Season of Darkness

by Maureen Jennings

  The waiter reappeared and gave a soft cough to remind them to get on with placing their order.

  Tyler opened his menu. There was a splotch of grease in the corner. Not too much on offer, but that wasn’t surprising these days. A potato and onion soup which sounded good, a turnip pie which didn’t, and grilled plaice which he thought he’d have.

  “Me too,” said Clare. “And a bottle of your best wine, please.”

  “Very good, madam.”

  “It’s my treat, don’t forget, Tom.” She glanced around the room. There were only two other couples in the restaurant, both middle aged, and both not talking. They had been served and were eating their meals in silence. Tyler was relieved not to recognize either pair.

  He and Clare had liked the hotel restaurant twenty years earlier. Being in love made everything exciting, even this fusty place, which then had seemed the height of luxury, at least for him. On their last night together, she’d been the one to rent a room for them. The hotel staff would never have said anything, even if they suspected. She was too posh for that, with her accent and county clothes. As always he’d given her half an hour, then slipped in by way of the back stairs.

  She was sitting on the bed, waiting. She looked unexpectedly shy and his heart melted at the sight. Her hair was long and wavy and she had let it fall to her shoulders. She had good legs, one of her best features; her breasts were small but they cupped perfectly into his hands. Her privates had golden hair and there was golden down on her arms and legs. He remembered the feeling that he was drowning in her. That night they made love passionately, tenderly, slowly, fast.

  Clare tapped his arm. “Tom? Hello, Tom. A penny for them. Where did you just go?”

  “Nowhere. I was wool gathering. What were you saying?”

  “This place hasn’t changed a jot. I remember the awful carpet and the curtains that look like they belong in a funeral parlour. Not to mention the waiter who hasn’t changed his shirt in twenty years. I do believe his name was Jonas. My God, Tommy, why on earth did we like this place?”

  Tyler had vowed to himself that he wouldn’t bring up the past unless she did, but now he didn’t really like the way she was speaking. He could be any old school chum she’d gone out for a meal with. Where was the magic stardust of love remembered? The waiter returned with the bottle of wine and two glasses.

  Clare smiled up at him. “I was here many years ago and I think you were the waiter then. Is your name Jonas?”

  “No, madam. It’s Charles, and I have only been working here for the past two years. However, I do believe my predecessor was named Jonah.” Not the slightest whit succumbing to Clare’s charm, he turned to Tyler. “Will you taste the wine, sir?”

  “Not me. The lady will.”

  Unperturbed, Charles poured out a taste into the glass, Clare pronounced it acceptable, and he filled the two glasses.

  “Your meal will be here momentarily, sir.”

  He glided away. Clare raised her eyebrows. “I got well and truly snubbed, didn’t I? Well, he does look like the other chap. It was probably his father. Where were we? Oh yes, you were about to share your thoughts with me.”

  “Was I?”

  Her eyes met his. She was wearing a silky blue frock that brought out the colour of her eyes. The ridiculous scarf would go well with it. She smiled wistfully.

  “This place does bring back memories. We spent our first night here, didn’t we?”

  “And our last. We had a flaming row.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  That night she said she had to tell him something. She was leaving in a week’s time to go to some swanky school in Switzerland to study languages. “For how long?” he asked, but she said she didn’t know. He’d yelled then. “What do you mean you don’t know? What am I? The peasant stud you can rut with to keep him quiet but drop when it suits you?” “No,” she’d shouted back. “What do you take me for?”

  “I thought we loved each other,” he said, “that we’d get married and be together ’til death us do part.” Too caught up in his hurt feelings, he’d got all melodramatic. “Go then. Get the hell away from me. Amputations should be done quickly.”

  And that was essentially that. She’d written later, but he didn’t answer. Time had numbed his anguish; at least that’s what he’d thought until he’d seen her in the market.

  Clare looked away. “We were too young, Tom. I hadn’t done anything with my life and neither had you.”

  “So you said.” He raised his glass. “Hey, come on, that was a long time ago. There’s been a lot of water under the bridge since then. Let’s drink to the present.”

  She clicked her glass with his. “To the present.”

