Deep Water (28 page)
Authors: Tim Jeal
Although the holidays were nearly over, Leo didn’t seem as bothered as usual by the prospect of leaving home. Andrea knew that this was mainly because she and Peter had decided that, when this next term ended, his boarding days would be over. After the Christmas holidays, he would be staying on in Oxford and going to a new school, St Edward’s, a short cycle ride from home.
Apart from complaining about a dull week spent with Peter’s parents near Bath, Leo had been happy enough in Oxford, looking up old friends, and
reading
No
Orchids
for
Miss
Blandish,
though Andrea had done her best to dissuade him, since it was reputed to contain descriptions of a rape and half a dozen murders.
‘It’s just cops and robbers,’ he’d grumbled.
So Andrea had given in, thankful her relations with him were improving. This, she knew, was largely because she had hinted that his father would soon be coming home. But she had tried hard in
other ways – for instance, coming to the Parks to witness the maiden flight of his model Beaufighter. Tennis had also become a bond between them, since they played two or three times a week; and, though Leo could not have forgotten her partnering Mike in Elspeth’s tournament, he never spoke of it.
Returning to Park Town from the courts, after what would be the last game of the holidays, Andrea congratulated Leo on improving his service.
Glancing
at her son walking beside her, Andrea was more than ever aware of recent physical changes: the fuzz of hair above his upper lip, the more muscular legs, broader shoulders. During the holidays, Leo’s voice had started to alter, fluctuating from alto to something indeterminately lower. Yet none of these alterations seemed threatening to her, as they would have done last year. Since that happy era, Leo had been lost to her, so completely it had seemed, that the partial return, taking place right now, was more than she could have hoped for even a month ago. Certainly the reconciliation was helping her get through the pain of losing Mike.
What helped most of all was her knowledge that Peter, her extraordinary husband, had told Mike he could go on seeing her, in effect giving his
permission
. In a bizarre fashion, Mike had become Peter’s gift to her. Mike’s death wasn’t less tragic because of that, but she knew it would have been harder for her to bear if he had died six months earlier.
As mother and son walked into the dappled
shadows
cast by the trees in Park Town’s central oval, Andrea sensed that the time had come to tell Leo
that his father would soon be returning home. What forbearance they would have to show one another! Peter would have to admit that his working hours had been absurd, and his rearrangement of all their lives to suit his own needs, unspeakably selfish – just as she would have to confess that, by allowing herself to start an affair with a physically active younger man, she had been cruel, not only to Peter with his handicap, but to Leo, given his love for his father. She should
never
have been stupidly careless – revealing her guilt to Justin in a way that had caused Leo so much pain.
Peter, she had been glad to see, had lost weight in recent weeks – either because of the strains of his job or because of her affair – but, whatever the cause, he looked less jowly, and would not, she imagined, be so rotundly cumbersome in bed.
As she opened the hall door gripping the box of tennis balls and her racquet under one arm, Andrea was already imagining Leo’s happiness when she told him the good news about his father. The afternoon post lay scattered at her feet. She bent down to pick up these letters, her bare knees brushing the bristles of the mat. One envelope was different, the jagged German script standing out:
Kriegsgefangenenpost.
The British Censor’s crown with the word
PASSED
under it had been stamped near the bottom. Andrea’s name and address were to the right of the envelope, the sender’s to the left:
Absender:
Vor-
und
Zuname
:
Lieut. Comm. Michael J. Harrington
RNVR
The single flight of stairs up to the maisonette seemed to sway under her, as words leapt out from the envelope.
Gebuhrenfrei
!
A German joke – delivered free! And what would Mike say? And what would she
want
him to say?
‘Hurry up, mum,’ complained Leo, treading on her heels. ‘Any letters for me?’
‘Sorry, sweetheart.’
In the bathroom, she sat on the old-fashioned wooden seat and opened the envelope along gummed strip that the censor had used to reseal it. Her heart was hammering.
Kriegsgefangenenlager
Datum:
24.08.41
Marlag
VIIB
My
darling,
If
you
haven’t
already
heard
that
I’m
a
living,
breathing
POW
,
and
not
a
feast
for
the
fishes,
I
hope
you’re
sitting
down!
