Chasing Freedom Home (Malinding) (6 page)

‘It has worked, honestly. Twice that we know of. It may have worked other times, it’s just that we don’t know. Don’t look like that! I wouldn’t do it if I thought it was doomed to failure. I like you. Trust me. Drink your tea.’ He obeyed. People did get rescued from life-rafts. That’s why people kept on making them and people kept on buying them. Some of the people who got rescued would end up in Africa. One in five chance, and quite a good one. America might do as well. Europe was the dodgy one, the joker in the pack. Asia was a bit far away … he sipped the hot sweet tea. He’d forgotten a continent; it niggled at him. Rachel was staring at him. She blushed.

‘Ed; do something for me, please?’

‘Yes, of course. What?’ There was a silence.

‘Kiss me? A real kiss? Please.’

‘Rachel, you’re a kid. I’m married, well, nearly. Why?’

‘I’m nearly twenty. I’ve never had a proper boy friend. I do things that seem to scare boys away – like going to sea on my own and sky-diving. I’m not girly. I don’t know how to be. I buy clothes because they’re water-proof. I smell sweaty most of the time. I do the iron-man triathlon, well I’m aiming to. Please.’

The boat swung a little off-course as they kissed but otherwise seemed to approve of their activity.

‘How do you know there are no patrol boats about?’

‘Radar. There’s nothing within five sea-miles of us. We’ll be in international waters soon. I’m turning south and going to run down the Welsh coast into the shipping lanes. Then we’ll launch the dinghy and cast you adrift. With a bit of luck you'll be picked up by the right ship. If not ... If you get home, sorry; when you get home, visit the MRC clinic at Bakau and talk to my brother, Henry. He’s doing research into something I can’t pronounce let alone understand. He’ll get news back to us, somehow. We’re all very proud of him. Ed,’

‘Yes?’

‘Thank you. That was nice. It’s time to get the dinghy ready; I’m going to dump you now.’ About time, he thought. It had been a very nice kiss, and something to remember as he waited somewhere in the Irish Sea for his next railway station to float along. Rachel cut the boat’s speed to the minimum necessary to keep her head to the wind and un-strapped the life raft from its cradle on the cabin roof. Together they dragged it into the cockpit.

‘Remember; you stole it. You don’t know this boat and you have never seen me, or anybody like me. It won’t be a problem if they find you; probably they’ll just shoot you and leave you. You shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours. There’s some fresh water in one of the pouches, and a medical kit with sea-sickness pills. When you leave the life raft don’t take anything with you – everything could be traced. Keep hold of this rope while I chuck the raft overboard. As it hits the water it should inflate. Good job it’s fairly calm.’ He looked at the waves. “Fairly calm” did not seem an appropriate description. He held the rope firmly and Rachel heaved the raft overboard. For a long moment nothing happened, then, with a bang the chambers inflated and the raft bobbed gently along side. Time to go.

‘Rachel, thanks. I hope … thanks, anyway. Why “Rachel”?’

‘It’s where mum thought I was conceived. Saint Rachel's Gardens. Dad was all for calling me “Gardens”!’ He climbed unsteadily into the raft.

‘Bye, Ed. Take care.’

‘Bye, Gardens. Nice kiss!’ The vessels drifted slowly apart. Rachel increased speed and swung in a wide circle round the raft. Ed was sure she blew him a kiss. He settled down to inspect his new station. There was a stencilled sign which read ‘not to exceed four passengers’. There was barely room for one, he thought. He found the pouches containing water and the medical kit. He took one of the pills with a swig of water. Rachel was out of sight. He discovered the raft had an inflatable canopy, and he wriggled round to allow it to form a rubbery roof above his head. He left a small hatch unzipped so he could keep an eye on the outside world. The outside world rotated on a variety of axes. The rubber floor of the raft took on a life of its own.  He tried to think of Jane, and her baby.  Rachel kept intruding into his thoughts. He tried to think of rescue, of arriving home, of killing Mr Jones, slowly. He failed. The pill did not work. He managed to stick his head out of the hatch before he vomited. He was grateful to the wave that broke over him, rinsed him and drove him back into the flexible coffin. The Irish Sea hadn’t looked so large when Rachel had shown him the charts. He was a black dot in a grey raft on a grey sea. A sea which heaved and rolled and pitched regardless of whatever he felt or wished for. He wished to be alive – he was alive. He wished to be free – it was difficult to envisage a greater freedom, alone on the ocean. He wished to be safe – he hadn’t drowned, so far. He might drown at sometime in the future, he might be captured, but, for the moment he had everything he wished for. Except Jane. He slumped against the unstable side of the raft and sobbed uncontrollably. He took another pill and drank half the remaining water. He felt drowsy, and closed his eyes just for a moment.

