Storms Gather Between Us

by Storms Gather Between Us (retail) (epub)

  Seeing Paolo waiting patiently on the quayside, he realised the Italian was now the only person he wanted to spend any time with. Paolo too had lost the woman he loved. Their situations bore remarkable parallels.

  ‘Maybe we are cursed, you and I,’ the Italian said later as they sat in the pub, neither finding much to say to the other, but both knowing that words were no longer necessary between them. ‘Perhaps an evil spirit came on board and brought these troubles upon us.’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’

  ‘In Africa they believe in such things. In Italy too. Even though we are told by the priest that such thoughts are the work of the devil.’

  Will looked up from his beer. ‘The only devils I believe in are Hannah’s father and your Loretta’s brothers.’

  ‘Hai ragione. You are right.’

  They lapsed into silence again.

  Neither noticed Jake Cassidy approaching. The first they knew of it was when Will felt a hand on his shoulder. The former bosun pulled up a chair and turning it around, sat facing the back of the seat, arms folded and legs splayed. ‘G’day, me hearties,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Fancy seeing you two here. Thought you’d gone back to Eyetie land, Turneybainy. How about you give me a few minutes with my cobber here? We Aussies have a bit of catching up to do.’

  Paolo started to get up but Will put a hand on his arm. ’Stay put, mate.’ He looked at Cassidy. ‘You’re not my cobber. And how come you’re not in jail?’

  ‘No thanks to you, Kidd, but the magistrates thought a fine upstanding man like me, with no previous record, didn’t deserve to go down. And funnily enough none of the witnesses showed up in court.’ He winked. ‘The beaks had to let me off with a caution.’

  ‘So, what do you want with me?’

  ‘More like what can I do for you. I have something for you. I’ve a letter here from a young lady. Asked that you got it as soon as possible. Most anxious she was, according to my friend.’ He took an envelope out of his jacket pocket and held it towards Will, drawing it away as Will went to take it. Married to a friend of mine she is. Name of Hannah. I hear she’s a nice-looking girl. Sounds far too good for the likes of you. Not the kind of sheila who’d have any time for a man whose father was hanged for murder. And who was the brother of a drugged-up bird who topped herself and with a brother so rotten his own dad shot him in the back. No. Not the kind of family a nice young lady would want to be associated with.’ He shook his head in pantomime solemnity. ‘That’s why she married my friend.’ He waved the letter in the air.

  Will resisted the urge to try to snatch the envelope from his hands. He knew all too well that was exactly what Cassidy wanted – and equally well that, if he did, the former bosun would move it out of reach again. He decided to bide his time, even though every fibre of his being longed to get his hands on Hannah’s letter – and punching Jake Cassidy would be a welcome bonus. He leaned back and crossed his arms, waiting.

  Frustrated, Cassidy turned to Paolo. ‘Did you know he was sniffing round a woman here? Wanted to marry her but she had other ideas. She’s married a good-looking fella, lives in a big house. Plenty of quid. I reckon she was just toying with your friend Kidd, here.’

  Paolo said nothing, taking his cue from Will’s silence.

  Realising this was going nowhere, Cassidy got to his feet, knocking his chair over. He spat on the sawdust covered floor. ‘My friend is said to be a real stallion. Your lady friend’s getting lots of this. He tells me she can’t get enough of it.’ Cassidy executed a crude pantomime of the sex act, thrusting his hips back and forth rapidly. Will jumped to his feet, anger exploding from him.

  But Paolo got between the two men before Will could strike a blow. ‘Basta! Enough!’ He pushed Will back into his chair, then squared up to Cassidy. ‘Vai a fare in culo, stronzo’. Neither Cassidy, Will, nor anyone around them need a translation. The intent was clear.

  Perhaps mindful of his night in the cells and narrow escape in court, Cassidy stepped back. He flung the letter onto the table. ‘Read it and weep, you miserable ocker!’ Then he was gone.

  It was only then that Will realised the whole pub was silent – all watching the drama take place. He looked at Paolo.

  The Italian downed the remains of his pint and said, ’Drink up. Let’s go.’

