All the Way Home and All the Night Through

by Ted Lewis

  “You mean you’ve only just realized?” said Mark.

  “I’m off shooting in the morning, actually. Anybody coming?”

  “You’re off aren’t you, Mark?” asked Ron.

  “Yeah, sho’ nuff.”

  “I reckon I might then. Long time since I went. What time?”

  “I’m meeting Geoff at five o’clock.”

  “Corner of Castledyke?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “That lets you out,” said Mark to me, smiling.

  “Sho ’nuff.”

  “Why?” asked Janet.

  “Why? Well, it does,” I said. “I mean, I can’t see you relishing a shooting party at five in the morning.”

  “Why not? I’d love to go.” She turned to the boys, blushing slightly. “If you wouldn’t mind, that is.”

  “We wouldn’t mind, love,” said Geoff, “but you’ll have trouble getting him out at that time in the morning.”

  “You mean you’d like to go?” I asked her.

  “Yes, if you would.”

  “Right. We’ll go then.”

  We looked at each other and laughed.

  We walked along the raised sandbagged river bank in single file. Somewhere the sun was beginning to shine but its early warmth had distilled a haze from the dew which diffusely hid the sky with a thin all-over greyness. The only sounds were the floppering of Geoff’s gum boots, the clang of the lightship in the middle of the river and our feet as they fell along the damp grass.

  Geoff led. A few minutes later he stopped and turned to us.

  “This is it. We’ll sit in here for a bit and wait for them to fly across.”

  He pointed to a bushy hollow in the landward slope of the bank. We scrambled down after him.

  We sat in a tight semi-circle, as far under the bushes as we could, talking quietly and smoking, our voices drifting softly upward into the slightly chilly air. Geoff’s dog stood near the edge of the hollow, motionlessly watching and waiting.

  We waited for about half an hour. Then Geoff seemed to sense something and crawled up the side of the hollow until he could see over the top of the bank.

  “Here they are,” he said.

  He slid back and quietly released the safety catch on his gun. He put the gun to his shoulder and craned his neck skyward, waiting for the birds to fly in from the river. He raised the barrel and tentatively sighted the gun. Then the birds appeared directly above us, high over the bank. There was about a half dozen of them. Geoff leaped out of the hollow. The birds veered off their course to fly parallel with the bank, sensing the danger in the unusual movement. Geoff pulled one of the triggers, his cheek folding over the butt with the tightness of his grip. The noise echoed to the other side of the river. The birds frantically turned in toward the land again. Geoff fired the other barrel. A bird seemed to trip in mid-air, and a few black spots which were feathers littered the shaken atmosphere. Then the bird folded up and began to fall like the curve in the latter half of a stone’s throw. Geoff broke open the gun and inserted two more cartridges before the bird hit the ground about seventy yards away. Geoff’s dog galloped off after it.

  We walked across the huge marshy field toward the bird. Our footwear shone with dew from the tall grass. As we walked, the slight haze seemed to disperse instantly revealing the pale blue sky and allowing us to feel the faint warmth of the sun on our faces.

  We stood and watched Geoff bend down and retrieve the bird undamaged from the dog’s mouth. The bird’s dark feathers gleamed in the sun. It had been a beautiful bird.

  “You should be able to make a fair picture out of that, Geoff,” said Mark.

  “Yeah. Give it a longer life than it would’ve had normally.” He stood up and grinned. Janet watched in a kind of enigmatic fascination. Geoff dropped the bird in his bag. We walked back toward the bank.

  We lazed round the house for the rest of the day. Janet developed a headache round tea-time. We went for a walk down the garden to see if fresh air might help to get rid of it. We sat down on the grass under an apple tree.

  “Well, after tomorrow I won’t see you for ten days,” I said.

  “It’s the longest time since we started going out with each other.”

  “It’s a year this month since I set eyes on you, actually. At your school’s dance.”

  “It seems like five minutes.”

  “It’s been the best year ever.”

  “I know.”

  I looked at her and took her hand in both of mine.

  “Janet, I know I’ve said this before, but I love you so much, I can’t help saying it. Please, when you’re in Guernsey think of me. Before anything happens.”

  “Nothing will happen, Vic. Please believe me. I love you so much, it couldn’t possibly.”

  “I know. It’s just that I’d go mad if I thought anyone else had touched you. It wouldn’t be the same anymore. I don’t know.”

  She put her arm round my shoulder.

  “Vic, look at me. Don’t you know? Can’t you see how I feel? We both feel the same way. Neither of us could go with anyone else. One of the reasons we love each other is because we trust each other. From the time we first met each other, we knew from that time on there could be no one else. At first I didn’t want to be involved with you because of the way you were, but then I realized you meant everything and I came to trust you and to know how you felt. Please trust me, Vic.”

  “I trust you,” I said.

  She went to bed early because of her headache. I watched television with my parents. After an hour, I got a glass of milk and a couple of aspirins and took them up to her room. I poked my head round the door.