‘Oh look, a stray life raft’ said a loud voice.  ‘I wonder how it came to be here. It doesn’t look like a railway station.. .’ Ed was reminded of the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party. He crawled to the hatch and looked out. Two black faces gazed down at him from a rigid inflatable boat. They smiled. 

‘Hello. How are you? I’m Ed-Lam-‘

‘We don’t want to know your name’ said one of the faces ‘not yet, anyway. Just tell me if you think you’re on a railway journey?’

‘Yes, sir. This is the third station, I think. Or is it just a waiting room?’

‘You’ll do. Can you scramble into this boat, d’you think?’  They might as well have asked him if he could climb Blackpool Tower using only his teeth.

‘Sorry, I seem to be a bit wobbly. Could you possibly give me a hand?’ Two pairs of arms reached down, took a tight grip on his wrists and hauled him aboard the other boat. He collapsed on the floor of the cockpit and heard the engine roar beneath him. This voyage lasted only a couple of minutes. The motor launch idled up to a battered, rusting cargo ship. Dangling lines from a pair of davits were fixed fore and aft to the launch and it was winched slowly up to the boat deck. A man in a sweater, wearing a captain’s cap, helped Ed onto the deck, and steadied him while he found his footing.

‘I wish I could say “Welcome aboard the Great Western” but it’s a bit misleading and there’s a famous predecessor so I’ll welcome you aboard the “Bluebell Line” instead. Come on, let’s get you sorted out. The lads will find you some seaworthy gear and somewhere for you to kip for a while. Hungry?’

‘No sir, but I’d be glad of a wash and a bed that keeps still. Please.’

He was led down a flight of nearly vertical iron steps and along a narrow cream-painted corridor lined with metal piping. They stopped outside a wooden door.

‘Here we are. There’s four bunks, a sink and a sea-toilet. Your bunk is the top one at the far end. Sorry it’s next to the loo. You’ll find a bundle of clothes, some soap, a tin mug and a few other odds and ends. Get some rest, you’re on watch tonight.’

He rinsed as much of the salt spray off as was possible in a small sink. He had to hold onto any solid surface; the cabin seemed to have gravitational laws of its own. He pulled on a clean pair of shorts and set about negotiating his way onto the top bunk. He lay down and gripped the wooden edge for dear life. He closed his eyes and the motion seemed less violent. He was alive. He hadn’t drowned. Again, a story from his childhood came to mind. ‘Duffers drown. If not duffers, won’t drown’ or something similar. He longed for the apparent strength of his father. And what would Ed senior have made of his eldest son?  Thinking about it there appeared to be a disparity between their actions. His dad had run away to Africa and he was trying to run back to it. Did that make some sort of sense, he wondered. Too many questions. Dad might have known the answer, if there was one. He closed his eyes and relaxed his grip on the world.

‘Wakey, wakey, lad.  Feeding time, then you’ve got work to do. No such thing as a free ticket on this ship!’ A friendly face peered at him. ‘You look a bit better than when we pulled you on board. Come on. Face the world time. Get some shoes and socks on, and a warm sweater. It’ll be a bit cool on the bridge. Good. Food first; follow me.’ Out of the door, along the corridor, up the iron stairs. Ed blinked. This was too much like the prison. Through the next door and Mr Jones would be there with a gun. He stopped in his tracks.

‘If you’re going to kill me …’

‘Bloody hell, lad. If we were going to kill you you’d be dead hours ago. You’re safe. The watchers are bloody miles away. You’re going to get some stew down you, a couple of mugs of hot sweet tea and then you’ll be out on the wing of the bridge with a pair of field glasses watching out for the Watchers. Tables turned, sunshine. Come on.’ He pushed open a door and shoved Ed into a rough dining area. A large, long table, with a low rail round the side. Benches, bolted to the floor. Half a dozen faces turned to greet him. Smiles, and a large iron pot of steaming stew added aroma to the greeting. A bowl, a spoon and a large mug were pushed towards him.

