The Chalky Sea

by Clare Flynn

  He traced the soft arch of her eyebrow with a finger then ran it down the length of her nose. He felt her stir slightly in her sleep, then she opened her eyes. For a moment it was as if she were questioning where she was and who he was, then her frown dissolved into a smile.

  Jim bent down and kissed her slowly. ‘Good morning,’ he said.

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Only six o’clock. We have plenty of time,’ he said, kissing her again.

  ‘I had no idea, you know.’

  ‘No idea about what?’

  ‘That it could be like that.’

  ‘Like what?’ he said, moving his hands to her breasts. ‘Like that?’ He stroked her skin. ‘Or like that?’

  ‘Like everything.’ She was smiling, then closed her eyes and gave a little gasp as his fingers moved over her body. ‘I always thought I wasn’t any good at making love. That I didn’t even like it.’

  Jim continued to touch her. ‘Oh Gwen, you’re very good at it. And unless I’m much mistaken, you like it very much.’

  The Mine

  December 1942, Eastbourne

  Gwen sat in the bath, shivering. The water had been hot when she got in but, when there was only five inches of it, the result was a hot bottom and reddened legs while the rest of her body was exposed to the chill of the unheated bathroom. She bent her knees and tried to submerge her top half, keeping her head up. It was no good. Her breasts were above the water, like two small hillocks, the skin dimpled with goose bumps. No matter what position she was in, part of her was exposed to the cold air. The only thing to do was to wash as quickly as possible.

  She picked up her flannel and began to soap herself. As she moved the wet cloth over her skin, she imagined that it was Jim’s hands. She shivered again, remembering how it felt to have his hands move on her body, his bare skin against her skin. Her cheeks burned and she closed her eyes.

  Gwen had never expected to feel this way, never imagined that her body could respond to another’s like that, never believed that she would know such pleasure. With Jim she behaved with a wantonness that shocked her. Something had been loosened inside her. When they were together she felt she was melting away, losing her boundaries, losing herself in him.

  The wind was bitter as Gwen walked down King Edward’s Parade towards the town. She had forgotten her gloves and so stuffed her hands inside her pockets. Once upon a time she would never have dreamed of doing that as it spoiled the line of a good coat and stretched the fabric out of shape, but she no longer gave a damn about such things. War changed everything. The familiar walk along the seafront took her past hotels that were boarded up, or housed airmen and soldiers where once they had welcomed holidaying families. Gun emplacements were on the hotel roofs, metal fencing and barbed wire closed off the beaches. In front of her the Cavendish Hotel had lost its east wing back in May, leaving a gaping space where she and Daphne had once stood side-by-side powdering their noses and talking about the inscription on her powder compact. A line from a poem by Yeats drifted through her mind: ‘All changed, changed utterly: A terrible beauty is born.’ Yes, it was all changed utterly, but there was no beauty, terrible or otherwise. On this dull wintry day it was desolate, bleak, grey.

  Gwen was about to turn back when she saw a commotion in front of her. The promenade in front of the pier was crowded. People were being moved back by the police. More police were on the pier, and she could see others in a rowing boat underneath it.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she asked a policeman at the edge of the crowd.

  ‘Someone’s spotted a mine floating towards the pier. But there’s nothing to see and nothing to worry about, Madam. It’s one of ours.’

  Gwen gave a dry laugh. ‘That’s all right then. I presume it’s some kind of intelligent mine that only explodes near Germans?’

  The policeman failed to register her sarcasm and shook his head. ‘As it happens, Madam, it is fitted with a safety device that prevents it from exploding at all if it breaks loose, as it evidently has. It's tied to the pier now so it'll be quite safe.’ He turned to the small crowd. ‘Move along now, people. Nothing to see. It’s not an enemy mine. Show’s over.’

