What Was Rescued Read online

  I pushed his arm away. ‘Why don’t you marry her, then? If she’s so beautiful and you don’t need the money?’

  He pressed his hand against the wall above my shoulder and leant in towards me. ‘Because, dear Dora, I am a socialist. I like my women to be from honest toiling stock.’ He kissed me on the cheek, and I backed even harder against the wall. His breath smelt of alcohol.

  ‘I’ve got a boyfriend,’ I heard myself say. It sounded odd. I’d never called Arthur that before, but now I knew that’s what he was. Ralph straightened a little and considered me intently.

  ‘Beautiful, honest and unavailable.’ He smiled. ‘I like a challenge.’

  13

  ARTHUR

  Let’s see, how on earth did it happen? Dora came down to see me in Bristol during her Christmas holidays – right at the beginning, it must’ve been. She had her suitcase with her and she was catching the Newport train later, to head back home for Christmas.

  I had a surprise lined up for her. I’d been looking at houses to buy for some time, and I’d finally whittled it down to two that I liked and could just about afford. I wanted to show them to her, and had arranged two consecutive viewings with the estate agent. I can still remember her face when we were looking around. It was so full of awe and delight.

  ‘An indoor bathroom!’ she squeaked in the first house, a very modest terraced home in Redland. ‘A fitted kitchen!’ she marvelled in the second one, a small semi-detached place in Horfield. We must’ve been in every room three times at least, and her eyes seemed to grow wider with each inspection.

  ‘Oh, look! There’s even a fridge!’

  ‘That belongs to the owners,’ I laughed, ‘but we could get a fridge.’

  She looked at me awkwardly for a moment, and I realized I had given myself away with that ‘we’. It was meant to be a surprise for the day I got the key and showed her the house I actually owned, and I still intended to leave the marriage proposal until that moment, but somehow the word hung in the air.

  ‘I’m hoping we’ll be a we, if that’s all right with you?’

  She nodded, smiled and buried her face in my armpit. So it was sort of understood, but I was going to surprise her with a ring when I moved in and she came to help me choose the furniture.

  ‘So which house is it to be? You choose, Dora.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. I’ve looked at them both three times now, and they both look okay to me.’

  ‘This one then.’ She turned around in the kitchen, looking up at the ceiling in wonderment as if there were a chandelier hanging from it.

  ‘And will you help me choose the furniture?’ She looked at me with happy, tear-filled eyes and said nothing. ‘I’m relying on you to help me, Dora. I don’t know a fawn from a beige.’

  So that was it. Unofficially, we were engaged. I went to a jeweller’s to look at some rings. I hadn’t really thought about this; I thought they were all pretty much the same until they started to shunt tray upon tray of different rings past me on the counter. Also, I didn’t know her size. They suggested that the lady might like to make her own choice and that I could pop the question with a family heirloom or a dress ring. If I liked, they could even trade it in for the eventual purchase when I brought her in. This seemed to make sense, so I arranged to borrow a dress ring from my mother (a mock emerald) and bought a new box for it.

  Then something odd happened. It must have been prompted by that Christmas letter from Daphne Prendergast and the updated list of addresses that was enclosed, because in the New Year I had a ‘late Christmas card’ from Pippa.

  Dear Arthur,

  Just saw your new address and wondered how life was for you these days? Do you still see anything of the old crowd? (Dora, Graham etc.?) Are you going to Daphne’s do in September?

  Lots of love,

  Pippa

  I suppose there was nothing especially unusual about that, and I replied fairly briefly and politely that yes, I wrote to Graham from time to time, and yes, I still saw Dora and, in fact, she was coming to see me in a few weekends’ time, and yes, I was hoping to go to the do in September. But the events that followed were mystifying. Until now, of course.

  I arrived home from work a few days later – January 1952, this was – and my landlady, Mrs Peet, said there was a visitor for me. She was a kindly old soul, and she gave me a bit of a nod and a wink. She knew about Dora, but this visitor was decidedly unexpected and a whole new kettle of fish. She opened the door to the never-used front room to reveal Pippa, semi-reclining on the modest wooden-armed sofa and wafting expensive perfume into the musty unused air. She was such an unusual sight, surrounded by Mrs Peet’s cheap ornaments, copper knick-knacks and photos of dead relatives, that I couldn’t quite believe my eyes at first.

