Storms Gather Between Us

by Storms Gather Between Us (retail) (epub)

  ‘But he’s yours?’

  ‘Yes, but I fear I’m not his.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘I think he’s ashamed of who he is, how he feels, what he does. Lots of queers are like that. They can’t bear to face up to it. Some of them even go with women in the hope that it might cure them. It doesn’t – it just makes them more unhappy. I could never do that myself.’ He glanced at her sideways. ’Sorry.’

  ‘And you said it’s against the law?’

  ‘Yes. That in itself makes some men ashamed. I suppose even me. I’d die if anyone in the office found out about me.’

  ‘And your Jake? Does he try to keep it secret?’

  ‘The navy is probably the most tolerant of any profession about queers. But it’s one thing at sea and another on land. And Jake’s out of work. He was a bosun but he can’t get another ship as he was blamed for a man going overboard.’

  ‘How awful. It wasn’t his fault?’

  ‘Of course not. But he got a bad report and no one else will take him on so he’s working on the docks now.’

  ‘But if he didn’t do it, why can’t he argue about the bad report.’

  Sam shrugged. ‘They don’t actually mention it in the report. They just give a rating with no explanation. He got Satisfactory which is evidently code for unsatisfactory. You have to get a Good to be hired.’

  ‘Well, I hope he’ll stop feeling ashamed of you, Sam Henderson, and start to realise how lucky he is to have someone like you.’

  Sam gave a wry smile and shook his head. ‘I wish. But I’m afraid his feelings for me are only in the moment. Afterwards, it’s as if he wants to kill me. The other night we met on the shore. It was a beautiful moonlit night and I wanted to stay longer, talking, holding hands. Doing all the things you probably did with your sailor, but as soon as he got what he wanted he ran off and left me there.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sam.’ She was about to tell him she hoped he’d find someone who would love him back, but it felt wrong talking like that about two men. Listening to Sam it seemed completely natural but there was something inside Hannah that made her feel that being like him must be wrong.

  * * *

  As soon as Hannah had written her letter to Will, and Sam had taken it from her and promised to find a way to deliver it, Hannah was overwhelmed with sorrow. It was as though she had slammed a heavy door on Will and it meant she would never see him again.

  Knowing it had been the right thing to do to find a way to free Will from the burden of pointlessly trying to find her, didn’t prevent her from imagining the pain her words would cause him. The letter was the result of several drafts and the only one that she felt certain was incapable of misinterpretation. She had made it crystal clear that she didn’t want to see him again. But how fickle it must make her appear to Will, how shallow, how cruel.

  Torturing herself, she tried to picture him reading it. How would he react? With anger? Sorrow? Bewilderment? She pictured his brow furrowing, his hands pushing his hair back from his forehead, then his head slumping forward, defeated. Once he read it he would hate her, despise her – and already that was how she felt about herself. Yet what choice did she have? If she didn’t get in touch with him, he would surely try to find her – even though by now he must have discovered it was too late. Even if she’d tried to explain that she didn’t want to be married to Sam Henderson, told him she was in a big old house in another part of the city, effectively working as an unpaid housekeeper for a corrupt preacher, his ex-prostitute mistress and his homosexual son, it would still have been too late for them.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Will was on the quayside watching the dockers unloading the Arklow. The short frequent runs across the Irish sea had done little to feed his sense of adventure. Crossing a murky sea, often under cover of darkness, from one English-speaking port to another with a ship full of cattle was not the stuff of dreams. The cloudless blue skies of Africa, the scent of spices and the unfamiliar smells of a vast continent were far away. Now his days were dark, drizzling, dull.

  But he knew his melancholic mood was little do with these superficial complaints. Were Hannah Dawson in his life, there would be nothing dull about it. Her presence would light up the darkest, dreariest day for him. And were he to be under that hot African sun he knew that he would feel as gloomy as he did now. After only a brief spell in his life, Hannah had left a void he believed could never be filled. Meeting her had wiped out the eleven barren years he had wasted since leaving Australia. It was as though he had been reborn, but now she was gone he was beginning to die again.

