The Silent War (36 page)

Sunday smiled, and once again she nodded. Gary leaned forward and kissed her full on the lips.

The mother of the family nearby was shocked, and with both hands averted her kids’ eyes from the disgraceful behaviour of the half-naked GI and his shameless English girlfriend.

‘Kissing in public!’ the local village woman said to herself. ‘What
is
the world coming to!’

Mario Giuseppe Lambini much preferred the English summer to its winter. Not that it was officially summer just yet, for it was still only April and although the trees and hedgerows were gradually showing new buds, they remained obstinately stark and bare against the hazy spring sky. But Mario loved to feel the parched earth beneath his one good foot, and as he made his way along the narrow public footpath which ran by the edge of Cloy’s newly ploughed wheatfield, it made him think of the dusty paths of the Tuscan countryside back home in his native Italy.

When he reached the door of the barn, he hesitated. He knew he was breaking the rules because Cloy had forbidden prisoners of war any direct access to farm buildings on his land without his permission. But, as this was Mario’s last day in Ridgewell, he was willing to take the risk. He had no need to knock on the door, for Sunday, who was looking out of the window when he approached, came to the door immediately.

‘Mario,’ said Sunday. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Lady,’ he answered, with a broad smile which revealed a perfect set of solid white teeth. ‘I come to say
addio
.’

Although she hardly knew the young Italian, Sunday felt a twinge of sadness. ‘Oh,’ she replied. ‘I had no idea you were going so soon.’ She came out of the barn, closing the door behind her. ‘Does this mean you and your friends are going home?’

‘Tomorrow,’ replied Mario.

Sunday gave him a warm smile. ‘I’m very happy for you, Mario.’

The young Italian smiled back shyly at her. During the few occasions the two had spoken together, Mario had told Sunday a lot about where he came from, and his yearning to see his wife and two young children again. Although she had always found it quite difficult to understand what he was saying, she could tell how much he had missed his homeland. In many ways, Sunday thought Mario should have been a writer or an artist, for when he talked, his hands were so full of expression as he described the red earth in the hills above the town where he was born, and the olive trees, and the small streams that dried up completely during the summer months. She also realised what it meant to him to lose his foot during a war in which he had never wanted to play a part. In that respect, both he and she shared the same anguish.

‘Please, lady,’ Mario said, as they moved out into the warm sunshine. ‘Before I go, I ask you one question.’ They came to a halt, but he continued to look directly
at
her. ‘The first day – in the snow. With the cows, and the sheep. You speak with me. For why?’

Sunday looked puzzled. ‘But – why shouldn’t I speak with you? You were helping me with the sheep. All I said was
thanks
.’

Mario shook his head. ‘No.’ He pointed to his temple, and said, ‘For me, you say much more. You say, everything is OK, Mario. You say, I have no hate.’

Sunday watched him intently. Whatever it was that this young Italian felt he had gained from the few words they had spoken together, the look of hope in his eyes couldn’t fail to move her.

‘
Addio
, lady,’ he said, stretching out his hand for hers. Sunday offered it to him, and to her surprise, he took it with both his own hands and kissed it.

‘I will not forget you – lady,’ he said, letting go.

‘Goodbye, Mario.’

The young Italian gave her one final look, turned, and slowly made his way back towards the footpath.

For a moment or so, Sunday watched him go. When he was finally out of sight, it suddenly occurred to her that she had never even told him her name.

The beach at Thorpe Bay was very different from the last time Sunday and Gary had been there. Although it wasn’t quite as hot as during the recent heatwave, there was a warm, hazy sun, and now that the last curls of barbed wire had been removed, the sandy beach itself was overflowing with day-trippers.

This was the last weekend in April, and also the last couple of days that Sunday and Gary would spend together before his return to America on Monday morning.

At the Hotel de la Mer, Mrs Baggley was delighted to welcome the return booking of her American gentleman and his young lady. As she told her ‘hubbie’, if people are satisfied with nice clean board and lodgings, then they’ll always come back. No doubt that was the reason why she
felt
perfectly justified in increasing her daily rates for B and B and evening meal by one and sixpence.

