by MARY HOCKING
`I shall be all right when I’ve had a spot of leave,’ he muttered.
She went out, looking disgusted. He was afraid that she would make trouble for him, he knew that she exerted a considerable influence on the Commander. Tomorrow he must tell Grieve that he had decided to take Christmas leave himself.
Robin reported the outcome in the cabin the following evening.
`Hunter took up his stance by the window and announced – to the airfield presumably, because he didn’t look at us – that he thought he would take a spot of leave over Christmas. There was one of those silences that I suppose you can only call pregnant; then Adam said quite casually, “I had been hoping to have leave myself.” ’ Hunter said, “Out of the question.” And that was all. When he went out, Adam said, “No doubt his need is greater than mine. Or so we must suppose.” Which was remarkably Christian of him, when you consider what a swinishly selfish creature Hunter is!’
Robin paused, arranging the sleeve of her shirt carefully on the ironing board. The cabin was nearly full. Cath had brought petrol back from the hangar and the stove was burning brightly, its long arm already white hot. The air was thick and smelt, so Kerren insisted, of hail and brimstone.
Marney said to Robin, `Anyone would think you were going to bed in that shirt, Robin, the trouble you’re taking.’
It was on the tip of Robin’s tongue to tell Marney that she was spending the forthcoming week-end with a maiden aunt; but she did not bother because Marney would never believe that anyone, except possibly Hazel, went on leave for a purpose unconnected with sex. Robin ironed the sleeve carefully, thinking about Con.
Jessie and Hazel, who were going on Christmas leave, were packing. At least, Jessie was packing and Hazel was standing in front of an open drawer. She had been standing there for an hour and had only put one vest in her suitcase. She would never come back; if you couldn’t even pack your suitcase for yourself, you weren’t likely to defy your parents’ wishes. It was Naomi who finally packed the case for her.
Jessie did not need any help, she was happy and made light work of her packing. The others watched her disapprovingly. `Frank will never marry her,’ Robin had said, and they all agreed with this pronouncement. It was surprising that she should have hooked him, inconceivable that she should hold him. In which case, it was unwise to take him home with her, it would make him feel cornered. But when Naomi had tried to point this out to her, she had adopted her most mulish attitude and had refused to listen. So now they contented themselves with watching her disapprovingly.
Robin finished the shirt and put it on a hanger.
`And don’t anybody touch that!’
`Big date?’ Naomi asked.
Robin looked secretive. They began to tease her because they were bored and had nothing else to do. Robin watched Kerren to see if she was interested. She would like to have confided in Kerren. But Kerren had withdrawn again. Robin collected her washing tackle.
`Anyone going to make tracks for the unknown?’
`You go and blaze a trail, Robin,’ Naomi answered. `We’ll follow tomorrow.’
Robin said that they were all sluts and went out. The snow had frozen hard and it was no longer pleasant to walk on it. The air must be coming straight from the pole, it felt as though one’s face was slowly being skinned. A narrow lane led to the marines’ camp which was separated from the Wrens’ camp by two fields and a broken down farmhouse. The lane was deeply rutted and difficult to walk along at the best of times. Robin slipped and slithered and fell over twice. The second time she lost her soap in the snow; she said some hard things about the Women’s Royal Naval Service as she crawled about searching for it. She hoped Con would appreciate the effort made on his behalf.
She was still thinking about him when she returned. Kerren had retired to her bunk and the others were talking about Cath’s affair with Derek Mason.
`He doesn’t really seem the type to be redeemed by the love of a good woman,’ Marney was saying. `But then I expect you know him better than I do.’ Her tone implied the opposite.
Most of the others agreed with Marney and Cath must have sensed this. But she never evaded an issue, and Robin could tell by the way that she clenched her plump little hands that she meant to face their ridicule, even to invite it.
`I get sick of the atmosphere in this cabin! All this cheap cynicism, this unhealthy desire to believe the worst of everyone. A woman has to believe the best of a man and go on and on and on believing it. But you wouldn’t understand that. “Roll me over in the clover” – that’s all you lot know about love.’
`I beg your pardon!’ Naomi drew herself up regally, but Cath just shouted, `I should hope you do!’ and turned away. Marney held her fingers to her nose and pulled an imaginary chain. Someone giggled. It served Cath right, Robin thought, there were times when one felt she should have joined the Salvation Army rather than the W.R.N.S. Nevertheless, there was a certain staunchness about her that Robin envied.