  It was a cruel hard world. How had he ever entertained the illusion it might not be? Hadn’t all those empty years taught him that there was no meaning in life, that the world owed him nothing? It was all about serving time, living in the moment, then moving on.

  There were two types of sailors: those men who went to sea as a means to living a life free of responsibilities and attachments, and those who travelled the world thinking only of home. Will had spent his time firmly in the first camp, and believed he would always feel that way. Then, when he met Hannah, he had been catapulted into the second. He had begun to imagine a life settled in one place, a life shared with another person, willingly fastened to the anchor that was Hannah.

  But that brief dream was shattered. Happiness and love had been dangled in front of him like the carrot held over the donkey’s head, only to be snatched away just as it opened its mouth to bite.

  Will had always enjoyed women, sought their company, taken pleasure from their bodies, but none had ever come anywhere near to making him believe that love was possible. None since Elizabeth – and he now knew his feelings for her had been boyish dreams and genuine affection. Not the all-consuming love he felt for Hannah. A love that combined physical desire with a tenderness he had never felt for anyone before.

  He struggled to remember any of the pretty faces, firm bodies, wide smiles he had known until now. They all melded into each other – an everywoman who was nobody. Apart from Rafqa – she’d been different. She’d had an instinctive understanding for him and for exactly what he needed. Probably because, like him, she had been trying to obliterate sadness and loss. Rafqa had been a balm to him – he’d been fond of her – but he could never ever love her. It was only now that it was snatched away from him that he was absolutely certain that real love was what he felt for Hannah.

  Over the past few days at sea Will had been thinking about her and how he had to find her and help her escape from this insane marriage that was clearly performed against her will and her best interests. But how could he help her if he didn’t know where she was?

  Tomorrow he would call on her mother again. Perhaps by now she’d found out the address. If necessary, he’d break down the door of Henderson’s home and take her away.

  He leaned against a huge iron capstan and puffed at the remains of his roll-up. The Christina would be ready to sail again in a matter of weeks. But how could he think of leaving Hannah behind in Liverpool?

  He tried to picture the bum boats of Port Suez, the gully-gully men in their long white robes and red fezzes selling leather goods and performing magic tricks, the deep green of the water, the enormous straw baskets full of fruits and spices, their scents mixing with the smell of bunker oil. But he could only see Hannah’s face, upturned to look into his, those soulful eyes and that mouth that he hungered to kiss again.

  He tossed his cigarette butt into the water and turned to look back down the waterfront towards the Pier Head. It was a few seconds before he realised that the figure walking in his direction was familiar. The gait, the slight swagger in the movements, the tumble of dark hair under a jaunty cap. Paolo Tornabene. It must be six or seven weeks since they’d parted. Will moved towards his friend and broke into a run. They flung their arms about each other in a warm embrace, then broke apart, grinning, slightly embarrassed.

  ‘Ciao amico!’

  ‘Am I pleased t
o see you! What the hell are you doing back here, cobber? I thought you’d gone back to Italy?’

  Paolo twisted his head to look away, but Will had already seen the sadness in his eyes. ‘I had to get way from Italia. I will never return.’

  ‘What? We have to talk. Hold on a second, will you.’

  He went to speak with one of his crew-mates and then returned to his friend. ‘I’ve got an hour. Let’s go and have a mug of tea and you can tell me what’s happened.’

  Five minutes later they were sitting opposite each other across a table in a quayside hut that served as a café for thirsty dockers.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Will.

  Paolo took a sip of his tea, pulling a face as he did so. ‘My Loretta è morta. Dead.’

  ‘Strewth! Hell, Paolo, mate, I’m sorry.’

  ‘She was made to marry a bad man. One of the Camorristi.’

  ‘But she said she’d wait for you.’

  Paolo lifted his eyes and looked at Will. ‘I know. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. She was shut away in a big house in the hills outside the city, guarded by i fascisti – the Blackshirts. The man they made her marry is a leader in the Fascist party.’

