Holding On (21 page)

‘They were rather late setting out,' Caroline explained, ‘but I'm sure they'll be here at any moment. Come and get comfortable and then I'll go and put the kettle on.'

Freddy sat down at the end of the sofa nearest to the leaping flames, ignoring
The Times
, which lay folded as usual on the long low table. Theo read her snippets at breakfast but just lately she did not peruse the newspaper at teatime. The news was too depressing, filled with horrors. Why did she have to have two grandsons in the Navy when the world stood continually on the brink of nuclear war? How could Mole, with all his private terrors, go to sea in a submarine, moving stealthily in deep waters, hunted and hunter? Was it out of bravado that he pushed himself to the edge of such danger? If he were to be given command of a Polaris submarine, might he really be capable of pressing the button that would release warheads capable of laying waste to vast areas of the earth?

‘It is a deterrent,' he'd told her. ‘The whole point is that the results are so horrific that no one will ever use them. There will never be a nuclear war, Grandmother.'

He had looked almost prophetic, serious yet grim, and she'd felt another surge of fear for him, some terrible premonition.

‘How would you know?' she'd said angrily. ‘Supposing some madman should get hold of one? Those unstable eastern countries, for instance, or the Chinese, who can't agree among themselves.'

He'd remained unshaken by her vehemence and had even laughed a little, saying that he'd only become a submariner because a submarine was the safest place to be if the worst should happen. He'd reminded her so much of Theo that she'd been obliged to leave him, pleading a headache, going to her room. The question of Sin had never been raised again but it was clear that he had not lost his heart to her, although she suspected that he still went to see her. She hoped that Sin had remained unscathed, too . . .

Her thoughts wandered on, considering her other grandchildren and all those little ones that were beginning to grow up, to be worried about in their turn. How quickly the years rushed past. In a week or two she would be eighty-two years old. It would be a quiet Birthday this year. Mole and Hal were at sea so there would be only Kit to share the celebrations although some of the family were coming to toast them; Prue was coming and Fliss and Miles and the twinnies. Maria had decided that she couldn't manage on her own with the babies and the dog, but Gus and Susanna would certainly be over. There would be quite a gathering at teatime. She wondered what delight Theo would choose for her this year – and glanced anxiously at her watch, her fear flooding back.

As she did so, she heard the car bumping in between the gatehouses and she was swamped by relief; all was well. He was home. She saw Fox hobbling in through the garden room, round to the kitchen and, as the front door opened, Caroline came in with the tray. Theo stood his stick in the brass container and beamed upon them both.

‘What excellent timing,' he said. ‘We rather misjudged the depth of the water on the tidal road at Aveton Gifford but all's well that ends well. Your picnic was superb, Caroline. Every crumb eaten and enjoyed. A delightful day on all counts but I'm certainly ready for some tea. That cake looks delicious.'

‘If you've eaten all the lunch Caroline packed,' said Freddy acidly, hiding her joy at the sight of him, illogically wishing to punish him now that she knew he was safe, ‘I'm surprised that you can manage anything at all.'

‘Fox was starving, poor fellow,' said Theo, shaking his head. ‘I've never seen a chap put it away so fast. I hardly had a mouthful.'

‘Sit down,' said Freddy resignedly as Caroline disappeared, grinning. ‘I don't believe a word of it. Fox's manners are far too good. But you shall have some cake. There. Now, take your tea and tell me where you went and what you've seen and omit nothing, not even the tidal road at Aveton Gifford. Now that you're safely back I can cope with anything.'