Kerren called from her bunk, `All clean and pure now, Robin?’
Robin went across to her. It was dark at this end of the cabin. Kerren was lying with the left side of her face pushed against the pillow; Robin could not see her very well, but she had the sense of being closer to her than she had been for some time. She whispered:
`I’m seeing Con at the week-end.’
`Are you?’ There was a pause, then Kerren said, `I haven’t been a very good friend lately, Robin.’
Robin thought that she was trying to apologize for her lack of interest, so she patted her cheek and said, `Things are tough for you. You’re excused.’
And having said that, there was nothing else to say. She turned away to undress. When she had clambered into her bunk, she read Con’s letter again. It was very brief, simply stating that he would probably be on the move soon; he finished by saying that if she had no other plans he might manage a weekend in Salisbury. If she had no other plans! Robin put the letter down and looked up at the smoke-wreathed ceiling.
She was not at all sure that she could go through with this week-end, which might be their last together. You had to believe, Cath had said; but what could you believe about an enigmatic creature like Con? She lay awake for a long time, listening to the ice cracking somewhere in the wood, to the stealthy movement of snow on the roof of the cabin as the hot pipe thawed it. She had not realized that she could feel so desperate about a man.
There was a thaw on the Friday. In Salisbury the streets were soon clogged with slush. A thin drizzle of rain began to fall on the Sunday evening. The streets were empty save for a few aimless soldiers and one or two people on their way to church. In the cafe off the market square the smell of damp clothes mingled with the smell of fried fish. When the street door opened one had a glimpse of wet pavements and a dim blue light at the entrance to a public convenience. Robin thought that she would never want to come to Salisbury again as long as she lived. She looked down at the check table-cloth, threadbare and stained with vinegar. Con said:
`We could see if some other place is open.’
`It doesn’t matter. There’s nowhere decent except the hotels, and they won’t be serving yet.’
`If there was a later train I’d catch it.’
`It doesn’t matter.’
The waitress came with plates of fish and chips. The identity of the fish was disguised by a heavy coating of batter; the chips were grey and pulpy. Con fetched a bottle of tomato ketchup from another table; the ketchup had dribbled down the side of the bottle so that it came off on his fingers. Robin said:
`Why do Americans smother everything in ketchup?’
By way of retaliation she picked up the vinegar bottle and shook it over the fish. The waitress came back with a plate of bread and margarine, the bread dry and curled at the edges. Con began to ask for a pot of tea, but she had turned away to serve an air force sergeant at the next table.
`It doesn’t matter,’ Robin said. `It’s probably been stewing all week.’
&nbs
p; His head was bent over his plate; just for a moment he shut his eyes, a reflex against pain. She must have been drilling on his nerves for a long time. She nibbled a piece of fish; her throat muscles were so taut that she could hardly swallow. Con seemed to be having the same difficulty. She looked at him again. His skin had an unwholesome, muddy look and his face was stiff as though the muscles ached. The picture of a man who has discovered how much he is loved! she thought bitterly. A jumbled series of images invaded her mind. She saw herself sitting in bars, her fingers drumming on the counter, betraying the impatience she could not control if he was away from her for a moment. She saw them walking through the streets – should they go to a cinema, the theatre, a dance? She felt again the impatience that welled up inside her because all that she wanted was to go to bed. He had been perplexed by her irritation at first, but after last night he had understood. She had never imagined she could lose control of herself in that way, smothering him with her love, crying when the dawn came. At least he had not been a coward, he had tried to talk about it. But words can’t assuage that kind of pain. No doubt he had learnt that now: by the look of him, he had learnt a lot during this week-end. Something tugged at her heart, not her own despair. He looked so sick with himself. She drew breath through aching ribs and made one last effort at brightness.
`Well, it’s not exactly the Ritz! But the other meals have been nice, haven’t they?’
`Oh, yes!’ He looked up, a small boy eagerly accepting a reprieve. `That was quite a banquet we had at the County Hotel last night, wasn’t it?’
`It was indeed!’
`And the play, that was pretty good, didn’t you think?’