  The waiter came out of the kitchen, wheeling a trolley. The platters had silver lids which he removed.

  The fish looked as if it had been around for as long as Charles himself, but the chef had endeavoured to hide it in a thick buttery sauce.

  After a few minutes, Clare dabbed at her lips with the napkin. “I think the accoutrements are rather outclassing the food. We’d better polish off the wine.”

  By now they were the only two people left in the dining room. Charles came in and drew the blackout curtains.

  “Speaking of the present, do you have any leads in your case?” Clare asked.

  “Not really. I’m hoping something will come from the car registrations, but it’s a long shot.”

  She looked puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

  “Oops! It’s some information I haven’t released. Keep it under your hat.”

  “Of course.”

  “According to the coroner, shortly before she was shot Elsie Bates was hit by a car. She was seriously injured.”

  “Good Lord!”

  “You weren’t driving on the Heath Road between five-thirty and six o’clock yesterday morning, were you by any chance?”

  “What? At that hour, I was still tucked up in bed, trying to decide whether or not to throw the alarm clock out of the window. I’m still not used to country hours. Why are you asking?”

  “That’s where Elsie was knocked off her bike. On the Heath Road, not too far out of Whitchurch.”

  Again Clare wiped at her mouth. “I had no idea that’s where she was. You never specified. You just said she was found on a country road.”

  “Police tactics. Keep that quiet too, please.” He had the odd feeling that she was relieved.

  He placed his hand lightly over hers. “Don’t worry. We’ll catch the culprit.”

  “I have no doubt of that, Tom Tyler. Unlike me, you found your calling.” She held his hand in both of hers. “I tell you what. This has been a lovely evening except for the food. Why don’t I cook you a proper meal? I’m quite a good cook. Can you come for luncheon at my place tomorrow?”

  “I’ll have to ask my wife.”

  He’d meant it as a joke. At least, he thought he had.

  Abruptly, Clare removed her hands. “My apologies. Forgive me if I don’t invite her as well.” She picked up her handbag. “I should get going while there’s even a trace of daylight.”

  “Clare wait! I was trying to be funny. You don’t have to invite Vera. Of course you don’t. You and I are childhood friends. Strictly platonic.” He was digging the hole deeper. “I’d love to come for dinner. What time?”

  She studied his face for a moment. “Oh, Tom.”

  “What? What, ‘oh Tom’?”

  “Never mind. Come early. How about one?”

  “Perfect.”

  She stood up. “Why don’t you stay a bit longer and finish the bottle. It’s a shame to waste it. I’ll pay on the way out.”

  She blew him a breezy kiss and headed for the door.

  Tyler swished the wine around in the glass. He stared gloomily at the ruby-red liquid.

  35.

  ALICE THORNE HAD DRAWN THE CURTAINS AND LIT the oil lamps. The dogs, well fed, were lying at her feet. Jimmy was sitting at the kitchen table watching her skin
the rabbit she had just killed.

  “How can you bring yourself to kill rabbits when you are so anti-war?”

  “Because I’m not a sentimental idiot. My dogs are carnivores and so are humans. These creatures die immediately, I make sure of that. And I don’t seek them out to kill them just because I don’t like the colour of their fur.”

  “I realize that, but it still seems pretty callous to me.”

  “You might make completely different decisions about the animal world, Jimmy, but that’s mine and I don’t come by it casually.”

  She was about to remind him how much he’d enjoyed the rabbit stew she’d cooked yesterday, but he was so edgy and restless, she bit her tongue.

  Suddenly, he jumped to his feet and walked over to the window. “Why is it that nothing seems simple anymore?”

  She concentrated on dismembering the carcass, then dropped each piece into a pot of brine beside her. The rabbits tended to be a bit tough as she didn’t like to kill the younger ones if she could help it. Soaking for an hour in salt water made them more palatable. She rolled up the rabbit pelt and put it into another bucket to be cleaned more thoroughly later. When she had accumulated a sufficient number of them, she’d make the skins into a hat, or stole, or even a jacket to sell at the market. In the past, they were very popular.

  Jimmy came back to the table.

