Mick finally comes back from overseas to find that quite a lot has changed while he was away.
Of course, there is a soundtrack song to go along with this piece, but as the lyrics might be too telling, I have put it at the end of the story.
My heart gave a joyful little leap when we finally passed Le Minou, as the small lighthouse standing guard over the Brest harbour entrance was called. It had been a rough crossing, and a very long journey, more than four weeks longer than expected.
Just when I had posted a letter to Nell on what should have been our last shore leave in the States, telling her that things had been running very smoothly, passengers were quite satisfied with our services and we should be home in time by February first if we didn't run into bad weather, we returned to the ship to find the crew members who had stayed behind in great turmoil. A fire had broken out in the engine room, the origin of which was not yet clear, and although they had been able to put it out quickly, there had been some serious damage to the machinery that would take a few days to repair.
Passengers and urgent shipments were transferred to another vessel, and it was in fact almost two weeks that the Liberté remained in dock before we had even obtained all the spare parts we required, to say nothing of the repair work which took up another five days.
I hated being stuck. Most of the other junior sailors simply regarded the forced break as a welcome additional leave. They had a good time and drank away most of their pay, and I went with them a few times because there wasn't much else to do, but my heart was in it even less than usual.
About a week into our wait, the first of the crew came down with a nasty stomach bug that quickly spread among the rest, except for a few lucky ones like me who tried to keep things up and running.
When it became clear that the delivery of some crucial part would be delayed for another week, I kept thinking I needed to write to Nell I wouldn't be home for another two or three weeks lest she'd think I had fallen prey to some horrible fate after all, but with three quarters of the crew out with the virus, I simply couldn't find the time. Not with all the cleaning and cooking and nursing me and the handful of others who had been exempt from the illness were doing almost around the clock. I seized any opportunity to sleep for a few hours, be it day or night, and lost track of time completely, quite startled to find more than a fortnight had rushed past since the fire when I finally sat down one late evening to compose a short letter, explaining what had happened and telling her how much I was looking forward to being back home.
The next morning brought the good news that the hard-to-get crankshaft we had been waiting for had arrived and we would be afloat again by the evening. The crew, most of them back on their feet by now, greeted the message with loud cheers, but I didn't produce more than a weak smile. I had awoken with a vague feeling of sickness that had by now developed into full-blown nausea, and the minute I went below decks, the stale thick air made me retch. Obviously, the bug hadn't gone past me after all.
I got myself a bucket from the broom cupboard and staggered back into my cabin, lying down on the bed to stare vacantly into a corner, which was how I spent most of the next two days except for the countless times I hastily reached for my bucket.
Pete and Alex, the boys who shared my cabin, were kind enough to take care of me. I was glad I didn't have to think of anything. They were rather sweet, bringing me lots of tea and bowls of soup I could hardly ever keep down, and once Alex even changed my sheets when I hadn't been able to grab that cursed bucket quickly enough.
At some point I remembered the letter. I knew this would have been my last chance at getting it posted before we sailed, but there was no way I could do it now when I was hardly able to get up.
When Pete said he and Alex and some of the others would be going into town for some final drinks, I asked him to take it with him and find a mailbox. I hoped it was going to arrive before me to save her at least a few days of worrying.
By the time the worst of my affliction was over, we were already making good progress across the Atlantic. The sea was a little choppy but not unpleasantly so. I climbed back on deck for the first time, still a little wobbly in the knees, and held on to the railing while I turned my face into the wind, taking deep breaths of the clear salty air.
I'm on my way, Nellie, I thought. I'm coming home.
Home!
I would have a real home soon, not just a place to sleep and hang my clothes like I'd had in the past years, but my own little house, our own little house, with my lovely Nellie.
"Whatcha grinnin' there, Carpenter, with your peepers closed? Ain't you got nothing to do?"
My eyes popped open with a start only to see Pete's good-natured smirk. I slapped his arm playfully and said, "Mind your own business, Kenyon. Got nothing to do but gawp at other people?"
"Just wanted to make sure you weren't gonna go overboard. You look like death warmed over, Carpenter."
"Thank you very much. Ever the charmer."
We bantered and jostled on in the same manner, until something flat and rectangular slid out of his jacket pocket and fell to the ground.
We both bent to retrieve it but I was faster – and froze when I realized I was holding my own letter in my hand.
Pete dropped his glance and blanched. "Oh gracious God", he groaned. "I forgot to post your letter. Damn and blast it all to hell." He smacked his fist into his other hand helplessly, giving me a contrite look that begged me to wipe the matter aside with a generous wave of my hand.
I couldn't.
"For God's sake, Pete, you idiot, can't you get anything right for once?" I snarled at him, my voice cracking. "What was so hard about finding a mailbox and putting a letter through the slot before you went off to the next tavern?"
"Really, Mick, I …" he began, stammering. He seemed to feel truly and miserably guilty about his lapse, but I just couldn't pretend it didn't matter.
"Spare me your apologies", I said coldly. "You can apologize to Nell when we get back to Brest. She'll have worried herself sick by then." With this, I turned to give the life belts on the railing behind me a thorough inspection, not looking around until I heard Pete shuffle off.
My mood wasn't helped by the announcement the following day that we were going to take a detour via Portsmouth and Saint-Malo instead of returning straight to Brest. I didn't bother to listen to the explanation, I simply walked out at the point of the captain's little speech when he tried to sweeten the bitter pill with the promise of another night of shore leave in Portsmouth.
Another delay. I couldn't believe it. Was this journey cursed or what? I'd probably be home faster if I dived off the railing and swam the rest of the way home, I thought angrily.
When we had arrived in Portsmouth and all the unloading was done, I went straight to the next post office to send a telegram to Nell to assure her I was fine and would be home by Friday.