‘Help yourself. If you don’t eat your share these gannets will eat it for you!’ He ate; he drank and smiled at his new companions. Too full of emotion to speak, his smile expressed his thanks. He ate, surprised by the depth of his appetite.

‘Ready for work, lad?’ He nodded. ‘Right, follow me.’

‘What have I got to do?’

‘Captain will tell you, lad.’ The captain was the man who had briefly welcomed Ed aboard after his rescue from the life raft.

‘Stand there, on that side of the bridge. Use these glasses; they’ve got good lenses. Any other boat or ship you see, anything at all, you report to me. It’s not as easy as it sounds and I’d rather you reported ten false sightings than miss one real one. Right?’

‘Right, sir. I’ll do my best.’

‘Better than best, son. Your life might depend on it.’ He handed the binoculars to Ed and walked away to the other side of the bridge. The seaman at the wheel nodded to Ed and returned to his own duty of keeping course.

The time passed slowly; there were ample false alarms but the Watchers were absent from that stretch of water that night. Four hours were more than enough. Ed was relieved when the captain slapped him on the back and sent him back to bed. He fully intended to undress and shower but he collapsed onto his bunk and slept soundly for the next eight hours.

His life reduced to basics: sleep, food and work. He became used to the motion of the ship and the routine of life aboard. The atmosphere was amiable; smiles were the commerce of daily life. The ship called at Tangier to unload half a dozen tractors and loaded several bales of tie-dyed cloth to fill the space. Ed-Lamin was loaned to the engineer to polish some brass work in the engine room. Had anyone boarded the ship with the authority to check the crew Ed, covered in engine-oil and hands blacker than usual with Brasso, would have appeared to be a normal member of the labour force. One night in harbour had Ed clutching at hand rails to steady him against the lack of movement as the vessel tied firmly to the harbour wall. He fell asleep that night holding firmly onto the edges of his mattress to combat the unaccustomed stillness of the cabin.

Next morning the voyage continued. Ed breathed a sigh of relief as soon as they were out of sight of land. The captain noticed the relaxation showing on the young man's face.      

'I know the feeling, lad. Sometimes I feel like setting sail and keeping a good few miles between me and the land. But we're sailing into friendly waters now. I used to have these thoughts as we were coming into Liverpool bay after a long trip but now it's the opposite; give me Africa any day of the week. It's where civilisation started and it's where civilisation has come to rest. There's still problems, of course there are. But I feel safer walking down a dark alleyway in Dakar or Banjul than ever I felt at home, and it's worse there now that PPP crowd have seized power. You're going home and I envy you.'

It was the longest speech he had heard any one on the ship make.

'Captain, Thanks. Thanks for taking care of me. I thought I'd lost everything but you remind me I'm going home and that I've got a home to go to. I owe you a lot.'

'You owe me nowt, lad. You've given me the chance to do something for humanity and I'm glad to do it. All you owe me is the duty to pass on any kindness you've been shown. You'll have plenty of opportunity to do it. Sorry lad; my father was a preacher and it's catching. Now shut up. The next land you'll see is Africa. We'll sail along the coast till we reach Dakar and maybe that's where we'll part company, unless I pick up a cargo for Banjul or somewhere further south. Anyway, you'll be on African soil and your tongue will get you home somehow or other. You still have your tribal language?'

'Yes sir. I was teaching Jane to...' he stopped and dare not go on. The thought came to him that he might never see her again, or even hear how she was or what had become of their child. He stared into the distance as if trying to see the future and could not do so. The captain walked quietly away to the other side of the bridge and prayed for the safety of his own family.

12

The new car had arrived a day after his wife had left to care for her parents. He had slept badly; surprised that he actually missed the snoring hulk with whom he had shared a bed for twenty-odd years. He was in the kitchen, fiddling ineffectually with the espresso machine when a large grey and black four-wheel drive car pulled up by the kitchen door. A man in uniform, smart, middle-aged, got out and opened the rear door of the car. A young woman stepped down and handed a case to the man.

