by Stead Jones
‘I wasn’t…’ I began.
‘Why can’t they leave him alone?’ Gladstone went on. ‘Leave him alone and look to their own things. They’ve all got something to hide, but they spend all their lives searching for the dirt on other people.’ He stood with his back to the door. ‘All that chapel crowd with their smart rig-outs on Sunday morning, and their Sunday morning faces too. That’s all part of the same fraud.’ He gripped my arm tightly. ‘You know what, Lew? I once asked old Jenkins shoe-shop what you were supposed to say when you walk into chapel first of all. You know – when you’re supposed to sit there after you’ve gone in and lower your head and that. What should you say – that’s what I asked him. And d’you know what he said? Count up to twenty, that’s what I do. That’s what he said – honest! A grown man like that! Count up to twenty – and if you feel very pious make it thirty, or even forty! Lew – what kind of thinking is that? It’s a fraud, isn’t it? You haven’t got a chance against thinking like that. Ashton hasn’t. None of us have…’
I’d started him off, brought that ring into his voice which came only when he felt deeply about something, and now I didn’t know what to say. I was glad to see the photograph under the bed.
‘What’s that?’ I said.
Gladstone knelt by the bed and picked up the photo. I looked over his shoulder. It was a picture of a boy, taken in a studio, a shadowy castle behind him. He had dark hair brushed across his forehead, and his eyes were fixed steadily on the camera. He looked special, somehow. One hand was raised so that his finger touched the top of his chin. It was an old face, and he must have made a witty remark to someone who was watching. Yet he was only a little boy in a sailor suit.
‘Look at the writing,’ Gladstone whispered. ‘Jupiter Vaughan,’ he read in an unsteady voice. ‘Jupiter Vaughan, 1904–1920.’
He held the photo up for a second or two longer, then hurriedly pushed it back on top of the suitcase. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘we shouldn’t have looked.’
He let me go out first, then closed the door very gently, as you do when you are leaving a sickroom, as I imagined you did when leaving a room where someone lay dead.
VII
Saturday evening, Porthmawr crouching under open skies, and only the visitors out. They had spilled out of the trains all afternoon, and since they had come so far they had to see something, rain or no rain. So they padded the brimming streets in dripping macs and squelching pumps, and looked into windows of closed shops, and stomped into the pubs and the fish and chips and the pictures. Porthmawr in the wet on a Saturday night waved no welcome sign. It seemed to be hanging on, waiting, like the chapels, for Sunday.
I was at home, the house to myself with Meira and Owen at the pictures, passing time on with another Zane Grey but thinking of Ashton Vaughan. I had been warned not to have the wireless on because the wet battery was down and Meira would want the service in the morning. Meira always had the service on while the Sunday dinner was cooking – better than chapel itself, she said. So there was only the hiss of the fire, and the rain against the window, and the tick of the clock on the mantelpiece: quiet sounds that send the mind spinning.
How was the party going? The biggest yet. It had started at opening time that morning and had been raging ever since. By mid-afternoon Ashton and his crowd had been thrown out of the Bells. There had been a fight, Gladstone said, in the yard behind the pub, but the police hadn’t been called or anything like that. Just an honest fight, then back to Ashton’s room the whole lot went with a couple of crates. Gladstone had taken some laundry over at teatime and reported that it was wetter in that room than outside. ‘All the town spongers, Lew,’ he said. ‘All singing hymns and swearing.’
At opening time in the evening they had all gone off to the Fishers, which was rough and the only pub that would have them. We had watched them go, the four of us. I think we all wanted to pull Ashton away from them and get him back to his room. He’d seen us too, standing there in the shop doorway, but he’d turned away and lurched past. I looked at the clock. Half past nine: they’d be out on the streets now, and so would the police. Zane Grey had all the pull of the Three Bears that night.
I was at the door almost before the sound of the knocker had stopped echoing in the empty house. It was Gladstone and the other two, huddled under an old umbrella with a hole in it.
‘Get your coat,’ Gladstone ordered. ‘Ashton’s down by the harbour somewhere. It’s a matter of life and death.’
I had my coat on in no time, and was running after them along the shining streets. I caught them up by Harbour View. They were looking up at Ashton’s room.
‘Sure he isn’t up there?’ I said.
‘No light,’ Gladstone replied. ‘Dewi saw him leave the Fishers, then Maxie lost him because he stopped to see this fight.’
