A Ripple in Time

by Julia Hughes

  ‘I want you.’

  Above their heads a cascade of stars swept across skies, shimmering into the ocean. Had Wren noticed he would have explained all about meteorite showers. But he didn’t. He was engrossed in kissing her. A warmth flooded her as she savoured his sweet salvia in her own mouth. Once again, she felt his heart beating like her own as though one with her, her skin burning through the thin dressing gown material where his hands stroked, wanting to be next to his skin, her bones ached to melt against his.

  Because unbelievably this perplexing enchanting maddening youth wanted her too. Carrie’s senses reeled, her body floated away. A torrent of emotion swelled, yearning to be expressed, every nerve tingled to his touch.

  Without warning he dropped his hands and stepped away from her.

  She reached for him again, lost without his arms about her. He pushed her away, holding her hands down.

  ‘Wren?’ She strained towards him not understanding, searching his face for clues.

  Turning from her he walked back into the room. Motioning to one of the sofas, he said.

  ‘I’ll sleep here. One of the stewards can sort Rhyllann out a maid’s bedroom or something.’

  ‘Wren?’ She grabbed at him, spinning him round to face her. After a moment’s hesitation he embraced her, folding her to his chest.

  ‘Carrie, darling.’

  She felt his heart racing, his lips brushing her hair, and his body trembling.

  ‘Wren – what is it? Don’t you want this?’ She raised her head to kiss him again knowing he burned with the same intense heat.

  Again he pushed her away.

  ‘Carrie darling.’ He repeated. ‘Look.’ He pointed to the mantelshelf, to a bottle filled with dirt. Propped against the fireplace was an old metal sword. He held her at arm’s length, his eyes filled with unspeakable longing and regret.

  ‘I can’t risk it.’ He smiled and she began to comprehend. ‘I’m almost certain that any old blood will do but we can’t risk it.’ His voice was pure sorrow.

  Understanding crashed in. Her legs gave way beneath her, only his arms kept her upright. She hadn’t made a fool of herself. He did want her. He wanted her.

  ‘We can still sleep together.’ She gabbled, ‘We can share the bed – it doesn’t have to be – we’ll still be together.’ She couldn’t bear to be not touching him.

  He groaned. ‘Carrie.’ Pulling her close he kissed her, parting her lips, while his hands caressed, slipping down to her hips, holding her against him, filling her with vibrations that quivered and spiralled, rebounding and intensifying setting up a high pitch musical note that chimed throughout her body, spinning her mind sending her dizzy and reverberating until all it became almost unbearable. Abruptly he pulled away leaving her senses screaming for more.

  ‘And you can cope with that?’ He asked. ‘If you can, and you have any feeling for me, don’t ask me to. Don’t. Because I’m only human.’ He looked anything but human at that moment.

  She raised his hand to her lips and kissed it. Looking him in the eyes, still clasping his hand between hers, she said

  ‘Yes.’ She took a deep breath steadying her voice. ‘Yes I can cope with that. If that’s all I can have of you, I’ll take it.’

  Wren’s mouth twitched and he began shaking. Resisting the sudden urge to slap him, Carrie caught his infectious humour; suddenly they were in each other’s arms again, both giggling like children, mocking their own melodrama.

  ‘Lips but no tongues.’ Wren said against her neck, in between giggles.

  ‘I’ll sew up the hole in my bloomers.’ This sent them into uncontrollable spasms.

  Wren sobered first. ‘Carrie, we can’t get this wrong.’ He titled her chin up, cupping her face in his hands. He smiled again, dropping a kiss on her nose.

  ‘If you wake up and find me on the sofa, you’ll know why.’ She realised he meant temptation would have gotten too much for him and nodded. She laid her head against his chest. His heart rate was slower now.

  ‘When all this is over, promise. Promise me you’ll find me. In that other world. Promise?’

  She listened to the drubbing of his heartbeat, the two time beat of a sturdy pony trotting uphill.

  ‘I promise.’

  This time she didn’t ask for oaths. The steady even beating of his heart proclaimed the truth.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Reclining on the chaise lounge Rhyllann could see directly onto the balcony, watching the sun come up with agonising slowness. This room must face East. One of the twinkling girls of last night had told him he looked like a young Lord Byron, and he was practising broodiness. All that popped into his mind though was a wretched song and he crooned a few lines:

  ‘Port out; Starboard home, Posh with a capital P!’