‘I’m Grant, your driver sir. This is Miss –‘

‘Theresa, sir, like the saint. I’m your housekeeper, sir. I cook and tidy and wash. I can take message and run errands. I’ll do the shopping and I’ve got IT skills too. Anything you need sir, anything at all. Really.’

‘Really?’ He was not in the best of moods. ‘Anything? Right. Fix this sodding machine so it makes coffee. You, Grant? Welcome. Can you make toast? Good. Coffee and toast all round. I’m going for a shower. Down in five. Right? Good.’ He stormed off upstairs.

The morning improved. The coffee was strong and tasted good. The toast was medium brown and spread with butter and marmalade. He sat at the table and looked at his new staff.

‘Sit down, for god’s sake. You make the place untidy. You, girl, get me another coffee first.’

They sat round the table. There was no chatter; that was good too.

‘Finished? Good. You, girl; clear up in here then get to know the house. You’ll be able to guess which is my room; it’ll need a tidy too. Don’t, do not, touch any paper. I know where each and every single page is so if you have any thought of having a nosey round just forget it or you’ll find yourself in a remedial centre. You, Grant, I’m due in a meeting at HQ at twelve. Get me there, wait, then home again. Theresa; supper at eight o’clock tonight. Soup and a sandwich will be fine. No cheese. Got that?’ Grant nodded and headed for the door.

‘I’ll be in the car, sir’

‘No, dammit. Listen. Go up the back stairs, through that door. Turn left at the top and you’ll find a flat over the garage. Self contained, right. Do you and Miss Theresa come as an item? There’s just the one bed, but it’s a double. My daughter used to use it …’

‘Sir, Grant and I are not an item, sir. Not at all. I’ll need a room of my own, sir. I’m told you have six bedrooms here? The smallest one will do, please.’

‘Keep your, oh suit yourself. When we had an
au pair
she used the last room on the right. It’s got a shower cubicle and a lavatory. Make yourself at home there when you’ve finished your chores. Remember, no cheese.’ He collected his brief case and coat and walked out to the car. Grant held the door for him and they set off for HQ.

After the meeting he reflected on the day. Most satisfactory, most satisfactory. His appointment as a Senior Watchman was confirmed. His suggestion that the Party avoid the opprobrium of the Nazi Death camps by utilising much smaller regional centres such as old schools and disused churches was immediately accepted. He was now fourth in line to leadership of the party, and he intended to reap the rewards. Theresa came instantly to mind.

She had certainly worked hard during his absence. The parquet floor of the hall glowed; the cobweb in the corner by the cloakroom was banished; the house smelled of polish and the brasses shone brightly. He set his brief case down on the hall table and went upstairs. He opened the door to his study and glanced in; all seemed to be in order. He dropped his clothes off at the foot of his bed and walked naked into the shower room. It would be nice to share a shower with a nubile young woman he thought, but the nubile young woman must have been busy elsewhere. He showered and dried himself and padded back into the bedroom. He looked at the untidy heap if clothes on the floor and stooped to pick them up. No sense in tiring the hired help, she'll need all her energy later he thought. As he straightened up he noticed the picture on the wall behind the bed was slightly askew. He went to straighten it then stopped. It was a scene of a riverboat, a Mersey flat, being towed upriver against the tide and in the top right-hand corner of the frame there was a minute hole, and gleaming in the hole was a camera lens.

'The little bitch' he murmured to himself, and then smiled. The evening was going to be more amusing than he had supposed. He dressed casually and went downstairs for his supper.

'Good evening, sir. I've set supper in the dining room. Grant has taken his to the flat. I hope everything is to your liking, sir?.

'Everything. Perhaps you would like to join me for supper? We can discuss your tasks for tomorrow?'

They sat at opposite ends of the long table. There was a warming vegetable soup, thick enough to stand a spoon in. Under a silver cover beef sandwiches waited to be anointed with horseradish or mustard. An opened bottle of Merlot stood, with two glasses, on the sideboard.

Why the hell couldn't his wife have served him half so well? In the candlelight Theresa smiled at him.

