Page 99 of The Ship of Brides
‘Yes,’ she said. She could think of nothing else to say.
‘You should make the most of it,’ he said. ‘It’s... hard to find a bit of space to yourself on board. I mean real space...’
Perhaps he might understand more than he was saying, she thought. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, it is.’
‘I—’
‘Hey, Marine.’
The rating walked towards them, holding out a note, his cap pulled at a jaunty angle over one eye. ‘They want you in the control room before your watch. Briefing for the governor’s visit.’ As he came closer she could see he had recognised her. The look the younger man gave her as he handed over the note made her wince. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, cheeks reddening.
As she turned away, she half hoped he might ask her to wait a moment. That he might say something, that told her he didn’t see her as the rest of them did. Say something, she willed him. Anything.
Moments later she wrenched open the door to the dormitory and let it shut heavily behind her. She leant against it, her back sticking through her blouse to its unforgiving surface. Her jaw was clenched so tightly that it ached. She had never thought until now about life’s fairness, at least not in relation to herself. Her patients had suffered, and she had occasionally questioned why God could take one or leave another in such pain. She had never wondered about the fairness of her own experiences: she had long ago discovered that it was better not to think about those years. But now, with all the other emotions swirling around inside her in some infernal cocktail, she felt the pendulum swing from bleak despair to blind fury at the way her life had turned out. Had she not suffered enough? Was this, and not what she had seen in the war, the real test of her resolve? How much more was she expected to pay for?
Maude Gonne, perhaps understanding that Margaret had gone ashore, scratched restlessly at the door. Frances stooped, picked her up and sat down with her on her lap.
The dog took no comfort from this. In fact she paid Frances no attention. Frances sat there stroking, gazing at the milky, unseeing eyes, the quivering body desperate for only one person.
Frances held the dog close to her, pitying her plight. ‘I know,’ she whispered, laying her cheek against the soft head. ‘Believe me, I know.’
Accustomed to the intense heat of Bombay, and oblivious to the huge fans that whirred overhead, the waiters in the cocktail bar of Green’s Hotel were visibly perspiring. The sweat glistened on their burnished faces and seeped into the collars of their immaculate white uniforms. But their discomfort was less to do with the heat – it was a relatively mild evening – than the endless demands of the hundred or so brides who had chosen that bar to end their day’s shore leave.
‘If I have to wait one more minute for my drink I swear I’ll have words with that man,’ said Avice, wafting the fan she had bought that afternoon and eyeing the unfortunate waiter as he ducked through the crowd, tray held aloft. ‘I’m wilting,’ she said, to his departing back.
‘He’s doing his best,’ said Margaret. She had been careful to sip her drink slowly, having guessed from the packed bar that service was likely to be slow. She was feeling restored: she had been able to elevate her feet for half an hour, and now let her head rest on the back of the chair, enjoying the light breeze created by the overhead fan.
It was the same everywhere: in Greens, the Bristol Grill, the grand Taj Mahal hotel; a combination of theVictoriaand several troopships landing at once had swamped the harbour area with would-be revellers, men made gay and reckless by the end of the war and their increasing proximity to home. They had looked in at several places before deciding that at Green’s they might get a seat. Now, from their vantage-point on the veranda, they could look back through the archway at the dance area, which was now populated by men and women casting hopeful – and sometimes covetous – looks in the direction of the tables. Some of the brides had begun drinking John Collins and rum punches at lunchtime and were now feeling the effects of their encroaching hangovers. They seemed listless and vaguely discontented, their makeup sliding down their faces and their hair limp.
Margaret felt no guilt at hogging her seat. Heedless of the heat and dust, and of her own oft-stated ‘delicate condition’, Avice had dragged her everywhere that afternoon. They had walked around all the European shops, spent at least an hour in the Army and Navy Stores and another bartering with the men and small boys who besieged them with apparently unmissable bargains. Margaret had swiftly grown tired of haggling; it felt wrong to hold out for the odd rupee faced with the abject poverty of the salesmen. Avice, however, had leapt into it with astonishing enthusiasm, and spent much of the evening holding aloft her various purchases and exclaiming at the prices.
Margaret had been overwhelmed by the little they had seen of Bombay. She had been shocked at the sight of Indians bedding down in the street, at their seeming indifference to their conditions. At their thin limbs next to her own milk-fed plumpness, at their physical disabilities and barely dressed children. It made her feel ashamed for the nights she had moaned about the discomfort of her bunk.
Her drink appeared, and she made a point of tipping the waiter in front of Avice. Then, as he departed, she stared out atVictoria, floating serenely in the harbour, and wondered guiltily if Frances was asleep. All its lights were on, giving it a festive appearance, but without either aircraft or people the flight deck looked empty, like a vast, unpopulated plain.
‘Ah! A seat! Mind if we join you?’ Margaret looked round to see Irene Carter, flanked by one of her friends, pulling out the chair opposite. She gave a wide, lipsticked smile that did not stretch to her eyes. Despite the heat she looked cool and brought with her a vague scent of lilies.
‘Irene,’ said Avice, her own smile something of a snarl. ‘How lovely.’
‘We’re exhausted,’ said Irene, throwing her bags under the table and lifting a hand to summon a waiter. He arrived at her side immediately. ‘All those natives following you around. I had to get one of the officers to tell them to leave me alone. I don’t think they know how upsetting they can be.’
‘We saw a man without legs,’ confided her companion, a plump girl with a mournful air.
‘Just sitting out on a rug! Can you imagine?’
‘I think he might have been stuck there,’ the girl said. ‘Perhaps someone put him down and left him.’
‘We’ve hardly noticed. We’ve been so busy shopping, haven’t we, Margaret?’ Avice gestured at her own bags.
‘We have,’ said Margaret.
‘Bought anything nice?’ said Irene. Margaret fancied there was a steely glint in her eye.
‘Oh, nothing you’d be interested in,’ said Avice, her own smile glued in place.
‘Really? I heard you’d bought something for the Queen of theVictoriafinal.’
‘Natty Johnson saw you in the Army and Navy,’ said the plump girl.