  Finally he said, “Can I tell you what happened, Mrs. Thorne? I need to tell somebody … No, I’m sorry that sounds as if it doesn’t matter who, but that’s not true. It’s you who I want to talk to.”

  “All right.”

  She didn’t mean to stiffen her shoulders but she couldn’t help it.

  “It’s about what happened at Dunkirk.”

  Much later, this is the story that Alice related to Tyler.

  The four of them, the musketeers, Jimmy, Bobby, Wilf and Dennis, had got separated from their unit. Their captain had said, “Every man for himself,” but with them, it was one for all and all for one, so they never even considered breaking up. They had walked all day pushing through the stream of refugees who were all heading in the other direction, trying to get away from the coast. A military policeman they’d encountered on the road had told them to head for Dunkirk, “where the smoke was,” but they didn’t get that far before it got dark. They spent a night in a farmhouse listening to the sound of the German mortars getting nearer and nearer. They could even see the Jerry soldiers coming along the road less than half a mile away. Finally Jimmy, who always took the lead, had said they had to make a run for it.

  To his mind, the boots the army had issued to Bobby were the cause of the trouble that followed.

  They were one size too big, heavy and stiff, and he kept tripping over his own feet. They were all running, Wilf first, then Bobby, behind him, Dennis. Jimmy had twisted his ankle leaping into a ditch when the Stukka dive-bombers attacked the column, so he was bringing up the rear. There was a particularly loud bang from one side and a plume of dirt and rocks showered down on them. Too close for comfort. Jimmy was covered with dirt, choking on it, hardly able to see. Bobby stumbled and fell to the ground. He should have put the safety catch on his rifle, but in the rush and panic to get out of the farmhouse, he’d forgotten to.

  Bam. The gun discharged.

  Wilf was actually lifted in the air and flung on his face. At first Jimmy thought Wilf had been hit by the shell. He caught up with Bobby and tugged at his shoulder.

  “Keep moving,” he said.

  Wilf was writhing on the ground, his right thigh and buttock were crimson with blood, a chunk of flesh was shot away. They heard voices from the farmhouse. Some Jerries were running out, one of them setting up a machine gun.

  “Come on,” said Jimmy.

  They scrambled up the slope to where Wilf lay. He was going into a seizure and it looked as if he were trying to bite into the ground.

  “Grab him,” said Jimmy, and he took Wilf under his armpits.

  Wilf groaned; saliva and blood were running down his chin.

  “Don’t leave me,” he gasped. A little pink bubble popped out of his mouth.

  Jimmy didn’t reply but said again to Bobby, “Let’s get him off this fucking hill.”

  Dennis was still lying flat on his stomach just behind them, and for a minute they thought he’d bought it too, but he staggered to his feet and half ran, half crawled up to them.

  “Christ, Bobby. You shot him. You fucking well shot him.”

  “Shut up,” said Jimmy. “Let’s get him out of here.”

  Bobby seemed unable to act so Dennis took Wilf’s other arm and he and Jimmy dragged him up the hill as if he were a bag of potatoes. Once over the crest, they slid and rolled down to a ditch half-filled with stagnant water. Wilf had left a trail of blood behind them. Jimmy could see the white tendons and glistening exposed bone in his thigh. Bright red blood was pulsing out of the wound.

  There was a road running alongside the ditch and, on the other side, a thick stand of trees.

  “Come on,” said Jimmy. “We can’t stay here. Let’s get under cover.”

  He and Dennis picked up Wilf, who was trying to help by using his good leg, the shattered right leg dragging uselessly. They managed to climb out of the ditch and scramble across the road to the safety of the trees. They pushed in as far as they could but the underbrush was dense, clawing at them, holding them. It was obvious they weren’t going to get far with the injured man and they were forced to halt. They lowered Wilf down to the ground.

  Bobby looked at Jimmy, who shook his head. Wilf saw the look. “Don’t leave me lads. Jerry’ll shoot me. I can manage, you go ahead and break the trail. I’ll keep up with you.”

  “You can’t,” hissed Dennis. “They’ll get all of us.”

  “No, they won’t. I can do it, I swear.”

  They heard shouts and a spray of bullets ripped through the trees overhead. The Germans hadn’t found them yet, but they would at any minute.

