Ship of Brides (31 page)

My dearest love,

It’s very strange trying to compose this letter, knowing that in all likelihood by the time you get it we will already be in each other’s arms. But this voyage is starting to stretch, and I feel increasingly desperate, stuck out here in the middle of the ocean, to maintain some kind of contact. To at least talk to you, even though you might not be able to listen. I suppose some of these brides are more self-sufficient than I am, able to cope with endless days of absent time. But to me, every minute I spend without you is far too long, and infinitely worthless . . .

Sometimes the unspoken conversations taking place on the
Victoria
became clamorous. Now, half-way through the voyage, the weight of these one-sided exchanges hung heavy in the air as brides reread and composed correspondence, trying to express their longing, confiding their fears to their families or chiding their men for lack of emotion. In Cabin 3G two brides sat side by side on their bunks, each buried in thought as they committed their own pens to the tissue-thin Navy-issue writing-paper.

Occasionally, through the partially open door, the sound of passing footsteps was accompanied by a burst of laughter or a murmured conversation, punctuated by discreet exclamations of surprise. The heat of the previous days had broken a little with the arrival of a short storm in the early hours of that morning, and the inhabitants of the brides’ cabins had become active again: many were out enjoying the fresher air. None of which was heard apparently by the remaining occupants of Cabin 3G, both of whom were lost in a one-sided conversation with persons far from the confines of the
Victoria
.

. . . darling, in the circumstances it feels rather silly to be writing these words. So perhaps I shall use them simply to say how much I adore you, and how glad I am that this baby is ours. That we will bring him or her up together, and not separated, as we have been, by endless stretches of water. That I can’t think of a more wonderful father than I am sure you will be.

Sometimes you can feel something so bad, be so caught up in your own unhappiness, that it’s hard to see what’s right. Even harder to do it.

Still, I realised something last night: that even after everything that happened you would never have done what I did. That the whole point was, you would have just wanted people to be as happy as they could possibly be. It’s hard even to write that, without feeling
ashamed
sorry.

‘Avice,’ said Margaret, ‘do you have any blotting paper?’

‘Here,’ said Avice, stretching downwards. ‘You can have that sheet. I’ve got plenty.’ She adjusted her skirt as she settled down again, her free hand reaching absently to pat her stomach.

. . . so that’s why I’m going to write to Letty, and tell her the truth. That Dad, while he’ll never love anyone like he loved you, deserves to have a bit of company. He deserves to be looked after. I’ve finally realised I don’t have to protect some perfect image I have of the two of you. I don’t have to feel angry with her for being in love with him all these years. I can just feel sad for her that she wasted them on someone she knew she couldn’t have. Didn’t even try to have.

I know you’ll agree with this, Mum. But I think Letty, after all her years alone, deserves to be loved.

‘I’m going upstairs to sit on the deck for a bit. Are you all right if I leave you with Maudie?’

Avice glanced up at Margaret, who was standing by the door, her completed letter in her hand. She looked, Avice thought, a little red round the eyes. Mind you, with that awful blue dress, which she must have worn for the last ten days, and those swollen ankles, her eyes were probably the least of her worries. ‘Sure,’ she said.

‘It’s not so bad up there now the heat has died down a bit.’

Avice nodded and, as the door closed behind Margaret, she resumed writing.

It’s very odd, perhaps you might even find it silly, but do you know what, Ian? I have felt strangely nervous about telling you. I know you’re not desperately keen on surprises, but this is a truly special sort of surprise, isn’t it? Of course it would have been nice for us to have a little time to ourselves, but once the baby is born we can sort out a nurse for it, and you and I can go on being just how we were in Australia – except with a darling little baby to love too. I know some men rather miss the attention of their wives once the little ones come along but, darling, I want to assure you that
I AM NOT ONE OF THOSE
. No baby would ever come between you and I. You are first in my heart, and always will be. The important thing is for us to be together. That’s what you always said to me. I hold those thoughts close to my heart every minute of every day. The important thing is for us to be together.

