The German Numbers Woman (49 page)

The sea was churlish, grey and uncooperative, so had no say in cheering them up, though the boat drove neatly on. A gull came from no one could guess where, but after an hour or so took off, as if unwilling to stay with such a mournful crew.

Each did his job, as he had to, but whatever joy had been there before had now dissolved. They lived only to reach home, not even that at times, merely to stay alive from one minute to the next.

‘We're such a glum lot,' Richard said, ‘you'd think the bottom had fallen out of the glass.'

Cleaver grunted, unsympathetic to what he regarded as a drop in morale. ‘It's always the same after a big pick-up, though this is a bit worse. I don't like it. You'd think everyone was locked in his own thoughts because they can't decide what they would do with the stuff on board if they had it to themselves. The mood will lift, I've never known it not to.'

‘What if it doesn't?'

‘I'd rather not think about that. But if it doesn't, you and I might have a job on our hands.'

‘Who would you be wary of,' – he didn't say afraid – ‘if it came down to that?'

‘
Everybody
. But whoever tried anything would be very misguided. Nobody could do it on his own, and if we keep a lookout you and I should be able to spot whoever tries to form a combination. It's a small boat. The conversation between those two cardsharpers is pathetic. Worse than the chief's, every word a swear word, though at least they're opening their mouths again. I don't think they have a moral thought between them. They've got lots of immoral notions, but none so strong as would lead them to doing what we fear. Then there's Paul Cinnakle, who's too much in love with his engines to burn his fingers on a stunt like that. Ted's harmless. And Howard is blind, so we can count him out. He's your loyal ex-serviceman type, and in any case he's besotted with that girl. Follows her round like a dog. Or she follows him, I'm not sure which. As for her, she's useful about the boat. She cleaned up my bunk this morning, told me she didn't mind earning her keep on the trip. So neither of them's plotting anything. Wouldn't know how. He's our radio officer, anyway, and he'll be more than useful when we go up Channel.'

‘What about me?' Richard said, by way of humour.

Cleaver polished his sextant mirrors one by one with a spotless yellow cloth and slotted them into place. ‘We're the backbone of the ship, and you know it. Both of us know Waistcoat would be useless in the face of adversity. Oh, I know he's got a nose like a shit-house rat, but at bottom he's poor stuff. Never had the Nelson touch. So it's up to us to keep the firm afloat. It's always a fraught situation, going back with stuff on board. Too tempting to expect peace. But if you and I understand each other we can make sure peace is kept. The least sign of hanky-panky, and everyone loses, especially any greedy snipe-nosed tyke who imagines he'll get away with the jackpot.' He slotted his beloved sextant into its box. ‘No, we won't have any of that.'

‘I thought I'd mention it so that we at least could get things straight between us.'

Cleaver leaned over the chart to mark in the position. ‘I'm glad you did. I was wondering if you would. Take her five degrees to port. We're getting bumped around a bit this morning. Damned rice pudding flying about.' Spray came over the windscreen, as if an angry housewife was behind it with a cloth. ‘You'd better call the lovers inside.'

The aerials got little vision above the tops of the waves, but Portishead came in strong and crisp so that he could take down the weather. Judy looked over his shoulder, and he kept the earphones off for her to hear the singing morse, on top volume so as not to be drowned by the noise of his typing. Waistcoat, bilious and cantankerous, passed on his way to the bridge, telling him to put the earphones back on. ‘That noise gives me the fucking heebie-jeebies. How's it going, though?'

‘Fine. Not too rough,' Richard said, when he came in, trying levity. ‘We'll keep our powder dry.'

Waistcoat laughed. ‘That's all we need. But a few smiles on this pig-boat wouldn't come amiss.'

Richard wondered how he passed the time in his state room. Probably played with his little pocket calculator to see how rich he'd be on getting home. Or he gave his teddy bear a good hiding. This morning he was on a high, eyes more button like even than those of the pigeon Howard had looked after. Or maybe Waistcoat had been at the powder. A few doses all round wouldn't do any harm. ‘We'll be getting another forecast from Howard soon.'