‘Two men from the country,’ Maxie said. ‘Great fight. Teeth everywhere.’
‘Should have stayed with him,’ Gladstone snapped. ‘Not safe for him near all that water. Now – spread out. Take a street each and we’ll meet by the Lifeboat Hut. Right? Let’s go, then.’
We took a street each. I saw nobody down mine, except a couple kissing in a doorway. The rain never stopped. Already my feet were wet.
We came together by the Lifeboat Hut on the quay. There was no sign of Ashton. We stared out across the dark of the harbour. The tide was in too. God knew where he had got to.
‘Try the Moonbeam, shall we?’ I said.
‘A light,’ Dewi broke in. ‘Out there…’
We looked along the line of his pointing arm, and three of us saw it suddenly – a brief glow, then the black again. Maxie never saw it. He always had difficulty in seeing anything in the dark.
‘By God,’ Dewi said, ‘someone striking a match out in the harbour!’
It had to be Ashton. We ran down the slippery jetty and pulled at one of the mooring ropes. It was so dark we only knew the boat had reached the side of the jetty when we heard its bow thud against stone.
‘Quickly,’ Gladstone said. ‘Is there an oar?’
Dewi, who was already aboard said, ‘One,’ and we clambered in after him. We slipped the mooring rope and pushed the boat out then stumbled to the bow. Dewi was the best stern sculler going: we left him to it and crouched there, arms held out in case we rammed one of the moored craft. The night around us was soot black.
‘You look out for the boats,’ Gladstone said in my ear. ‘I’ll watch for the light…’
He had no sooner said it than the harbour was suddenly brighter than any day. Dewi had time to cry ‘Flare’ before the light went out and the dark moved in again.
Gladstone, Maxie and I huddled together in the bow of the boat, not speaking, not even moving, as if stunned by what had happened. Dewi in the stern had his oar out of the water, and I knew he was standing there, not believing there had been a light, like the rest of us.
‘Dear God,’ Gladstone cried out, ‘it came from Marius Vaughan’s boat! It was a rocket! It’s Ashton…’
As if to prove him right another one went up, and this one held its light. We could see the rain now, and through it the Cambrian Cloud – Marius Vaughan’s boat – the biggest and the slowest in Porthmawr regatta.
‘To port,’ Gladstone ordered.
‘Which bloody way is port?’ Dewi replied.
‘Left,’ Gladstone barked. ‘Left and straight ahead. I can see him!’
Ahead of us was the Cambrian Cloud, white and shining like a ghost ship, and there was Ashton standing in the steering-well.
‘There he is!’ Gladstone cried.
‘Must think he’s bloody Guy Fawkes,’ Dewi shouted back.
I felt Gladstone stiffen, but he didn’t say anything. Before the light from the flare had gone we were close enough to grab the anchor chain, then we pulled ourselves slowly alongside the yacht. ‘Hold her tight,’ Gladstone said as he heaved himself aboard. Maxie and I hung on as our boat bobbed and swung away, then we drew it close to the yacht’s si
de.
‘Ashton,’ I heard Gladstone shout on the deck above us. ‘Mr Vaughan. Where are you?’
Ashton’s voice came back. ‘Here, kid. All tangled in the flaming rigging. Pissed as a coot and tangled up…’
Gladstone came back. ‘Blacker than hell up here. Any matches going?’
‘I’ve got a torch,’ Maxie said.
‘Well hand it up then.’
Maxie switched his torch on and tested the beam, then held it up to Gladstone. Dewi and I asked him what the hell he was playing at, not telling us he had a torch all the time.
‘Got a new battery,’ Maxie said.
‘New battery, my ass,’ Dewi replied, and went in for a spell of swearing. I couldn’t blame him. The water was running down my sleeves and I felt like swearing too. I looked over their heads shorewards. There were lights all around the Lifeboat Hut. ‘They’re coming for us,’ I said. We wouldn’t have to worry about a light going back.
‘Gladstone had better hurry up,’ Maxie grumbled. ‘It’ll be the police station for us…’
‘Lew,’ Gladstone called above me, ‘take the torch. Shine it this way. We’re coming down.’
He jumped into our boat and began shouting instructions to Ashton who stood above us, holding on to the rigging.
‘Sit down, Mr Vaughan. Legs over.’
