‘Oh, I am.’
‘I’ve got to go, sweetheart, give the next fellow a turn. But you take care now.’
‘You too.’ Margaret moved in to the microphone, as if she could somehow get closer to him.
‘I’ll see you in Plymouth. Not long now.’
Margaret’s voice broke. ‘Not long at all,’ she said. ‘’Bye, Joe.’
As she turned from the microphone, she sagged and Frances stepped forward to hold her, alarmed by the tears coursing down Margaret’s cheeks. It had been a pretty mean exchange, she thought. She should have been allowed a few more minutes at least and perhaps some privacy, so that she could say what she felt. There was so much Margaret had needed to say to Joe, Frances thought, about freedom, being a wife, motherhood.
But when Frances looked at her now, Margaret’s smile was bright enough to illuminate the darkness. ‘Oh, Frances, that was wonderful,’ she whispered.
Frances heard the raw love in Margaret’s voice, the evidence of so much gained from so little. And she held her friend for a minute, her mind both blank and racing, as Margaret tried in whispers to revisit what they had said to each other, exclaiming that her mind had gone blank – that in hearing his voice, she had had no idea what to say. ‘But it doesn’t matter, does it? Oh, Frances, I hope you get the chance to talk to your man soon. I can’t tell you how much better I feel. Did you hear Joe? Isn’t he the best?’
All eyes were on the dark girl in the blue dress who had burst into noisy tears at the sound of her husband’s voice and was being comforted by the Red Cross officer. So it was only the captain who caught the expression of the tall girl in the corner, who had been jokingly introduced to him as ‘unofficial midwife’. He didn’t like to look too hard at any of the women, didn’t want things to be misconstrued. But there was something compelling about her erect stance. And in her eyes, which reflected shock, as if she had discovered some great loss. He felt, unaccountably, as if they mirrored his own.
Nicol walked along the lower gallery, past the ordnance spares and gun room, past the hangar where normally one might find several aircraft and attendant trunks of spare parts, instead of rows of doors. Most were propped open in the vain hope of attracting a stray breeze, and from behind them emanated the sounds of murmuring women, cards flipping on to makeshift tables or magazine pages turning. Careful to keep his gaze straight ahead, he moved along them and ran silently up the stairs, conscious that tonight even that small exertion caused his skin to stick to his shorts. Nodding at the chaplain, he moved along the half-lit gangway towards the lobby, trying to make himself inconspicuous as he passed the captain’s rooms. Finally, with a quick glance to left and right, he opened the hatch door beside the lieutenant commander’s office and emerged on to the unlit deck.
He had been told where to find her. He had knocked on the door rather awkwardly (it felt like an intrusion, even speaking into this feminine lair) to tell them what had been decided. To get them, like the others, to prepare. Perhaps he had told them early because he wanted them to have the best spot. They had laughed, incredulous. Made him say it twice before they would believe it. Then, with Avice and Jean galvanised into action, Margaret, still glowing from her radio contact, had whispered confirmation to him of what he already suspected.
The sky was mostly covered with cloud, revealing only a handful of stars, so it was several minutes before he saw her. At first he had thought it a wasted journey, had prepared to turn and leave. Strictly speaking, he should not have been away from his post. But then a shadow shifted, and as a cloud slid back to bathe the deck in moonlight, he found he could just make out her angular shape under the furthest Corsair, her arms wrapped round her knees.
He stood still for a moment, wondering if she had seen him and whether the mere act of him having located her would make her uncomfortable. Then, as he drew closer and she turned to him, he felt a rush of relief. As if her presence there could reassure him of something. Constancy, he supposed. Perhaps even some strange sense of goodness. He thought suddenly of Thompson, of his bloodied face when he was stretchered back on board several days previously. He must have got into a brawl during his shore leave, his mess man said. Stupid boy, ending up on his own. They had drummed it into them from their earliest days that in new territory they should stick together.
Nicol saw that she had been crying. He watched her draw her hand across her eyes, her shoulders straighten, and his pleasure in seeing her was clouded by awkwardness. ‘I’m sorry if I disturbed you. Your friend told me I might find you here.’
She made as if to stand, but he gestured that she should stay where she was.
‘Is everything all right?’
She looked so alarmed that he realised his sudden unannounced presence might have suggested a feared telegram and cursed himself for his insensitivity. ‘Nothing wrong. Please.’ He motioned again for her to remain seated. ‘I just wanted to tell you . . . to warn you . . . that you won’t be alone for long.’
Something even more strange happened then. She looked almost appalled. ‘What?’ she said. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Captain’s orders. It’s too hot in the liftwells – your cabins, I mean. He’s ordered that everyone should sleep out here tonight. Well, you brides, anyway.’
Her shoulders relaxed a little. ‘Sleep out here? On deck? Are you sure?’
He found himself smiling. It sounded pretty daft even to him. When the OX had told him he had made it clear from his careful use of words that he thought the captain had finally gone mad. ‘We can’t have you all boiling down there. It’s about as hot as it gets. We’ve had one of our engineers pass out in the starboard engine room this evening, so Captain Highfield has decided all brides are to bring their bedrolls up here. You can sleep in your swimwear. You’ll be a lot more comfortable.’
She looked away from him then, out at the dark ocean. ‘I suppose this means I’ll have to stay away from here now,’ she said wistfully.