  “I bring gifts,” I said.

  She was lying in bed with her eyes closed, the pillows propped up behind her. The pink light from the bedside lamp shone softly on the covers.

  She smiled and stretched lazily.

  “I was hoping you’d come,” she said.

  I sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at her.

  “Janet, you just don’t know how much. You just don’t know.”

  She sat up and put her arms round me. I buried my face in her neck and we fell back on the pillows. The warm young scent of her body made me ache.

  “Vic,” she whispered, “please. Get in the bed. Just for a minute.”

  I pulled the covers over me.

  “We must keep together. We must. We must,” she whispered. Her fingers dug into the back of my neck. “This couldn’t ever be possible with two other people. Oh, God. Vic.”

  We arranged that she should phone me one day and I should phone her the next everyday while she was away. We were to write when we felt like it.

  I said good-bye to her at the pier and as I walked away, the image of Geoff handling the dead bird flashed into my mind for no reason at all.

  A few days later, I was over in the city sitting in the Steam Packet bar and talking to Harry who was sometimes not a lot of help.

  “What I think, Victor, I mean about you, is the sooner you get out of this part of the country the better it will be for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean this: I have seen things which you haven’t seen. I know you look in the mirror often, but you don’t always look at the image the way you ought to.”

  “Carry on. Obviously I’m about to learn something.”

  “I doubt it, but what I mean is that if you’re not out of it sharpish, you’re going to come to a lot of grief. About Janet.”

  “In what way?”

  “Karen Foster is no good. We both know that Karen Foster is no good. Because she’s a jealous bitch. She’s jealous of Janet and she’s jealous of you. Now you’re away from college she is very pleased. She thinks she can start making the good times r
oll for Janet.”

  “I—”

  “I know that you and Janet are in love with each other, and believe me, I think you’re both ideal together, but people is people. You’re over there, she’s over here. Sooner or later—”

  “I tell—”

  “Sooner or later Karen will prevail. It won’t mean anything to Janet, but, my Christ, it will mean something to you. I know you, Victor. And I’ll tell you this: if you’re away, far off, in the Smoke or somewhere, it’ll mean even less to Janet. And don’t tell me that as soon as you’re away you’ll wave bye-bye to the birdies. Because you won’t. It won’t mean anything to Janet. So my advice to you is to get out of it before you get any evidence because if you do get any, you’ll finish all that there is between you and her. I know it.”

  “Now I’ll tell you something, Harry. I don’t think you know what you’re talking about. Because the way we are, we couldn’t go with anybody else. It would be impossible.”

  “Like you found it impossible to go with Hilary, with Stella, and with Sylvia?”

  “I tell you, those were special times. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was drunk.”

  “But whatever the circumstances it wasn’t impossible, was it?”

  “Janet wouldn’t go with anyone else. I state that quite definitely. I know her.”

  “You know best, son,” said Harry, “but all I can say is this: at this very moment in time, Janet is across the sea and under the sun among a lot of young buggers who are going to notice how very attractive Janet is, and with Karen providing the lever, who knows?”

  “Harry, tell me, what are you trying to do? To me, I mean. What is the matter?”

  “All I’m trying to say is this: either be prepared or get out. I know you. For all your acting about, you can’t take it. You’d fold up if anything happened.”

  “Well thanks. Great. A real pal. A real Godfrey Winn. Now I feel great.”

  Harry looked at me and put his hand on my arm.

  “Victor. Victor, listen to me. I’m your friend. Your friend. I’m trying to help you.”

  Suddenly I hated Harry. He was my friend, my good friend, but then I hated him. Janet wasn’t there, and Harry was reminding me of what she might be doing. One part of my mind told me there was no need not to trust Janet and another told me I should be realistic and realize how easily things change. Then the other part of my mind came back and told me that Janet and I were never going to change because together we were unique. And here was Harry reminding the second part of my mind of how it thought things could turn out.

  “I know all about that,” I said. “I know all about what you are. But I don’t want to talk about Janet and Karen and the sun and all that. Or about anything that me and Janet may or may not be doing at a time in the future. I can’t see anything going wrong. I know nothing will go wrong. So knock it off.”

  “All right, Victor.”

  “I’m sorry but there you are.”

  Six o’clock. I sat on the hall stairs with the receiver in my hand listening to the operator in the process of putting my call through to Janet’s hotel. As on each occasion I had talked to her during her holiday, I had been nervous and apprehensive and tense in waiting for her to answer, and when she did, I would release my emotions in a stream of jealousy-inspired questioning.

  “Hello? Vic?”

  “Hello, sweet. How are things?”

  “I’m missing you, darling.”

  “I’m missing you, too. Ever so much.”

  “I know. It won’t be long now.”

  I lit a cigarette.

  “Met anybody interesting?”

  “No, of course not. There’s no one compared to you, sweet.”

  “Isn’t there?”

  “No. There never will be.”

  “Really? Not even among all those suntanned young men littering the beaches?”

