He paused.
‘But if she was unhappy being with him, why didn’t she divorce him?’
‘And do what? Go where?’
‘Back to her mum. My grandmother is still alive. My mum had had a little dressmaking business. She could have gone back to doing that.’
‘Mmm,’ agreed Helen, ‘I suppose she could. But maybe there were other reasons rather than practical ones why she couldn’t bring herself to leave your father.’
‘Like?’
‘Maybe she didn’t want to upset you.’
‘So she died instead? That hardly makes sense.’
‘Maybe she felt responsible for him; for his happiness. She would have felt guilty to have left him. Like I feel about Robert.’
‘Is that why you’re asking me this? Because of Robert?’
‘I hadn’t thought about it,’ she said. ‘But yes, I think it probably is, now that you come to mention it. Is he a strong man, your father?’
Lewis thought about this for a moment.
‘I don’t think he is actually. Not in the way that I feel I’m strong. He relies a lot on other people.’
‘Nothing wrong with that.’
‘But no, what I mean is that he expects other people to do things for him. And they generally do. So then he feels good that there are all of these people who care for him.’
‘So if your mother had left that would have been a huge blow to him?’
‘I think so. He told me that when he first met her she was engaged to be married to some other bloke. Dad moved in on him was how he put it.’
‘So she was a trophy to be captured?’
‘Yes, I suppose she was really.’
‘So your father was weak. Was she the strong one?’
‘I think so. Anything she wanted to do, anything she put her mind to – she did it.’
‘So she was afraid that if she left him he would fall apart.’
‘But even if she was, you can’t be responsible for somebody else’s happiness.’
And then he added, ‘Can you?’
‘No, you’re right, nobody should feel that way. But lots of people do.’
‘Do you? Do you feel that way about your husband?’
‘I certainly did. I’m not sure if I still do. But I certainly feel guilty about leaving him. Or I don’t know if it’s guilt. Maybe I feel bad because it didn’t last forever like it’s meant to.’
‘But you feel happier now,’ said Lewis, suddenly anxious.
‘Oh yes, I do. Of course I do. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t feel sad. Or unhappy for him. I suppose I was the strong one in our relationship.’
‘So if you’re the strong one, that should make it easier to leave.’
She smiled a weak smile and looked directly at him.
‘You’d have thought so, wouldn’t you? But strangely enough, it turns out to be the opposite. At least in my case. When you’re strong you feel you can take on somebody else’s burden as well as your own. Their unhappiness – that you’ll carry that for them. Because they don’t have the strength to carry it. Do you know what I mean?’
‘I think so,’ said Lewis. ‘It sort of makes sense.’
‘So maybe that’s what your mum did with your father. She thought that she was responsible for his happiness and carrying that became what she did.’
She paused. It was as though she was letting him think about it. Then she continued.
‘But she eventually found that not only could she not make him happy, she was now carrying too big a load, trying to find her own happiness as well. Eventually, it all became too much for her.’
‘And so she got leukaemia?’
‘And so she got leukaemia.’
Helen went silent, like she was thinking.
‘Was your father faithful to your mother?’
He hadn’t expected this.
‘I’d have no way of knowing,’ he said neutrally, trying to defuse the question. He definitely didn’t want to think about it. Simultaneously he was amazed that he could have this relationship with her – where they could talk about these things.
‘I know that,’ she said. ‘But what do you think? Knowing the kind of man he is.’
Lewis tried to dodge the question. ‘Do you think your husband – Robert – was faithful to you?’
She replied immediately.
‘I’ve thought about this a lot and I think he was, in fact. That sort of thing didn’t actually interest him that much’.
The ball was back in Lewis’ court. He began to speak slowly.
‘If he had wanted to, he would certainly have had plenty of chances. He was away a lot.’
‘And if he had, would it have upset him, would he have felt guilty? Would he have told your mother – confessed – if he had?’