  “Come on,” said Jimmy again and he tried to hoist Wilf to his feet. Wilf let out a half-choked yelp, more like a bark than a human sound.

  “I’ll carry him,” said Bobby. “Get him on my back.” The other two didn’t argue, just hoisted the injured man up and across Bobby’s shoulders. The blood from Wilf’s wound immediately soaked through his collar. Dennis went first, then Jimmy, trying to break the trail. There were loud explosions from behind them but they kept going.

  “Here,” cried out Dennis. There was a narrow animal track leading through the trees, which made them able to move faster. They must have gone like that for ten, fifteen minutes until finally Bobby had to stop.

  “Just a minute,” he gasped. He fell to his knees and let Wilf slide as gently as he could off his shoulders onto the ground.

  Jimmy scrambled over. “I’ll take him,” he said.

  Wilf’s eyes were turning up in their sockets and he was chalk white. However, he suddenly took in a shuddering breath and his eyes focused.

  “I’m done for,” he whispered. “Leave me. Get out of here.”

  A trickle of dark blood was running from the corner of his mouth.

  Hardly able to breathe, Bobby leaned over him. “I’m sorry, Wilf. I’m so sorry.”

  Wilf lifted his hand, made a fist and bumped Bobby on the cheek. “You stupid bugger. I warned you about that fucking safety catch. Now get the fuck out of here. No sense in all of us dying.”

  He closed his eyes.

  Dennis had joined them. “I think he’s dead,” he said from over Bobby’s shoulder.

  “No, he’s still breathing,” cried Bobby.

  “He’s a goner, mate,” said Dennis and he grabbed Bobby by the arm. “We’ve got to leave him or it’s all of us gone. Jimmy tell him.”

  Bobby shook him off. “No. We can’t let him die alone.”

  Jimmy stared down at Wilf. “Dennis is right. We can’t help him.”

  They heard another shout. Jerry was following the trail and closing in fast.

&
nbsp; “Come on,” said Jimmy, tugging at Bobby’s sleeve.

  “He’ll be all right,” said Dennis, almost dancing with agitation. “The Jerry will take him prisoner. He’ll be living the life of Riley in no time.”

  Wilf managed to wave his hand at them.

  “Go, you silly sods,” he whispered. “Just leave me my gun.”

  “I’m going if you’re not,” said Dennis and he started off along the trail.

  “Come on, Bobby,” said Jimmy. He stood straight and gave a formal salute in Wilf’s direction. “Best of luck, mate.” He handed Wilf the gun, then grabbing Bobby’s arm, he shoved him ahead and they ran.

  Moments later that they heard a burst of machine-gun fire.

  Somebody howled.

  There was more gunfire, then silence.

  They ran on.

  Alice covered Jimmy’s hand with hers for a long time.

  36.

  PRIVATE DENNIS MCEVOY WAS COMING TO THE rendezvous directly from his shift at the camp. He was still wearing his uniform even though it was itchy and hot. Girls liked to see a lad in uniform. He’d taken the precaution of reporting in sick, pleading a bad stomach. Not that this was entirely untrue. He hadn’t been feeling that grand for the last couple of weeks. Cleverly, Janet had also pleaded a bad tummy to get off work. She couldn’t get away in the evenings, just the early mornings, which suited Dennis just fine. He could see another girl in the evening.

  He’d got there first and he stood in the clearing smoking a cigarette. It was barely light, and the grass was damp from yesterday’s thunderstorm. Good thing they had somewhere dry and comfy to go. The place known as the Fort had been a favourite spot for couples for decades.

  “A woman will always remember her first time, Denny,” one of the chaps had told him while they were sitting around the barracks, waiting for something to happen. The talk fell, as it usually did, to girls and sex and whether, or how much, of both you’d had. Dennis hadn’t forgotten the man’s words and he wanted to make sure Janet’s memories were going to be fond ones. He’d been warned that most virgins didn’t always enjoy themselves, but he was experienced. He knew a thing or two and he was sure he could satisfy her. He couldn’t help but preen himself a little, giving his pencil-thin moustache a stroke. He’d had no complaints from the other girls. They couldn’t get enough of him. Practically had to fight them off.