`It had such a good cast. Edith Evans is one of our best actresses. We were lucky to see her.’
`I guess we were.’
He looked down. The little flicker of conversation petered out. Robin tried to push down another piece of fish. He said:
`Don’t eat that if you don’t like it. We can probably get sandwiches at the station buffet.’
She pushed the plate to one side. `Well . . . if you don’t mind. But I would like some tea, even if it is a real Naafi brew.’
He signalled to the waitress, successfully this time. When she had gone there was silence again. Robin looked at the clock over the door that led to the kitchen. Its face was misted but she could just see the hands pointing to six-fifteen. Con’s train went at seven. Time could not just trickle away like this, she must try to salvage something. She said:
`I’m sorry it’s been such a disastrous week-end, Con; but we can’t let it end like this.’ She saw his eyes darken, but she had to go on: `For the last few hours we’ve been behaving as though we were strangers. Is that how you feel about me?’
He made a restless movement of his shoulders. `No, of course it isn’t how I feel.’
Her lips were shaking and she turned her head away, angry with herself. He pushed a packet of cigarettes across to her. Her hand trembled as she lit a cigarette and he leant forward and held her wrist. He could feel the pulse, light and fast; but the hand itself gave no indication of her agitation. The hand was narrow with long, thin fingers, the skin very white except for the delicate tracery of veins. There was an elegance about the hand which symbolized the enchantment which she had for him. Long after he had forgotten every word they had ever spoken, he would see her waiting for him in the evening, one hand upraised to the red hair that flickered like flames in the breeze, or strolling down Yeovil High Street as incongruous among the hunched shoppers as a tall ship in a convoy of coasters. She was not brilliant or beautiful, but she was the most graceful creature he had ever known. He was ashamed about the scene last night, it was as though he had destroyed a work of art. When she had the cigarette alight, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers.
`I’ve behaved badly to you.’
`No, Con! You mustn’t say that. I don’t regret anything.’
He released her hand and lit a cigarette for himself. It gave him a moment or two to think. He decided it was best to be brief. `These things don’t last with me, Robin.’
`But that doesn’t mean that nothing will ever last . . .’
`I don’t want lasting relationships.’
`But you can’t be a complete person if you try to live without human relationships.’ Her voice lacked the warmth of conviction, she merely sounded anxious and afraid. He said sharply:
`You don’t believe all that cant yourself. It’s the kind of silly rubbish people talk because they are afraid to face the truth. You are always alone. Always. You are you and nobody else and there is nothing more unnatural in the whole world than two people trying to submerge their personalities and blend themselves into one corporate personality – the Joneses and the Smiths. God preserve me from the Joneses and the Smiths!’
`But all marriages aren’t like that,’ she pleaded.
`Marriage is an institution and I don’t believe in institutions.’ He looked down at the soiled table-cloth. `There are other things, too, Robin. I’ve been finding a lot out about myself lately . . .’
`Con, if you just need time to sort yourself out . . .’
`No. I’ve done that.’
His eyes were inflexible. She winced and looked away. The waitress had come with their tea. Robin poured it out. It was hot and strong, the best part of the meal. She looked across at Con; his face was unyielding as granite. Life with him would be a long, hard fight. Something in her that tended to give in at the last made her say to herself, leave it, don’t try any more. She was tired, her sense of urgency had dwindled, she just wanted to get through the rest of their time together without another scene.
They finished the tea, Con paid the bill and they went out. It was dark and there were mounds of slush on the unswept pavement. The wind drove the rain across their shoulders. When they reached the main road Con hailed a taxi. `It will give us more drinking time,’ he said. And less time alone, she thought. When they reached the station buffet she went into the toilet while he ordered drinks. She took off her cap and combed her hair until it shone, automatically she flicked it forward down one cheek. She put on a little lipstick. `It will all be over one way or the other in half-an-hour,’ she said to herself. It would be a relief, after so many months of worrying and wondering.