‘You know, I don’t think he would actually – have confessed, I mean. Or felt guilty. Or been upset by it. I think he probably had a wild enough life when he was at sea. Maybe he wouldn’t have seen it as that serious a thing. Providing he loved and cared for us – which he did – I suspect he would have seen that as relatively unimportant.’
‘And your mum – how would she have seen it?’
‘If it had happened … if she had found it … I think she would have been devastated. I think she loved the way I —’. He hesitated, found different words and went on. ‘I think she loved the way I feel I would love. That I cared for the person above anything else. That I would do nothing to hurt them.’
‘It sounds like she could have been deeply unhappy,’ said Helen.
‘Enough to die?’ asked Lewis.
She looked at him and said simply, ‘Who can say?’
30
It is just coming up to midnight when Lewis reaches the dugout known as ‘J’. There are over thirty men already there. If a shell landed here now there would be carnage, but any sound of artillery is distant but angry. Always angry. The dugout cannot accommodate them all so they mill outside in the trench and Lewis has to jostle his way through to where Lieutenant Redman and the commanders of the various parties are assembled. On his way Lewis hears somebody say, ‘I ’ear ole Fritz is on starvation rations now, so he shouldn’t be too ‘eavy if we ‘ave to carry ‘im back.’ There is soft, nervous laughter. Several men are carrying knobkerries – clubs like medieval maces. They are made by wrapping a length of barbed wire around the top of a pole about the length of a cricket bat, until it forms a knob. They are vicious looking things.
Redman asks the commanders to carry out a roll call and quick inspection of their men. When this is done, and everything is reported in order, the entire party moves off. Lewis is at the head of his own group of men. ‘The hour is come. Follow me.’ Behind him is Lance Corporal Jackson, then six men with Sergeant Robinson bringing up the rear. Lewis follows the steel helmet and back of the man in front of him.
They go along the support trench and after about fifty yards, turn right so that they are now heading directly towards the German lines. There is no talk, only the clink of equipment and sound of boots on duckboards or squelching through patches of mud. The smell of trench is all around. Wet earth, sweet decomposition, chloride of lime, the sharp smell of human waste. The well constructed wooden revetting holding the trench walls moves by on either side. Overhead, half of the sky is still covered in cloud but there are stars in the other. The stars are always very intense when seen from the bottom of a trench. Fear gnaws at Lewis like a rat in his brain. Fear that he will not do a good job; fear that he will freeze as he has seen men do; fear that men will die and it will be his fault, fear that he will die or worse still, be blinded or crippled or left as a vegetable or castrated.
Eventually they stop and Lewis checks his watch. It is just before one o’ clock. They are right on time. Up ahead he knows that Lieutenant Redman is feeding his men out into no-man’s-land. They shuffle forward slowly like a crowd at a turnstile for a football match. Finally, Lewis reaches the head of the queue.
‘You
know where to go?’ whispers Redman.
Lewis nods. He doesn’t like Redman who is patronising, especially when he is in command. But there is no doubt that he is a good officer and Lewis feels that at least they are in good hands tonight. Lewis clambers up a ladder and over the lip of the trench. He tries to move silently, crouched down as though this will help. He sees shadows ahead and these materialise to become the Right Blocking Party, in line and lying on the wet, turned earth. There is a gap between these and the other blocking party and Lewis begins to line up his men in this gap. Eventually everyone is in place – Lewis at the head of the Raiding Party with the Left and Right Blocking Parties to either side and the Covering Party spread out in front. When all this is done, Lewis lies on his belly.
More of the sky has cleared and a good two thirds of it is now star-studded, though the stars are fainter out here on the open ground. He sees the ‘W’ of Cassiopeia. There is only a small amount of light but Lewis feels fearfully exposed. There is less than five minutes to go. A shower of Very lights goes up and waterfalls to earth. Everybody hugs the ground trying to become invisible. Out here, the earth has a different smell – the stench of decomposition is mixed with the chemical smell of explosive.
