The Restless Sea. Vanessa de Haan

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СКАЧАТЬ her in. Can it really be only ten days since they met? And now she has replied. Things couldn’t be better. He rests his head back against the cabin wall. Life is good. His first goal was to fly, and now that he’s doing it, the rest of his dreams will follow. Suddenly his future is something that is tangible, ready to be plucked in all its shining glory as soon as the war is over.

      Night is drawing in and the light is fading. The aircraft carrier’s signal lamp winks its message to ask whether they can join the men on the battleship for a few drinks. Charlie is bursting with energy. He feels as though he could do anything. He joins Paddy and Frank, Mole and some of the other officers who want a closer look at the veteran ship. They motor across the black water of the harbour. The movement of a small boat is completely different to that of the aircraft carrier; the smell of salt water and the sloshing of the waves more powerful. The sea glints where the small light on their launch catches the ripples.

      Although the old battleship – like all ships – is in blackout, Charlie can just make her out in the twilight: the pom-pom guns next to the funnel, and the huge fourteen-inch guns at the front trumpeting up to the sky, the lifeboats dangling on their davits like hanging baskets. The sound of the water changes as it slaps ineffectually at her sides.

      ‘Boat ahoy!’ Someone shines a light down on them. They blink up at it, unable to see anyone behind the brightness. An officer is there to greet them. He grabs Charlie’s hand firmly, gripping his forearm with the other hand. ‘Welcome aboard,’ he says.

      It does them good to see new faces. The officers relax into a catch-up, trading stories of German reconnaissance and squeezing each other for news of home and where they might be sent next. Charlie wonders whether his father ever sat in this same wardroom, among the chink of glasses and the hum of men.

      ‘Any on-shore entertainment here?’ asks Frank.

      ‘Not unless you like sheep,’ says one of the officers, a man with a long, narrow nose.

      All the men laugh, but Charlie says, ‘I love it up here. Think I might buy a place one day.’

      Mole grunts. ‘Not on a sub-lieutenant’s pay, you won’t,’ he says.

      ‘I won’t be a sub-lieutenant for ever,’ says Charlie.

      ‘No,’ says Mole. ‘Knowing you, you won’t.’

      ‘Don’t tell me,’ says one of the older officers, with a wry smile, ‘you’ve got it all mapped out: captain, commodore, admiral?’

      Charlie looks down at his drink. The liquid sloshes against the glass. ‘Doesn’t everyone want to progress?’ he says quietly.

      ‘Life never turns out how you expect,’ says the man with the narrow nose.

      ‘I do know that,’ says Charlie, thinking of his dead parents, feeling a lump in his throat and desperately trying not to let it escape into his mouth.

      The older man is leaning forwards: ‘I had it all mapped out too. Pipe. Slippers … And look at me now. Back on a bloody ship, faced with another war.’

      ‘Isn’t it your duty—’ Charlie starts to say.

      ‘Duty? Duty! Don’t talk to me about bloody duty. I did my duty last time around …’

      ‘Leave him alone, Bruce. He’s only a youngster.’

      Charlie is sweating. It is partly the whisky, partly embarrassment, partly anger. He grips the tumbler in frustration. He’s not that young. He’s twenty, the same age as his father was at the start of the last war, and he’s already doing things that boys can only dream of.

      Bruce downs his drink, sighing as he tops up the glass again. ‘No offence, old boy,’ he says, rubbing his hand across his eyes and settling back in his chair. ‘I’m just a weather-beaten old fool, and you’re right. I’m glad we’ve got a bunch of optimists to see us through …’

      To Charlie’s relief, the conversation is brought to an end there, as a rating knocks at the door to ask if the officers need anything further. Charlie recognises the freckle-faced boy immediately as one of the batch he escorted up here on the train. He gets to his feet and crosses the wardroom. ‘Summers, isn’t it?’ he says.

      The boy nods, his cheeks colouring. ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘How’s it all going?’

      ‘Very good, sir.’

      ‘They treating you well?’

      ‘Of course.’ Summers shifts nervously from foot to foot.

      ‘Is it all you thought it would be?’

      ‘And more, sir.’

      ‘I gather your training class is coming over to our ship tomorrow, to get a taste of life on an aircraft carrier?’

      ‘I believe so, sir.’

      ‘Well, I’ll look out for you, then. Send my regards to the other cadets who travelled with us, won’t you?’

      ‘I will, sir. Thank you, sir.’ Summers nods, still red-cheeked as he disappears away down the corridor.

      Charlie feels as though he has reasserted some authority. He turns back to the men in the room, dusting down his jacket. ‘Probably time for us to get back,’ he says. ‘It’s been a long few weeks.’

      Back on board his own ship, Charlie stands on the flight deck for a moment before heading down to his cabin. The harbour is so quiet that he can hear the capital ship’s boatswain’s mate piping down. The piercing notes echo across the water like a strange bird’s cry. Above him, the sky starts to shimmer. There is a line of sparkling luminescence in the sky, a ribbon of undulating neon pulsing over the ships. At the edge it is aquamarine and blue, and the stars still twinkle in the darker velvet sky around it. The Northern Lights. Instead of coal-black, the sea is beginning to glimmer luminous green. It is a moment of wonder, like receiving a letter. Charlie wonders if Olivia is watching them too: they are connected by this inky water that bleeds into the nooks and crannies of the northern shores of Britain.

      Mole puts an arm around Charlie’s shoulder. ‘Don’t take it to heart, boyo. It’s been a hell of a week.’

      ‘What’s wrong with aiming high?’

      ‘Nothing at all. But you should remember there is more to life than just this. I know you’ve had it drummed into you by that fancy school you went to.’

      ‘Don’t they teach you the same at grammar school?’

      ‘Yes. But I also know you need more than that for a happy life.’

      ‘You mean, a wife and family? Like you.’

      ‘Exactly. Man cannot live by bread alone … there’s drink and women and singing …’ Mole starts to sing. It’s a song that Charlie recognises as ‘Calon Lân’, one of the Welshman’s favourites. The notes bounce across the harbour and out towards the hills. As his voice fades, so too do the lights in the sky, and once again they are left in silence and darkness. Charlie feels a deep hollow in the pit of his stomach and with surprise he realises his eyes have filled with tears. Must be the whisky. He leaves Mole on deck and heads for the isolation СКАЧАТЬ