Her father had said, ‘I expect the next time we meet, whenever that may be, you will be married, eh?’
Ransome had seen the girl look away, her mouth quivering. The schoolgirl again.
The train had whistled in the distance and Eve’s mother had said, ‘So we’ll say goodbye, Mr Ransome. Ships in the night.’ She had watched her daughter, had been aware of her bitter silence.
‘Say goodbye to Mr Ransome, dear—’
She had held out her hand solemnly. ‘I shall never forget—’
Her father had peered at the incoming train. ‘Ah me, holiday friendships – where would we be without them?’ He had been eager to go.
Ransome had watched the porter putting the luggage in the compartment. He had felt his mouth frozen in an idiotic smile. What did he expect? And yet his heart had been pleading. Please don’t turn away. Look at me just once.
Eve had swung away from the door and had run towards him, then she had reached up and kissed his cheek, her inexperience making her skin flush like fire.
‘Thank you…’ She had stared at him, searching his face, her eyes already pricking with tears. ‘Think of me sometimes…’ He had never seen her again.
There was a tap at the door and he snapped, ‘Yes!’
Hargrave stepped over the coaming, his eyes wary.
Ransome sighed. He’ll think I’m rattled already. Halfway round the bend. ‘All set, Number One?’ He saw Hargrave flinch, as unused to the title as he was to giving it to someone other than David. He also noticed he was wearing a collar and tie.
‘Both parts of the port watch ready for leaving harbour, sir. Starboard watch closed up at defence stations.’ He forced a smile. ‘I hope I’ve remembered everything.’
Ransome unwound, muscle by muscle. It was a whole lot harder for Hargrave, he thought. He would learn. Or else.
He slipped into the duffle-coat and dragged his cap tightly over his unruly hair.
‘Would you like to take her out?’
He saw it all on Hargrave’s handsome features. Uncertainty, knowing that every eye would be watching him. Knowing too that he could not refuse. It was probably unfair, but they had to start somewhere.
Hargrave nodded. ‘I’d like to, sir.’
Ransome glanced around the cabin. Would he ever set foot in it again? He thought of David, the earth rattling on the plain coffin. It was over.
He slammed the door.
‘We’ll do it together, Number One.
Ordinary Seaman Gerald Boyes groped his way aft along the guardrail, his feet catching 011 unfamiliar ringbolts and other unmoving projections.
He looked at the sky and the fast clouds and shivered despite his thick sweater. He had slept well, wrapped in his hammock with the other gently swinging pods, and had not awakened once, even when the returning liberty men had crashed down the ladder, banging their heads against the hammocks and giving a mouthful of abuse to anyone who objected.
The other hands in the quarterdeck party to which Boyes was assigned stood around the coils of mooring wire and the huge rope fenders which were ready to supplement those already hung between the two steel hulls.
It was not like the mess, he thought. Here he recognised no one. He saw the quarterdeck officer, the squat and formidable Mr Bone, hands on hips as he discussed something with his leading seaman. Boyes tried to mingle with the other vague shapes, better still, disappear. He told himself not to be so timid.
Tomorrow and the day after he would get to know all of them. The ship’s company of the destroyer where he had done his sea training had been double that of Rob Roy’s.
A seaman lounging against the steel door beneath the after four-inch gun straightened up. He had a handset to his ear, but stood to attention as he acknowledged the call from the bridge. ‘Aye, aye, sir!’ He looked for Mr Bone. ‘Single up to back spring and sternrope, sir!’
Boyes was almost knocked off his feet as the figures were galvanised into action.
Guttridge, the leading seaman of the quarterdeck, a swarthy-faced young man with curling black hair, snapped, ‘Cut them lashings off!’ He peered at Boyes, ‘You’re new!’ It sounded like an accusation. ‘Well, shift yer bloody self.’
Boyes fumbled with the lashings around the nearest mooring wire, and his cap fell to the deck.
Mr Bone was old and ungainly but he was across the quarterdeck in a flash.
’You – what’s yer name?’
Boyes stammered it out.
Mr Bone growled, ‘One of them, are you.’ He bustled away.
Boyes heard yells from forward as the other wires were let go from the ship alongside. He felt lost and humiliated, and sensed some of the others grinning at him.
A familiar voice said roughly, ‘’Ere, put these gloves on, Gerry.’ It was the seaman called Jardine who had mimicked him in the mess. ‘There’s often loose strands in these moorin’ wires. Don’t want you to ’ave yer lily-white ’ands damaged, do we?’ Then he chuckled. ‘Don’t mind the Gunner. He don’t like nobody!’ He pulled out the fearsome-looking knife Boyes had seen him measuring against his new sheath and expertly cut away the spunyarn lashings. ‘One day he’ll tell you all about ’ow he was a hero at Jutland.’ He lowered his voice as Mr Bone bustled past. ‘Jutland? It was a bloody picnic compared with what this tub went through last year.’ He did not explain.
The deck began to tremble and Boyes saw the backspring rise up and tauten like an iron rod.
Leading Seaman Guttridge, called Gipsy by his friends, exclaimed, ‘Jesus, what’s the Old Man up to?’
Another voice said, ‘It ain’t him. It’s the new Jimmy takin’ us out.’
Mr Bone snapped, ‘Slack off the spring! Stand by sternrope!’ He gestured into the gloom by the boat davits. ‘Chief Bosun’s Mate! More fenders down aft! Chop-bloody-chop!’
The Buffer appeared with some extra seamen and Jardine grinned. ‘Poor old Buffer, he won’t like that, gettin’ a bottle in front of the lads! I ’spect he was out on the batter again last night, the randy old sod!’
Boyes watched the Buffer hanging over the guardrail to point where the extra fenders were to be placed as the hull began to angle away from the Ranger, so that the two sterns seemed to be opening like one great hinge.
Jardine said, ‘See?’ He watched happily as the Buffer snarled at a seaman for not putting the right hitch on a fender.
‘If you lose that fender, you’ll spend the rest of the war payin’ for it!’ He certainly sounded out of sorts.
Jardine nodded. ‘Anything in a skirt. Like a rat up a pump, ’e is.’
It was»still too dark for him to see Boyes blush.
The communications rating called, ‘Let go sternrope!’
Men ran amongst the jutting objects, the wire clattering inboard behind him where it was overpowered and lashed down like an endless serpent.
The hull was still swinging out, and when Boyes glanced up towards the bridge he saw the first lieutenant leaning right out to watch the remaining mooring wire.
No matter what, he thought. I’ll be like that one day.
Froth and spray burst up around the low stern and Jardine said, ‘’Ere we go again then.’
‘Let go aft, sir!’
Mr Bone watched the last wire snaking inboard through its fairlead and snapped, ‘Take this message to the first lieutenant.’ He thrust out a folded piece of paper to Leading Seaman Guttridge. ‘We need a new wire afore we comes in again. Might as well break it out of the store now, right?’
Guttridge showed his teeth in a grin and looked even more like a gipsy.
He gestured to Boyes. ‘You – Useless Eustace! Take it to Jimmy the One!’