  He sat up at a scuffling outside, Carrie and Wren giggling like children burst into the room; Carrie’s hair hanging in rat’s tails to her waist, Wren’s exploding in his usual mad professor’s style. Pausing, suddenly sober, they embraced.

  Rhyllann cleared his throat. They jumped apart as though scalded. Wren gave a soppy grin.

  ‘Annie! What are you doing here?’

  Rhyllann adopted a superior air. Keeping his eyes on Carrie hoping to make her blush he replied.

  ‘It sounded like someone was getting murdered in here. I came to see what all the screaming and shouting was about.’ In any case the maid’s single bed didn’t encourage laying in.

  ‘Wren was showing me some new judo throws.’ The hussy said, sweeping past him to clamber onto the bed.

  ‘Give me a shout when breakfast turns up.’ She added, pulling the curtains and shutting the room out.

  ‘Hard night was it?’ Rhyllann turned his wit on Wren but it was wasted as always.

  Finally remembering to close the door Wren grinned foolishly.

  ‘We’ve been swimming.’ As though that explained everything. He tried to tighten the dressing gown’s belt, realised he was wearing Carrie’s and ambled into the bathroom to change.

  ‘So, good night?’ He called.

  Not as good as yours. Rhyllann wanted to say. But kept quiet remembering a tawny coloured girl and the silly excuses Wren kept coming up with to leave them alone in the house. He shook his head. No, that was wrong. Wren had been dead almost two years by the time he’d met his first love. And why did he visualise a comical little man singing in a shed dangling from a hot air balloon?

  ‘Well?’ Wren paced back into the room, rolling up his shirt sleeves.

  Rhyllann grunted. ‘Don’t ask. Didn’t even manage upstairs outside.’ He felt annoyed when Wren raised his eyebrows.

  ‘You know.’ He clutched his own chest, jiggling his hands. ‘Upstairs, outside?’ It was one of their favourite telly programmes; Gene Hunt made even Detective Inspector Crombie seem politically correct.

  Wren slumped in the chaise lounge opposite.

  ‘It’s all coming back isn’t it? Be careful. Watch nothing slips out.’ He warned. Rhyllann felt even more confused when he added.

  ‘You spoke to Carrie in Welsh.’

  Rhyllann wet his lips. He’d been about to tell Wren to stop talking rubbish. Welsh was a dead language stamped out by the authorities before even Gran was born. Except the words that rose in his mind had been Welsh and he knew this as surely as he knew his own name.

  Wren grinned, enjoying his confusion.

  ‘Stop pissing around. You’re yanking my chain. She understood me didn’t she?’

  Wren laughed outloud. ‘The look on your face said it all!’

  He threw a friendly punch at Rhyllann’s arm, moving to sit next to him, ready to swap more stories.

  ‘’Member that elephant stampede you started?’ He asked, face alight with mischief.

  Rhyllann gaped. ‘Elephant stampede?’

  ‘Yeh. You remember! It was Crombie’s idea. When we went to rescue your Mum. Annie! Come on – Africa! You met what’s her name out there – you must remember!’

>   The room contracted; rushing in on him, he heard blood pounding against his eardrums.

  ‘We rescue my Mum?’ Rhyllann repeated, in a voice drained of emotion.

  ‘Yeah!’ Wren stopped mid enthuse then grew very quiet and motionless beside him.

  ‘Oh. Oh Annie. I’m so sorry.’

  Rhyllann knuckled his eyes, dragging his fingers hard against them to wipe away a sudden wetness.

  He couldn’t speak. When he looked up again Wren stood before him holding out a tumbler of whiskey.

  Nodding his thanks, he downed it in three gulps feeling the liquid scorch his mouth and kick-start his heart again.

  ‘Mum’s alive? My Mum’s alive?’ Or would be. She wouldn’t die alone and terrified, as he always saw her in his mind’s eye. Rhyllann rocked to and fro wanting but not quite daring to believe.

  Wren tugged at him, urging him to his feet.