Despite the warm, muggy weather outside, Sunday and Gary spent most of Saturday afternoon in their room making love. For almost two hours they said hardly anything at all, and as they joined their bodies together as one, the joyous sounds of the beach drifted up to the open window of their first-floor room, and smothered them with happiness. When it was all over, they just lay there, resting on their sides towards each other, studying every single feature of their two faces – eyes, nose, lips, forehead, ears. They were two people in love, hopelessly, irretrievably in love, and for these few precious moments, there was no one else but them in the whole wide world. And yet, in the cold light of reality, Sunday knew only too well that this could be the last time she would ever see Gary, for once he had gone back home to America, it would be only too easy for him to forget. However, no matter what she thought in her heart of hearts, this particular moment belonged to her.

That evening, after one of Mrs Baggley’s meals of toad-in-the-hole, mashed potatoes and red cabbage, Sunday and Gary made their way down to the beach. The day-trippers had long since gone, and all that remained now were one or two local residents walking their dogs, and a few elderly people taking in the warm evening air. Sunday and Gary strolled right round the complete curve of the bay, then ended up squatting on their heels at the rear of the beach with their backs to the promenade wall. It was an idyllic place to be at such an hour, for there was still plenty of daylight left as the hazy sun gradually turned into a huge ball of fire, and slowly dipped lower and lower into the sea. It was also an idyllic setting for the words Gary had been rehearsing all day.

‘Sunday,’ he said, sliding himself around on the sand to face her. ‘What d’you say we get married?’

Sunday gasped and clutched a hand to her mouth.

Just in case she hadn’t understood, he repeated what he had said in sign language.

‘Well, what d’you say?’ was his next question.

Too shocked for the moment, she just stared at him in disbelief. Then she used her hands to reply. First, the letter H, for which she tapped four fingers of her right hand against the palm of her left hand. For the letter O she used the forefinger of her right hand and tapped it against the index finger of her left hand. Finally, she entwined the fingers of both hands to show the letter W.

‘
How
?’ asked Gary, repeating the question with his own sign-talk. ‘How d’you think! We find a preacher and get ourselves married.’

‘What, now? Before you go away?’

‘Why not?’

Sunday found herself blushing. She had never considered acting so impulsively in her whole life. ‘It’s not possible,’ she replied, with lips and hands. ‘There’s no time.’

‘Are you telling me – you’re not interested?’

Sunday shook her head. ‘No. That’s not what I’m telling you. But we can’t, Gary. Not yet. I’m under-age, and, anyway, it wouldn’t be fair.’

‘Fair!’ protested Gary. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

‘It wouldn’t be fair to you because when you get home, you might not get the chance to come back here again. And it’s not fair to me because . . .’ She hesitated. ‘Because, after you’ve been home a while, you might want to change your mind.’

‘Sunday,’ he protested again, ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too, Gary. And I want to marry you,’ she replied. ‘But not until the war’s over. Not until you come back.’ Once she had finished sign-talking, she lowered her hands into her lap, and leaned her head back against the promenade wall.

Gary crawled back towards her side, and put his arm around her shoulders.

The sun dipped into the horizon, leaving the sea a burning, dark red. For a few moments, the two of them sat there, eyes closed, feeling the last warmth from the crimson sunset. Then Gary opened his eyes again, leaned across, and kissed Sunday full on the mouth.

‘Have it your way, you obstinate young broad,’ he said, once he came up for air. ‘But I’ll be back. With a ring, and a preacher, and a ticket on the
Queen Mary
. I promise you, Miss Limey Collins – I’ll be back.’ And with that, he bent down to kiss her once more.

‘Wotcha, Sun!’

As Gary looked up with a start to find the silhouette of a young man standing between them and the rich-coloured sky, Sunday’s eyes sprang open.

‘Get ’round quite a bit, don’t yer, mate,’ the young man said coldly.

Sunday leapt to her feet immediately. ‘What are you doing here, Ernie?’ she snapped angrily. ‘Just what the hell d’you think you’re doing here!’

By this time, Gary had also raised himself up from the sand. ‘Sunday?’ he asked.

‘Aren’t yer goin’ to introduce me to yer friend, Sun?’ asked the young man, in a barbed voice.

‘Ernie Mancroft, I presume?’ asked Gary.

‘I told you to keep away from me, Ernie,’ shouted Sunday. ‘I begged you! Why do you have to keep following me around everywhere? I don’t want you! Can’t you understand? I don’t want you!’

