The Ship of Brides(66)
Author: Jojo Moyes

. . . 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.’