It was two o'clock in the morning; the middle watch. In the dimmed red lighting, Mole leaned on the chart table, sorting out the harbour entry plans requested earlier by the Captain and feeling all the responsibility of being the Navigation Officer. He was sharing the watch with the SD Supply Officer, Trevor Lukes, a kindly easy-going man, and a very comforting person to have with you when you were still new and unsure of yourself. Mole's sense of anxiety was heightened by the knowledge that they were covertly tracking a cargo vessel out of Libya, suspected of gun-running for the IRA. It seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary to the experienced men about him but he had a sense of unreality that he should be a part of this small drama and felt the familiar churning of the stomach, a sensation usually associated with the idea of the unknown assassin, blank-eyed, closed lips smiling: an image which had haunted him since the murder and ambush of his parents and brother. He knew that those closest to him considered it odd, given these private terrors, that he should have chosen the branch of the Navy that was most fully engaged in the silent, secret war against the Russians, where there was the most danger and the most risk. He could hardly explain it to himself; how the attraction of secrecy and silence had drawn him since his earliest days in Kenya when he had crawled beneath tables or under chairs and concealed himself with rugs and cushions; the overwhelming relief that he was secure, safe from discovery. Had the translation from his safe English nursery to the long, low African bungalow been such a great trauma to his year-old self?

As he sorted through the charts he was thinking about the familygram he'd received the day before, full of news, recounting the twinnies' latest escapades, keeping him up to date with the gossip and reporting the welfare of the elder members of his family. As usual, it was Fliss who made certain he was abreast of the family's affairs, although he knew that if any real disaster happened he would know nothing about it. This was his own choice. He could decide whether he should be told if the members of his family were ill, dying even, knowing, however, that there was nothing he could do about it; or he could choose to remain ignorant until the submarine docked. He had chosen the latter, suspecting himself to be incapable of remaining efficient once he knew that any of his loved ones was in danger. He'd heard of a case where one of the crew arrived home to find his youngest child dead and buried. The shock must have been unbearable. Mole wondered how the man's wife had coped through the long, lonely weeks without support or comfort. He understood the Navy's position; it was unrealistic to expect the men to be flown out the moment a serious problem occurred at home – and especially in this area of defence where the submarine was a secret weapon – nevertheless it was a harsh and frightening world. It made him more determined in his resolve never to marry or have children of his own. The enormity of such a responsibility was terrifying; suppose he should be unable to protect them? It was impossible to legislate for every eventuality and the attempt to do so would drive him distracted. Imagine going home, anticipating the happy cheerful scene, only to find that your youngest child – hardly more than a baby – was not simply dangerously ill but already dead, buried in the cold earth? Sudden death striking out of a bright sunny day . . .

He thrust away such morbid thoughts and glanced about him. Over on the starboard side, seated between and slightly behind the two planesman who monitored the steering and balance – the trim – of the boat, Trevor was talking quietly about his retirement plans which centred round the running of a restaurant in Rosyth. The low murmur of his voice blended with the atmosphere of relaxed, hushed weariness, adding to the intimacy of the control room at night when the submarine was at three hundred feet and very, very quiet. Mole got on well with Trevor, who liked a run ashore and engendered confidence. He was glad that he was there, seeing him through these first early weeks. He bent to look at the computer screen, checking the progress of the cargo vessel, listening to the conversation between the two sailors monitoring its progress as they talked to the sonar team.

‘A submarine is a blind man with big ears,' Trevor had once said to Mole.

Mole had a momentary vision of the submarine gliding silently through the water, guided purely by a tiny dot on the screen and the ping of the sonar. He knew how the atmosphere could change instantly at the least irregularity; how quickly the tension could increase.

‘Coffee, sir?'

‘Oh, thanks, chief.' He smiled gratefully at the steward and returned to his charts. Planning the approach was not so simple as it sounded and he was determined to get it as right as he could. One of the planesman was pleading for a cigarette – ‘Oh, come on, sir. I'm gasping for a fag' – and others were adding their pleas to his. If they'd been at periscope depth there would be no chance but, ‘OK. Just one all round,' Trevor agreed, and there was a general easing and stretching, a lightening of the mood.

The chef put his head in, announcing that he was about to start baking the bread for breakfast, and the engineer officer of the watch, just out of his pit and wanting a report for his team in the manoeuvring room, paused on his way aft.

He and Mole murmured together. ‘. . . We're just here . . . Bay of Biscay . . . still tracking . . . have to break off in a couple of days. Got to be back in Devonport . . . heading towards southern Ireland . . . might alter course up the west coast . . . southern Irish port . . . doing about twelve knots . . . another three days.'