Sunday’s raised voice attracted the attention of an elderly couple, who were taking an evening stroll along the promenade just above them.

‘Not very friendly, are yer, Sun?’ said Ernie, who had clearly shed his army uniform, and was wearing an open shirt and old flannel trousers. ‘It’s no way ter treat the man you’re goin’ to marry.’

‘Go away, Ernie! Leave me alone!’

‘You heard what the lady said, feller,’ warned Gary.
‘Now
why don’t you call it a day, and get the hell out of here.’

‘Ask ’er to show you the engagement ring I bought ’er,’ said Ernie, quite calmly.

Sunday gasped, as Gary swung her a stunned look.

‘Liar!’ she yelled. Then she turned back to Gary. ‘This is what he does all the time,’ she spluttered. ‘He tries to drive me mad by telling one lie after another about me!’

‘
Did
he buy you a ring?’ asked Gary, with uncertainty.

‘Of course he didn’t! He’s made it up just to cause trouble between you and me!’

‘Come on, Sun,’ said Ernie, showing impatience. ‘Stop all this shit, an’ let’s get out of ’ere!’

As he grabbed hold of her arm, Gary reached out and pulled Ernie’s hand away.

This angered Ernie. ‘Get your ’ands off me – Yank!’ he snarled.

Gary stood his ground. ‘Leave her alone, feller,’ he said. ‘Just beat it!’

‘No, Gary!’ yelled Sunday, trying to stand in between him and Ernie. ‘Keep out of this –
please
!’

But it was too late. Ernie suddenly threw one hell of a punch at Gary, landing it full on his mouth. Gary was sent reeling back on to the sand.

The angry scene below proved too frightening for the elderly couple who were watching from the promenade wall, and they quickly rushed off.

Ernie grabbed hold of Sunday at the back of her neck, and started to frogmarch her along the beach.

‘Leave me alone, Ernie!’ shouted Sunday, who was doing her best to break loose from him.

By this time, Gary, with blood streaming from a gash in his lip, was pulling himself up from the sand. Wiping the blood away with the back of his hand, he then sprinted after Sunday, and, in true American-football style, threw himself straight at Ernie, bringing him to the ground.

Sunday’s screams echoed out along the beach as the two men started to fight. Knowing the brutal strength Ernie had always used on anyone who had ever dared to challenge him, Sunday did her best to separate him from Gary. Despite her desperate calls for help, the two men flew at each other like bull-terriers.

This was a fight that was clearly going to be determined one way or another, and with Sunday looking on helplessly, the two men were soon slogging it out right down to the evening tide that was rolling in gently along the shoreline, two tiny figures silhouetted against the fading light of the horizon and the shimmering glow of a flaming-red sea. Every so often there were shouts of abuse from both of them, with first one of them flinching, and then another faltering. But what Sunday hadn’t expected was that Gary, despite his lean physique, was landing one iron-hard blow after another on Ernie, who was constantly knocked off balance. After several minutes of this, Sunday thought that it was only a matter of time before both men killed each other. And as they fought, their feet were splashing around in the oncoming tide, sending up great sprays of crimson-coloured water which seemed to evaporate into the rapidly darkening sea.

Suddenly, however, the savage fight ended just as abruptly as it had begun. With one almighty right hook, Gary landed a decisive blow on Ernie’s chin, which sent the boy with a great plop right into a gentle, rolling wave.

Sunday couldn’t believe what she had been seeing, and the first thing she did was to rush down to Gary at the water’s edge.

‘Oh Gary!’ she cried. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry!’

Gary, blood streaming from the cut in his lip, threw his arms around her and kissed her. Then, thoroughly bruised and exhausted, he waded into the water, grabbed hold of Ernie’s hand, and dragged him back to the beach.

From the distance came the sound of police whistles.

On the day Gary flew back home to America, it was reported in the newspapers that Italy’s power-crazed
Duce
, Benito Mussolini, had been captured by partisans, and executed. When she saw the headline in the
Daily Sketch
, Sunday immediately thought of the young Italian POW, Mario. She wondered if he had now arrived back home in his native Tuscany, and what he would find when he got there. She also wondered how his wife and young children would react to his disability, and whether they would have the strength to love and support him during the struggle he faced to rebuild his life.