  Gwen walked off, heading to Bobby’s to buy some hair ribbons to give Sally on her upcoming birthday. The department store was quiet. Everywhere in the town was quiet these days. At least during the day. In the evenings the streets were full of Canadian soldiers moving between the various pubs, heading to the cinema to watch a film or to the Winter Garden to go dancing. Those women still in the town were in great demand at the dances. The idea of being in a big crowd being pawed by a succession of soldiers as they whirled her around the dance floor was not appealing. But then she thought of being swept up in Jim's arms and shivered with excitement at the prospect. She wouldn't want an audience for that though. Her time with Jim was theirs alone.

  She made her way slowly up the long hill towards home. As she reached the top, there was a loud dull boom followed by an echo. There’d been no aircraft noise. Gwen spun around to see an enormous column of white water rising vertically into the air around the pier, followed by a second plume of water and smoke. The pier was covered in a cloud of smoke. “One of ours” was evidently one of theirs. It was beginning to get dark so Gwen hurried on, praying that no one had been hurt in the explosion.

  When she got back to the house, Jim was waiting for her in the drawing room. She ran into his arms. After they kissed she said, ‘Did you hear that explosion about fifteen minutes ago? Down by the pier. It was a German mine. It–’

  Jim wasn’t paying attention, so she stopped. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘I have to leave Eastbourne. I have to leave you.’

  Gwen breathed in slowly, trying to calm her emotions. She swallowed and told herself she wasn’t going to cry. At least not while Jim was with her. She took another breath, then said, ‘We knew it would happen sooner or later, my love.’ Then fear taking hold she added, ‘Where?’

  ‘Salisbury Plain. More exercises, I imagine. Who knows, Gwen? I may be back here before long. Or knowing my luck, back to Aldershot Camp.’

  ‘When?’ She hoped he wouldn’t hear her voice trembling.

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  Gwen gasped. 'So soon?'

  Jim put his hands on her shoulders to steady her. ‘I’ve just heard. We’re being sent to a holding camp.’ He paused, then unable to dissemble, he added, ‘I don’t know how long we’ll be there but then I’m pretty certain we’ll be sent overseas soon. They haven’t said where, but there are rumours it will be somewhere in the Mediterranean. Maybe North Africa. That’s where all the action is.’

  Gwen’s lip trembled. ‘I kept hoping it wouldn’t happen. I prayed the war would end first and you wouldn’t have to see any action.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’ve wanted to be involved for so long. I’d have bitten your hand off to go, but now it’s happening all I can think about is leaving you.’

  ‘I know.’ She leaned her head against his chest.

  ‘I can’t tell you what these past few weeks have meant to me.’ He stroked a hand down her hair and pulled her closer.

  Gwen looked up at him. ‘You’ve taught me to feel. It was as if until I met you I was locked up. You had the key. You’ve freed me. You opened my heart.’ Her voice was breaking.

  Jim tried to speak but she laid a finger on his lips. ‘I’m grateful to this bloody awful war for bringing us together,' she murmured. 'We would never have met in other circumstances. Our worlds collided thanks to the war. It’s been one short beautiful moment in time and I’ll treasure it for ever. I’ll hold you in my heart always. I love you. I’ll always love you. And you need to know – I’ve never said that to anyone before.’ She brushed his lips with hers.

  He sighed. ‘I love you too. I hate leaving you, knowing we might never meet again.’

  ‘It’s better to accept that we’ll never meet again. You’ll return to Canada after the war. We each have lives that we’ll p
ick up when it’s over. I have no regrets about what happened between us and I never will, Jim, but I’ve always known it couldn’t last forever.’

  He closed his eyes in silent acknowledgement of the truth of her words. ‘I’ll write when I can, when I know where I’ll be,’ he said.

  ‘No.’ Her voice was tremulous and she shivered and eased herself away from his embrace. ‘It’s better we say goodbye here tomorrow and recognise what it is – a final farewell. Don’t let’s spoil what’s been a perfect time. We have responsibilities and people who need us. You have the farm to take care of – your father will depend on you now your brother’s gone. You have to go home and when the war’s over Roger will return. And I will be here waiting for him.