  Paolo was staying at the Seaman’s Home so the two friends headed there. The sitting room was almost empty, most men doubtless in the local hostelries or over at Atlantic House. The only other occupant was an old tar in the corner snoring.

  Will ripped open the envelope, impatient to read what Hannah had written, hoping it would tell him where she was so he could go and find her. Right now the fact that she was married was immaterial. He had to get her away from this husband, take her safely to Dublin and then they could investigate how to get the marriage declared invalid. His heart pounding, he began to read.

  Dear Will,

  I expect by now you will have heard that I have married. When we last met I said I didn’t want to follow the wishes of my father and marry the man who has now become my husband. That was before I met Sam. Once I did, I felt differently. He is a good man, handsome, prosperous and as soon as we met there was an immediate understanding between us. A strong feeling.

  You and I barely had time to get to know each other and now that I have had a chance to reflect, I have come to the conclusion that our relationship was not suitable. As a sailor you would not have been able to provide me with the home and stability I need. Also your family connections have caused me some concerns.

  You are a good man and I am sure that, as my aunt once told you, you will one day find someone with whom you can settle down. I regret that I am not that person. I was caught up in the excitement of discovering you knew Aunt Elizabeth and this clouded my judgement.

  Please don’t try to find me and seek to change my mind. I am very happy with my new life and my husband.

  Yours sincerely,

  Hannah.

  No address. No clue where she was. Will stared at the page, at the neat handwriting, the flowing signature. This couldn’t be Hannah. How was it possible? How could she have changed her mind so utterly and completely? Had someone forced her to write it? He read it again. As he absorbed the words it occurred to him that perhaps it was indeed true. He had nothing to offer her other than his love. That love was unconditional, whereas here was the proof that hers had not been. Could he blame her for not wishing to marry a man who spent most of his time at sea? He remembered what Mrs O’Connor had said when Will had first met her – ‘The sea’s a hard mistress. There’s not many women willing to share a man with her.’ And his thoughts about taking Hannah to Australia with him, or to America … why had he entertained the notion she would she want to do that? To expect her to cross the world and build a new life so far from her mother and sister and everything she’d ever known was absurd. Then he realised, he hadn’t even raised this as a possibility with her – they’d had so little time together. So many of their conversations had been rehearsals in his head. There had been so little time to talk about the future, other than to agree they wanted to spend it together.

  And yet – how was it possible that she could have changed so much in so short a time? When her eyes had gazed into his, Will had been certain he saw her love there. His own feelings for her were unmistakeable. Absolute. Unchangeable.

  But he had made that mistake before. He’d convinced himself all those years ago that Hannah’s aunt might have romantic feelings for him and he’d been proved wrong then – so why not again now? Maybe he was unworthy of a woman’s love. Perhaps there was something about him that had made Hannah suddenly cautious and had driven her away. Something that had caused her to shy away just as he thought she had given him her heart.

  Was there something in him that made him unworthy, and both Elizabeth and Hannah had seen it? It was wrong of him to make the comparison between Hannah and her aunt: Elizabeth had never shown the slightest indication of anything other than a
maternal love for him, the warmth of friendship and affection – but never romantic love. That had been in his head only. Puppy love. Infatuation. Hannah, was different. She had responded to his kisses with passion. She had declared her love for him too. And wouldn’t her father stop at nothing to prevent her going against his wishes? Was this letter written under compulsion?

  Looking up he saw Paolo was watching him intently. He passed the letter to him. ‘Read it.’

  Paolo looked astonished. ‘Ma non posso. It is private, no?’

  ‘Read it,’ he repeated. ‘There’s nothing to cause you blushes there. It’s my discharge papers. Unsatisfactory husband material.’ He leaned back in his seat, exhaled, and stared unseeing at the ceiling.

  Paolo looked puzzled and read the letter slowly. ‘I don’t understand it all, some words… but it seems bad.’

  ‘I don’t understand it at all. And yes, it is bad. Very bad. As bad as it could be.’