He went away, yawning widely, and Mole finished his coffee. Once the cargo vessel was safe inside territorial waters a report could be sent back to HQ, the intelligence services alerted . . . Mole was yawning too, longing for some sleep. Up there, three hundred feet above the submarine, the moonlight was probably reflecting on the water, the stars beginning to fade as the dawn approached. In his mind's eye he saw an image of The Keep, a small stronghold in the silence of the surrounding countryside, slumbering until early morning light. He yawned again, glancing at his watch and, with a small internal shock, remembered that today was his birthday.

 

Later that day, travelling west for the Birthday weekend, Fliss was thinking about Mole.

‘It's a pity he'll miss the celebrations,' she said. ‘Hal, too. At least Kit's coming down. Poor old Mole. He does enjoy a family get-together.'

‘He's a big boy now,' said Miles. ‘I expect he'll be able to live with it.'

‘I expect he will,' agreed Fliss, crushing down a surge of irritation. Miles was always so relentlessly adult but, if she were honest with herself, she knew quite well that this was what had attracted her to him. After the devastating news of Hal's engagement Miles's competence, his self-assurance, his readiness to take control had been the qualities against which she had rested. She had been driven by two needs: the first was the compulsion to eschew any thought or memory of Hal and the second had been a desire to show herself unaffected by his engagement to Maria. This combination of weakness and pride had delivered her into Miles's keeping.

Fliss thought: But he is a good man. It isn't fair to condemn him now for the very qualities I needed then.

Resolutely she turned her mind away from the next involuntary thought: ‘
If only I had waited . . .
' This recurring reflection, an insidious destroyer of peace, had to be kept in its place; logic firmly applied. Even if she had known that she would continue to love Hal would she have acted differently? Would she never have married? Never have had the twinnies? Fliss turned to glance at them, sitting in their car seats behind her. Jamie's thumb was in his mouth, his fingers twiddling up his hair as he listened to Bess's tiny murmuring voice reading to him.

‘ “Suddenly round a corner she met Babbitty Bumble – ‘Zizz, Bizz, Bizz!' said the bumble bee . . .” '

She couldn't really read yet, of course, but she could memorise some of the words which went with the pictures and Jamie was perfectly happy with her rendition of their favourite story. Fliss's heart went out to them. How could she contemplate with any pleasure a situation in which the twinnies might not exist? Turning back, she touched Miles's knee and he smiled at her, unaware of the guilt from which the gesture sprang.

‘I'm glad you could get the day off,' she said. ‘It makes such a difference travelling first thing on a Friday.'

‘Wait until the M5 is open all the way down to Exeter,' he promised her. ‘Shan't know we're born. Wish I had a crystal ball, though. I'd like to know what posting I shall get next. I'm beginning to wonder if we shall ever get back to Dartmouth. Perhaps I should have taken your advice and sold the place when we went to Hong Kong.'

She looked at him, surprised. It was the first time she'd heard him express doubts at keeping the house in Above Town.

‘But I thought you wanted to retire to it,' she said, ‘and, anyway, we might get a West Country posting next.'

‘Mmm.' He pursed his lips doubtfully but shrugged. ‘We'll see how this next lot of tenants do. Of course, we might get abroad again if we're lucky. An attaché post or NATO, perhaps.'

Fliss remained silent. She knew that it was foolish of her to be so attached to her own country, to prefer to be in easy reach of her family. It had been terrible to know that Ellen had died so far away, without being able to see her once more or to say goodbye. As a naval wife she should be prepared for these hardships, even to look forward positively to foreign postings. She supposed that she'd always been a bit of a chicken. She'd hated leaving grandmother and Uncle Theo and Aunt Prue and the twins when her parents had decided to go out to Kenya. She'd felt uprooted, vulnerable, alien. It was her big brother, Jamie, who had helped her to endure the rupture; entering into their new life so enthusiastically, turning it into an adventure. How she'd envied him when he'd returned to England to school, when she'd known he was spending his exeats at The Keep with Grandmother and Ellen and Fox.