‘If it's bad ask him to shop around and try to get a better one.'

‘I'm sure he's doing his best.'

‘Funny bloke, though.' Waistcoat looked over the chart to check the latest position. ‘I know he's good at the radio, but I just don't have it in my heart to trust him. There's something about him, and I can't throw it off.'

‘Is it because he's blind, yet manages so well?'

‘I'm not that fucking stupid.'

‘He's all right. I'll vouch for him.'

‘I'm sure he is, since you say so. You're like a parrot, though. You say it over and over again. Still, I'll be more than happy when the trip's over.'

‘Won't we all?'

He went to his quarters, walking as if the boat was on the smoothest of seas, and Richard at least admired his slick sense of balance, glad all the same to see the back of him. The unstable weather was enough to deal with, though there was no sense not trusting a bloke just because you didn't like him. He handed the wheel to Scud and Cannister. Let them earn their keep. On the way to his bunk he met Howard zig-zagging along with the weather forecast.

‘A low in south Finnisterre. We might just clip it. Rougher in Biscay, but we'll cut across that. It's south-east four to five in Sole as well.'

‘Doesn't sound too bad,' Richard said. ‘I expect we'll hit Blighty in one piece.'

He felt the sea in him, dark layers overlapping, folding into his night space, neutral and causing no fear. ‘What does the sky look like?'

‘Almost clear, a few whiffs of cirrus, though we're bound to hit the arse end of the front sooner or later. I'll pop this into the chief. He won't be happy, but at least he'll know.'

Howard asked what was being chopped.

‘Pineapples,' Judy said.

‘I could smell it.'

‘I'm doing it on a plate so that I can pour all the juice off for you.'

Ted slid a tray of scones in the oven. ‘What about the rest of us?'

‘Get lost,' she said, but with a smile. ‘He's my man on this voyage. Anyway, you'll still have some fruit. There'll be a share for everybody.'

‘Howard's a lucky man, to have someone like you so sweet on him.'

‘Of course I am. He put me to sleep first night on board with his magic touch, and I didn't wake for twelve hours. Brought me back to life.' She touched Howard's arm. ‘No more insomnia, right?'

He wasn't only hearing her voice from nearby, or coming into the box of his earphones, but the affectionate squeeze meant they were closer than any dream had promised. For some reason she liked him, and his heart was like a drum about to burst at the same rich tone, as rich for him as when she had talked to Carla. He caught hold of the table, fearing he was about to fall.

She held him again. ‘Don't get too close to the stove.'

Ted laughed. ‘Yeh, we don't need you for dinner.'

She passed a glass of the juice. ‘A reward, for putting me to sleep.'

‘It wasn't so much to do. I'd rather wake you up though, so that you would see the world twice as plainly as you do now.'

Ted put the slices onto a platter, and took it to the bridge. She stopped in her work. ‘That sounds like something I need, so I want it, but I can't see it happening. I mean, how could it?'

‘For a start, I'd tell you not to bother with your lover anymore. She's not waiting for you.'

‘How do you know she's my lover?'

‘The tone of your voice. Whoever she is, she's not good enough. You deserve someone who would go to the end of the earth and over the edge for you.'

Each word was followed by regret that he had been stupid enough to say it. He'd even known he was going to before he had. The words spilled, they were in him and always had been, and wouldn't be wished back. No stopping had been possible because only in that way could he get directly to how he felt, though it had been plain on first hearing her voice. Words that came were his alone. ‘I'm the only person who can make you see. Even though my eyes went bang a long time ago, you'd be a lot better off using what's left so as to sharpen yours. I could show you how to get the best of what's in you.' He couldn't see her, whatever claims were made, had to shape a picture, his skin burning with the effort.

He talked as if they had been close for years, yet she had been on board little more than a day. ‘What are you saying? I wonder if you know.'

She was playing at surprise, though her tone was regretful because she wasn't able to take on his mood. She closed her eyes, as if to find out what it was like being blind, and on opening them he had gone.

