Being away from England, and pitched into a situation whose outcome was from any point of view uncertain, I felt myself to be at least two different people, both of whom it was difficult to hold together in one physical spot. Could not that person, therefore, who followed me and never varied the distance, be a third entity that had split off from the two of me already in existence?
I increased my pace from a surge of buoyancy rather than to outdistance my pursuer. If instead of one person tracking me there were in fact the necessary three – out of a conscientiousness to do the job properly – then the three parts of me within my controllable orbit had a chance of outwitting them.
Before deciding on the best means of doing this I wondered why anyone should so obviously track me, and hoped the reason would be revealed. Having discovered the fact early could only be explained by my lack of surprise at such a thing happening at all. Since meeting Bennett and reaching our rendezvous in Southern Africa, there had seemed something unreal about the purpose – if not the legality – of what he proposed to do. The only evidence for this uneasiness was that it poisoned my idleness.
The clatter of footsteps was my own. I would walk instead of march, do 90 and not 120 paces to the minute, preferring to show concern rather than anxiety. It was chilling to be followed. Being tracked can turn into a pursuit, and become a chase. Physically aware of the follower, you may be manoeuvred into a trap.
The streets darkened. I clenched my fists, and turned corners. The route must have shaped so many letter Ls they’d become like stairs on paper. I marched again, and at the left foot passing the right, as if on parade, the loud voice in me shouted: ‘Halt!’
Both feet came noisily together. On a further command I did the ‘about turn’, drew back my left fist, and punched the body which came against me. He let out a cry, and fell into the road.
Having hit someone who as likely as not hadn’t been following me at all, I thought it wise to run as far as my guilt would allow, especially since he might have been a policeman wanting only to check my passport. If he wasn’t alone in his work, assistants would be coming up to help. Perhaps Shottermill, who would leave no trick unturned, still wanted the flying boat to set off without me. Or maybe he didn’t want it to depart at all.
Acting without consideration never did any good, and now reason must be elevated to a par with valour, whereby it seemed tactically right to flee. I turned to do so and – no great feat to vanish into the darkness – heard my name called as clearly as if a coil of rope had hissed around my neck:
‘Adcock!’ A burly figure came towards me, brushing gravel from jacket and trousers. ‘You bloody fool.’ He didn’t seem angry unticlass="underline" ‘You’re like a fucking wolf.’ My blow had been a mere push, and he had only gone over on losing his balance at the drop of the kerb. He spoke in a North of England accent which I didn’t trust an inch: ‘It is Adcock, isn’t it?’
‘You were following me.’
His arm came close, and I dodged, but the gesture was to guide himself in the dark. ‘How could I catch you up if I didn’t follow?’ His hand was for me to shake. ‘But you walked as quick as if you’d just come off square-bashing. My name’s Bull, flight-sergeant air-gunner, as I once was. Came in this evening to join the crew.’ I shook the warm and meaty hand, which held on too long for my liking. ‘Bennett gave me some of that lovely coloured money, more than a monthly wage packet back home. Then I met Wilcox coughing his guts up in the lobby of that Flotsam Hotel and asked where I could eat pork pies and black puddings. So he says I’d better follow Adcock the Sparks who is just going out, because he knows the best places to get scoff. I tried to, but you walked bloody fast.’
We went back towards the middle of town. I was unable to show instant comradeship for someone who had caused me to panic so ignominiously. ‘Sorry about the thump.’
He laughed, and became more likeable. ‘Wasn’t much, was it? Like a kitten with mittens playing dobbie! I might have done the same in your place, only the poor sod I did it to wouldn’t have got up in a hurry. Still, as long as you make up for your tap at me by finding some nice grub.’
‘You won’t get pork pies and pints.’
‘Ah well!’ He held my arm, as if he might lose me again.
‘Wine gets you drunk quicker.’
‘That’s what I’ll have, then, if you recommend it.’
I asked how many gunners we were taking on. There seemed no end to them.
‘Two, besides me and Nash. I came down with my old oppoes Armatage and Appleyard. You’ll be as safe as houses with us. We’ve shot coffins out of the sky many a time!’
All we needed was a navigator. As things stood, Bennett would fly the plane, Nash and the gunners guard it, Wilcox maintain it, and I would be all ears cocked against the world. But without a navigator on a long flight over the ocean we would not reach our destination. Though Bennett had a First Class Navigator’s Licence, he couldn’t fly the crate and do that job properly, because while the navigator took star-sights in the astro dome a good pilot had to keep the plane level and steady.
We faced each other, as well as chips and chops and chunks of bread and bottles of red plonk in between. It suited him fine. He poured a tumbler and drank it like cold tea. He was thirty years old but seemed middle-aged. Civvy life had been so dull he had joined the Merchant Navy, doing any work he was put to: ‘As well as being a gunner, I’m a rigger and a steward – a jack-knife of all trades, you might say. I happened to be at home to see my parents, because I’d just jumped ship. I thought I might settle down on shore for a while, but then Bennett’s telegram came and I knew I couldn’t let the skipper down. Well, could I? You know how it is. He’s got us all now, every manjack of the old crew except the wireless-op, and you’re standing in for him.’
He was open and friendly, and the more we drank the more I wondered whether he had in fact been following me. No matter what he said, mistrust came and went. At the third bottle he took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. I glanced at his decorated skin. ‘That’s how it is if you’re a sailor,’ he said. ‘You aren’t much of a man if you haven’t got a bit of this stuff over your arms and tits.’
From the bulge of white muscles down to the backs of his wrists were red and blue daggers, hearts, reptiles, union jacks, buxom women and, on his chest, he said, a portrait of King George. My sight was glazed from too much wine, but I was sure that, even though I hadn’t yet met Appleyard and Armatage, Bennett had gathered a very fine crew indeed – and, whatever I thought, I was certainly one of them.
‘Oh yes,’ Bull said, ‘and another thing I forgot to tell you. The navigator came in as well. You’re in for a treat when you see him.’
13
The water chopped itself about, objecting to the wind, but the flying boat was well-moored. When Bennett wasn’t on board overlooking stowage, or in his room cooking up hypothetical navigation schemes, he was pacing the quay in strides too big for his frame, cigar going like a haystack, hands behind his back and glancing up every few yards, as if to a time mechanism, at the lift and fall of the Aldebaran.