  ‘I was an empty shell before the war, before you. Now for the first time I feel alive. I owe you so much.’ She put her arms around his neck and buried her head in his chest. 'You’ve made me terribly happy. You’ve made me want to live, to go on, even though it has to be without you. Can you understand what I’m saying?’

  His hands stroked her hair and he held her tightly and kissed the top of her head. ‘Yes. I wish I didn’t but I do.’

  ‘I love my husband and I’ll never leave him, but it doesn’t mean I don’t love you and will always love you.’ She drew her head back and looked up at him. ‘And I think there’s a girl in Aldershot who’ll want to see you return safely from wherever you’re going.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I have a feeling.’ She smiled at him. ‘Call it feminine intuition if you like.’

  ‘Joan? Come on. She wants nothing to do with me.’

  ‘You’re wrong about that, my darling. I’m certain.’

  ‘Please, Gwen, don’t talk about her. She’s history. And there was never really anything between us.’

  Gwen smiled at him then ran her fingers down his cheek. ‘I think there was. My beautiful Jim. God, I’m going to miss you.’

  ‘I haven’t gone yet,’ he said. ‘We have all night so let’s make the most of it.’ He bent down, kissed her then gathered her into his arms.

  Part IV

  1943

  You have to run risks. There are no certainties in war. There is a precipice on either side of you — a precipice of caution and a precipice of over-daring.

  Winston Churchill, 21 September 1943

  Back in Aldershot

  Aldershot 1943

  It felt strange to be back at the Aldershot garrison. The place was unchanged, ugly and crowded with soldiers, but the atmosphere was different. The undiluted boredom and the frustration born out of inactivity had been replaced by tension and anticipation. There were familiar faces, acquaintances renewed, absences noted. So many men had died or been captured in the Dieppe raid, and while no one mentioned their absence, everyone felt it. In a matter of days, hours even, they would be embarking on active service themselves at last.

  Jim thought of Walt and how his brother had wanted to return to Canada when he found out that he was to have a child. A child who would be more than a year old now. Jim’s niece. A child who would never know her father. Not so long ago, he would have considered returning to the farm, seeking a reconciliation with Alice and helping to raise Walt’s daughter. Rose – that was her name, Jim’s mother had said in her last letter – Rose. A pretty name. But when he thought of Alice it was with a heavy heart. He didn’t want to become close to her again. After what had happened between him and Gwen he would never see Alice with the same eyes. The war had also made a difference to that. But there was a risk that if he returned he would be sucked into a role he no longer wanted to play.

  What was the alternative? Gwen? Don’t be a fool. He’d always known there would never be a future for them. She loved her husband and was not the kind of woman who would walk out on him. He wished she was – but knew that one of the reasons he loved her was that she was an honourable woman. He tried to push her to the back of his mind, but she remained at the front, filling his thoughts.

  One thing was clear. Before much longer he and his platoon would be piling onto a ship and sailing off to face the enemy at last. The anticipation in the air was too strong to ignore. Something was up and this time Jim was certain it wasn’t going to be a false alarm. Perhaps he would be mowed down by a German machine gun as soon as he faced the elusive enemy – that had been his wish when he joined up, but not any more.

  He picked up a comic book that one of the men had left lying on his bunk and flipped through the pages absently. What did the future hold? Life or death? An eventual return to the farm? On the face of it he had open choices, once the war was over, supposing he survived, yet he felt the tug of responsibility. His parents would expect him to return and run the place. His father was getting on and the loss of Walt would have aged him further.

