by MARY HOCKING
Con said, `Don’t make too much out of it.’
They cycled slowly down a long lane arched with trees. Robin said, `Peter flew over to see Kerren last week. When he left, I watched him take off. He must have had a pretty close view of the poplars.’
Con said, `Don’t make too much out of that, either.’
There were deep ruts in the lane and Robin was afraid that she would fall; normally it would not have worried her, but she was shaken enough as it was. When they reached Holly Green there was no time for a last drink at The Sycamore Tree, no time to plan their next meeting. A disastrous evening. When she got back to the cabin, Naomi said, `Where’s Kerren?’
`I don’t know. I’m not her keeper.’
At eleven o’clock when the duty P.O. came to the door of Cabin 8 and shone her torch on Kerren’s empty bunk, Robin said:
`Nolan is on night duty, P.O.’
`She didn’t hand in her station card.’
`How naughty of her! She was in a terrible hurry.’
P.O. went away. The windows were open and the first cooling night breeze stole into the hut. The moon had come up, a big, bright moon. Robin turned her face to the wall; after a while she began to cry.
Peter and Kerren cycled down the lane under the arch of trees. Kerren said, `When I get back to Guillemot the gate will be shut.’ She did not sound very worried.
Peter said, `You’re one of the foolish virgins.’ He pedalled in silence round the dark bend where the lane ran between banks that smelt of dry fern. `I think all virgins are foolish,’ he said. His front wheel bumped over a rut, he swerved and hit Kerren’s front wheel. The bikes reared and threw their riders into the bank. Kerren lay laughing with Peter on top of her; then as his arms enfolded her the laughter trembled into stillness. Over his shoulder she saw the spinning wheel of the bike; she waited, her heart thudding, until at last the wheel stopped turning.
Chapter Ten
The rain came and slowed life down. There was no flying at Guillemot for several days. Nerves were on edge, tempers began to fray. The news from France was unspectacular. `There’s nothing else for it,’ Robin said, `If this war is ever to be finished they must send for Hazel’s brother.’ Robin was sharp as a needle these days. Home news was not good. A flying bomb hit the Guards’ Chapel and Naomi insisted that she recognized the name of one of the Wrens who was killed: she went around looking tragic for several days. Even Cath’s good nature was soured.
`It wouldn’t make any difference to the war if Guillemot folded up altogether,’ she grumbled. `It makes me sick sometimes. I joined up because I thought that something tremendous was happening and I wanted to be a part of it.’ She looked at her cabinmates, her round, dimpled face unusually fierce. `Go on, laugh!’
Jessie said, `You are a part of it, Cath – sweating your guts out servicing kites.’
`Jessie is right,’ Kerren announced. `We can’t all be in the front line.’ This in her mock serious manner. Nothing could get Kerren down lately. When they grumbled about the weather she sang in a tremulous, ingratiating soprano, `Look for the silver lining.’ Only the faithful Jessie was amused.
The weather cleared suddenly one afternoon. Kerren had washed her hair and was pinning it up when the sun blinked through the window. Outside, beyond the dripping trees, the fields were steaming and colour was gradually coming back. Jessie, who had been hovering round Kerren, opened the cabin door – `just so as we can get the feel of it.’ Kerren went on pinning up her hair. She had better things to occupy her mind than the beauties of nature; from the mirror her eyes gazed back at her with a secret delight from which all persons save one were excluded. Jessie fidgeted, decided to speak, but was forestalled by the entrance of Robin.
`Staitham has been drafted,’ Robin announced.
`Where to?’
`A ship! It’s the most dreadful thing that has ever happened to our Henry. He thought he was going through the war without getting his feet wet; he’s in a flat spin and says he won’t go. He’s worked poor old Hunter into the most awful lather – he can see himself being involved in a court martial. And Adam is being spiteful, the way he can be when he doesn’t like a person.’ She tilted her cap back and pretended to study her reflection in the mirror. `Poor old Hunter! He certainly has his worries!’
`What other worries has he got?’
`My sweet, didn’t you know? He’s petrified that Peter is going to get you with child.’
Kerren laughed. `What if he does? We’re being married next month.’ She pinned another strand of hair in place. `I’ve been thinking about my wedding.’