  ‘Pippa?’

  She smiled but didn’t get up. ‘Have I changed that much?’

  I don’t know why, but I felt ambushed by her. I was uncomfortable in my work clothes and felt like relaxing after a long day. I wished she’d given me some notice.

  ‘Of course not. If I’d known you were coming . . .’

  ‘You’d’ve baked a cake?’ She grinned with her shapely lips, swinging her legs around in front of her, as if beckoning me to sit beside her. ‘Don’t worry, we can go out somewhere.’

  That was how it was with Pippa. You could always go out somewhere and spend a fortune on cucumber sandwiches or cocktails.

  ‘What brings you here?’ I said, trying not to sound irritated, and sat down opposite her.

  ‘I was just passing through Bristol, visiting a friend, and I thought, why not look up Arthur? So here I am. I won’t stop. Just thought I’d call by and have a quick catch-up.’

  I said it was good to see her, of course, and she was looking well and so on. She smiled and looked directly into my eyes. That’s what she used to do, Pippa. It was her way of capturing you. Or of checking whether she needed to capture you. There was no escaping those eyes. I asked how she was doing.

  ‘I’m extremely well, thank you. So, tell me all about you. You’re seeing the lovely little Dora, then?’

  I looked down at the floor. ‘Yes.’ I don’t know how she made that ‘yes’ feel guilty, but she did. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘Your landlady has already plied me with tea, thank you.’

  I was parched. ‘Good.’

  ‘Do I hear wedding bells?’

  I should’ve just said yes. Why didn’t I? To this day I can’t fully explain. It’s not as though I was trying to avoid admitting that I was seeing Dora. It was almost as if I was afraid she would interfere. I told Pippa plainly that Dora and I had been seeing a lot of each other and that she was even coming down in a few weeks, after completion on my new house, to help me move in.

  ‘Are you intending to move in together?’

  ‘Dora’s still at teacher training college in Cheltenham.’

  I knew exactly what she meant, of course. I tried to look away, but it was hard. She was wearing a close-fitting dark green dress, which accentuated her breasts and her hips. Around the neck was some green fur or something fluffy and soft. It made you want to touch it. She had crossed her legs again and let the heel of her shoe dangle off a little, flopping it to and fro.

  ‘So, you’re dating little Dora! What does she say about me?’

  ‘I don’t think she says anything about you.’

  ‘Oh, come on. You know she’s never liked me.’

  The truth was, I had detected a little animosity between Dora and Pippa, but I had put it down to girls being girls. The feminine world was a world I didn’t understand. I had no sisters, and the only women at work brought tea and gossiped about fashion and film stars. I was vain enough to imagine it was normal for two pretty women I knew not to like each other.

  ‘Why would she not like you?’

  ‘Oh . . . it’s silly, childish stuff. She probably says I’m a liar, doesn’t she?’

  I shrugged.

&n
bsp; ‘Well, if she does, I’d better tell you it goes back to our time on the ship. I never mentioned it before because it involved Philip, and I didn’t want to . . . I didn’t think . . .’

  ‘It’s okay.’ I was really curious.

  ‘Well, it was the day of the sinking. I borrowed that concertina to have a little go on it. I was jealous, I think, because she played it so well. So I went into her room and borrowed it from her cupboard, and Philip saw me take it. They were playing hide-and-seek, you see, and I didn’t realize. Philip accused me of stealing it, and I’m sure he told her, and she would’ve thought me a thief or something. But then, of course, the ship went down, and . . . you know the rest. But it’s always stayed with me. I’m sure she thinks I’m a thief.’

  ‘I’m sure she doesn’t.’

  ‘Well, no need to bring it up if she doesn’t mention it. But you know what she’s like – loves to make up stories about people.’