Your Avice

Avice lay back on her bunk, listening to the distant thrum of the ship’s engines, the occasional breaking in of the Tannoy, the shrieking of other girls engaged in some activity above. She placed her sealed letter on her chest, holding it to her with both hands, and thought back.

The checkout time would normally have been eleven a.m., but it being wartime, and needs being what they were, she had known that even at a quarter past two in the afternoon they were unlikely to be disturbed by the maid. The Melbourne Flower Garden Hotel, like many local establishments, did a brisk trade these days in what were known as ‘extended checkouts’. So extended, in fact, were checkout times that quite frequently the couples did not bother staying at the hotel overnight. It was entirely possible that many were not married. Why else would they require a hotel room? The explanations of ‘wives’ coming into town especially to meet their husbands’ ships sounded unconvincing even to the most naïve ears. But with so many troops in town, and need being what it was, the hotel owner had been canny enough to grasp that flexibility and a blind eye would keep the dollars rolling in.

Avice calculated how much time was left before they should get up and return home. If they left in the next hour they could possibly nip into the zoo so that she wouldn’t have to lie about where they’d been. Her mother was bound to ask her something pointed about Sumatran tigers or some such.

Ian had been dozing, one heavy arm pinning her to the bed. Now he opened an eye. ‘What are you thinking?’

She let her head turn slowly until their faces were only inches apart. ‘I was thinking we were probably not supposed to do this until after the wedding.’

‘Don’t say that, gorgeous girl. I couldn’t have waited that long.’

‘Would it have been so hard?’

‘Sweetheart, you know I’ve only got a forty-eight-hour pass. Wasn’t this more fun than fussing about plans for flowers and bridesmaids and what-have-you?’

Avice thought secretly that she would probably have liked fussing over flowers and bridesmaids, but she didn’t want to spoil the mood so she smiled enigmatically.

‘God, I love you.’

She could feel his words on her skin, as if he were giving her tiny particles of himself even in his breath. She closed her eyes, savouring them: ‘I love you too, darling.’

‘You’re not sorry?’ he said.

‘To be marrying you?’ Her eyes widened.

‘To have done . . . you know. I didn’t hurt you or anything?’

He had, a little, if she was honest. But not in any way that had made her want to stop. She blushed now, shocked at the things she had found herself doing, at how easily she had surrendered to him. She had always suspected, from what her mother had told her, that it would be something she had to endure. The Sleeping Beast, her mother had called it. ‘Best leave it sleeping as much as possible,’ she had advised sagely.

‘You don’t think any less of me . . .’ she murmured ‘. . . for having let you . . .’ She swallowed. ‘I mean, I’m not sure I was meant to enjoy it quite as much as I did . . .’

‘Oh, my darling girl, no! God, no, it was wonderful that you liked it. In fact, that’s one of the things I love about you, Avice,’ Ian pulled her close to him and spoke into her hair. ‘You’re a sensual creature. A free spirit. Not like English girls.’

A free spirit. She had found herself believing this new version of herself, as Ian described it. Some time earlier, when she had found herself naked and self-conscious before him, he had said she was a goddess, the most alluring creature he had ever seen, and something else that made her blush, his eyes unfocused in admiration of her, and she had found herself determinedly becoming alluring and goddess-like when she really wanted to reach for a dressing-gown.

This must mean he’s right for me, she told herself. He has it in him to make me better than I am.

Outside, the traffic was picking up. Somewhere below the open window a car door slammed and a man shouted insistently, ‘Davy, Davy,’ apparently unheeded.

‘So,’ she said, disentangling their legs and sliding round so that she was leaning over him, some small part of her still shocked at the feel of his naked skin against hers. ‘You really, really love me, do you?’

He smiled at her, his hair matted against the pillow. She thought she’d never seen a more handsome man in her entire life. ‘Do you really have to ask?’

‘And I never do anything to upset you, or irritate you?’

‘Couldn’t,’ he said, reaching over to the bedside table for a cigarette. ‘Impossible.’

‘And you want to be with me for ever?’

‘More than. For infinity.’

She took a deep breath. ‘Then I’m going to tell you something, and you’re not to be angry with me.’