She had thought about little else lately. Robin, who was tired of the subject, went towards the door. Kerren said:
`I must have someone to give me away.’
Jessie bit her knuckles and Robin said impatiently:
`Oh, Kerren! As if that mattered! As long as you both say “I do” at the right time . . .’
Kerren went white and blazed at Robin, `It’s going to be a proper wedding. You keep talking as though it was some shoddy little affair; probably you can’t understand anything else, but . . .’
`All right, all right!’ Robin was white, too. `It’s only that one can’t have all the trimmings in war-time.’
`Being given away isn’t a trimming. And I must have someone to walk down the aisle with me, otherwise I’ll never make it.’ Kerren took an envelope from her chest of drawers. `I’m going to ask Adam.’
`Adam! He won’t do it, Kerren.’
`I’ve written him a note. That will give him time to think up an excuse if he wants to. Will you give it to him?’
`If you really want me to. But he’ll be cynical and amusing about it, just to cover his embarrassment.’
`If he is, you needn’t tell me.’
Robin went out and slammed the door. Kerren went on pinning up her hair. Jessie watched her. Every time Kerren turned to her bunk for hairpins, Jessie held her breath. Kerren said:
`You really ought to get some of that washing done, Jess. It doesn’t smell all that fragrant, even to me.’
She bent down for her head scarf and saw the brown paper parcel. Jessie turned away and rummaged in her drawer. Kerren said:
`What’s this? Feels like a marrow! Not bringing the Mill Farm produce in, are you, Jess?’
She unwrapped the brown paper and came to a layer of tissue paper. There was a lot of tissue paper, and then she came to a fluted china vase in bright yellow with a cluster of pink and red rosebuds round the edge. A card fell on to her bunk. She picked it up and read, `To dear Kerren and Peter, with all my love, Jessie.’ She stood fingering the flowers which felt, and looked, like hard marzipan. The vase was quite hideous, but undoubtedly it had cost Jessie a week’s pay. Behind her, Jessie sweated with anxiety as she whispered:
`Is it all right, Kerren? It looked nice and bright. . . .’ Her voice trailed away; somehow the vase looked less splendid than it had seemed in the shop.
Kerren turned to Jessie holding out her arms. `It’s my first wedding present, bless you! I shall keep it always.’ Jessie breathed down her neck, `Oh, Kerren! I want you to be happy so much.’
Robin, cycling towards the airfield, reflected that she could not stand another minute of Kerren’s happiness. She was used to being left behind, it always happened to her sooner or later, perhaps because she did not really believe in happiness. But this happiness of Kerren’s was particularly hard to bear; it was not just losing Kerren, it was the contrast with her own affair with Con that hurt. In the met. office she could not bear to speak to Adam about Kerren’s wedding, so she put the note down on the table in front of him and waited. His face as he read it gave nothing away. He put the note in his pocket and said:
`Do you think her sense of propriety would be offended if I returned a verbal answer?’
`Depends on the answer.’ She hoped that he was going to be malicious; it would release all the nasty pent-up things in her if Adam would say them while she remained virtuously si
lent. But he merely said, `I should be honoured, of course.’ It was hard to tell whether he was pleased or not, but there was no sarcasm in his voice. Later he said, `Have they much in common, would you think?’
He was standing by the window; although he seemed to be studying the clouds, she had the feeling that he was waiting for her answer. She was surprised. Adam was so mature, so assured, it seemed incredible that he should be waiting for her opinion as though it really mattered.
`Oh, I think so,’ she said, although she had not in fact given much thought to it. `He does all sorts of wild things and Kerren is unconventional herself, so that appeals to her. . . .’
`I wouldn’t have said he was unconventional. But I can see that the wildness would appeal to her . . . now, at least.’
`Now and for ever!’ Robin could not stop the words coming out sharp with malice. `Kerren feels that she and Peter are different to all the other people who fall in love, theirs is a once-for-ever kind of love.’
Adam said, `We all feel that.’
He thinks I’m a bitch, Robin thought miserably. Then, looking at him, she realized that he was not thinking about her at all; he was staring out of the window at a big bank of cumulonimbus building up, and his face looked old and more lined than ever. Perhaps he had had a heavy night in the wardroom.
