Page 84 of The Ship of Brides
‘What?’ Margaret shifted on her bunk.
‘We’ll pop her in your basket and put a scarf over the top. There’s a gun turret a bit further on from the bathroom where no one ever goes. Why don’t we sit out there for a bit and Maudie can enjoy some proper daytime fresh air?’
She could tell that Margaret was nervous about the idea, but she had few other options.
‘Look, do you want me to take her?’ Frances said, seeing how exhausted Margaret was. Discomfort meant she hadn’t slept properly for days.
‘Would you? I could do with a nap.’
‘I’ll keep her out as long as I can.’
She walked swiftly down to C Deck, conscious that if she looked confident in what she was doing no one was likely to stop her. Several brides were now undertaking duties on the ship, clerical work, and cooking. Some had even joined the recently formed Brides’ Painting Party, and the sight of a woman on a deck previously considered the domain of service personnel was not as irregular as it might have been two weeks previously.
She opened the little hatch, then ducked, stepped out and propped it open behind her. The day was bright, the heat balmy but not oppressive. A gentle breeze lifted the silk scarf on Frances’s basket and swiftly a small black nose poked out, twitching.
‘There you go, old girl,’ Frances murmured. ‘See if that helps.’
Several minutes later, Maude Gonne had eaten a biscuit and a scrap of bacon, the first morsels in which she had shown interest for two days.
She sat there with the dog on her lap for almost an hour, watching the waves rush by beneath her, listening to snatches of conversation and occasional laughter from the flight deck above, punctuated by the odd summons from the Tannoy. Although her clothes, unwashed for several days, felt stale and, occasionally, the movement of her body sent up scents that made her long for a bath, she knew she would miss this ship. Its noises had become familiar enough to be comforting. She wasn’t even sure whether, like everyone else, she wanted to disembark at Aden.
She had not seen the marine in two days.
Another marine had been on duty the previous evenings, and even though she had spent an unusual amount of time wandering the length of the ship, he had failed to materialise. She wondered, briefly, if he was ill and felt anxious about the prospect of him being treated by Dr Duxbury. Then she told herself to stop being ridiculous: it was probably for the best that she hadn’t seen him. She had felt disturbed enough by Jean’s removal without an impossible schoolgirl crush.
But almost an hour later, as she prepared to step inside, she found herself leaping back. His face was pale where many of his colleagues now sported Pacific tans, his eyes still shadowed, betraying sleepless nights, but it was him. The easy movement of his shoulders, square in his khaki uniform, suggested a strength she had not seen when he was immobile outside the door. He was holding a kitbag on his shoulder and she was paralysed by the thought that he might be preparing to disembark.
Not sure what she was doing, Frances slid back against the wall, her hand to her chest, listening for his steps as he moved past her down the gangway. He was several paces beyond her when they slowed. Frances, inexplicably holding her breath, realised that he was going to stop. The door opened a little, his head came round, a couple of feet from hers, and he smiled. It was a genuine smile, one which seemed to rub the angles from his face. ‘You all right?’ he said.
She had no words to explain her hiding-place. She was aware that she had blushed and made as if to say something, then nodded.
He gave her a searching look, then glanced down at the basket. ‘That who I think it is?’ he murmured. The sound of his voice made her skin prickle.
‘She’s not too well,’ she replied. ‘I thought she needed fresh air.’
‘Make sure you stay well away from D Deck. There’s inspections going on and all sorts.’ He glanced behind him, as if to make sure no one else was around. ‘I’m sorry about your friend,’ he said. ‘It didn’t seem right.’
‘It wasn’t,’ she said. ‘None of it was her fault. She’s only a child.’
‘Well, the Navy can be an unforgiving host.’ He reached out and touched her arm lightly. ‘You okay, though?’ She blushed again, and he tried to correct himself. ‘I mean the rest of you? You’re all right?’
‘Oh, we’re fine,’ she said.
‘You don’t need anything? Extra drinking water? More crackers?’
There were three lines at the corners of his eyes. When he spoke, they deepened, testament to years of salt air, perhaps, or of squinting at the sky.
‘Are you going somewhere?’ she asked, pointing to his bag. Anything to stop herself staring at him.
‘Me? No... It’s just my good uniform.’
‘Oh.’
‘I’m off again tonight,’ he said. He smiled at her, as if this were something good. ‘For the dance?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You haven’t heard? There’s a dance on the flight deck tonight. Captain’s orders.’