The radio was tuned to the frequency on which he had first heard her, as if part of her former self might come back and talk to him, an exercise to dull the pain of having spoken so brashly. Yet he couldn't feel ashamed, having nothing to lose. I can say what I like. Happiness was never out of place when you spoke with the honesty of youth.

She stood behind him. ‘You're a funny bloke. I was frightened you might walk overboard. Well, not really. I only hoped I hadn't offended you in some way. You're special. Here, you forgot to finish your pineapple juice.'

He drank, the elixir of love whatever happened. ‘This is my first long boat trip, so maybe it's going to my head. I function best at the radio, keeping my mouth shut, letting it do the talking for me.'

‘I don't mind it, when you talk to me. Not many people have, not properly. It doesn't matter what you say. I love to hear you taking morse, though. It's like magic. Maybe I'll go to college and become a radio officer. They have women doing it on ships now. I could send a message.'

‘I wouldn't even need to type it,' he said. ‘Your voice would come through with the dots and dashes, and I'd know your “fist”. The message would have to be a short one, not more than a few words, because it isn't allowed, to send private telegrams.'

‘A short one would be all I'd need. I'd be happy, tapping to you.' She held his hand, bent down and kissed him on the cheek. ‘If I did become a radio officer I'd keep myself to myself. I'd be mysterious and quiet, and wouldn't get off with any of the other officers. I'd look very nice in my uniform. But I'd have a peaceful life, which is all I've ever wanted. I can't tell you how tired I am.' She laughed: ‘And I don't mean sleepy!'

The exhaustion was similar to his own. ‘I knew it the other night.'

‘Only you could. Not that I ever show it. I'm paid not to.'

The boat was small enough, but even the largest ship would be seen as small from the moon. ‘It's turning rougher.'

‘Does it bother you?'

‘It's no surprise. I took the forecast.' He didn't care how aggressive the sea became now that she was on board, but stopped himself saying so. Gusts exploded around them, one bang after another as the boat cut over and through the waves. ‘All hatches battened, though it shouldn't last long.'

‘I'll see if Ted needs help in the galley.' She kissed him again. ‘Have a nap. You look done in as well.'

‘I'll get my head down for half an hour.'

The sweaty pillow felt like the purest down, his blanket a linen sheet, but sleep wouldn't draw him in. The boat was duck-and-draking on its homeward bound, a caged animal trying to break free, but from what and to where? Sleep in any case was a waste of life. Thoughts were pointlessly tormenting. However mocking wind and buffeting water were produced, the intertial dynamo behind them couldn't drive out Judy's presence. Poignant visions of the boat subsiding into the salty waste didn't alarm him, since they would go down together, though he couldn't say why she should pay the final price for his schemings. He only knew it was hard to imagine reaching land again, because what would he do when he got there? A curtain fell on every scene magicked up by his fevered mind.

Richard took the wheel. The boat seemed alive as it rode one sliding wave after another, up the green silk of a slope then over and through the horizon of white-green foam. Waistcoat came close: ‘I can't think I was born for this.'

‘We've been in worse.' Cloud was low and ragged but: ‘Visibility's not too bad. A tanker over there.' He passed the binoculars. ‘North-north-west. Take a look.'

‘Where's he going?'

‘Coming from Venezuela, I should think. He'll be up Channel before us. I don't suppose he even sees us.'

The glasses were handed back. ‘We can hardly hitch a lift, with what we've got on board.'

‘We're not exactly lagging behind.'

‘I've made enough in this game to get into the airline business. I'm fed up, messing in boats, up to my neck in this shit every time. I'll get myself a Boeing, then we can jet the stuff in in crates. Three hours in the air instead of a week in a motorised bucket. There must be plenty of pilots out of a job.'

‘Sounds a good idea,' glad to see him quietened by thinking on something positive. But he came close again: ‘I'm still worried about that blind bastard.'

‘How come?'

‘You brought him on board so that he would keep his mouth shut, right?'

‘If I remember. You told me to.'

‘It don't much matter now. But what's he going to say when he gets ashore? I mean, is he safe?'