The Liberté berthed in a grey drizzle, clouds hanging low, foghorns hooting morosely in the distance. The ragged coastline at the mouth of the long port basin was hidden behind a dense, almost tangible shroud of fog, and the people awaiting our arrival on the pier were just blurred little shapes from where I stood on the afterdeck. I was unable to determine if one of them was Nell.
By the time I went off the ship, most of them had disappeared. I looked round, smiling in anticipation, hoping to pick out her familiar shape through the all-encompassing mist of droplets, but the only woman left waiting was a thickset matron in her fifties, peering at me warily from under the brim of her hat.
A figure detached itself from the quay wall as I walked past. I didn't pay much attention to it because it was too tall to be of any importance to me, but then there was a firm hand on my arm and an unfamiliar voice addressing me. "Mick!"
I turned and was quite bewildered to find myself eye to eye with Loïc. He had grown by several inches, and his high boyish voice had broken while I was away. His face looked different, too, serious and eerily grown-up.
"Loïc!" I exclaimed and patted him on the shoulder. "Great to see you, and good of you to come and pick me up."
For a second, he flashed a crooked half-smile. "Couldn't stand the thought of nobody there to greet you", he said, sounding somewhat grim, which I put down to his new masculine voice I wasn't yet used to.
He pivoted on his heel as if he wanted us to get going towards the bus station, but he only took two or three steps before he swivelled back around again and a peculiar expression crossed his face that made me suspicious. His lips twitched as if he was about to speak, then quivered and contorted wretchedly.
"Loïc", I said urgently, as an uneasy prickling took hold of my innards. "Is something wrong?"
"Oh, Mick. It's so dreadful. I … I don't know how to tell you. Gwenna … Nell", he emphasized the name I had given her, "she … she …"
"Say it, Loïc. Tell me. Please."
"Oh, Mick, it's so … so …" His voice keeled over into a young child's inconsolable wail.
I dropped my knapsack on the wet ground and put my arm around the distraught boy's shoulders despite my own heavy heart. "Whatever it is, just tell me now."
"Gwenna … she … she … got married while you were away."
The earth seemed to move beneath my feet. My body went all limp and numb. I don't know how I managed to stay upright.
Weakly, I breathed, "What? And … why?" I heard my own voice as if through a thick padded wall, wondering if I was about to faint with the shock.
This couldn't be true. I would have sworn on both our lives that Nell would never betray me, now how was I supposed to believe she'd fall right into someone else's arms when I was away for six months? Marrying? The Nell I knew wouldn't have done such a thing in six years.
Faintly, I heard Loïc's voice, a hurried rush of words. It took me a moment to realize he could only be talking to me and I'd better pay attention.
"… she said he'd had his way with her and … she thought she was … in the family way, and Papa said they must get married now that she was spoiled goods, because of the scandal and our reputation and everything. That is, at first he didn't believe her at all and thought she'd made it all up about him having her behind the woodshed and you'd … knocked her up before you left. Erm, sorry, Mick", he added hastily when he saw me close my eyes, pained.
"Jesus. Jesus Christ." Words failed me, but there was one thing I had to know. "Who's 'he'?"
"Simon Dupré, our neighbour. He's had a crush on her for ages, but she didn't want him, and when you were gone so long, he … he …"
"It's alright, you don't have to say it", I cut in. "Just tell me what happened next."
The rest of his tale was even more devastating. Obviously, their father had insisted that they get married to save what there was to save, and she had fought him tooth and nail and in the end run away, threatening to jump off the cliff by the abbey if he didn't call off the wedding he'd already set the date for with the village priest.
"After that, Papa was scared for a while and left her alone, but then you didn't show up the day you said you'd be home, and not on the next day either or the day after, and he said you'd never come back anyway and she must get wed now before it really starts to show. The baby, you know."
I stood frozen, while my skin seemed to vibrate with a weird kind of electric current and my ears rang with a low-pitched buzzing that drowned out any other noise.
Chaos swirled in my head.
It hurt me physically to think what an ordeal she had been through and how she must be feeling now.
Married to some piece of dirt who had taken advantage of her.
Pregnant with that bastard's child.
Or could the child be mine after all? Not that it made a difference now that I wouldn't be the man it was going to call father anyway.
Worst of all was hearing that she had thought I'd abandoned her when she didn't hear from me and I didn't come home when I had said I would.
All my dreams, our dreams, our beautiful plans, the wedding, the cottage, a bright future filled with laughter and love and easy understanding – my little world, the world that had been so nicely mended after all the grief and loss and disappointment the past years had brought, lay shattered at my feet again, and I wasn't sure how to pick up the pieces this time.
Loïc stood by, watching me with large observant eyes. The muscles of his jaw worked, but he remained silent until I said in a dead voice, "Let's go."
Not that I wanted to go anywhere. It was only reason telling me I couldn't remain rooted to the pier forever. I had no real wish to get on the bus to the place I had thought I could call home now.
Loïc appeared relieved when he set himself into motion. I picked up my bag and plodded after him with heavy, dragging feet, like the old man I felt I had turned into, jaded and battered and empty.
We didn't speak a single word all the way on the bus. There was nothing to say, nothing that would have made any difference.
Here's the soundtrack of this chapter, a simple, beautiful song about missing the person who meant the world to you.
A Fine Frenzy – Last of Days
I watched you disappear into the clouds
swept away into another town
The world carries on without you
but nothing remains the same
I'll be lost without you
until the last of days
The sun is in the east,
rising for the beasts
and the beauties
If only I could tear it down
plant it in the ground to warm your face
I built myself a castle on the beach
watching as it slid into the sea
The world carries on without you
but nothing remains the same
I'll be lost without you
until the last of days