ethan said. He lifted his pint up, ‘Enjoy it while it lasts; you’ll soon become invisible to that kind of totty.’ Ethan was grinning, stroking the few hairs on top of his head, which were neatly arranged in an attempt to cover the large bald patch.
‘Not me, I’m a happily married man,’ Peter said, glancing at Nigel, then lifting his pint and smiling at Ethan and Tony in turn. ‘So be my guest, Tony,’ he added, lifting his eyebrows and nodding at Nigel.
Nigel looked down at his pint and tried to suppress a smile.
For a moment no one spoke. Finally Tony, looking flustered, and addressing Peter, said, ‘Not what I heard, mate.’
Peter stared at the Aussie.
‘That’s enough, Tony,’ Nigel said. Peter’s friend was speaking while shaking his head, without looking in Tony’s direction.
Ethan was sitting still, watching Peter. He knows too, Peter thought.
No one spoke for a moment.
‘To answer your question, Peter. Yes, I did get hold of Pammy and she sends her love. Can’t wait to see her and the girls,’ Nigel said, breaking the silent tension.
