by Rachel Rhys
‘And you?’ She addresses the question to Helena, anxious to include her. The older woman hesitates, as if choosing her words from a densely stocked shelf.
‘Edward has not been well,’ she says. ‘Tuberculosis.’
‘Please don’t look so concerned,’ he interrupts, seeing Lily’s expression. ‘I am now quite cured.’
As if to demonstrate his newly robust constitution he pours four large glasses of wine from the bottle that has just arrived at the table and hands them out.
‘The doctors believe the climate in Australia will be better for his health,’ Helena continues.
Lily is struck by Helena’s detachment. She does not look at her husband at all as she speaks.
All this while there has been an empty chair at the table, but now a man appears, in a state of some agitation, his eyes downcast and his cheeks flushed purple.
‘I apologize for arriving so late,’ he says, and his voice carries a hint of annoyance. ‘I had to queue for the bathroom.’
The newcomer introduces himself to the table as George Price. He is going to New Zealand to help his uncle run his smallholding, he tells them. Like Edward Fletcher, he looks to be in his late twenties, but he is thickset, with square, meaty hands and a caved-in nose that looks to have been broken several times. When he is introduced to Lily, his small eyes dart to her face and then quickly away again.
Now George has joined them the conversation becomes stilted, lacking its earlier ease. He tries to engage them in talk of politics, of Germany, of war.
‘Instead of making an enemy of Herr Hitler, we ought to be learning from him,’ he tells them. ‘You should read his book. It makes a lot of sense.’
George is fuming mad, he tells them, that the purser has confiscated his wireless radio and locked it away ‘for safe keeping’. ‘He asked me to imagine what would happen if war broke out during the voyage, with all the different nationalities there will be on board by the time we’ve passed through Europe – Ities, Germans, you name it. I said, “If war breaks out, I’d jolly well like to be prepared.”’
Helena reminds him of the noticeboard, where, twice a day, world-news headlines are to be posted. ‘Yes, but they’ll keep quiet if it comes to war,’ he says. ‘At least till we’re off the ship. Half the passengers would be our enemies!’
Lily is relieved when dinner finishes and the Fletchers invite her to take coffee with them in the lounge. One of the passengers, an elderly woman all in pink, is playing the piano and there is an atmosphere of cheery first-night optimism. Lily scans the room quickly to see if the woman in the scarlet dress might be there, or the man she was with on the quayside, but she isn’t surprised not to see them. That dress hadn’t come from the kind of stores Lily frequents, and she is sure the couple will be settling down for dinner in the more luxurious dining room of the first-class deck.
‘George is a bit intense, isn’t he?’ Edward murmurs as they sink down on to one of the comfortable sofas. ‘Hope he won’t be ranting at us all through the voyage.’
‘Just ignore him and keep out of his way,’ says Helena sharply. Then she puts a hand to her head.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says, turning her clear grey eyes to Lily. ‘I’m not feeling terribly well. I think I’ll go back to the cabin to lie down.’
To Lily’s surprise, Edward doesn’t get to his feet to accompany her. Instead he blows her a kiss from the sofa. ‘Sleep well, my sweet,’ he says.
Now Lily feels awkward, unsure what is proper in this situation.
‘I hope your wife will feel better in the morning,’ she says eventually, her voice stiff.
Edward’s pale, pinched face registers surprise, and then, bafflingly, amusement.
‘Oh, you thought … How funny.’
Just as Lily is starting to feel affronted at being toyed with, he relents.
‘Helena is not my wife,’ he says. ‘She’s my sister.’
3
30 July 1939
THE FOLLOWING MORNING Lily awakes in her narrow bunk and, for a moment, she cannot for the life of her work out where she is, but then she glances over to the side and sees Audrey’s fair hair fanned out on the pillow. Her eyes drift lazily to the bunk below, where she sees with a shock that Ida is awake and staring at her.
‘You looked very cosy with that young man last night.’
