Page 125 of The Ship of Brides
The wind and her headscarf meant that she didn’t hear Frances arrive beside her. When she saw her she could not be sure how long she’d been there. ‘Burial at sea,’ she said. ‘Just trying to pluck up the courage to actually do it, you know?’
‘I’m so sorry, Maggie.’ Frances’s eyes were bleak. The hand she reached out to Margaret was tentative.
Margaret wiped her eyes with her palm. She shook her head and let out a little ‘Gah!’ of despair at her inability to control herself.
There seemed to be no clear distinction between the sea and the sky; the dark, unwelcoming seas lightened at the far horizon, greyed, then disappeared into the rolling clouds. It was as if they were sailing towards nothing; as if navigation itself could only be an act of blind faith.
Some time later, long before she felt ready, Margaret stepped forward. She hesitated for a moment, holding the little body tight to her, tighter than she would have dared if there had still been life in it.
Then she stooped, a little noise escaped her throat, and she dropped the little bundle into the sea. There was no sound.
She held the rail with white-knuckled fingers, even now shocked at how far above the waves she stood, fighting the urge to stop the ship, to retrieve what she had lost. The sea seemed suddenly too huge, a cold betrayal rather than a peaceful end. Her arms felt unbearably empty.
Beside her, Frances pointed silently.
The beige cardigan was just visible, far below them on the surface, a tiny scrap of pale colour. Then it dipped under the foamy wake. They did not see it again. They stood in silence, letting the breeze mould their clothes to their backs, watchingVictoria’s wake foam, then rise, separate and disappear.
‘Have we been mad, Frances?’ she said, at last.
‘What?’
‘What the bloody hell have we done?’
‘I’m not sure what—’
‘We’ve left everything, all the people we love, our homes, our security. And for what? To be assaulted and then branded a trollop, like Jean? To be quizzed over your past by the bloody Navy, like some kind of criminal? To go through all this and then be told you’re not wanted? Because there’s no guarantee, right? There’s nothing says these men and their families are going to want us, right?’
Her voice caught on the wind.
‘What the hell do I know about England? What do I really know about Joe or his family? About babies? I couldn’t even look after my own bloody dog...’ Her head dipped.
They were oblivious to the damp deck beneath them, the stares of the dabbers painting on the other side of the island.
‘You know... I have to tell you... I think I’ve made a terrible mistake. I got carried away with the idea of something, maybe escaping from cooking and cleaning for Dad and the boys. And now I’m here, all I want is my family. I want my family back, Frances. I want my mum.’ She was crying bitterly. ‘I want my dog.’
Eyes blinded by tears, she felt Frances put her thin, strong arms round her. ‘No, Maggie, no. It’s going to be fine. You have a man who loves you. Really loves you. It will be fine.’
Margaret wanted to be convinced. ‘How can you say that after everything that’s happened here?’
‘Joe is one in a million, Maggie. Even I know that. And you have a wonderful life ahead of you because it’s impossible for them not to love you. And you’re going to have a beautiful baby and you will love him or her more than you ever imagined. Oh, if you only knew how much I...’
Frances’s face contorted and volcanic hiccups exploded from her chest, with an unstoppable, messy torrent of tears, and the hug she gave Margaret in comfort became an attempt to comfort herself. She tried to apologise, to pull herself together, waved her hand in mute apology, but she could not stop.
Margaret, shocked into togetherness, held her. ‘Hey now,’ she said weakly. ‘Hey now, Frances, c’mon... c’mon, this isn’t like you...’ She stroked the hair, still pinned back from the night before. It must be the shock, she thought, remembering the sight of the two girls dropping into that churning sea. She felt sick with guilt that she hadn’t checked that Frances was all right. She held her, in mute apology, waiting for the storm to subside.
‘You’re right. We’ll be okay,’ she murmured, stroking Frances’s hair. ‘We might end up living near each other, right? And you write me, Frances. I haven’t got anyone else over here, and Avice is going to be as much use as a chocolate teapot. You’re all I’ve got...’
‘I’m not what you think.’ Frances was crying hard enough to draw attention now. A small group of sailors stood at the far end of the flight deck, watching and smoking. ‘I can’t begin to tell you...’
‘Ah, c’mon, it’s time to leave all that behind.’ She wiped her own eyes. ‘Look, as far as I’m concerned, you’re a great girl. I know what I need to know, and a little bit that I didn’t. And you know what? I still think you’re a great girl. And you’d better bloody keep in touch with me.’
‘You’re... very... kind.’
‘You were going to say round, right?’
Despite herself, Frances smiled.
‘Hey! You two! Come away from there!’