  ‘So, who made her marry this goon?’

  ‘Her brothers. All they care about is power and money. They made her marry an old man. In his sixties. She would never choose to marry a man like him.’ He thumped his mug down on the table, slopping some of the contents onto the oilcloth that covered it. ‘A very bad man. Her family are mixed up with the fascists.’

  ‘What happened? How did she die?’

  ‘It was colpa mia. My fault. I tried to see her. I went to the house and they wouldn’t let me in. Maybe they punished her. I don’t know. Or maybe seeing me made her do it.’

  Will waited, dreading what his friend was about to say.

  ‘She did what your sister did. Killed herself. She threw herself off a cliff.

  Will bent his forehead into one palm. ‘I’m gutted for you, mate. That’s terrible.’

  ‘Now you know. We won’t speak of this again.’ Paolo wiped the back of his hand across his eyes, took a swig of tea then pulled a face. ‘Disgusting! Madonna!’ He gave a forced smile. ‘What about you, Will? Come va? You still doing the ship to Ireland?’

  Will gave him a rueful look. ‘Yes. I’m still sailing with the Arklow. Back and forth like a yo-yo. Deck full of bloody cattle on the way back. Stinks to high heaven.’ He began to roll a cigarette. ‘But never mind the ship. You’re not going to believe this, but I’m in the same boat as you. Well, almost – she’s not dead though.’ As soon as the words were out he cursed his own tactlessness. Why was he always so thoughtless towards Paolo? Perhaps it was because he felt as close as family.

  ‘What you mean?’

  ‘I fell head over heels for a girl and her old man forced her to marry someone else.’

  Paolo spluttered his tea, sending spray flying. He crashed his mug down again. ‘Who? How? When?’

  So Will told him about meeting Hannah and how from the first sight he had been drawn to her and then fallen for her in a way he had never experienced before. ‘I got it bad, Paolo. Real bad.’

  ‘Non ci credo!’

  ‘You better believe it.’

  ‘But you! What was always your motto? Love them and leave them?’

  Will grinned at him. ‘Well, I fell and I fell bad, mate. But it’s no good as she’s married now and I don’t even know where she’s living.’

  ‘You really love this ragazza?’

  Will nodded, feeling sheepish.

  ‘Then you must fight for her.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Don’t say but. Believe me, Will, my friend, I wish I had run away with Loretta when I could. Now she is lost to me forever.’

  ‘I’ve no bloody idea where Hannah is. And I told you, she’s married.’

  ‘But if you find this Anna and get her to go to Ireland with you then you can marry her there? It is another country.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, mate. You can only marry once. Even in a different country. And her name is Hannah not Anna.’

  Paolo rolled his eyes, then said, ‘But even in England it is against the law to force a woman to marry. No?’

  ‘In theory, yes.’

  ‘Va bene. You can go to the police.’

  Will pulled a face. ‘First I have to find her, then convince a lawyer to take on the case. And her father will move heaven and earth to argue that it was a free marriage and I doubt Hannah and her mother would be in a position to prove him wrong.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Because he is supposed to be a pillar of the church. Well, some church. That makes him very plausible. But more importantly he’s violent. He’s beaten Hannah before and would do it again. He broke her mother’s arm. They’d be taking a huge risk going against him.’

  ‘Che bastardo!’

  ‘You’re right. He’s a complete bastard. And a Bible-basher. He uses his religion as a cover for his violent behaviour.’

  ‘Bible-basher. What’s that?’

  ‘He goes on about God all the time. Believes he has some kind of divine right to choose who his daughters marry. Says God talks to him.’ Will shook his head and raised his hands in despair. ‘He’s a bloody religious maniac. ‘

  ‘Like the brothers of Loretta – only their religion is money not God.’ Paolo leaned forward. ‘Caro Will, if you don’t try to stop this now you will regret it for the rest of your life. Believe me.’

