Jojo Moyes - Ship of Brides

Outside, the rain was easing off. The drumming on the roof had lightened, and small patches of blue could be seen amid the grey clouds towards the east. The two women were silent for a few minutes, each apparently absorbed in the view from the screened window.

When no answer was forthcoming, Margaret spoke again: ‘Actually, I’m wondering whether I should leave at all. I mean, there’s no point in going if I’m going to spend my whole time worrying about the family, is there?’

She waited for her aunt to speak. When nothing came, she continued, ‘Because I—’

‘I suppose,’ Letty ventured, ‘that I could help out.’

‘What?’

‘Don’t say “what”, dear. If you’re that worried about them all,’ Letty’s voice was measured, ‘I might be able to come most days. Just to help out a bit.’

‘Oh, Letty, would you?’ Margaret had ensured that her voice held just the right amount of surprise, just the right level of gratitude.

‘I wouldn’t want to be treading on anyone’s toes.’

‘No . . . no . . . of course not.’

‘I wouldn’t want you or the boys thinking . . . that I was trying to take your mother’s place.’

‘Oh, I don’t think anyone would think that.’

Both women digested what had finally been said aloud.

‘There might be people who will . . . interpret things the wrong way. People in town and suchlike.’ Letty smoothed her hair unconsciously.

‘Yes, there might,’ said Margaret, still looking deadly serious.

‘But, then, it’s not like I’ve got a job or anything. Not now they’ve shut the munitions factory. And family should come first.’

‘It certainly should.’

‘I mean, those boys need a feminine influence. Daniel especially. He’s at that age . . . And it’s not like I’m doing anything wrong. Anything . . . you know . . .’

If Margaret noticed the faint blush of pleasure creeping across her aunt’s face she said nothing. If there was something else in her aunt’s face, in the new lipstick, that made Margaret feel a little more complicated about the arrangement, she made a game attempt to push it away. If the price of her own guiltless freedom was for her mother’s place to be usurped, she would be careful only to see the benefits.

Letty’s angular face was lit now by a smile. ‘In that case, dear, if it will help you, I’ll take good care of them all,’ she said. ‘And Maudie there. I’ll take good care of her. You won’t need to worry.’

‘Oh, I’m not worried about her.’ Margaret raised herself with an effort. ‘I’m going to—’

‘Yes, I’ll make sure they’re all all right,’ Letty continued. Anticipation had apparently made her garrulous. ‘If it will really make you feel a little easier in yourself, Maggie dear, I’ll do what I can. Yes, you won’t need to worry about a thing.’ Suddenly galvanised, she wrung out the last shirt by hand and dumped it in the washing basket, ready for the next drying session.

She wiped her large, bony hands on her apron. ‘Right. Now. Why don’t I go and make us both a cup of tea? You write your letter to the Navy, telling them you’ll accept, and then we’ll know you’re all set. You don’t want to miss your place, do you? Not like that other poor soul.’

Margaret made her smile seem readier than it felt. The Glamor article had said she might never see any of them again. You had to be ready for that.

‘Tell you what, Maggie, I’ll go through your drawers upstairs. See if there’s anything I can darn for you. I know you’re not the best with a needle, and we’ll want you to look as nice as pie when you see Joe again.’

You were not to resent them, the magazine had said. You had to make sure you never blamed your husband for separating you from your family. Her aunt was now hauling the basket across the room with the same proprietorial familiarity as her mother once had.

Margaret shut her eyes and breathed deeply as Letty’s voice echoed across the laundry room: ‘I might fix up a few of your father’s shirts, while I’m at it. I couldn’t help noticing, dear, that they’re looking a bit tired, and I wouldn’t want anyone saying I don’t . . .’ She shot a sideways look at Margaret. ‘I’ll make sure everything’s shipshape here. Oh, yes. You won’t need to worry about a thing.’

Margaret didn’t want to think of them on their own. Better this way than with someone she didn’t know.

‘Maggie?’

‘Mm?’

‘Do you think . . . do you think your father will mind about it? I mean, about me?’ Letty’s face was suddenly anxious, her forty-five-year-old features as open as those of a young bride.

Afterwards, on the many nights when she thought back, Margaret wasn’t sure what had made her say it. She wasn’t a mean person. She didn’t want either Letty or her father to be lonely, after all.

‘I think he’ll be delighted,’ she said, reaching down to her little dog. ‘He’s very fond of you, Letty, as are the boys.’ She looked down and coughed, examining the splinter on her hand. ‘He’s often said he looks on you like . . . a kind of sister. Someone who can talk to him about Mum, who remembers what she was like . . . And, of course, if you’re washing their shirts for them you’ll have their undying gratitude.’ For some reason it was impossible to look up but she was aware of the acute stillness of Letty’s skirts, of her thin, strong legs, as she stood a few feet away. Her hands, habitually active, hung motionless against her apron.

‘Yes,’ Letty said at last. ‘Of course.’ There was a slight choke in her voice. ‘Well. As I said. I’ll – I’ll go and make us that tea.’

2

The two male kangaroos – both only 12 months out of the pouch – which will fly to London shortly . . . will eat 12 lb of hay en route. Qantas Empire Airways said yesterday the kangaroos would spend only 63 hours in the air.

Sydney Morning Herald , 4 July 1946

Three weeks to embarkation

Ian darling,

You’ll never guess what – I’m on! I know you won’t believe it, as I hardly can myself, but it’s true. Daddy had a word with one of his old friends at the Red Cross, who has some friends high up in the RN, and the next thing I had orders saying I’ve got a place on the next boat out, even though, strictly speaking, I should be low priority.

I had to tell the other brides back at home that I was going to Perth to see my grandmother, to prevent a riot, but now I’m here, holed up at the Wentworth Hotel in Sydney, waiting to nip on board before them.

Darling, I can’t wait to see you. I’ve missed you so terribly. Mummy says that when we’ve got our new home sorted she and Daddy will be over ASAP. They are planning to travel on the new Qantas ‘Kangaroo’ service – did you know you can get to London in only 63 hours flying on a Lancastrian? She has asked me to ask you for your mother’s address so she can send on the rest of my things once I’m in England. I’m sure they’ll be better about everything once they’ve met your parents. They seem to have visions of me ending up in some mud hut in the middle of an English field somewhere.

So, anyway, darling, here I am practising my signature, and remembering to answer to ‘Mrs’, and still getting used to the sight of a wedding band on my finger. It was so disappointing us not having a proper honeymoon, but I really don’t mind where it happens, as long as I’ll be with you. I’ll end now, as I’m spending the afternoon at the American Wives’ Club at Woolloomooloo, finding out what I’ll need for the trip. The American Wives get all sorts, unlike us poor British wives. (Isn’t it a gas, my saying that?) Mind you, if I have to listen to one more rendition of ‘When The Boy From Alabama Meets A Girl From Gundagi’ I think I shall sprout wings and fly to you myself. Take care my love, and write as soon as you have a moment.