Ida raises herself to a sitting position. Lily is transfixed by her hair, which seems not to move with the rest of her, until she realizes it is held back by a black net. ‘Well? Are you going to tell us, or what?’ Ida smiles, her eyes narrowing to slits, and Lily feels a wave of revulsion at the unwanted invitation to intimacy. Remember the dead fiancé, she admonishes herself. Be kind. Yet still she does not want to share confidences with Ida. Not that there are any confidences to share.
‘I’m afraid there is nothing to tell. He and his sister are my neighbours at dinner. We just chatted about the ship, really, nothing more.’
The effect of the rebuttal is instant. Ida swings her legs round.
‘Well, you’d be advised to be a little bit more careful in future. I can’t think what Mrs Collins is about, allowing the young ladies in her charge to gallivant around at all hours with strange men they’ve only just met.’
Lily is relieved the conversation is at an end, but she knows on some level that she has made a mistake in making an enemy of Ida.
Audrey is full of excitement when she finally awakes to the sound of the steward bringing round cups of tea, and wants to compare stories with Lily about the new acquaintances they made at dinner. There is a young girl on her table with whom she has already struck up quite a friendship. Lily is relieved. Though she finds herself liking Audrey more and more, she doesn’t wish to be responsible for her. Besides, she is looking forward to getting to know Edward and Helena better and hopes to avoid feeling obliged to pair off with Audrey at every social event or stop-over. She knows she will never again let anyone get as close as Mags. It is not worth the pain.
On the way up to the dining room for breakfast Lily tries to quell the fizz of anticipation she can feel bubbling in her veins at the thought of seeing Edward Fletcher again. He was just being friendly last night, nothing more, she tells herself sternly. But still, when she sees him already seated at the table with his sister, she has a flush of pleasure, as if a warm flannel is being gently pressed to her cheek. In the daylight, his skin looks less ghostly pale and, in spite of her own warnings, her spirits leap when his face lights up in a smile at the sight of her.
‘I’m so glad to see you up and about,’ she tells Helena, although the truth is that Helena still looks unwell, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy.
‘Thank you,’ Helena replies. ‘But I couldn’t leave my little brother unattended. Someone has to keep an eye on what he’s getting up to.’
She smiles, but Lily sees an odd look pass between the siblings that makes her uneasy.
Peggy Mills appears at the table, alone.
‘Mama is ill,’ she announces in a flat, emotionless voice. ‘The steward had to give her some paper bags to be sick into!’
George Price, who has taken his seat at the other side of the table, freezes, a forkful of scrambled egg just inches from his mouth.
‘Do you mind?’ he says. ‘Some of us are eating.’
Peggy shrugs but doesn’t appear offended.
George catches Lily’s eye and shakes his head, as if trying to draw her into his disapproval, but she looks away as if she hasn’t noticed. For the rest of the meal Lily addresses most of her conversation to the motherless girl, to make sure she doesn’t feel left out. So it is only afterwards, when Edward suggests a stroll around the deck, that she is able to talk freely with the Fletchers.
Outside, there is a cool breeze blowing off the sea and the sky is the grey of old porridge. Lily draws her cardigan around her. This isn’t the weather she has been expecting.
‘Are you cold, Lily?’ asks Edward.
She shakes her head.
‘I’m used to cold,’ she tells them. ‘My room in London had cracks in the window frames a mile wide, and it was so damp I once found mushrooms growing in my dressing gown!’
‘Yes, the sanatorium was cold, too,’ Edward says. ‘Even at the height of summer it was impossible to feel warm there.’
His green eyes look momentarily cloudy, and Lily regrets having reminded him of what was clearly an unhappy time.
‘Edward tells me your family are originally from Herefordshire,’ she says to Helena, trying to move the subject on to something else.
Helena hesitates.
‘Yes, that’s right. Although we recently moved to the south coast. For Edward’s health. I was working as a teacher there. Younger children, mostly.’
‘And did you enjoy it?’
Helena’s face relaxes, as if she has shed a pair of uncomfortable shoes, and now Lily can see that she’s younger than she initially thought.
