‘I spent four good weeks there in Southampton, before I left for the United States. But I think … I think I will never leave the New World, now I am here.’
‘Perhaps you’ve gained more than you’ve lost.’
It was strange to be speaking to her idol in this way.
‘I hope so, Gavi. I hope so.’
Sickness defined her voyage home. Six ships in the convoy sank, broken apart by U-Boat torpedoes; survivors, plucked from row-boats, were looked after in the infirmary and its makeshift extensions: a ward room, a group of cabins, and another room whose original purpose Gavriela never discovered. She knew little of medicine, but helped where she could, even when that consisted only of throwing blood-soaked bandages into the wide, crashing sea, or emptying bedpans that carried the stink of infection as well as waste.
Docking was both anti-climactic and a life-changing relief.
Walking to her lodgings from Bletchley station felt surreal. But there, strolling ahead of her, was a familiar female figure, headscarf failing to hide the volume of her hair-perm.
‘Rosie!’
‘What? Gabby!’
They hugged.
‘I thought you weren’t due yet,’ Rosie added.
For a moment, Gavriela misunderstood, and put a hand on her belly.
‘Oh. Er … The convoy made good time. Saved a whole day.’
Partly from weather, partly because the slowest ships perished.
‘Well, come in and have a cuppa, won’t you?’
‘I haven’t had a decent cup of tea in forever.’
‘So come on, then.’
Rosie’s landlady, Mrs Lockwood, bustled around them making tea, then left them alone to catch up. They sat at the kitchen table, happy to see each other.
‘Oh, nearly forgot. If my head wasn’t attached …’ Rosie searched in her handbag, then came up with an envelope. ‘Special delivery. Hand delivered, don’t you know.’
Gavriela took the envelope.
‘Who’s it from?’
‘A certain gentleman called Brian, that’s all I’m saying.’ Rosie was smiling as she took a sip of tea, cup held in both hands. ‘I got the impression that my best friend Gabby hasn’t been keeping me up to date on gossip.’
‘We didn’t– It was very …’
It seemed even a pregnant woman could blush like a schoolgirl.
‘Well, I thought so. Seemed obvious enough from the way he shuffled his feet, even before I knew what was in the envelope.’
‘What do you mean? Oh.’ From the feel of it, it was obvious. ‘It’s a key.’
‘A front door key, no less.’
Rosie was giggling now.
Gavriela said, ‘And I suppose you know which door it fits?’
‘Your boyfriend’s gone and bought himself a cottage, hasn’t he? Thatched roof and rose bushes, you should see it. Well, I guess you will, won’t you?’
‘A cottage.’
‘Penworthy Lane, absolutely lovely.’
‘Well.’
Gavriela sat back in her chair, feeling queasy. Then she realized Rosie was staring down at her belly.
‘Er …’
Someone less thin would not have been showing, not this early.
‘A cottage.’ Gavriela put her hands on the nascent convex bump. ‘A nice place?’
‘Oh, my God, yes. It’s … Does he know?’
Rosie was smart, doing the sums in her head.
‘I only worked it out,’ said Gavriela, ‘when I was at sea. On the way over.’
Blinking tear-damp eyes, Rosie leaned over and hugged her.
‘Oh, well done.’ Then she held up the envelope that Gavriela had put down. ‘With a bit of luck, he might be home already.’
Gavriela could only nod.
It’s so fast.
She tore open the envelope. A label, tied to the key with rough twine, showed the address. There was no note.
Sniffing, Rosie wished her luck.
Everything consisted of minutiae: the rippled grain of greyish wood that formed the gatepost, the clink as she raised the latch, the smooth swing of the gate; the pat-pat of her shoes on concrete, the smell of roses and damp grass, and the gleam of new paint on the door; the shaking of her hand and the clean metallic sound as the key went in, and she twisted.
Stepped inside, silent and awestruck.
Oh, it’s wonderful.
Low ceiling with exposed beams, old uneven flagstones forming the floor. She could see through to the kitchen, where Brian sat in his dressing-gown, bare legs revealed, holding a cup of tea in both hands as he—
Both hands?
The lean face was not Brian’s, and for a moment she thought she must be in the wrong place – but the key, the key fitted – and then footsteps clumped as another figure emerged from what looked like the bedroom. He wore striped pyjama trousers and a white singlet that revealed the stump of his left arm, which looked natural to her.
‘Rupe?’ said Brian. ‘I can’t find—’
When Rupert looked up, he saw her; and then they were both staring.
I’m a day early.
It felt like her fault, but only for a second.
‘Hello,’ she said.
A milky stain on Brian’s trousers, probably unnoticed by him, confirmed what every sense, including smell, was already telling her.
‘We …’ Brian stopped, then: ‘We can’t help what we are, Gabby.’
‘No.’ She looked at Rupert, who had grown very pale. ‘And you couldn’t help sending me across the Atlantic and out of the way, could you?’
Because Rupert had realized, that day in Baker Street, what had happened the night before between her and Brian. She wondered if they had talked about her since, and what they had said.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Rupert. ‘But Brian’s right, we can’t help—’
‘You think it would’ve been all right if I found a woman here?’
Her voice was a roar, causing Brian to step back. But his hand was pointing, trembling.
‘Is that …? Are you …?’
‘I am. It is.’ Suddenly she was grim, her rage pulled deep inside like the furnace at the heart of a destroyer. ‘Yours, yes.’
Both men grew even paler.
‘Which is why, when I return to work at BP tomorrow, you’ll use all your influence to stop the whispering. Plus I’ll continue to draw salary while I’m having it’ – she patted herself – ‘and you can make a contribution towards the nanny when I go back to work afterwards.’
Rupert said, ‘That’s impossible. In your condition … and afterwards, unmarried … out of the question. Unless …’
He looked at Brian.
‘Don’t ask him,’ said Gavriela. ‘Ask me. And no, I’m not marrying him or anyone else, so you can forget that.’
It was very clear now.
‘Look.’ Rupert changed his tone. ‘Even if you were married, you know that having a job would be out of the question. In these circumstances, it’s quite impossible to—’
‘What’s impossible,’ said Gavriela, ‘is for you two to stay out of prison if I tell what I know. And don’t tell me there won’t be other evidence all over the place if the police start looking.’
Of course, there was the possibility of violence, the two of them against her, which she had not considered. But they had seen her in action in Baker Street, hadn’t they?
‘Very well,’ said Rupert. ‘We agree.’
Speaking for Brian as if they were a couple.
Well they are, aren’t they?
For a moment she wondered if she were being unfair. But she had an unborn child to think about, and they had betrayed her, both of them in different ways.
‘And I won’t be needing this.’
She put the front-door key down on a small table, beside a single rose in a vase. The petals were edged with brown, and curling.
‘See you at work.’
The front door clicked behind her as she left.
FORTY-SEVEN
LUNA, 502308 AD
Usually, when Gavriela awoke in the distant future – which became her dreamlike now – she felt clear and solid, without any of the contradictions or confusions that defined her earlier life. This time, as she sat up on the bier, she felt conflicted. Then, when her transparent hand cupped her abdomen, she had a sense of emptiness and disturbance.