Page 38 of The Ship of Brides
Highfield had discharged himself from the hospital that morning. ‘I have a ship to take home,’ he had said, closing the conversation. As if he would allow himself to be invalided out at this stage.
Like everyone else, the surgeon had said nothing. Sometimes it seemed to Highfield that no one knew what to say to him now. He hardly blamed them: in their shoes he would probably have felt the same.
‘Ah, Highfield. They told me you were out here.’
‘Sir.’ He stopped and saluted. The admiral approached through the light rain, waving away the umbrella-bearing officer beside him. Above them, the gulls wheeled and dived, their cries muffled by the mist.
‘Leg all better?’
‘Absolutely fine, sir. Good as new.’
He watched the admiral glance down at it. When you spotted an admiral out in the open air, his men used to say, you’d not know whether to polish your buttons for a ceremony or brace yourself for a roasting. But McManus was a good sort, who always knew somehow what was going on. So many of them spent their time behind their desks, breaking off only to go aboard ship the day before she was due back in, thus claiming some of her glory. But this admiral was a rare bird: always wanting to know what was going on at the docks, mediating in disputes, testing the political waters, questioning everything, missing nothing.
Highfield fought the urge to shift the weight off his leg again. He was conscious suddenly that McManus probably knew all about that too. ‘Thought I’d go and take a look atVictoria,’ he said. ‘Haven’t seen her in a few years. Not since I went aboard during the Adriatic convoys.’
‘You may find her a little changed,’ said McManus. ‘She’s taken a bit of a bashing.’
‘I suppose you could say the same for most of us.’ It was the closest Highfield would come to a joke, and McManus acknowledged it in his quiet smile.
The two men walked slowly along the dock, unconsciously stepping in time with each other.
‘So you’re A1 and ready to go again, eh, Highfield?’
‘Sir.’
‘Terrible business, what happened. We all felt for you, you know.’
Highfield kept his face to the front.
‘Yes,’ McManus continued. ‘Hart would have gone all the way to the top. Not your usual crabfat... Bloody shame when you were all so close to getting home.’
‘I contacted his mother, sir, while I was in hospital.’
‘Yes. Good man. Best coming from you.’
It was embarrassing to be praised for so small an achievement. Then Highfield found, as often happened when the young man was mentioned, that he could no longer speak.
When the silence had lasted several minutes, the admiral stopped and faced him. ‘You mustn’t blame yourself.’
‘Sir.’
‘I hear you’ve been a little... down about it. Well, we’ve all suffered such losses, and we’ve all lain awake at nights wondering if we could have prevented them.’ His assessing gaze passed over Highfield’s face. ‘You had no choice. Everyone is aware of that.’
Highfield tensed. He found it impossible to meet the admiral’s eye.
‘I mean it. And if your remaining company’s careers last as long as yours they’ll see worse. Don’t dwell on it, Highfield. These things happen.’ McManus tailed off, as if he were deep in thought, and Highfield stayed silent, listening to the sound of his feet on the now slick dockside, the distant grind and thump of cranes.
They had almost reached the gangplank. Even from here he could see the engineers on board, replacing the metal that had been buckled by impact, hear the banging and drilling that told him welders were busy inside the hangar space. They had been working hard, but a huge charred cleft in the starboard side was still partly visible in the smooth grey metal. She would win no beauty contests but, as his eyes rested upon her, Highfield felt the misery of the past weeks melt away.
They paused at the foot of the gangplank, squinting up into the light rain. Highfield’s leg twinged again and he wondered whether he could hold on to the sides inconspicuously.
‘So, what next when you get back, Highfield?’
Highfield hesitated. ‘Well, I’ll be retired, sir.’
‘I know that, man. I meant what are you going to do with yourself? Got any hobbies? No Mrs Highfield that you’ve been hiding all these years?’
‘No, sir.’