Lewis locates the clump of brushwood that West spoke about and takes compass bearings on it. This is not really his job as it is up to Lieutenant Redman and others to guide him back to the British line. But that will be small consolation if it all goes horribly wrong. Lewis prefers to rely on his own resources. He wants to get this over with before any more of the sky clears and the night gets any brighter. Starlight. He has loved it all his life but here it is a treacherous enemy. His eyes have adjusted somewhat to the darkness now and he scans the open space they will have to cross. Artillery is crumping all up and down the line but it is remote, unimportant.
He checks his watch. There is less than a minute and a half to go. He feels his heart pounding. Despite the cold he is sweating. His stomach feels like it has fallen through his groin. The luminous second hand on his watch sweeps past twelve. They are into the last minute before the artillery is due to start.
His watch registers one thirty exactly and as it does so, there is a distant thump of a gun being fired. Lewis jumps. Even though he knew it was coming, it still startles him. The thump is followed by an express-train roaring that becomes the shriek of a shell and then a crashing explosion on the German front line. Other heavy guns join in as well as lighter Stokes guns in a cacophony of sound. Yellow and red flashes of fire and, in their light, billows of black smoke erupt on the German side of the wire. The Covering Party rises from the ground and crouching, begins to move forward.
31
‘Thank you,’ said Lewis the next morning.
He had just come out of his bedroom onto the landing and she had emerged from her room.
‘What for?’ she asked, her face breaking into a smile. He loved her smile. He loved the way she always smiled in the morning when he first saw her.
‘For telling me about my mother.’
‘I don’t think I told you anything you didn’t already know.’
They began to go down the stairs, Lewis in front.
‘I suppose I’d never thought about it. But once I did …’
‘Do you think she was very unhappy?’ she asked, as they reached the bottom of the stairs. Lewis turned to her.
‘Yes, I think she was. I don’t mean this to sound the wrong way, but I think I may have been the only happiness she had. I know that sounds awful but —’
‘It doesn’t sound awful at all. I could see why that would be the case.’
She paused.
‘And how do you feel about your father?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Resentful? Angry? I feel I should hate him but I can’t. I don’t.’
She shook her head.
‘You shouldn’t hate him. He doesn’t sound like a bad man. Maybe they just shouldn’t have been together.’
‘But surely he should have seen what he was doing to her?’
‘He probably saw himself being a good and loving father, husband and provider.’
‘A loving husband? Being unfaithful to her.’
‘I’m sure he just saw that as fulfilling a need, that it was nothing to do with love. And he was a good father?’
‘He was,’ agreed Lewis.
‘And you never lacked for anything?’
‘No.’
‘I suppose people do what they can,’ she said. ‘He did. She did. It’s all any of us can do.’
‘What were Vestal Virgins?’ asked Lewis later as they lay on the beach. They were on towels, side by side, lying on their backs, eyes closed against the hot sun.
‘Something in Ancient Rome, weren’t they?’ she said. ‘They helped with sacrifices or something like that. They wore long white dresses with belts at the waist and V necks.’
Lewis started laughing.
‘What’s so funny?’ she asked.
‘It’s history as fashion,’ he said.
She began to laugh too.
‘You’d have looked good in one of those dresses,’ he said.
‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said. Then added, ‘You’d have looked good in one of those short skirts the Roman centurions wore.’
They were flirting, Lewis realised.
Lewis was in the jungle in the land of the Amazons. A hunting party of women, each with one breast bare, had captured him. They tied his wrists together, then his heels. Laying him on his back and raising his limbs, they passed a long bamboo pole underneath the bindings. He was hoisted up and the pole was shouldered by four women, two at the front and two at the back, all in a line. They were all beautiful and all had dark hair – black or brown.
They set off at a pace through the jungle and eventually came to the palace of the Amazon queen. She was blonde and Helen. She sat on tiger skin on a raised throne at one end of a long hall. Lewis was dumped onto the floor in front of her and the pole removed.
‘We found him in the jungle,’ said the leader of the hunting party.