  He took the letter back and read it again. Surely if it had been written under duress she would have given him some clue. Something to make it clear only to him that the words were not her own. A re-reading offered no such hope. No secret message encoded within the stark words. She had dumped him of her own volition. He had believed he had known her, yet she was making a choice now based on material factors. On survival. On a chance of a better future than he could offer. He slumped back in his chair, a terrible emptiness hollowing him out inside, sucking his hopes and happiness away and leaving a hollow void.

  Paolo looked at him, his dark eyes telegraphing his sadness for his friend. Immediately, Will clenched his fists and put on his emotional armour. What had possessed him to take it off in the first place? He gave a dry laugh. ‘Oh well, you win some, you lose some.’

  The Italian frowned at him, evidently seeing through this display of bravado. ‘I am sorry, amico mio. I don’t know what to say.’

  Will jumped up. ‘You don’t need to say anything, mate. Let’s just go and get drunk.’

  The two men headed to a nearby pub, but conscious of the cost and their desire to drown their sorrows, decided the cheap beer at Atlantic House would be a better bet.

  Will was determined to brush off what had happened – the last thing he wanted was pity. Yet he knew he wasn’t kidding Paolo. His forced nonchalance had evidently not convinced the Italian.

  He realised he actually envied his friend. While both of them had loved and lost, at least Paolo had not suffered the terrible pain of his beloved choosing someone else. Loretta had been forced into marriage yet, were Will to believe the words of the letter, Hannah had embraced it with open arms. Paolo had the clear knowledge that Loretta had loved him deeply, enough to take her own life. But given the choice of Hannah alive but apart from him, or Hannah dead, he wanted her to be living. He hoped, for her sake, she was as happy as the letter indicated, no matter how much that felt like a knife cutting into his own heart.

  There was no dance tonight at Atlantic House – just men playing snooker and crowding inside the bar to enjoy the cheap beer and the company of the local girls. Father O’Driscoll was, as always, very much in evidence. He nodded a greeting to Will, who ordered three pints and sent one across the bar to the priest.

  Will and Paolo found a table in the corner, away from the throng. As Will drank his beer, he became increasingly melancholy and fatalistic. He was a fool to have believed in Hannah’s love for him.

  Paolo leaned over the table and raised his voice above the hubbub. ‘Ho deciso, Will. I have decided. I sign to sail with the Christina again,’ said the Italian. ‘It will leave the dry dock next week. Tutto pronto. Sailing back to east Africa via the Cape.’

  Will didn’t respond.

  ‘Il Capitano Palmer, he ask me if you come too. Please, Will. Vieni, vieni con me! Let’s go together to Africa. Leave all this sadness behind. All this shit. We will both forget the past and the women we have lost. We leave them behind and start a great new adventure. What you think, Will, my friend?’

  Will thought for a moment, then drained the remains of his pint. ‘You’re on, mate. I’m in. I can’t face another bloody hop over to Ireland. Let’s go where the sun shines every day.’

  Paolo leaned over the table, took Will’s head between his hands and planted a friendly kiss on his friend’s brow.

  ‘Steady on, fella. You’re not in Italy now.’ He shoved his empty beer glass towards Paolo. ‘Now let’s have another beer.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Hannah was asleep when Sam came home. The sound of the bedroom door opening woke her. He was standing at the foot of the bed and even though it was pitch dark and she could only see his outline, she knew at once something was wrong.

  ‘What’s the matter, Sam?’

  She reached over to the small lamp on the night stand and flicked it on. Gasping, she crawled to the end of the bed where he was standing head lowered.

  ‘What’s happened? Your jacket’s torn.’

  He lifted his head and she gasped again. His face was red and swollen and his lip was cut. Tomorrow he’d have a massive bruise. On her knees at the end of the bed she lifted a hand to touch his face. He winced and drew away.

  ‘Who did this to you, Sam?’

  He moved round the foot of the bed and sat down on the side. She swung her legs over to sit beside him.

  ‘Jake.’ He made a little sobbing sound.

  ‘Wait here,’ she said. ‘There’s some witch hazel and iodine in the bathroom cabinet.’