‘Oh, I loved it,’ she says.
‘Helena is a natural with children,’ says Edward, and he grabs hold of his sister’s hand and squeezes it in a gesture Lily can’t help but find touching. Now that they are all standing up, she sees more of a resemblance between the Fletchers. They are both of slight build and, with Helena’s hair piled up on her head, there is little difference in height. Some of their mannerisms, too, are similar. They both have a way of covering their mouths with their hands when they laugh, as if to prevent their merriment from escaping.
On the other side of the ship, there are some low-slung canvas chairs, which are shielded from the wind by the lounge wall. Helena and Lily settle themselves down, and Edward volunteers to go in search of some blankets.
‘Tell me, Lily. Have you left anyone behind in England? A sweetheart, perhaps?’
Lily is surprised at the question. Helena does not seem the type to encourage confidences. She thinks about Robert and the way one of his eyes looked different to the other, after an accident left one pupil permanently dilated, and how those eyes would travel lazily up the length of her when she came through the door until she felt utterly exposed.
‘No. No one. How about you?’
‘No. That is, not any more.’
And now Lily realizes why Helena introduced the subject – to give herself licence to talk.
‘There was someone. In fact, we were engaged to be married. He was … is … a wonderful man. He’s a teacher, and he writes poetry. Really very fine poetry. He has a very unique way of seeing the world.’
As Helena is talking, she appears almost radiant, her sallow skin flushing pink like dawn breaking.
‘So what happened, if you don’t mind me asking?’
Helena puts a hand to her forehead, and the colour drains from her face just as suddenly as it appeared.
‘It didn’t work out.’
‘But –’
‘Success!’ Edward has reappeared, carrying warm woollen blankets for them to tuck over their knees. Lily’s blanket is soft, red-and-white plaid and she has a sudden sense of wellbeing as she takes it from Edward’s outstretched hand and wraps it around her. This is how it would be to be married, she thinks. Having somebody care whether you are warm enough. For your comfort to matter.
At teatime she meets up with Audrey in the lounge, which is crackling with life as the sound of passengers greeting old friends and chatting with new ones mixes with the clink of china cups hitting saucers and the tinkling of dainty silver teaspoons as they stir in the sugar. As with last night, there is someone playing the piano, a young man this time, softly picking out a melody Lily recognizes from a film score. Audrey is bursting with excitement about the ball that evening. This being the first full day of the crossing, there is to be a formal dance, with a band. An opportunity for Audrey to showcase her evening dress, of which she is most proud.
‘I must say, I envy you your dinner companions,’ she tells Lily. ‘The youngest man on our table is about sixty-five and deaf as a post. When I asked him if he could pass the butter, he replied, “Not so well, unfortunately. The mattress is very thin.” It’s very hard to have a conversation. Good job I’ve got Annie to talk to. I can’t wait for you two to meet, Lily. I’m sure you’ll get on famously.’
‘Hello, you two, I’ve been searching all over for you.’ Ida has materialized, seemingly from nowhere. Her plate is heaped with sandwiches, as if to guard against a sudden reintroduction of rationing. Again Lily tells herself to be kind, but there is something about Ida that seems to suck the joy from the air.
‘I was just saying to Lily that her table seems very jolly,’ says Audrey, good-naturedly. ‘The young man with the dark hair is particularly easy on the eye!’
‘If you like that sort of thing,’ says Ida dismissively. ‘I prefer tall men with more meat on their bones.’
‘Edward has been unwell,’ says Lily, rushing to defend him. ‘That’s why he and his sister are moving to Australia.’
‘Good of her to keep him company. I don’t know if any of my sisters or brothers would do that for me,’ says Audrey.
‘She must have a poor excuse for a life if she’s so ready to leave it behind,’ is Ida’s response.
Lily is taken aback. Now she thinks about it, it is strange that Helena has put her own life, and the job she loved, to one side in order to accompany her brother to the other side of the world. But then, perhaps after the heartbreak of her broken engagement, Helena might have been glad of the opportunity to escape. The Fletchers are clearly a close family. It is surely a good sign that they have not left Edward to face the journey alone.