But
it’s
the
nicest
kind
of
shock,
I
trust.
Dearest,
I’ve
been
so
ridiculously
lucky
I
really
ought
to
start
believ
ing
in
something
grander
than
common
or
gar
den
chance
to
explain
my
resurrection.
Only
two
of
us
were
rescued
after
we
blew
up,
though
eight
were
still
just
about
alive
after
the
explosion.
All
I
suffered
was
a
cracked
rib
and
a
broken
thumb.
Strange,
isn’t
it,
how
I
had
premonitions
the
whole
time
in
the
West
Country.
Yet,
recently,
I’d
begun
to
think
I
could
go
on
forever.
That’s
why
I
didn’t
get
around
to
telling
you
lots
of
things,
including
how
damned
glad
I
am
I
never
stuck
to
my
earlier
decision
to
stop
seeing
you.
Those
snatched
meetings
were
wrong
for
us.
But
a
complete
break
would
have
been
even
worse.
Unthinkable,
in
fact.
We’re
neither
of
us
made
for
sharing,
my
love.
It’s
all
or
nothing
for
the
likes
of
you
and
me.
In
life
one
doesn’t
get
what
one
wants
most
and
the
second
best
thing.
We
had
a
bad
time
in
the
water
before
the
E-boat
found
us.
Such
brave
efforts
to
save
the
wounded
men.
But
they
all
failed.
Waiting
for
my
turn
to
meet
the
man
with
the
scythe,
I
felt
everything
you
might
expect:
rage,
fear,
despair,
but
something
unexpected,
too
–
a
longing
for
things
to
be
better
in
the
world,
out
of
simple
fairness.
In
a
funny
kind
of
way,
I
felt
proud
that
this
was
how
it
would
end,
after
what
we’d
been
through
already.
I’d
just
about
accepted
that
I
wouldn’t
live
to
see
the
sun
rise,
when
the
E-boat
showed
up.
Six
weeks
on
and
I’m
still
euphoric
in
this
drab
place.
We
are
taken
to
exercise
in
a
clearing,
deep
in
dark
Teutonic
woods
straight
out
of
the
Brothers
Grimm.
A
few
leaves
are
already
turning,
and
early
this
morning
there
was
a
mist
among
the
trees
that
felt
autumnal
and
made
my
heart
ache
for
you.
Because
I
risked
everything
(though
I
hardly
chose
to)
my
life
has
become
incredibly
valuable.
I
can’t
go
back
to
the
kind
of
marriage
where
the
superficialities
of
social
existence
pass
for
life
itself.
Not
even
the
attempt
to
be
a
decent
father
can
justify
going
on
paying
the
price
I
had
to.
I
have
to
be
with
you
now,
my
darling.
We
have
no
curtains
in
our
huts
here;
and
in
the
evening,
when
our
low
voltage
lights
are
on,
I
stare
at
the
dark
window
panes.
A
pale
image
of
myself
peers
back
from
the
blue
void
outside.
He
sees
me
in
captivity,
and
I
see
him
in
the
future,
in
the
dark.
For
what
will
I
return
to
when
I
leave
this
place?
What
if
in
a
few
years
you’ve
grown
happy
without
me?
Perhaps
it
would
be
better,
kinder,
to
tell
me
now
that
I
must
not
hope.
Please
write
and
tell
me
in
the
plainest
words
if
that
is
the
case.
I
must
know,
my
love.
You
have
lived
my
death;
and
now
that
I
am
alive
again,
am
I
still
dead
to
you,
or
do
I
live
and
breathe?
Correspondence
is
restricted. I’
m
allowed
to
send
three
letters
per
month
and
a
few
more
postcards.
So
will
you
please
write
to
Justin
with
my
news?
Tell
him
I
think
of
him,
and
will
write
next
month.
I
love
you,
darling.
And
dream
of
you.
Mike
Several loud knocks on the bathroom door made Andrea jump.
‘Hey, mum, it’s dad. On the telephone.’