Ashton crouched down and pushed one leg over the side of the yacht, and there he stuck. ‘Boys bach,’ he howled, ‘can’t find the other bloody leg! It’s dropped off!’
‘You’re sitting on it,’ Gladstone cried. ‘Try to get up, Mr Vaughan.’
Ashton just sat there tapping the deck, searching for his missing leg and rocking with laughter. ‘By God, what a dirty night to lose your leg and all…’
‘Hold tight,’ Gladstone said, ‘I’ll come up and help you.’
He heaved himself aboard the yacht again, and after what looked like a wrestling match managed to get Ashton to put his legs over the side. But that was as far as Ashton would go. ‘Don’t wanna ger in the bloody boat,’ he was saying. ‘I’m all ri’ here. Leave me alone. This is my yacht…’ His head was lolling about on his shoulders. He was making strange noises which sounded like singing. ‘Just leave me alone, lads bach. Leave me be…’
Gladstone tried to lift him, but he was a big man, and dead weight. ‘Bring the boat closer,’ he ordered. ‘Closer still. Hold it there now. I’ll shove him in. Ready, Mr Vaughan? I’ll push him in – you break his fall down there…’
‘What with?’ Dewi said. ‘He’ll have the bloody lot over…’
Ashton Vaughan’s head was sagging on his chest. If he didn’t stop rolling about like that he’d be falling into the boat of his own accord. Gladstone crouched behind him, arms under his armpits. He heaved, and we all let go of the Cambrian Cloud as Ashton was promptly sick. I dropped the torch into the bottom of the boat and it went out straight away. We were rocking and stamping and cursing there in the streaming dark. Especially Dewi: he was using every word he knew.
‘Who’s that swearing out there?’ the voice behind us barked out – a foghorn of a voice, and we turned to face it at the same time as they switched on the searchlight. We heard the soft, powerful throb of the lifeboat’s motor now. The light pinned us there, blinded us, came out of the night straight for us and we were locked there between the lifeboat and the Cambrian Cloud.
‘Get them aboard,’ a voice ordered. ‘Mind that boat of mine, now. Young b—. Get them aboard. Oh – by God – will you look at that lot on the Cloud?’
We were hauled aboard the lifeboat as the men roared laughing. The dinghy was pulled clear and the lifeboat edged closer to the Cambrian Cloud.
‘What’s going on, then?’ the Coxswain asked Gladstone. ‘What are you mucking about at?’
‘We came out after Mr Vaughan,’ Gladstone replied.
‘Silly young b—,’ the Coxswain said. ‘You must be stupid daft. Daft as the bloody visitors.’ The Cox’s name was Solomon Davies, and he was all right: even now he didn’t talk really rough.
‘Get aboard, Gladstone Williams,’ he said. ‘We’ll have to rig up a winch for your friend there.’
‘Bloody Vaughan,’ someone said near me in the darkness. ‘Let’s leave him till he drops in.’
‘You’d have the breweries after you, man. Think of the profit they’d lose.’
‘Remember the bastard coming home in his officer’s kit…
‘Remember the bastard telling me I was to salute him. Said he’d report me to my commanding officer, he did…’
‘What did you tell him, Will?’
‘Told him I’d put him in the harbour, sharp, uniform and all. Jesus bach! There was me just back from the Somme.’
‘All right, boys,’ the Cox ordered, ‘get him in.’
‘I’m not touching the drunken bastard,’ the man at my elbow said. ‘Leave the b—. Might have got these lads drowned…’
‘Get him in!
‘What’s the matter, Solomon – does his brother pass a cheque over on lifeboat collection?’
‘Marius Vaughan wouldn’t pass water,’ someone else said.
Gladstone was by my side, gripping my arm tightly. ‘The poor man,’ he said softly. ‘They hate him…’
Two of the crew, gleaming like whales in their oilskins, heaved Ashton roughly into the lifeboat.
‘Wonder what he was doing on his brother’s boat, then?’ someone said. ‘Oh, by Christ, watch out – he’s sick all over.’
Gladstone left my side and went to where Ashton lay. I stayed where I was. I felt sick myself by then.
‘Let’s take a look for the boat he used to get out here,’ the Cox’n said. ‘Turn the light around. It’ll be Harri Thomas’ more than likely…’
‘Over there,’ someone called. ‘Pass us the boathook.’