`Oh, it’s natural enough!’ she said, glad that her bitchiness had passed unnoticed. `But you must admit, sir, that other people’s happiness is awfully hard to share sometimes.’
He came down to earth then and said with a hint of his old malicious humour that long exposure to reflected happiness could be trying.
`She’s even involved my boy-friend in it, believe it or not! He’s trying to get her a wedding dress. He says they bring over crates of food and unnecessary equipment so surely they can get a girl a wedding dress!’
`God save America!’
Robin laughed and talked tolerantly about Con and the wedding dress. But she was not quite so tolerant when she talked to Con himself. The unbridled generosity of Americans seemed to her rather ill-bred.
`She’ll want to pay for it,’ she warned him. `She feels very strongly about this wedding and . . .’
`You don’t imagine that I would offer to pay for her wedding dress?’ he asked quietly.
`Sometimes you Americans don’t know when to stop giving.’
`We’ll learn.’ The quiet bitterness in his voice surprised her. `Give us a little longer in Europe and we’ll learn.’
She had never managed to get beneath his skin before. The more she found out about him, the less she understood him. She had tried to talk to one of the men in his unit about him, but the conversation could scarcely have been called enlightening.
`The guy’s crazy,’ Wally had assured her. `Nice, but crazy. I’ll prove it to ya. Ya know where he wants to go most in the world? Not Florida, or Miami, or Bondi beach – oh no, Connolly – that’s his real name, d’ya know that? – Connolly, he wants to go to the Antarctic. Yes, sir – the Antarctic! And it ain’t that he don’t know any better, ’cos he’s been to the Arctic. And he really liked the Arctic; he liked it so much he can’t wait to get to the Antarctic, ’cos he reckons the Antarctic will be just like the Arctic, only more so. He’s crazy, see what I mean?’
`Why does he go to these places?’
`He was with a research unit when he was at college. Guess it turned his head. They’re mad, ya know, all them research guys are mad. They push at the frontiers a bit too hard and something gives and they get way out beyond and can’t get back to base. With some of them it’s all mental; with Connolly it’s physical. I reckon he’ll just go on until he pushes himself right over the edge of the world.’
Robin thought about it, but it didn’t make sense. Con had said, `A man can’t try for too many things, otherwise he misses out on the things that matter.’ But going to the Antarctic could not be one of the things that mattered. That was too absurd, even for Con.
Chapter Eleven
Kerren was married the following week on the Thursday morning. It was a busy time at Guillemot; a new course had arrived and, as if that was not enough, Thursday was beacon night. Only Robin, Beatie and Adam got leave to attend the wedding. Beatie’s inclusion created some ill-feeling; even Jessie’s loyalty was strained.
`I’m more Kerren’s friend than she is,’ she complained.
`You don’t sleep with the right people,’ Naomi pointed out.
Robin hoped Beatie would keep clear of Con, who had been invited on account of the dress. It was a bright morning when they set out, nothing tremulous or uncertain about it. As they sat in the truck and watched the blue of the sky deepen, Beatie said, `It’s going to be a real scorcher.’ Robin looked at the dust rising from the wheels of the truck. The church was in a village on the outskirts of Templedene and they would have to walk over a mile from the station; Kerren had made them promise not to hitch-hike. `You might get involved, and then you’d be late.’ She had been quite hysterical during the last few days, so they had thought it better to humour her.
`Couldn’t Adam have given us a lift?’ Beatie said later, when they were toiling down the high street towards the lane that would lead them to the village.
`I think he was afraid we would be late. He seems to be taking his responsibilities rather seriously. Anyone would think he was getting married.’
Robin glared down at the dust setting on her well-polished shoes. The glow of Kerren’s happiness had touched many people, but Robin had not been prepared for Adam to be affected. She felt grudging and resentful, ashamed of herself but unable to do anything about it. The high street was well behind them now and there were fields on either side. They could see the church in the distance and the roofs of a few houses in the village. Robin looked at the church and tried to feel happy for Kerren. Beatie was saying:
`He doesn’t go out with anyone on the camp, does he?’
It took Robin a moment to realize that she was still talking about Adam.
`I don’t think he goes out with anyone at all. I’d always assumed that that sort of thing was over as far as he was concerned, but I’m not sure now.’
