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34
SAM
Inside the house, the bell clanged. Ruby was fiddling with the ring. Mrs Ruby Archer, I thought, and something inside me jumped. Being here with her felt both wonderful, and utterly surreal. I still couldn’t get used to being back here in England instead of in the camp or the prison; to the fact that the war was over, and I was safe. I dreamed about the bombing in Dresden every night, waking up shouting, not knowing where I was. When it was really bad, the doctors had to give me a sleeping draught. And even during the day, the memories of everything that had happened since that terrible morning on the beaches hovered at the edges of my mind like shadowy storm clouds, always threatening, never quite going away. I wasn’t the same Sam who had arrived in Devon for training almost two years ago. He had disappeared the moment we landed on Omaha and the snipers began firing at us.
The door opened and the hotel’s owner, a sharp-faced woman with neat grey hair, ushered us inside. I caught her looking Ruby over with a keen expression as I signed the register, using my surname for both of us, but when she saw the ring, she relaxed a little. ‘I’m sorry you couldn’t have had better weather for your honeymoon,’ she said as she turned to pluck a key from the hook behind the desk.
‘We don’t mind, do we, darling?’ Ruby turned to me with a smile that looked slightly forced, and my stomach flipped again.
The boarding house was smaller than I thought it would be. The owner, who told us her name was Mrs Leeming, took us up two winding flights of stairs and along a narrow corridor to our room. ‘Supper will be served at half past seven in the dining room,’ she said before she closed the door. I looked around, and felt a rush of relief. The landing might have been poky but the room was spacious with white walls and a bright rug on the floor, and although the curtains and bedspread were faded, they had a cheerful floral print on them. A wide bay window overlooked the sea, with a chair either side so you could sit and gaze at the view, and there was a stove and a kettle for making tea.
‘Oh, it’s lovely,’ Ruby said, flinging herself down on the bed. ‘There’s so much space. And no Grandmother!’ Laughing, she lay back, spreading her arms out. I watched her, smiling, but there was a heavy feeling inside me as, once again, I remembered the sergeant coming to see me yesterday to tell me I was being discharged. Goddammit, it wasn’t fair.
We whiled away the hour until dinner, on the deserted beach. As we walked along the shoreline arm in arm, watching the waves roll in, I felt at peace for the first time in as long as I could remember.
The supper back at the hotel was nothing special – haddock and potatoes, and a sponge pudding – but it was a whole lot better than the crap they’d given us in Germany at the camp and the prison, and pretty good compared to the food at the hospital, too. I was too nervous to eat much anyhow. Afterwards, we went up to our room. It was getting dark, so I drew the curtains and lit the lamp.
‘I’m going to take a bath,’ Ruby said.
‘OK.’
When she was gone, I remembered I didn’t have any pyjamas, only the clothes I was wearing. I took off my shoes, socks, jacket and pants and got into bed in my underwear and shirt. The door opened and Ruby came back in. She was wearing a robe over a long nightgown, her damp hair in two loose plaits. She turned and locked the door with a nervous-sounding laugh. ‘We don’t want Mrs Leeming coming in, do we? Can you imagine?’
I found myself laughing too. ‘Oh, God, no.’ I folded back the counterpane beside me. After a moment’s hesitation, she crossed the room.
‘Do you mind if we put the lamp out?’ she said.
‘Sure.’ I turned it down, plunging the room into darkness. I heard her take off her robe and felt the bed move, the covers rustling as she climbed in beside me.
‘Sam?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Have you ever – I mean – have you—’
I shook my head before realising she couldn’t see me. ‘No,’ I said. My voice sounded strange, not like my own.
She was quiet for a moment. All I could hear was the blood roaring in my ears. Every muscle in my body was a tightly wound spring. How was I supposed to tell her I had no idea what I was doing? What if I messed this up? What if she hated it?
‘You don’t have to,’ I said. ‘Not if you don’t want to. I don’t mind. We can just – just lie here or something.’
‘No, I want to.’ Her ferocity took me by surprise. ‘I want to more than anything.’
I felt her turn over, her breath tickling against my face. We kissed, gently. ‘You’re really sure?’ I asked.
Gently, she took my hand and placed my unbandaged fingers on her breast. I stifled a moan; I hadn’t realised she’d taken off her nightgown too. I felt her heart beating inside her chest, rapid as a bird’s; her skin was warm and soft, and in that moment, I knew I wanted her more than anything.
‘I’m sure,’ she said, kissing me again, and started to unbutton my shirt.