  Jim flung the comic down and forced himself to think about Hollowtree Farm. He saw the wheat as it had been the day he left, ripe, yellow and ready for the combine to trawl through it. He remembered the smell: musty, dry, yet with an underlying sweetness, and the way the threshing always made him sneeze. He thought of the little creek where it ran behind the farmhouse, the water clear as crystal and cold as ice. The lowing of the cows in the barn in winter as they nuzzled at the piles of hay. The taste of the cream: golden and rich on the top of the milk, the scent of fresh-baked scones coming out of the range in the kitchen and the taste of them, warm, crumbling and melting with butter. He saw the fire crackling in the grate, sparks jumping as his father laid a fresh log on top and settled down to read the farmers’ almanac. As the picture built in his mind it grew more appealing and he realised he couldn’t imagine not returning one day. The farm was in his blood and he must acknowledge and embrace it. Going home didn’t have to mean taking up with Alice again. He could do the right thing by her and his niece, ensure that they weren’t short, but inheriting Walt’s responsibilities didn’t include any more than that. Alice would have to return with Rose and live at her parents’ place. It was out of the question that she should remain at Hollowtree Farm. Besides she’d be entitled to a war widow’s pension. Already feeling better, Jim went down to the mess room.

  He was playing a game of darts when a soldier he didn’t know stuck his head round the door and called, ‘Anyone here called Jim Armstrong? There’s a pretty gal in civvies looking for him. She’s waiting outside.’

  The room erupted in whistling – it was a rare event that a townie would venture into the barracks. There were several good-natured cat calls and comments. Jim brushed them off and hurried down the stairs. Could it be Joan, calling a truce?

  It was Ethel.

  She stood there, looking frail and nervous outside the barrack building. Her anxious expression changed to relief when she saw him.

  ‘Thank goodness you’re all right, Jim. I was worried you might have been involved in that raid to France. I know so many of you were.’

  Jim clutched his cap in his hands. ‘My brother died over there.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ Ethel’s eyes were teary. ‘This dreadful war.’ She gave him a hug.

  ‘It’s good to see you, Ethel. Really good.’ He grinned at her.

  ‘The word is that you’re going to Italy any day now.’

  ‘How do you know that? They haven’t even told us.’

  ‘I’ve lived in Aldershot all my life. Word gets around. I know people who know people.’ She smiled and nodded her head sideways.

  They fell into an awkward silence then both started to speak at once, before each conceded to the other. It was Jim who finally spoke. ‘How is Joan?’

  ‘She’s well. I think you should see her before you go.’

  He gave a sardonic laugh. ‘Not likely. She all but slammed the door in my face last time I tried to see her. Spoke to me through a crack.’

  Ethel drew her lips into a thin line then said, ‘She didn’t want you to see her like that.’

  ‘Like what?’ Jim frowned, puzzled. ‘She’s not been hurt, has she? What exactly happened,
Ethel? Why did she leave the army?’

  Ethel laid a hand on his arm. ‘I think you should come with me and let her tell you herself. It’s not my place.’

  ‘But if she had something to tell me she’d have told me when I called.’

  Ethel sighed and said, ‘She’s proud and she’s stubborn.’

  ‘But what…’

  ‘Come and see her now. Please, Jim.’ She grabbed at his sleeve.

  ‘Does she know you’ve come to fetch me?’

  She shook her head. ‘I told you she’s a stubborn woman. You know that, Jim.’

  Twenty minutes later they were outside the little terraced house where Joan lived with her mother and stepfather.

  ‘You sure this is a good idea, Ethel? Joan made it pretty clear she wanted nothing more to do with me.’

  ‘Shut up and come in. Door’s never locked.’ She pushed the door open and Jim followed her into the narrow hallway.

  ‘That you, Ethel? I’m in the back kitchen.’ Joan’s voice.

  Jim felt a little lurch in his stomach. Ethel nodded to him and he followed her into the rear of the little house.

  Joan was standing at the back door, looking out into the yard in the same position she had been in all that time ago at the tea party in Ethel’s house. As they came into the room, she turned and gasped in surprise.

  Jim’s surprise was no less. In her arms she was holding a baby, who was feeding at her breast. She jerked her cardigan over her breast and turned away.

  Jim was rooted to the spot. He looked at Ethel who said nothing.

  Joan said, ‘Why have you brought him here? I told you not to, Ethel. I bloody well told you.’