Thinking about Edward’s family reminds Lily of her own. She hopes her mother isn’t worrying about her and realizes guiltily that she has hardly given them a second thought.
Her parents had been so shocked when she first broke it to them that she was going to Australia. ‘Back to domestic service?’ Mam had cried. ‘After everything you said!’ Of course, neither of her parents knew about Robert and Mags, but Mam wasn’t stupid, she knew something bad had happened. Which is why she’d been so relieved when Lily got the head-waitress job. It was a complete change of environment.
But after a while Mam had relented. ‘I know you’ve always had ambitions to do something different and see a little of the world,’ she told her. ‘You were always so bright, and I’ve always been sorry that you had to leave school so young to start earning.’ Lily herself hadn’t minded that much. She’d won a scholarship to what they all called ‘the posh school’ at eleven but, though she’d enjoyed the lessons, particularly English, at which she’d excelled, she hadn’t much enjoyed the other girls’ snobbery, or how her mam refused to come to the Christmas carol concert because her clothes were too shabby. And when she’d left at fourteen she hadn’t looked back.
So in the end she had her parents’ blessing to go to Australia, and this is how she repaid them – by forgetting all about them the minute they were out of sight. As a penance, as soon as tea is over, Lily installs herself at one of the little desks slotted into the alcoves in the lounge and, using the notepaper provided, impressively stamped with the ship’s crest, she composes a long, colourful letter describing everything that has happened so far on the voyage: the people she’s met, the food she’s eaten, even the movement of the boat under her feet. Then she seals it in an envelope and takes it to the Purser’s Office for posting at the next port, after which she feels much better.
Walking into the dining room later that evening, wearing the new full-length cream silk dress that cost her a good chunk of her savings and which Audrey insists makes her look like Greer Garson, Lily is surprised to feel her nerves popping under her skin like the bubbles in soda water.
Both Edward and George Price get to their feet when she approaches the table, but it is Helena who speaks first.
‘How lovely you look, Lily. That colour is so good on you. And how clever to match it with that spray of silk roses.’
‘You will be beating off admirers at the dance later,’ Ed
ward says. ‘But don’t worry, I will act as your own private police guard.’
There are two empty chairs at the table, as neither Peggy nor her mother appears.
‘People are falling like dominoes,’ says George, with some satisfaction. ‘All my cabin mates are ill, and the steward says half the people on our deck have taken to their beds. First few days at sea will get you like that if you’re not used to it.’
‘I take it you’ve travelled before, then,’ says Lily, grudgingly taking up the gauntlet that he has so obviously thrown down.
‘Oh, yes. Europe. America. That’s how I know so much about what’s going on in the world.’
‘Not the political manifesto again,’ groans Edward in Lily’s ear.
Luckily, Helena, seated to George’s left, heads him off.
‘America? How interesting. Where exactly have you been? Is it true Americans eat fried potatoes with every meal?’
After dinner there’s a palpable frisson in the air as the band sets up. The dancefloor is an area between the lounge and the bar which is open on both sides to the decks. Lily is relieved to find the wind has dropped. She possesses an evening cape but would have been reluctant to cover up her new dress. Passengers who are on the other dinner sitting drift out to watch or gather in the bar. Though she hasn’t had anything to drink, Lily nevertheless feels intoxicated. It’s a mixture of the music and the beautiful clothes, the silks and velvets and chiffons, the peacock greens and sapphire blues, the russets and magentas; of the different fragrances, so recently applied, that mingle in the heady air – musks and florals and citruses, the woody smell of the cigar smokers. It’s the tinkling laughter of women and low baritones of men, the crying of a baby, newly awoken and unhappy at finding itself somewhere unfamiliar. And, above all that, the awareness that they are here on this floating world, apart from all other worlds, all of them bound together by the country they have come from and the one they are going to, and by all the thousands of miles of travel that lie in between.
