The Ship of Brides(25)
Author: Jojo Moyes

Pain shot through the top of her head, making her stumble. She pulled her skirt tight round her legs, twisting round in an effort to see behind her. ‘Who did that? Was it someone’s idea of a joke?’

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Jean, wide-eyed.

‘Someone goosed me. Someone stuck their cold wet . . .’ Here, words failed Avice, and she gazed round suspiciously, as if perhaps some madman had stowed away when no one was looking. ‘Someone goosed me,’ she repeated.

No one spoke.

Frances was watching her silently, her face impassive.

‘I’m not imagining it,’ Avice told her crossly.

It was then that all eyes fell on Margaret, who was leaning over the edge of her bunk, muttering to herself. Avice, cheeks flushed, heart racing, legs crossed defensively, stared at her.

Margaret looked up at her with a guilty expression. She stood up, went to the door, closed it and sighed. ‘Oh, hell. I need to tell you all something. I’d thought I’d get a cabin to myself because of being . . . like this.’

Avice took a step backwards – which was a difficult manoeuvre in so little space. ‘Like what? Oh, Lord! You’re not one of those . . . deviant types? Oh, my goodness.’

‘Deviant?’ said Margaret.

‘I knew I shouldn’t have come.’

‘Pregnant, you eejit! I thought I’d get a cabin to myself because I’m pregnant.’

‘Are you making a nest under your bunk?’ said Jean. ‘My cat did that when she had kittens. Made a terrible mess.’

‘No,’ said Margaret. ‘I was not making a ruddy nest. Look, I’m trying to tell you all something.’ Her cheeks were flushed.

Avice crossed her hands protectively over her chest. ‘Is this your way of apologising?’

Margaret shook her head. ‘It’s not what you think.’ She lowered herself on to her hands and knees and uttered a soft crooning sound. Seconds later, her broad hand emerged from under her bunk. In it she held a small dog. ‘Girls,’ she said, ‘meet Maude Gonne.’

Four sets of eyes stared at the dog, who stared back with rheumy disinterest.

‘I knew it! I knew you were up to something!’ crowed Jean, triumphantly. ‘I said to myself, when we were on the flight deck, “That Margaret, she’s as furtive as a fox in long grass eating guts.”’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake.’ Avice grimaced. ‘You mean that was what . . . ?’

‘Those cami-knickers really do the job, eh, Avice?’ scoffed Jean.

Frances studied the dog. ‘But you’re not allowed pets on board,’ she said.

‘I know that.’

‘I’m sorry, but you can’t hope to keep it quiet,’ Avice said. ‘And it’ll make the dorm smell.’

There was a lengthy silence as unspoken thoughts hung in the air.

In the end, anxiety overrode Avice’s natural delicacy. ‘We’re on this thing for almost six weeks. Where’s it going to do its business?’

Margaret sat down, ducking to avoid banging her head on the top bunk. The dog settled on her lap. ‘She’s very clean – and I’ve worked it all out. You didn’t notice anything last night, did you? I ran her up and down the end gangway after you’d gone to sleep.’

‘Ran her up and down the gangway?’

‘And cleaned up afterwards. Look, she doesn’t bark. She doesn’t smell. I’ll make sure I keep her “business” well out of your way. But please, please, don’t dob me in. She’s . . . old . . . My mum gave her to me. And . . .’ she blinked furiously ‘. . . look, she’s all I’ve got left of my mum. I couldn’t leave her, okay?’

There was silence as the women exchanged looks. Margaret stared at the floor, flushed with emotion. It was too soon for this level of confidence, she knew it, and so did they. ‘It’s just for a few weeks, and it’s real important to me.’

There was another lengthy silence. The nurse looked at her shoes. ‘If you want to try to keep her in here, I don’t mind.’

‘Nor me,’ said Jean. ‘Long as she doesn’t chew up my shoes. She’s quite sweet. For a rat.’

Avice knew she couldn’t be the only one to complain: it would make her seem heartless. ‘What about the Royal Marines?’ she asked.

‘What?’

‘The ones they’re posting outside our doors from tomorrow night. Didn’t you hear that WSO? You won’t be able to get her out.’

‘A marine? For what?’

‘He’s coming at nine thirty. I suppose it’s to stop the men below coming up and ravishing us,’ said Jean. ‘Think about it – a thousand desperate men lying just a few feet below us. They could storm the doors if they wanted to and—’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ Avice’s hand flew to her throat.

‘Then again,’ said Jean, grinning lasciviously, ‘it might be to keep us lot in.’

‘Well, I’ll have to get her out before the marine comes.’

‘Gangway’s too busy,’ said Jean.

‘Perhaps we should just tell someone,’ said Avice. ‘I’m sure they’d understand. And perhaps they’ll have . . . facilities for this kind of thing. A room they can put her in. She’d probably be much happier with a bit of space to run around, wouldn’t she?’ It wasn’t just the dogginess that bothered her, she realised, it was the sense that someone was getting away with something. They had all had their luggage weighed to the last ounce, their food parcels restricted, and had been made to leave behind their favourite belongings. And this girl had had the gall to bypass it all.

‘No,’ said Margaret, her face darkening. ‘You heard the captain this morning. We’re still way too close to home. They’d put her off in a boat and send her back to Sydney and that would be the last I ever saw of her. I can’t take the risk. Not yet, anyway.’

‘We’ll keep it quiet,’ said Jean, stroking the little dog’s head. Avice thought that Jean would have been up for anything that smacked of subverting authority. ‘Won’t we, girls? It’ll be a gas. I’m going to sneak her a bit of dinner later.’

‘Avice?’ said Margaret. It was as if, Avice thought afterwards, she had already been earmarked as a killjoy.

‘I won’t say a word,’ she said, her voice strained. ‘Just keep her well away from me. And if you do get discovered, make sure you tell them it was nothing to do with us.’