They secured the dinghy quickly and the lifeboat turned towards the town. ‘By damn,’ the Cox’n chuckled, ‘that was the shortest trip for a few years and no mistake. Firing off rockets in the bloody harbour. Worse than the bloody visitors…’
‘You want to make the bastard clean up this deck,’ a voice grumbled.
We chugged softly back to the slipway, Dewi by my side now saying bloody good, bloody good, over and over again.
Maxie said, ‘Never had a ride on the lifeboat before.’
Half the town and all the visitors seemed to be waiting for us on the slipway. Superintendent Edwards was there too, looking like the day of judgement. We were put ashore one by one, Ashton, who had come to, staggering last.
‘Mr Vaughan can tell you all about it, Super,’ the Cox’n called.
The Super bore down upon us. We were standing around Ashton like a bodyguard. ‘Let’s have a fight,’ Dewi said, but Gladstone hushed him quiet.
‘All right,’ the Super said, ‘you boys into the hut there. You too, Mr Vaughan.’
Two policemen broke up the crowd for us. Ashton led us, looking like the Ancient Mariner himself, and Maxie came last, muttering, ‘Our Tada’s there! Seen me!’
At the far end of the Lifeboat Hut, the Super lined us up. He drew himself up to his full height – a big man, sergeant-major moustache and all.
‘Right,’ he said, in a voice too loud to listen to, ‘what’s been going on, then?’
We all waited for Ashton to speak, but Ashton was looking at someone standing in the shadow by the door of the Hut. A short, very stiff man with white hair and a white moustache, but I only recognised him properly when he stepped into the light. He swung one leg stiffly, and that made him Marius Vaughan. We all knew he’d lost a leg in France.
The Super saw him too, and immediately went over and gave him a salute. They stood close together talking, then Marius Vaughan turned away and limped off into the crowd. The Super came back.
‘Right,’ he said, ‘that was Mr Vaughan. Just had a word with him. On his yacht you were…’
‘No charges, of course?’ Ashton kept his eyes lowered. ‘I take it we are free to go…’
<
br /> ‘Not so fast,’ the Super said. ‘I could charge you – know that, don’t you? Drunk and disorderly…’
Ashton stuck out his fists. ‘Handcuffs then. Do your duty. Lock me up…’
The Super gave a snort. ‘Get yourself off home, man. Stop playing around like a big lad. Give over causing people embarrassment…’
Ashton laughed. ‘So that’s it? I’m causing my brother embarrassment, am I? Is that what he said?’
‘Use your head,’ the Super said. ‘Act your age. Can’t keep on like this…’
Ashton found a cigar butt somewhere and lit it. ‘Now these young heroes,’ he said. ‘Came to my rescue. No charges for me, no charges for them? Right, Super?’
The Super glared at him. ‘I’ll deal with these boys after you’ve gone. Now – clear off and think yourself lucky I haven’t mentioned that dinghy you took out…’
‘Superintendent,’ said Ashton, ‘do you realise I might have drowned if these boys hadn’t come out after me?’
The Super didn’t seem very impressed. ‘Very likely. Now – I’m telling you this, Mr Vaughan, don’t chance your luck. I’m letting you go. I’d act on that if I were you.’
Ashton examined the cigar in his hand with elaborate care, then shook his head. ‘No go, Super,’ he said. ‘You’re not charging me, so you’re not charging these boys…’
Superintendent Edwards’ face was normally red, but now the colour deepened. He was chewing a bit at the sergeant-major moustache too, and his great fists were clenched tight.
Gladstone turned to Ashton. ‘Please go home. We’ll be all right.’
But Ashton refused to move. He stood there with a half smile on his face, looking down all the time at the cigar in his hand. The Super turned his back on him and arranged us in front for the talking to which we knew was bound to come. He made a big thing of it too, but that night there was no cutting edge to his words. Behind him, a dripping wreck of a man, Ashton stood, head cocked a little to one side, listening. And the Super knew it.
‘Names, addresses, schools… you are all liable to a charge of larceny of one dinghy, you know that…. Next time you see a light in the harbour inform the authorities…. I don’t think you realise the seriousness…. You can’t take a man’s boat….’ The Super tried his best, but he was off form, and he didn’t take as long as usual, either. He had the reputation of being able to reduce the roughest boy to tears – just by talking to him – but that night he wasn’t at his best. ‘It’s a caution this time. I hope I can leave your parents to deal with your foolhardiness….’ And he went on to his peroration before he ordered us all out of the Hut.