  ‘Does she?’ I said. ‘I’ve never noticed.’

  ‘Haven’t you? Dora? She was always making up stories. Lord knows what she’s said about me. I’m not saying she’s like it now – and I love her to bits, I really do, such a lovely girl – but when she was little . . . I’m just saying, that’s all. If she says anything, be warned.’

  This struck me as very odd. In all the time I’d known Dora, she’d come across as the most honest and decent person. I didn’t like what Pippa was saying, even if she was making excuses for it. And, if I’m honest, I was a bit startled at the mention of my brother. The idea that he had witnessed something that I didn’t know about – however trivial – felt like an important revelation. I didn’t like the idea that his last impression of the world was of someone he trusted appearing to be dishonest. It was odd that Dora had never mentioned it.

  ‘Are you sure Philip got round to telling her?’

  ‘Oh yes. I could tell from the way she looked at me.’

  ‘If you’re worried about it, why don’t you explain it to her yourself?’

  ‘Well, if she’s really forgotten about it, best let sleeping dogs lie. It was all such a long time ago. So what date are you moving in to the new house?’

  I told her I’d move in on the 6th of March. And then, because I felt the need to arm myself against the breasts and the fluffy neckline, I added, ‘Dora will be coming later that day to help me buy furniture.’

  ‘How exciting!’

  We continued to chat for a while, and she told me again how much she liked Dora and what a sweet person she seemed to have grown into. After an hour or so she left. She said she was meeting a friend, and that, I thought, would be the last of her.

  14

  DORA

  We went for this walk in the hills before term started again.

  ‘You’ll never guess who I heard from over Christmas.’

  ‘Oh yes, Aunty Daphne! Isn’t it wonderful?’

  ‘Daphne? Oh, that. Yes, it is. No, it was someone else as well.’

  I was disappointed. I wanted him to talk about Daphne. She had written to all those of us from Boat Nine with a list of addresses, asking if we could update them if necessary, because she was sending out invitations to a rather special reunion the following September:

  I know it’s a bit earlier than you might have expected for our next reunion, but I’m getting married, and I’d love all of you from Boat Nine to be there. We went through a lot together, didn’t we? And I hope it’s a nice surprise that the groom is Jack Heggarty! There will be a short service at St Peter’s, and the reception will be at the Wayfarer’s Inn, where we all met last time. So hope you can make it! (Details to follow later.)

  We were standing on the summit of Leckhampton Hill, looking out over Cheltenham and the Severn Valley. On that evening it was spectacular. In the distance, the Black Mountains of the Welsh border sketched a faint blue line, and to the right, the buxom-breasted Malvern Hills stood out perkily. Further to the right again was Clee Hill in Shropshire, and beneath us the wide valley of the Severn basked in the golden light and long shadows of an early sunset.

  ‘Who then?’

  ‘Our old friend Pippa.’

  I felt suddenly dizzy. I held on to his arm and tried not to look down. I looked instead at Wales, but it seemed a long way away, too far to reach.

  ‘Pippa?’

  ‘Yes. She sent me a late Christmas card. Must’ve been Daphne’s address list. Did you get a card from her?’

  ‘No,’ I said thinly, the word little more than a breath. I continued to look at Wales, searching for home.

  ‘Well, that’s odd. Even odder that she called by a few days ago . . . on her way to somewhere-or-other.’

  Now I could hardly breathe. What? What! I wanted to shout. I took a deep breath but nothing came out. I let go of his hand.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘She came to your house?’

  ‘Not the new one. Just the digs. She just happened to be in Bristol, so she thought she’d look me up.’

  ‘Did she?’ I said woodenly.

  He shifted his weight awkwardly from the balls of his feet to his heels.

  ‘You two don’t get on very well, do you?’

  I asked what she’d said. What had she said? I could see it all now: a flutter of those eyelashes, a hand on his arm. Don’t trust Dora. She doesn’t like me. I don’t know why, but she never has.

  ‘We just talked about this and that. She asked after you.’

  ‘And what did you say?’

  He looked nonplussed. ‘I . . . said . . . you were well, of course. Was that okay?’