'Perhaps' he said, 'perhaps we could take the wine upstairs? The tidying-up can wait till morning. You've been busy enough for one day, my dear.' He picked up the bottle and left the room. Halfway up the stairs he saw that she was following him, and smiled.

He opened the door to his bedroom and walked in. He stopped at the foot of the bed and turned to her.

'No, this is wrong. This is my wife's bed. This is her room. I cannot do this, I'm so sorry.'

He ushered her out of the room and closed the door behind them.

'But I'm more than willing to fuck you in your own room, my lovely. It'll be like a christening for that bed of yours. Come on. I'll drink the first glass as you strip for me. Get to it, girl.' He seized her by the arm and dragged her along the corridor. He searched for signs of a camera and was delighted to find nothing. He poured a couple of glasses of wine and drank his as Theresa undressed. She had kept smiling, moving with grace as she stepped out of her clothing.  She stood naked before him, covering herself modestly with her hands.

'Are you sure about this, sir? I'm sorry if I've offended you.' He handed her a glass of wine and poured himself another.

'It's fine here. Sit beside me. Here.' He patted the bed close to him and eyed her as she sat. 'Drink your wine, take your time. Then get a shower. Give yourself a good scrub behind and below. Then come back to me and I'll dry you off. Then you can lie back and I'll do the work.' She emptied the glass and set it down on the bedside table.

She looked back at him as she stepped into the shower. He checked the room again for any signs of bugging, then undressed quickly. She  handed him her towel and he patted her dry with surprising gentleness. She smiled at him and the remnant of the smile lingered for a moment as he threw her onto the bed and anally raped her. She tried to scream loudly enough for the microphone in the master bedroom to pick up the sound but he gagged her with the bath towel and continued to assault her. He stayed all night with her, repeating the atrocity several times. As day dawned he carried her into the shower and tenderly washed away the stains of his crimes. Again he dried her, murmuring sweetnesses into her ears.

'See, my lovely girl, how gentle I can be. But you should not have done what you did. You do so many things so well, but why did you spy on me? Now, you've had your punishment and your lovely sweet arse will be sore for long enough to remind you of it. Tonight will be much nicer, I promise you. Come on, girl, kiss me then get dressed. It's time for work again. She stared at him, then complied. She walked slowly downstairs to the kitchen and began her work.

13

Andrew stared at his wife. How could she keep so calm? Rachel was somewhere at sea, possibly doing a spot of fishing to justify her trip. She could be arrested and shot at any time. Lizzy turned a page.

'This new editor couldn't set a decent cross-word to save his life. Poor old Auracaria, I miss him. This puzzle's all about the bloody P.P.P. Oh, look, he's managed to fit in an eight letter word. Security. Why do people talk about security when they really mean "insecurity"?'

'Lizzy, I'm worried about Rachel. She should be home by now.'

'That's the sort of remark most fathers make when their daughter's late home from a date. She'll be fine.'

'I wish she would go on dates. That would be normal at her age. But no, she's running an escape route to free so called 'illegals'. Look at us. Anyone peering in through the window would suppose we're two normal people running a boarding house for commercial travellers in a suburb of one of the ugliest towns in England.'

'That's what we were; a hard-working family, just as described in Government propaganda. A son who did well at Uni and is a medic, and a not so bright girl who's a bit of a tomboy. We know this house isn't bugged because our guests would find it highly inconvenient. The last thing a Watchman wants is to be watched or listened to. In their eyes we're almost too insignificant to be bothered with. We grumble about the weather, praise the Party and we serve a bloody good English breakfast that will, in the course of time, clog their arteries and kill them. We also play at trains. Underground trains. And I think that it's about time we considered when we should take a trip on that train.'

'You too? I've been thinking that. We've had a good run; we were warned that sooner of later we'd have to bail out, remember? It can't last for ever. Just walk away. I've been thinking about the African people in the days when they tried to come to England. They would walk away from the home they knew, away from the people who loved them, carrying next to nothing, and head out across the desert or round the coast, just to risk crossing the Mediterranean in a leaky boat. Most of them died, but others would follow. Most of the survivors were arrested, detained and shipped back. Most of them would try again. Such brave desperation. I don't think I'm that brave, love.'

'I'd like to see Henry again. Before it's too late.'