  ‘C’mon. Let’s get some fresh air.’ He stooped suddenly to scrawl a note for Carrie then hustled him from the room.

  At barely an hour after sunrise, most passengers still slept. Wren pulled him down corridors then through the saloon lounge, onto the open deck. The air tasted clean and new. Rhyllann placed one foot in front of the other, pacing forward without thought, surprised to find they’d walked the length of the first deck. Rhyllann stood at the very prow of the ship looking down at the bows cutting through water, he leaned back allowing the wind to whip at his hair and experienced the weirdest sensation. Fleetingly he thought there should be a girl here, a dark haired girl, except Rhyllann’s preference was blondes.

  Wren dragged him away laughing at some private joke.

  They turned back towards the covered section of first deck, veering to the side to climb wide metal steps to the highest point of the Titanic, the boat deck. If the engine rooms were the heart of the Titanic this was the brain, crowded with the Navigating Bridge, the Wheel House, Chart room, Officers’ Quarters, as well as aerials, the Wireless Room, funnel casings and even at this early hour crew members bustled to and fro.

  From far away he heard Wren’s voice. ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘Morning Sir. Didn’t see you there. No, no problem.’ The man’s voice rose with frustration. Rhyllann looked up as a handle rattled. An officer and an older member of the crew huddled over a box the same size as a medicine cabinet, hanging outside the chart room.

  ‘Jimmy stop worrying. We don’t even know if they’re in there, we’ll buy another pair when we get to New York.’

  ‘You must be First Officer William Murdoch!’ Wren sounded delighted.

  ‘Yes Sir. Beg pardon Sir. It’s only a young girl’s fancy, she begged Jimmy here to keep a special look out – only we can’t find the key to the binocular cabinet.’

  ‘Allow me to assist you gentlemen.’ Wren disappeared into the chart room, re-emerging with a steel ruler, using it to pop the lock. The older man thanked him with pathetic gratefulness.

  ‘Not at all a young girl’s dreams should always be heeded.’ Wren said airily, wielding the binoculars in his hand, heading for the ship’s rails.

  An eerie sense of deja vu swept through Rhyllann. He knew what would happen next as surely as if Wren shouted his intentions. He only fancied he heard the splash.

  Wren apologised profusely for his clumsiness, the ship’s officer apologised for disturbing the young gentlemen’s stroll. Jimmy stared accusingly at Wren, who pressed money into his hand.

  ‘Please. Use this to buy a new pair when we get to New York.’

  ‘Exactly Sir. Exactly what I said.’

  Wren smiled and changed the subject. ‘I wonder if you could direct us to the gymnasium?’

  Both men shrugged, another matter for apology.

  ‘Sorry Sir, we’re not too conversant with the whole ship yet. I think it might be down there, at the end of the corridor past the elevators.’

  Jimmy shook his head, disagreeing. ‘No – back the way you came then through the first class dining room, down to C Deck, along the corridor to your right.’

  Rhyllann shot Wren a disconcerted look and for the first time started counting the lifeboats.

  He counted again, then for the third time, only semi aware of the two crew members exchanging puzzled looks and creeping away. Wren watched with a knowing expression on his face.

  ‘Wren; Brawd. There’s twenty lifeboats.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘But they’re massive.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Will you stop saying that! You don’t know everything!’ His forehead creased so tightly it hurt. He walked over to stand directly beneath one of the lifeboats, hanging from two miniature cranes or divots. He examined the machinery used to operate the winches.

  ‘Electric? They’ve got electric winding gear?’ Rhyllann tipped his head back gripping blindly at Wren’s arm.

  ‘Wren.’ His mouth dried. Swallowing hard he tried again. ‘Wren – capacity 65 – 80 people.’

  ‘Magnificent aren’t they Sir? The very latest Wellin gear – see – electric or manual winching.’

  A passing crew member stopped to admire the lifeboats’ machinery with them. Like all the staff taking this maiden voyage, he seemed bright eyed and so proud of the Titanic’s splendour, ready to enthuse in each new innovation with the passengers. Rhyllann grabbed at his arm too, swaying slightly.

  ‘You know how this works? What do you do? Swing the lifeboat over first, or load passengers then operate the winches?’ He demanded.