  She returned with the bottles, and taking his handkerchief from his top pocket, she soaked it in witch hazel and began to dab at his face.

  ‘Why?’ She asked eventually. ‘Why did he hurt you?’

  Sam closed his eyes. ‘I gave him your letter and he said he knew your friend and would make sure he got it. We arranged to meet later in our usual place – a disused warehouse on the docks. When he turned up, he was drunk and angry.’ He leant forward and put his head in his hands. ‘I was trying to make him feel better. I didn’t know why he was upset. I wanted him to know that no matter what, I was there for him.’ He made a choking sound as he tried to suppress the sobs. ‘I told him I loved him.’

  Hannah reached for Sam’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

  ‘He didn’t say anything at first. For one magical moment I thought he was going to say he felt the same, but he didn’t. He didn’t say anything at all. He just swung his arm back and punched me in the face. I was so shocked I couldn’t move. I landed on the floor, up against some grain sacks. Then he kicked me. As if he were taking a penalty in football and wanted to hammer it in the back of the net. Here.’ He pointed to his left thigh. ‘Twice.’ Then there was the sound of a ship’s foghorn so he ran away. Left me lying there on the ground. It was so painful I don’t know how I managed to get as far as the taxi rank to get home.’

  She told him to take off his trousers. The skin on his thigh was already blooming into an enormous bruise like a chrysanthemum. Despite his trousers, the skin was broken and there was copious dried blood all down the leg. Hannah dabbed at the cuts with the iodine. ‘Now get into bed and try to sleep. Would you like me to make you some cocoa?’

  Sam shook his head. ‘Thank you, Hannah. I am so lucky to have you. Your kindness is the only good thing in my life right now.’ He slid under the covers. She got into the other side of the bed. ‘Can I hold you?’ He asked. ‘Just until I fall asleep?’

  ‘Of course you can,’ she whispered, switching the light out. He slipped an arm around her waist and was soon breathing with the heavy breath of sleep. Hannah remained awake, staring into the dark of the bedroom, wishing that it were Will’s arm around her, knowing that if it were, neither would be sleeping.

  * * *

  As time passed and in an attempt to stop dwelling on her impossible situation, her lost love and her bleak future, Hannah threw herself wholeheartedly into the task of getting The Laurels into better shape. Nance Cunningham had not exaggerated when she said she didn’t
like doing housework. The windows probably hadn’t been cleaned since the pastor’s late wife had been alive. The bath was ingrained with a tidemark of grime and the toilet stained and smelly. Dust had gathered on every surface and there were cobwebs in the corners of the ceilings. There was evidence of the presence of mice and they were probably only kept in check by the frequent intrusion of the cat she had encountered that first day, and which she now knew to belong to the elderly man who lived next door.

  Nance, evidently eager for company and conversation, liked to follow Hannah from room to room, perching on a chair or leaning against the window ledge, watching her work while smoking cigarettes. Not once did she offer to lend a hand, but she did provide a steady flow of cups of tea and occasionally went so far as to open a tin of sardines or make cheese-on-toast, for their lunch. Her idleness didn’t concern Hannah, who was glad of the consolation of physical activity and the distraction of Nance’s monologues. The woman rarely showed any curiosity about Hannah or her background, but had no hesitation in revealing her own life story in detail. She told Hannah that she had married her childhood sweetheart as soon as he was demobbed after the Armistice, but the young boy who had gone to war was not the man who returned. Her husband had escaped physical injury but his happy-go-lucky nature had been transformed into dark moods, a tendency to heavy drinking and consequent aggression, which he took out on his wife.

  One morning, Nance surprised her by asking her how she was getting on with her new husband.

  ‘Well enough,’ Hannah replied, looking up in surprise.

  ‘Have you done it yet?’

  ‘Done what?’

  ‘Had sex.’

  Hannah gaped at her, astonished.

  ‘I suppose you think it’s none of my business and you’re right, it isn’t, but I can’t help being curious. It’s in me nature.’

  ‘Then you must stay curious. What happens between a husband and wife should be private.’