Helen was completely bare-breasted. She stood up and stepped slowly down from the dais upon which the throne was mounted. She wore a short skirt of animal skin and shoes tied with criss-crossed thongs that came up to her knees. She came down and stood over him. He saw columnar thighs and above him the heavy breasts.
‘He shall be mine,’ said the Queen of the Amazons. ‘Take him to my quarters.’
Lewis woke in the middle of the night. The luminous hands on his watch showed two forty in the morning. The air was warm. A night bird called somewhere. From outside came the faintest sighing – a sound that was either the sea or the air moving in the trees – he could never be sure which. As always, the stars. Across in Helen’s room he heard a creak of the bed as she turned in it.
He heard another creak and another. Then he thought he heard a faint whimper. Then silence. Then a whimper again. The sounds continued intermittently. Silence for a few moments. Then a creak in the bed. Silence. A whimper. Then a louder sound almost like a sob. Was she crying again? He thought of going to her. He wanted to. The bed creaked again. Then there was a gasp and a long sigh. Silence. He listened intently. Nothing. Was she dead? Should he knock at the door? A long silence. And then the comforting sound of somebody turning in a bed.
Lewis was already in the kitchen when Helen came down. She had slept later than usual. Lewis looked at her face, remembering what he had heard in the night. It had a sleepy happiness about it.
‘Hello, sleepy head,’ he said. ‘Sleep well?’
‘Very well,’ she said.
Even though her eyes were wide open, she still seemed half asleep. She came over to him and embraced him and kissed him on the lips.
‘Good morning,’ she said.
The kiss was not in any way lingering. It was as brief as the ones that Lewis used to plant so delicately on her cheek. But it was on the lips. After that their good night an
d good morning kisses were always on the lips.
Lewis had been captured by pirates in a sea fight. He was thrown in the hold of their ship and the ship eventually dropped anchor. When he and the other captives came blinking up into the light, he saw a sun-blue harbour surrounded by high, parched hills. It looked like the Caribbean or the Mediterranean. Densely packed, ochre coloured houses with red tiled roofs climbed up the hillsides and there were palm trees along the seafront. It was a sight that Nelson must have seen.
They were taken to a prison, a fearsome place built of great stones and iron. Lewis was thrown into a cell where at first he thought he was alone. But as his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, he realised that there was somebody else in there. A woman. Helen. She was dressed in eighteenth century clothes – a dress that had once been white with short sleeves and a low neckline.
‘We are to be sold as slaves,’ she told Lewis.
They were taken to the slave market in a cart drawn by a bullock. A large crowd had gathered about a raised stage. It was like an execution except there was no gallows or block. As each slave was taken up onto the stage, they were stripped down to their underclothes. Helen struggled but the slave master pulled off her dress, tearing her bodice in the process. It hung open and she held it shut with her hands, standing in only her knickers. The slave master used a whip, folded back on itself, to prod her, turning her around and lifting her head.
But then Lewis overpowered the guards and seized Helen from the slave master. At this all the other slaves broke free and Lewis led them to the harbour. They seized a ship and sailed off. It was a different sort of Treasure Island.
Some nights Lewis was unable to fall asleep as he thought about her. Or he would wake in the middle of the night and listen for her. He willed her to come into him. And imagined the scene as the doorknob turned and she was there in her long white nightgown – which he had seen on the line – and came to his bed and got in.
32
The Titanic was sinking and Lewis was on it. Passengers, crazed with terror, fled towards the stern of the ship as the bow slipped beneath the waves. But now the great stern of the ship began to rear up into the starlit night sky. People clung to the railings or threw themselves over the side, hoping to swim away and avoid the suction that would take everything with it when the great ship went down. Lewis’ eyes were wide with terror. Somebody pulled at him, holding onto his arms and his clothes. It was a woman with a shawl over her head and a child in her arms. He tried to tear himself away but her fingers bit into him like talons. He could feel the ship moving beneath his feet, Rearing. Sliding. He would not be able to escape. She would drag him down when the ship went down.
Starlight (The Four Lights Quartet Book 1) Page 16