  I sighed. He took my hand again and gave it a squeeze.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I just don’t trust her.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  I couldn’t think what to say. ‘It’s just . . . I don’t think she’s entirely honest.’

  ‘Oh, you’re thinking of the concertina, is that it? She told me all about that. She took it from your room to have a go on it and Philip thought she was stealing it. Don’t worry, she told me all about it.’

  Then I looked at him, trying to convey something that I knew was impossible to explain without words, but which could never be spoken. I just started to stutter. I don’t think I was going to tell him, but I was so close. ‘I think . . . Don’t think that . . . It’s just that I’m . . .’

  ‘Lost for words,’ he said. He gave my hand another squeeze, and I felt sick. Wales went all wiggly and melted, and I realized that tears had welled up in my eyes. I smelt him, close to me then, that wonderful Arthur odour that had fuelled my unconscious love for him since we sat curled in the boat together. It was raw and woody and powerful. It was my lifeline. He was my life. She could destroy it all. But if I told him . . .

  I had tried not to relive what I had witnessed, half hoping it had been an illusion. I knew, of course, the moment I saw her again in the Wayfarer’s cloakroom, that it had been no dream.

  The sea . . . the sea numbs every bit of you. Your voice, your hands, your feet, your lips, your legs, your chest, your arms, maybe even your heart. And when you are fished out of it, after many hours, the feeling comes back slowly, but in reverse order. Your heart, your glad and grateful heart, your arms, wrapped up in another’s, your heaving chest, your forgotten legs, your lips, brushing on warm skin, your feet, rubbed tenderly back to life, your hands, held, squeezed, warmed between the two kind hands of another. But you can’t relax, because you know that, minutes before, there was someone else with you, floating in the bitter sea. You both try to hold on to each other, but the hands give way. They stop feeling the grip and let go. And he is swept away, but never quite out of sight. When the moon comes out from behind the clouds you see his bobbing head, up and down on the giant heaving waves, in and out of sight, up and down, to and fro. And you hope he’s alive. And on the boat you know he’s been spotted. You know she’s seen him. You can see him over Arthur’s shoulder. He’s by the boat. He’s reaching up. He’s alive! He’s alive! You want to shout to Ar
thur, but no words come out. Your lips haven’t thawed. Your voice is still lost. But it’s all right, because she has seen him. She offers down her oar, and he grabs it. She is pulling, but she isn’t asking for help. She’s looking around, and everyone is looking at you and at Mr Dent. The lascars beyond her are huddled together, not looking at her. She is pushing. Pushing. She is beating him off. She’s beating his head with the oar. Philip lets go and is swept away. Someone spots him: there’s someone in the water! Maybe another child! Mr Dent jumps in. She sees you looking at her. How long have you been doing that? Everyone else is fixated on the heaving black waves that push Mr Dent out of sight and swallow him whole. Mr Dent doesn’t come back, and you are still looking at her. Two lives lost now. She sees you looking at her, and she knows.

  At the most important moment of your life – and of Philip’s – your voice has failed you, and it continues to fail you all the way home.

  Now that I had my voice, it felt so wrong to hold this truth back from the one I loved above all others, but I couldn’t bear the hurt it would cause. What could he do with this new information? His mother would be broken by it all over again, and she might not be able to piece together anything resembling herself this time. His indelible guilt at having survived his brother would be relived, and he would have to trawl through new varieties of pain for no good outcome. Too much time had passed, and I had hoped that with those years I might somehow come to realize that the memory was a mere hallucination. But an unwanted memory is like a smell. It bypasses all language and logic. You can cover your eyes and block your ears, but it will still flood your feelings and wrench you back to a single moment, and it can ambush you when you least expect it.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Arthur gently. ‘You are my girl.’

  ‘Promise you won’t see her again.’

  He smiled, flattered. ‘Stop worrying.’

  ‘Promise me.’

  He rubbed my hand between his two. ‘I promise.’

  Secure that he would keep his word, I let the chance to tell him slip away, and I was almost relieved.