Con had ordered whisky. They stood together at one end of the bar. There was no point in looking for a table, one had to be grateful for standing space. Robin sipped her whisky. Every so often an arm, khaki, air force blue, navy, stretched over her shoulder to the bar. She said, `Have a care there, Jack!’ to a sailor who was trying to navigate a pint of beer past her right ear. He answered, `Have no fear, Jenny!’ The arm disappeared and just for a moment the beer glass seemed to float between the shoulders of two Scots soldiers. Judging by their expressions, the soldiers were exchanging dirty jokes, but their accents were so broad that they might have been speaking Gaelic for all that Robin could understand. The whisky – or perhaps it was the familiar service atmosphere – was beginning to have its effect. She began to talk gaily to Con. The doors of the bar swung to and fro as people came and went. Outside, a train whistle sounded and a guard shouted a string of incomprehensible names. The incomprehensibility was a part of the excitement – departure, destination unknown: how dull life would be when chaos receded and one’s journeys were well-ordered. For a moment she had a dim understanding of what it meant to Con to wander at will. She finished her whisky and Con ordered again. A Waaf, trailing a kit bag, fought her way to the door and a soldier admonished, `Travel light in war-time!’ Con was gay, too. Now that he thought she would let him go easily a barrier had been broken and they were closer together than ever before.
When Con’s train came in a lot of people started pushing towards the door of the buffet. Con and Robin were at the back of the crowd. By the time they had reached the platform and Con had found a carriage, the train was due to leave in two minutes. A voice over the tannoy was requesting Lance Corporal Benson to
report to the station master’s office.
`Let me know you’re safe,’ Robin shouted.
`You mustn’t worry about me,’ he answered. `I don’t plan to get killed in this war.’
`Con! You shouldn’t say that kind of thing. It’s tempting fate.’ He laughed. `I am the master of my fate.’ Although he laughed, she felt he was serious about this and it made her uneasy. But there was no time to say any more. The guard was blowing his whistle. Con bent to kiss her. Most men, she thought, would have made promises at this moment when it would cost them nothing. But he made no promises. As she watched the train move away, she felt rather exalted, as though he had bestowed a final integrity on their relationship.
She walked back to the hotel through the dark, grimy streets. She was glad she had not done too badly in the end. Her chest ached and her body felt bruised. It had taken a lot out of her. But she felt all right in herself, quite calm and philosophical. `What I have had, no one can take away from me. I shall always be the richer for having known him.’ She went straight to bed when she got back to the hotel and slept well. It was in the morning that the pain began.
Chapter Twenty Four
The air temperature was 39 degrees Fahrenheit; but the damp air made one feel more wretched than if it had been freezing. The visibility was three miles but would soon decrease when the heavy clouds shed their burden of rain. Kerren looked at the wind sock which was hanging down, only moving occasionally as a fretful breath of wind caught it. Beyond the wind sock there was waterlogged grass stretching away to where the poplars stood, emaciated branches upraised to the grey sky. It was a landscape without humans; one might have thought that the personnel of Guillemot had deserted. Kerren turned away from the Davidson screen and walked slowly back to the control tower. The cars and bikes parked outside disproved the desertion theory. She paused by the outer door, looking at the perimeter track to see whether her relief, Sue, was on the way. There was no sign of her or of anyone else. Oh well, what did it matter? the control tower was as good a place as any to spend Christmas morning on camp. There were sounds of many voices from the met. office. She hoped that Boxer had finished telling the C.F.C.O. and the flying instructors about the blacks he had put up on his met. course; he was not good at making these incidents amusing. When she opened the door the C.F.C.O. was doing the talking; he didn’t tell stories well either, but he was crude enough to get by. Boxer was preparing his face for the big laugh and the flying instructors were looking knowing. Kerren went to the log book and made her entries. She sipped her tea; someone had laced it with rum in her absence. She waved the cup in the direction of the flying instructors, who seemed the most likely donors, and said, `May your shadows never grow less!’ The door opened and Jake came in, followed by one of the R/T Wrens. He kissed Kerren and said that she was a grand kid. The R/T Wren said he hadn’t kissed her, so he kissed her, without telling her that she was a grand kid. The R/T Wren apologized for gate-crashing and explained that the party up in flying control was getting out of hand. Her eyes were on one of the instructors all the time that she was talking to Kerren. She did not look as though it would bother her if a party got out of hand. As soon as Kerren had poured her tea she went over to the men and told them about the bow-legged girl; she must have been well away to think they hadn’t heard that one, Kerren thought. The door opened and Sue came in, breathless and apologetic. Jake kissed her and she protested, but not effectively.
