THE KILLER OF THE DARKNESS

EPISODE TEN

TEN

The interminable night went on for me. I got home and found an envelope for me on the mat. I stooped down and scooped it up, turning it over in my hand. With trepidation, I recognized the writing.

Joanne's.

Hastily I ripped the envelope open. The contents noticeably short. She wanted me around, right away. The uneasiness came back, just as though a switch been turned on.

In the future, I have a wife and a family, but that does not affect where I am now. My problem being I had fallen in love with Joanne Burton in 1941. Even though, I loved my wife in the year 2801.

It was tough going to see Joanne. I knew the 'phones were out, but what nagged away at me, eroding into every possibility that I conjured up, is the knowledge that whatever it is, it must be serious. Why else would she change her mind? In the morning, her response had been so emphatic. She would see me on Friday, and not before.

I reached the iron staircase and started to kick and scrape the packed ice off the soles of my shoes. When I happened to be halfway up the stairs, the door opened. It seemed an ill omen.

I stopped in my tracks and looked up. In her face something I never saw before; repentance, fear, I could not tell what, but my dismay flared.

"What is it, Jo? Are you all, right?"

She attempted a weak smile.

"Yes, of course."

As I drew closer to her, she stepped back to let me in, before closing the door.

Joanne avoided making eye contact.

"Let me take your coat. What will you have?"

"Coffee will be fine."

I followed her down the passage. She poured two cups and handed one to me. I pulled back a chair and sat down.

"What's it all about?"

Joanne stirred her coffee, eyes still averted.

"There is something I need to tell you."

"Yes?"

The unease began to abate, confusion taking its place. She gently shook her teaspoon dry above the liquid and placed it precisely, carefully, into the saucer.

"Difficult to find a place where to start. The letter I received this morning..."

She stopped, searching for the right words. A sudden wave of understanding hit me, taking my breath away. The post, that morning, it was from the doctor. She was pregnant.

I reached out my hand and found hers.

Joanne raised her eyes.

"I'm leaving Onehouse Island."

For a moment I did not comprehend, my mind racing excitedly over the idea that I soon be a father again. She kept on, deviating back to the coffee-cup, not even noticing how shocked I appeared.

"I never told you properly. It somehow never mattered with us; we started off so free and easy."

She faltered, her eyes flicking up guiltily at me.

"I'm married. It was from my husband."

There was a sickening silence. I remained so stunned I struggled to find my voice. Frightened, she carried on with a rush.

"He's in the RAF. Reported missing, believed killed. Only been together a year when the war started. Then he found himself posted to No. 611 Auxiliary Squadron, Duxford. Went off the radar on the 15th of September 1940."

Joanne took a sip of coffee as if to wash away what she continued to tell me but found difficulty in swallowing.

"Where has he been all this while?"

"Ditched in the channel, where a French fishing boat picked him up and took him back to Calais. The family kept him hidden from the Germans while he recovered and then smuggled him onto a ship and dropped him off at Folkestone."

"Where is he now?"

"RAF Coltishall in Norfolk, been billeted with No. 242. They operate Hurricane's."

I heard her as if she were talking on a cinema screen, clearly, but slightly remote. It could not be happening. But as she rambled on, justifying, pleading, it slowly sank in.

Not so much the actual words, but the numbing feeling that came with knowing she belonged to somebody else and did all along. All the gentle acceptance which built up between us over the months, based on unspoken suppositions. We both used each other.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Yes, and he's asked you to join him?"

She nodded, miserably.

"Are you going?"

"Got no choice."

"Why?"

Joanne looked away, not answering immediately, taking out her handkerchief and blowing her nose. She dabbed at one eye, pretending it was not a tear, that something was in it, examining the end of the cloth.

"Perhaps I had guilt feelings about moving away when he disappeared. Anyway, he needs me now."

"I don't?"

My voice was barely audible.

"I mean, don't the last months mean anything?"

She spoke almost aggressively.

"Of course, they do. In fact, the way we've got on together hasn't helped."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, being close, happy..."

Her voice tailed off.

I sat back.

"Christ, I could do with something alcoholic."

Joanne nodded weakly, slid back her chair, and crossed to the sideboard. She filled two glasses of whisky and put one beside me, resting her hand on my shoulder.

"Look, I'm sorry - breaking it this way, so quickly. I have had all day to think about it and that seems long enough. I suppose this other horrible murder business acted as a catalyst..."

She smiled fleetingly.

"Sorry, can't get away from the chemist in me, can I?"

My forehead creased in puzzlement.

"That's another thing. How can you leave the pharmacy, the shop? Hell, what do I care about them? Joanne, what about me?"

This time I could see the tears forming in the corners of her eyes and starting down her cheeks. This time she did nothing to hide them as she sat down again.

"If only we met sooner. But what else can I do?"

Her voice changed from begging to firmness.

"After all, he is still my husband, and let's face it I don't really know you."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Who are you? Where you are from, what you do. You are a complete mystery to me, and yet I allowed you into my bed."

I took a long pull from the glass before me, gratefully letting the smooth single malt whisky moved easily down until it burst deep and low in my stomach.

It steadied me for what I had to say next.

"I told you right from the start that my past was a shut book. That I could not discuss it, and you accepted my explanation."

She flushed at the sound of bitterness in my voice.

"He wants me to be with him."

"And what if it doesn't work out?"

"Then, would you want me back?"

I laughed when I really wanted to cry.

"I might not be here if you came back."

Joanne stood up. Her voice choking.

"I'm just going to the loo."

While she was away, I got my winter-coat and left, shutting the door quietly behind me.

*

It stopped with a grunt. Something occurred in the wilderness of white that had been different. The head turned, as over to the right another vivid flash exposed the tent and the shadow of a man crouching inside.