Page 69 of The Ship of Brides
‘It’s called leave, man. Believe it or not, Nicol, evenyouare meant to go off duty occasionally.’
‘I’ll stay here. Got a bit of make and mend to catch up on.’
‘Sorry, man, can’t have it. You’ve got a pocket full of dosh and a face like a smacked arse. Dr Jones here says the only cure is to lighten the pair of them. Get a couple of hours’ kip now. Then you’re coming out with us. And we’re going to get absolutely pissed.’
Nicol began to refuse, then felt inexplicably relieved by Jones’s good-natured bullying. The thought of standing outside that metal door, alone with his thoughts at another dawn, was too much. ‘Okay,’ he said, strung up his hammock and hopped lithely into it. ‘You’re on. Wake me up half an hour before you want to head off.’
They had eaten together – less, Margaret suspected, out of any great desire on Avice’s part to share her meals with them but because Irene and her friends had made it clear, by their whispers and cold stares, that she was no longer welcome in their set. She had watched Avice preparing to bounce over to their table and announce her news until she realised they were being discussed – not in a good way. She had deflated a little, her eyes darting to them at every peal of laughter. Then she had smoothed her hair and sat down opposite Margaret. ‘You know,’ she said lightly, ‘I’ve just remembered what I couldn’t stand about that Irene Carter. She’s terribly rude. I can’t imagine what I ever saw in her.’
‘It’s nice for us all to eat together for a change,’ Margaret said equably, ignoring Frances’s silence.
‘Nice not to have Avice puking anyway,’ said Jean.
‘Did they make a mistake with your post, Frances,’ said Avice, ‘or did you really get just one letter?’
‘Do you know what, Avice?’ said Margaret, loudly. She pushed away her plate. ‘We had a lovely chat earlier about how our husbands proposed to us. I bet you’d love to tell us how Ian proposed to you, wouldn’t you?’
Margaret caught Frances’s look. It might have been of gratitude or something else entirely.
‘Have I not told you? Really? Oh, it was the best day of my life. Well, next to our wedding, of course. That’s always a girl’s best day, isn’t it? And in our case we couldn’t have the kind of wedding I might normally have expected – with my family’s position in society and all... No, it had to be a bit more intimate. But, oh, Ian’s proposal. Oh, yes...’ She closed her eyes. ‘Do you know? It still comes back to me so vividly, almost like a scent...’
‘A bit like Margaret’s, then,’ said Jean.
‘I knew he was the one as soon as I saw him. And he says the same about me. Oh, girls, he’s so sweet. And it’s been so long since we spoke – I can’t bear it. He’s the most romantic man alive. I didn’t think I’d marry into the services, you see. I wasn’t one of those uniform-hunters, always fluttering her eyelashes at anything in whites. But I was helping out at one of the tea dances – perhaps you had something similar where you were? – and I saw him and that was it. I knew I had to be Mrs Radley.’
‘So what did he do?’ said Jean, lighting a cigarette.
‘Well, he was terribly gentlemanly. We knew we loved each other – he told me he was actually obsessed with me at one point – can you imagine? – but he was worried about whether I could cope with being a services wife. I mean, what with all the separations and insecurity... He told me he didn’t know if it was fair to put me through that. But I told him, “I may look like a delicate flower” – that’s what my father used to call me, his little jasmine blossom – “but I’m actually quite strong. Really. I’m very determined.” And I think even Ian recognised that in the end.’
‘So, what happened?’ said Margaret, sucking her teaspoon.
‘Well, we were both in agony. Daddy wanted us to wait. And Ian didn’t want to upset him, so he said he would. But I couldn’t bear the thought of us leaving each other simply “engaged”.’
‘Worried he’d bugger off with someone else?’ said Jean.
‘So he got permission from his commander and we just ran off and got married in front of a justice of the peace. Just like that. It was terribly romantic.’
‘What a lovely story, Avice,’ said Margaret. ‘I’m going to get some tea. Anyone want a cup?’
Outside the sky was darkening. The sunsets happened rapidly here, day fading into night with some impatience. The ship was quieter than usual, despite the presence of the women, as if the absence of the men had seeped into each deck, subduing them.
‘I’ll go and see if they’re going to show anything at the cinema,’ said Jean.
‘They might have decided to put something on with us all being here.’
‘There’s nothing,’ said Avice, ‘just a sign saying the next one’s tomorrow afternoon.’
‘The men will be ashore now,’ said Margaret, staring out of the window. ‘Lucky things.’
‘What about your bloke, Frances?’ Jean rested her chin on her hands, her head tilted to one side. ‘How did he propose?’
Frances stood up, began gathering plates on to a tray. ‘Oh, it’s not very interesting,’ she said.
‘I’m sure we’d be fascinated,’ said Avice.
Frances gave her a hard look.
Margaret thought she should probably try to steer the conversation towards some other course, but she had to admit to a sneaking curiosity.
