The Ship of Brides(31)
Author: Jojo Moyes

‘So, what next when you get back, Highfield?’

Highfield hesitated. ‘Well, I’ll be retired, sir.’

‘I know that, man. I meant what are you going to do with yourself? Got any hobbies? No Mrs Highfield that you’ve been hiding all these years?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Oh.’

Highfield thought he detected pity in the word. He wanted to say he had never felt the lack of a female presence in his life. Get too close to a woman, and you were never happy anywhere. He’d seen men hankering for their wives while they were afloat, then irritated by the confines of femininity and domesticity when they were on land. He didn’t bother saying this any more: on the occasions when he had, the men had looked at him rather curiously.

The admiral turned back towards Victoria. ‘Well, there’s nothing like a “lifer”, is there? I suppose we wouldn’t have had the best of you if you’d always had your mind on some woman somewhere.’

‘Indeed, sir.’

‘Golf’s my thing. I plan to be on the links morning till evening. Think my wife’ll like it that way too.’ He laughed. ‘She’s got used to doing her own thing, over the years, you know.’

‘Yes,’ said Captain Highfield, although he didn’t.

‘Doesn’t relish the prospect of me under her feet all the time.’

‘Still.’

‘Not something you’ll have to worry about, eh? You can play all the golf you like.’

‘I’m not really a golfing man, sir.’

‘What?’

‘Think I’m happier on the water.’ He nearly said what he thought: that he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. And that he felt discomfited at not knowing. He had spent the last four decades with his life planned out in minutes, knowing days, weeks ahead what he would be doing, even where, according to his typewritten short or long cast, in what part of the world he would be.

Some thought him lucky to be finishing his career as the war ended: a blaze of glory, they joked, then realised what they’d said. I’ll bring my men home, he said. It’ll be a good way to end. He could sound very convincing. Several times he had fought the urge to beg the admiral to let him stay on.

‘Going up then?’

‘Thought I might inspect the work. Sounds like they’ve been busy.’ Now that he was on board again, Highfield felt a little of his authority return, the sense of surety and order that had ebbed away from him during his time in hospital. The admiral said nothing, but went briskly up the gangplank, his hands linked behind his back.

The pegging-in board had been turned towards the wall. The captain paused at the doorway, turned it round and slid his name tag across to confirm his presence aboard; a reassuring gesture. Then they stepped over the sill of the doorway, ducking simultaneously as they entered the cavernous hangar.

Not all of the lights were illuminated, and it took Highfield a couple of minutes to adjust to the gloom. Around him, ratings were strapping huge boxes of equipment to narrow shelves, raising and lowering black buckets of tools for those working above them. At one end, three young dabbers were repainting the pipework. They glanced behind them, apparently unsure whether they should salute. He recognised one, a young lad who had nearly lost a finger a few weeks previously when it got caught in the lashings. The boy saluted, revealing a leather pocket strapped to his hand. Highfield nodded in acknowledgement, pleased that he was already back to work. Then he looked in front of him at the huge liftwell that transported the planes to the deck. Several men were at work, one on a scaffold platform, apparently securing metal struts at regular intervals all the way up to the flight deck. He stared at the scene, trying to work out a possible explanation. He failed.

‘Hey! You!’ The young welder on the platform lifted his safety helmet. The captain moved to the edge of the liftwell. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’

The man didn’t answer, his expression uncertain.

‘What are you doing to the liftwells? Have you gone mad? Do you know what liftwells do? They allow the bloody planes to go up and down. Who on earth told you to do—’

The admiral placed his hand on Highfield’s arm. It was several seconds before the captain, all his senses still trained on the improbable sight before him, registered the gesture. ‘This is what I came to talk to you about.’

‘The damn fool’s putting metal supports in the liftwells. Bunk supports, for goodness’ sake. Don’t you know what you’re doing, man?’

‘He’s doing it under my orders, Highfield.’

‘I’m sorry, sir?’

‘The Victoria. There have been a few developments while you were in the sick bay. New orders from London. This trip isn’t going to be quite as straightforward as you thought.’

Highfield’s face fell. ‘More POWs?’

‘No.’

‘Not enemy POWs? You remember the trouble we had on—’

‘Worse, I’m afraid, Highfield.’ He let out a long breath, his eyes steady on the captain’s face. ‘They’re for women.’

There was a long silence.

‘You’ll still be taking your men home. But you’ve got extra cargo. Six hundred-odd Australian war brides bound for their men in Blighty. The liftwells will be used for the extra berths.’

The welder resumed his work, his torch sending sparks skittering off the metal frame.

Captain Highfield turned to the admiral. ‘But they can’t go on my ship.’

‘It’s the war, Highfield. People are having to make do.’

‘But they travel on troop ships, sir. Liners, where they can cater for them. You can’t have girls and babies and suchlike on an aircraft-carrier. It’s madness. You must tell them.’

‘I can’t say I was entirely happy about it either. But needs must, old chap. All the liners have already been commandeered.’ He patted Highfield’s shoulder. ‘It’s only six weeks. Be gone before you know it. And after all that business with Hart and the mine, it might perk the men up. Take their minds off things.’

But it’s my last voyage. My last time with my men. With my own ship. Highfield felt a great wail build inside him, a fury at the humiliation of it. ‘Sir—’

‘Look, George, the telephone lines to London have been burning up on this one. There’s a bit of a political row brewing up over these wives. The British girls are holding demonstrations outside Parliament because they feel they’ve been forgotten about. Both the top brass and the Australian government are keen not to have that kind of thing repeated over here. It’s caused a lot of bad feeling with the Aussie men, having so many of their women marry out. I think all sides feel the best thing is to get the women away as soon as possible and let the whole thing settle down.’