He could not take his eyes off her profile. Her skin, in the milky blue moonlight, was opalescent. When he spoke, his voice cracked and he coughed to disguise it, to pull himself together. ‘Not on my account,’ he said. ‘You wouldn’t be the first to need a few minutes alone with the sea.’
Alone with the sea? Where had that come from? He didn’t talk like that. She probably thought him a fanciful fool. There was something about her self-containment that had made him stumble like that, like an idiot.
But she didn’t seem to have noticed. When she turned to him, he saw that her eyes glistened with tears. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said dully. ‘It wasn’t working tonight anyway.’
What wasn’t? he wanted to ask. But instead, he said quietly, ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said. And as she stood abruptly, brushing her skirt for non-existent dust, the clouds drew back across the moon and her expression was once more hidden from his gaze.
Highfield couldn’t help but laugh privately at Dobson’s face when the first girl emerged on to the deck, her bedroll under her arm, dressed in a frilled bright pink two-piece swimsuit, the kind of thing that would previously have had him spluttering into his collar. She stopped at the main hatch, glanced warily at the captain, then as he nodded, stepped out and motioned behind her to her friends. She tiptoed across the deck to where a marine was pointing.
She was followed quickly by two more, giggling and bumping into each other under the spotlights, steered into designated spaces, as the aircraft had been on previous voyages. Soon they were pouring out of the open hatches, the larger ones modest in oversized cotton shirts, some a little embarrassed to be seen so publicly in such intimate apparel. He had said that those who felt uncomfortable were welcome to sleep in their dormitories, but he was certain that, the heat being as oppressive as it was, most would prefer the sweet breezes of a deck moving through air to the stuffiness below. And so it proved: they kept on coming, some chattering, some exclaiming as they tried to pitch their bedroll and found there was already not enough room, in their shapes and sizes and hairstyles and manner an endless example of the infinite variety of womanhood.
The marines would watch over them. Oddly enough, it had been one of the few occasions on which the men had not groaned at news of an unexpected night watch. Highfield looked at the marines’ faces as they moved around the flight deck; even they, normally poker-faced, could not help laughing and joking with the women at this improbable turn of events. ‘What the hell?’ Highfield muttered to himself periodically, the rare expression making his own mouth turn up at the corners. What the hell?
One of the WSOs appeared at his shoulder, accompanied by Dobson. ‘Nearly all up, are they?’ Highfield asked.
‘I think so, Captain. But we were wondering if we could place a few closer to the aircraft. There’s not much space for so many. If the men are meant to have room to move round the edges, and if they all want room to stretch out—’
‘No,’ said Highfield, abruptly. ‘I want them well apart.’
Dobson waited several seconds, as if for an explanation. When none was forthcoming, he bad-temperedly sent off the women’s officer to sort out two girls who were arguing over ownership of a sheet. He would tell his colleagues that it was probably something to do with Hart, Highfield knew, that the Indomitable business had left the captain peculiar about risk. Let him think what he wants, Highfield thought dismissively.
It was nearly ten o’clock when the last bride had trickled out, and the cabins had been checked to ensure there would be no more arrivals. Highfield stood before the women and motioned for silence. Gradually the chatter of the dimly lit crowd faded until only the distant rumble of the engines and the low hiss of the waves could be heard below.
‘I was going to outline a couple of rules,’ he said, shifting on his leg. He faced the marines, in a neat, silent row to his left. ‘To make a few things clear about this evening. But I’ve decided it’s too hot. And if you don’t have enough common sense not to fall off the side there’s not a lot of hope for you, whatever I say. So I’ll ask you, as ever, not to distract the men from their work. And I hope this helps you get a better night’s sleep.’
His words were met with a cheerful swell of chatter from the women and a round of applause. He could see the gratitude on some faces, and felt an unfamiliar swelling of something in him. His mouth twitched into a smile.
‘Just make sure it’s only marines who are allowed up here,’ he said to Dobson. And then, while his good mood stalled the pain in his leg, he made his way stiffly towards his rooms.
That night, Frances thought afterwards, had been the high point of the voyage. Not just for her but for most of them. Perhaps it was something about them all being together, about the freedom and sweet release of the open sea and the sky after the days of encroaching heat and deepening ill-temper, that lifted their spirits. The openness of the deck made them all, briefly, equal, prevented the cliques that made being among large numbers of women such a trial.
Avice, who for the last week had ignored her, had spent several hours making friends with the girls around them, capitalising on her new status as pregnant wife. Margaret, after fretting a little while about Maude Gonne and being reassured by Frances, who had sneaked down on a pretext and found her sleeping comfortably, had flaked out not twenty minutes after they settled and was now snoring to her left, her belly, under a paper-thin man’s shirt, propped on Frances’s pillow.
Frances was pleased to see it: she had felt pangs of sympathy for Margaret, swollen and uncomfortable in the heat, twisting and turning on her bunk in a vain attempt to get comfortable.
Initially Frances had felt a little self-conscious in her bathing suit, but confronted with the exposed limbs and midriffs of several hundred women of all shapes and sizes (some in the minuscule new bikinis), she soon realised that such self-absorption was ridiculous. Once the marines had got over the shock of what they were guarding they had lost interest too; several were now playing cards on crates by the bridge, while others chatted among themselves, apparently oblivious to the near-naked sleeping bodies behind them.