  Will closed his eyes, trying not to imagine Hannah, like Loretta and Hattie, throwing herself into the Mersey and drowning. ‘Maybe you’re right. Her mother is a decent woman. I got on well with her. She wants Hannah to be with me. She told me she wants to help us. Said she was ready to stand up to her husband. Maybe I can talk to her and find out more about this sham marriage.’

  ‘Bravo!’

  ‘What are you doing later?’

  ‘Drinking a beer with you, I hope.’

  ‘I’ll meet you in the Baltic. Right now I’m going to talk to Sarah – Mrs Dawson.’

  ‘In bocca al lupo!’

  ‘Stop talking Italian as if I’m supposed to understand it.’ Will knew he sounded irritated and it was wrong to take it out on his friend.

  Paolo’s dismay showed in his face. ‘I mean to say you good luck.’

  Will put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Sorry, mate. I’m a bit snappy at the moment.’

  ‘Non fa niente – I mean, don’t worry, it’s fine.’ The Italian corrected himself quickly.

  As Will walked through the streets, he desperately hoped that Sarah Dawson would be able to give him information about her daughter’s whereabouts. Otherwise, trying to find Hannah in a city the size of Liverpool was likely to be a fool’s mission – particularly as he was at sea or in Dublin most of the time.

  He hoped that Charles Dawson would be safely out of the way at work and cursed himself for not passing by the Morton’s office first to make sure. Deciding to exercise caution he went to the alleyway that ran behind the row of houses and was relieved to see the numbers were on the gates and that the gate for the Dawson home was on the latch. Opening it cautiously, he slipped into the small backyard. He crouched behind the coal bunker, then edged slowly and quietly towards the scullery window. Sarah was standing at the sink, in front of the window. Waves of relief washed over him and he gave a light tap on the window, seeing her jump and move towards the door.

  ‘What are you doing here, Will? I told you I’d find you if there was anything to report. You need to go. Right away.’ He saw her left eye was purple and puffed up. The blow must have been direct.

  ‘Did he do that?’ Anger rose up inside him, like water through an open lock.

  ‘Go. Now. Please. You’ll make it worse.’ Her eyes pleaded with him. ‘I don’t know where she is. If I find out I’ll come to the docks and tell you.’

  ‘But I might be at sea.’ Then he remembered Eddie. ‘Ask for a docker called Eddie O’
Connor down at the Gladstone. He’s usually rostered there – knows the foreman so always gets picked. He’s a friend. I trust him. You can leave word with him if I’m not in port.’

  She was already pushing the door closed on him, mouthing that her husband was in the house.

  As he turned to go he could hear her through the door saying. ‘There was a stray cat in the yard, but I got rid of it.’

  For a moment Will thought of pushing the kitchen door open, going in and confronting Dawson. If the bully wanted a fight he could have one with a man instead of always picking on women. But something made him hold back. Flattening the man with a few punches might give Will satisfaction but Sarah and Hannah’s sister would have to live with the consequences. Better to find a solution that would get them away from Dawson or – preferably – put him safely behind bars. And Dawson was the only way to find where Hannah was. It made no sense to cut off that possibility.

  * * *

  It was almost a week before Will returned to port. Paolo was waiting for him on the dockside when the Arklow edged into its berth.

  The trip to Dublin had been a miserable one, as he had been beset by thoughts of what might have been. Everywhere he went he couldn’t help himself imagining Hannah walking beside him. When he called on the O’Connors to let them know that their new lodger wouldn’t be arriving as she’d married someone else, he was met by open mouths. The lads wanted to sweep him off to the pub to drown his sorrows, but Will wasn’t interested. He wasn’t interested in anything.

  When he left the tenement building, Bridget ran after him. The last thing he wanted was her pity – or her prayers – since they had done nothing for him so far. But she had no homily to offer him, no repetition of her previous offer to remember him in her prayers. Instead, she took both his hands in hers and squeezed them. ‘You are a good man, William Kidd. May God watch over you.’ Then she turned on her heels and ran back to the family home.