`He’s not all that old in spite of his grey hair. About thirty-four, I’d say.’
`That’s old enough.’
They came to a bridge over a stream. Beatie leant on the stone parapet and gazed at the water which looked clear and cool flowing between big, smooth boulders. She seemed to see something very interesting down there, or perhaps she was just enchanted by her own fragmented reflection. Robin bit her lip. The damnable thing about Beatie was that even in the eyes of another woman there were times when she was quite breathtaking. It wasn’t just that she was pretty; she had so much confidence, not only in herself but in everything and everyone. Life is wonderful: the belief sparkled in her eyes, in her soft red lips; the up thrust breasts and the swinging grace of her hips proclaimed it. Robin turned away. Her collar was too tight and was beginning to chafe her neck. It was going to be a quite horrid day. Beatie said:
`I’d like to paddle.’
Robin loosened the knot in her tie.
`Not on Kerren’s wedding day.’
She could see Con sitting on the wall of the church, his jacket slung over his shoulders. Desire moved more strongly than ever before. She could not bear to lose him, the very thought brought tears to her eyes. Beatie was looking at him, too. She said:
`Long, loose-limbed type, huh! No wonder you’ve kept him to yourself, Robin.’
They walked towards him. This is where I have to be clever, Robin thought without much hope. To her relief, he acknowledged Beatie briefly when introduced and turned to the church. `This is something!’ he said. `This really is something!’ Robin looked at it: an old country church with a few dilapidated cottages to one side, fields and a farm opposite, flies buzzing and a smell of cow dung. Whoever would have guessed that Con would be so sentimental! She pushed the wicket gate and led the way into the churchyard, small and well-kept with b
right flower borders. Tombstones at the back. `Nice not to be too conscious of the ancient dead,’ she said lightly.
`Some of them would be pretty ancient, wouldn’t they?’ he observed. The grass bank was high on the south side, almost at the level of the small windows; the building seemed to be hunching into the earth.
`It’s very old,’ Beatie assured him. `That doorway is early Norman.’
`You sound as though you really know that!’ Robin scoffed.
`But how unkind! Even blondes know a thing or two.’
Con looked down at her then and she gave him her most demure look. But by this time Robin had a feeling that Beatie wasn’t going to make out with Con, her architecture was pure twentieth century. Robin sat on a bench which was warmed by the sun. `The rustic life for me!’ she said, looking across at the churned earth in the farmyard. She tilted her head back and let the sun shine on her face. After a moment she closed her eyes and tried to imagine Kerren getting into her wedding dress, fingers fumbling with hooks and eyes – or perhaps Peter’s aunt would be doing the fumbling while Kerren twisted and turned, her whole body in turmoil. She would not be thinking, Robin was sure of that; Kerren had given up thought several days ago. Robin’s own thoughts wandered. The smell of warm grass was pleasant; she could feel her skin beginning to tighten as the sun grew hotter.
People began to arrive, two pilots from Lee, an A.T.S. girl who was a distant relative of Kerren. Con suggested that they should go inside the church; he was obviously longing for a chance to prowl round and marvel at its age. Better to encourage this harmless activity, Robin thought, reluctantly leaving her place in the sun.
The door was heavy for such a small church. When it opened a gust of air met them, as though all the dusty meditation of centuries was being puffed in their faces. It was dark, only a shaft of light shining through a thin lancet window on to the simple altar. Con and Beatie stopped to inspect the font; Beatie really did seem to know quite a bit about architecture. Robin sat down. It was very quiet. She heard a car in the road, people’s voices outside in the sunlight; but they were far away, like sounds heard as one reaches the borders of sleep. She supposed she should pray for Kerren. She knelt on the thin, lumpy hassock. No words came. She ran her fingers along the gnarled pew and looked at the stone-flagged nave, there was a grave there but the inscription was almost worn away. Everything was worn, worn by hands and feet and the kneeling weight of bodies, the breath long gone. The place was so old; there didn’t seem to be much point in praying for Kerren with the weight of those dead centuries pulling against one. What was Kerren’s wedding in terms of this place? Something scarcely registered on time’s retina. She felt rather peculiar, so she sat up and began to flick through the pages of a hymn book.