  “Vic, I want you to trust me. I don’t want to go with anyone else.”

  “I know. But it could easily happen. You know, you go to a dance with Karen, two young men ask you to dance, you have a drink, Karen says ‘which one do you like, Janet?’ you walk back to the hotel with them, Karen starts necking with hers and what are you to do? I mean—”

  “Vic! Karen can please herself. She doesn’t have any say in what I do. I don’t—”

  “So you have actually been in that situation then?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Oh, you haven’t danced with any nice young men?”

  “I’ve danced with some boys, yes, but—”

  “ ‘But I didn’t let them take me home.’ You don’t expect me to believe that. I can just see Karen after the dance: ‘Come on Janet, you’re spoiling it for me if you don’t come.’”

  “Sweet, it’s not like that at all. Listen to me. I love you.”

  “I know. But, you know, ‘girls together’, ‘it’s only on holiday’. It’s as though it makes it different not being at home. You mean to tell me that nobody has made a pass at you, Janet Walker, who is probably the loveliest girl on the island?”

  “Even if they did, it wouldn’t matter because it would be no use.”

  “Oh, I see. It wouldn’t matter.”

  “You’re taking it the wrong way deliberately. How often do I have to tell you that nothing will happen before you’ll believe me?”

  “I’ll never believe you.”

  “Vic, please. Please.”

  “Janet. Janet, I don’t know. Please forgive me. Please understand. I’m sorry. I love you so much and I don’t want to lose you and—”

  “You’ve got to trust me, sweet. It’s the only way.”

  The ferry drifted crab-wise in toward the pier. I stood on the car deck and saw Janet standing on the pier’s upper level. She was wearing a large pair of sunglasses and her hair hung softly down at shoulder length. She beamed when she saw me.

  I walked across the pontoon up the gangway and handed in my ticket; Janet was waiting by the exit. We walked toward each other. We smiled.

  “Well now,” I said.

  “Hello, sweet,” she said.

  The butterflies sprinted round in my stomach. I was on the lookout for any small change in her manner which could give me a clue to what might have happened in the last ten days.

  She kissed me on the cheek. My arm went round her waist.

  “I’ve missed you,” I said.

  “I’ve missed you, too,” she said, smiling.

  “Did you have a nice time?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes. The weather was lovely.”

  My stomach tightened with resentment of the light, almost gay, way in which she replied.

  “Good,” I said. “Well, what shall we do?”

  “My mother’s having a meal ready for us at two o’clock, so we might just as well get the bus home now.”

  “Oh, right.” I had wanted to be alone with her, to talk to her, for her to reassure me.

  “Have we time for a drink?” I asked.

  “Well, not really, sweet. It’s a quarter-past one now.”

  We walked along the dockside toward the city centre. The dock was still and the quayside felt warm under our feet. I was tensely aware of what I thought was a slight withdrawal in her manner.

  “Were you a good girl, then?” I asked her.

  The bus rattled between the bright fields which lined the route to her home.

  “Of course,” she said. She smiled but I didn’t know what kind of smile it was because her eyes were hidden by the sunglasses.

  “I hope so,” I said.

  She looked down at our hands which were clasped in her lap. After a while, she said in a flat voice:

  “You’ll never believe me that nothing happened, will you?”

/>   I looked out of the window.

  “No,” I said miserably.

  “I know. I knew the minute I saw you today.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  “Oh, Vic,” she said. “This is all wrong.” She carried on looking at her hands. The bus rolled on.

  The meal was a miserable time. Mrs Walker sensed the atmosphere and I knew she was aware of the reason for it. Janet ate in silence and because of my realization of Mrs Walker’s comprehension, I behaved in a bright, careless fashion as if it might dispel the awareness that Janet’s mother felt. She was charming and witty back and she sensitively allowed me to pretend I was fooling her in behaving as if I didn’t care.

  After the meal, Mrs Walker went into the garden. Janet and I went into the big lounge. I sat down in an easy chair and Janet walked over to a window which stretched from floor to ceiling. She looked out over the garden. After a few minutes I said:

  “Janet, come here.”

  She turned from the window and looked at me. Then she came and sat down on the floor in front of my chair. I took her hand and she leant against my legs and rested her head on my knees.

  “Listen. You know how I feel about you and the way we are together,” I said. “And you know how honest we are with each other and everything. Well, it’s because of that that I’ve got to ask you this, however much it might annoy you or make you think I don’t trust you. I’ve got to ask you because of the way I feel, and you’ve got to answer truthfully because of the way we both feel.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Well, you’ve got to tell me, honestly, if anything happened while you were on holiday.”

  She thought for a minute before answering.

  “I’m not really sure what you mean by ‘anything happening’.”

  My stomach sank.

  “Well, I mean, did anyone kiss you or anything?”

  “No.”

  “Honestly?”

  “Yes.”

  I grasped her hands more tightly.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Janet, thank God. Thank God.”

  I took her in my arms.

  “You wanted the truth, didn’t you?” she said.

  I held my breath.