He pulled a cigarette from his packet with neat white teeth, and paused, using the arm looped round her neck to cup the flame of the match as he lit it. ‘Mm?’ he said. A soft plume of blue smoke rose into the still air beside her head.

‘We’re getting married.’

He looked at her for a moment. His eyes creased upwards. ‘Of course we’re getting married, my little duck.’

‘Tomorrow.’

She didn’t like to think too hard about that next bit. The way those creases hardened and his eyes became less soft.

The way the not-so-Sleeping Beast had suddenly become more so.

‘What?’

‘I’ve fixed it up. With a justice of the peace. We’re getting married tomorrow. At the Collins Street register office. Mum and Dad and Deanna are going to be there and the Hendersons have agreed to be our witnesses.’ Then, when he didn’t say anything, ‘Oh, darling, don’t be cross with me. I couldn’t bear the thought of you going off again and us only being engaged. And I thought seeing as you do love me and I love you and we only want to be together there wasn’t any point in waiting months and months and months. And you did say you’d got permission from your commander.’

Ian sat up abruptly so that she fell against the pillow. She pushed herself upright against the headboard, the sheet gathered round her chest.

Ian had leant forward, his back to her. It might have been her imagination, but there appeared to be grim determination in the way he was smoking his cigarette.

‘Now, darling,’ she said, playfully, ‘you’re not to be cross. I won’t have it.’

He didn’t move.

She waited several lifetimes, and slumped a little. The pert expression of disapproval slowly faded. Eventually, when she could bear it no longer, she put out a hand to him. His skin, where it met hers, sang to her of the previous hours. ‘Are you really cross with me?’

He was silent. He put out his cigarette, then turned back to her, running a hand through his hair. ‘I don’t like you organising things over my head . . . especially not something as – as important as this.’

Now she dropped the sheet, leant forwards and put her arms round his neck. ‘I’m sorry, darling,’ she whispered, nuzzling his ear. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’ That wasn’t strictly true: even as she had made the appointment, she had known that the flicker of nervousness in the pit of her stomach was not purely anticipation.

‘It’s a man’s place, after all, to arrange these things. You make me feel . . . I don’t know, Avice. Who wears the trousers here?’ His was face clouded.

‘You!’ she said, and the last of the sheet dropped away as she slid a slim leg over him.

‘This isn’t some joke, is it? It’s all set up? Guests and everything?’

She lifted her lips from his neck. ‘Only the Hendersons. Apart from family, I mean. It’s not like I organised some huge do without you knowing.’

He covered his face with a hand. ‘I can’t believe you did this.’

‘Oh, Ian, sweetheart, please don’t—’

‘I can’t believe you—’

‘You do still want me, don’t you, darling?’ Her voice, tremulous and a little pleading, suggested more doubt than Avice felt. It had never occurred to her that Ian might change his mind.

‘You know I do . . . It’s just—’

‘You want to make sure you’re head of the household. Of course you do! You know I think you’re simply masterful. And if we had had more time I would have left it as long as anything. Oh, Ian, don’t be cross, darling, please. It’s only because I wanted to be Mrs Radley so badly.’

She pressed her nose to his and widened her blue eyes so that he might lose himself in them. ‘Oh, Ian, darling, I do love you so much.’

He had said nothing initially, just submitted to her kisses, her murmured entreaties, the gentle exploration of her hands. Then, slowly, she felt him thaw. ‘It’s only because I love you, darling,’ she whispered, and as he gave himself up to her, as she slowly became lost, felt their bodies restoring him to her, as the Sleeping Beast awoke, a little part of her reflected with satisfaction that, difficult as these things could sometimes be, through intelligence, charm and a bit of luck, Avice Pritchard usually had her way.

He had been a little odd at the wedding. She knew her mother thought so. He had been distracted, selectively deaf, bit his nails even (an unbecoming habit in a grown man). Given that there were only eight of them, and that he was an officer, she had thought his nervousness a little excessive.

‘Don’t be silly,’ her father had said. ‘All grooms are supposed to look like condemned men.’ Her mother had hit him playfully, and tried to raise a reassuring lipsticked smile.