  The man took a step backwards. Over Rhyllann’s head he raised an imaginary glass to his lips, making a tipping motion, waggling his eyebrows at Wren who shook his head.

  ‘Sir. There’s lifeboat drill on Sunday. Every crew member is assigned to a boat. But not to worry, just a precaution see?’

  Rhyllann shook his head, unable to work out why the man wouldn’t answer his questions, and persisted, still hanging onto the man’s arm. ‘Sixteen massive lifeboats. And four inflatables. How come so many … How? What happens?’

  The man’s face blanched. He wrenched his arm free.

  ‘Sir, you’d better take your friend for some coffee or put him to bed.’ He retreated backwards as he spoke.

  They were attracting attention from the senior crew members now.

  Wren nodded. ‘Good idea! Its all this fresh air, he’s not used to it!’

  But instead of descending the stairs he walked Rhyllann around the bridge house to the port side, propping him against the rail.

  Barely moving his lips he began talking in a voice so low Rhyllann struggled to hear.

  ‘At 11.40 the iceberg is spotted. The First Officer will give instructions for full speed ahead while turning hard to starboard. Once the ship begins its turn he orders hard to port. Hoping to swing clear. But it’s too late. The Titanic collides with the iceberg at 11.50 Sunday night ripping a gash below water line on her starboard side.

  ‘The watertight doors are shut. Distress messages are sent from the wireless rooms. The boilers are shut down.’ Wren waved an arm, indicating the funnels.

  ‘The steam and noise coming from those funnels will be unbearable. Crew will have to shout, then resort to mime to make themselves understood out here on deck. For that reason, passengers will board from the first deck below.’

  Rhyllann gazed up at the funnels, imagining them billowing steam instead of gently chuffing and shuddered.

  Wren pointed out to port. ‘Over there on the horizon a ship will clearly be seen. A ship well within reach of the Titanic. A ship which must see the distress rockets going up. It never moves.’

  Rhyllann gazed as though he could see the ghostly ship. An ice cold talon gripped at his spine. He began trembling uncontrollably. Not wanting to look anymore he turned, propping his back against the rail, mesmerised by Wren’s matter of fact voice.

  ‘It’s now early hours Monday morning. Sunday’s lifeboat drill was cancelled. The lights in communal areas in third class were turned out at 10.00pm to encourage
passengers to go to bed. Some feel a slight jolt as though the ship has docked against a wall. Others describe it as a great hand rocking the ship. Some wake up because of the absence of engine noise. A few passengers begin to appear on deck.’ He thought for a moment.

  ‘About a dozen or so climb as far as this deck, the boat deck. The few that do venture from their cabins congregate in their communal dining rooms before wandering back to await instructions. Crew members give conflicting orders, some passengers are advised to go back to bed others are told to put their life jackets on as a precaution. The stairs to Third Class are gated and locked. Rhyllann, are you feeling alright? Shall I go on?’

  Rhyllann gaped at him. ‘How do you know all this? How could you possibly know?’

  Wren grimaced. ‘Oh it’s very well documented. They had two immediate enquiries, stable doors were rattling on both sides of the Atlantic. But everybody knows the story of the Titanic on some level. Its part myth, part love story, part Greek tragedy and everyone thinks they know what happened. Do you want me to continue?’

  Rhyllann shook his head yes when he wanted to shake no. He didn’t want to hear but he needed to hear.

  ‘An hour after the collision the first lifeboat is launched. With twenty seven people on board.’ Rhyllann raised his eyes to the lifeboat opposite him. His vision bleared suddenly. He swiped at his eyes and read again. Max. 80. The strong fresh ozone air became too thick to breathe.

  ‘Ten minutes later boats six and five are launched simultaneously, with twenty eight and forty one people. Lifeboat one launches with four people. Four people Annie! Only towards the last five boats do people start surging forward, overloading the boats.’

  ‘Stop this! Stop it!’ Rhyllann blurted. ‘You freak! How can you stand there and reel off figures – what were the crew doing all this time – why did no-one make certain the boats were full? I mean look at them! Look at them!’ So new and shiny and like everything else on this ship oversized.

  ‘One hundred. I bet you could fit one hundred people in each.’ Especially if they were child size. He moaned, burying his face in his hands. Wren’s arm snaked around his shoulders.