Ship of Brides Read online

  ‘That’s the saddest story I’ve ever heard.’

  The old woman shook her head. ‘Not that sad, darling. Not compared to some.’

  ‘I guess it explains why you had such a reaction to that ship. My God, what are the chances of that happening, after all those years?’

  She shrugged, a delicate gesture. ‘Pretty small, I suppose. Although perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised. Lots of ships that leave the Navy are recycled, as it were.’

  She had recovered her old composure. Jennifer had watched it ease back over her, a clear shell, hardening with every mile that stretched between themselves and India. She had even managed to scold Jennifer several times, for mislaying her passport, for drinking beer before lunchtime. Jennifer had been amused and reassured. Because by the time they had got on to the flight she had said almost nothing in sixteen hours. She had been reduced somehow, more frail, despite the restorative comforts of the luxurious hotel and the first-class lounge in which the airline staff had allowed them to wait. Jennifer, holding her hand, touching the papery skin, had felt the guilt bear down on her with even more determination. You shouldn’t have brought her, it said. She’s too old. You dragged her across continents and kept her waiting in a hot car, like a dog.

  Sanjay had whispered that they should call a doctor. Her grandmother had barked at him as if he had suggested something indecent.

  And then, shortly after take-off, she had begun to talk.

  Jennifer had ignored the stewardess offering drinks and peanuts. The old lady pushed herself a little upright and spoke as if they had spent the last hours not in terrible silence but deep in conversation.

  ‘I hadn’t thought of it as anything but a travel arrangement, you see?’ she said suddenly. ‘A means of getting from A to B, a hop across the seas.’

  Jennifer had shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to respond. Or whether a response was even required. She let her thoughts drift briefly, wondered if she should have rung her parents. They would blame her, of course. They hadn’t wanted Gran to go. It was she who insisted that they go together. She had wanted to show her, she supposed. Widen her horizons. Show her how things had changed.

  Her grandmother’s voice had dropped. She had turned to the window, as if she were speaking to the skies. ‘And there I was, feeling things I never expected to feel. And so exposed to all those people, knowing it was only a matter of time . . .’ She gazed out of the window, at the heavenly landscape, the rippled carpet of white clouds sitting serenely in space.

  ‘A matter of time . . . ?’

  ‘Till they found out.’

  ‘About what?’

  There was an abrupt silence.

  ‘About what, Gran?’

  Her grandmother’s eyes landed on Jennifer and widened, as if she was surprised to find her there. She frowned a little. Lifted her hands an inch or two from the armrests, as if reassuring herself that she could.

  Her voice, when it came, was polite, unemotional. A coffee-morning voice. ‘Would you be kind enough to get me a drink of water, Jennifer dear? I’m rather thirsty.’

  The girl waited a moment, then got up, found an obliging stewardess from whom she took a bottle of mineral water. She poured it into a glass, and her grandmother drank it in efficient gulps. Her hair had matted during the journey, and stood upright round her head like a dandelion halo. Its fragility made Jennifer want to weep.

  ‘What did they find out?’

  Nothing.

  ‘You can tell me, Gran,’ she whispered, leaning forward. ‘What it was that upset you back there? Let it out. There’s nothing you could say that would shock me.’

  The old woman smiled. Then she stared at her granddaughter with an intensity the young woman found almost unnerving. ‘You with your modern attitudes, Jenny. Your little arrangement with Sanjay and your therapeutic phrases and your “letting it all out” . . . I wonder just how modern your views really are.’

  She didn’t know what to say to that. There was something almost aggressive in her grandmother’s tone. They had sat, watched the in-flight film and slept.

  And then finally as she woke, her grandmother had told her the story of the marine.

  He was waiting, as they had known he would be, by the arrivals barrier. Even in that crowd of people they would have recognised him anywhere: the erect bearing, the immaculately pressed suit. Despite his age, and failing eyesight, he saw them before they saw him and his hand was already signalling to them.

  Jennifer stood back as her grandmother picked up speed, and then, dropping her cases on the floor, embraced him. They held on to each other for some time, her grandfather’s arms wrapped tightly round his wife, as if fearful that she would absent herself again.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ he murmured into her grey hair. ‘Oh, my darling, I’ve missed you,’ so that Jennifer, kicking at the toes of her shoes, looked around at the other families, wondering if anyone had noticed. She felt somehow as if she was intruding. There was something pretty unsettling about passion in a pair of eighty-year-olds.

  ‘Next time, you come with me,’ her grandmother said.

  ‘You know I don’t like to go far,’ he said. ‘I’m quite happy at home.’

  ‘Then I’ll stay with you,’ she said.

  In the car, their bags stowed behind them, her grandmother somehow rejuvenated, Jennifer had begun to tell her grandfather the story of the ship. She had just got to the part where they had discovered the broken vessel’s name when he turned off the ignition. As she tried to express her grandmother’s shock – in a way that did not reflect too badly on herself – she saw that he was staring at her with unexpected intensity. She broke off and he turned to his wife.

  ‘The same ship?’ he said. ‘It was really Victoria?’

  The old lady nodded.

  ‘I thought I’d never see her again,’ she said. ‘It was . . . It gave me quite a turn, I can tell you.’

  Her grandfather’s eyes didn’t leave his wife’s face. ‘Oh, Frances,’ he said. ‘When I think of how close we came . . .’

  ‘Hang on,’ Jennifer said. ‘Are you saying you were the marine?’

  The two old people exchanged a glance.

  ‘You?’ She turned to her grandmother. ‘Grandpa? You never said! You never said Grandpa was the marine.’

  Frances Nicol smiled. ‘You never asked.’

  He had run, he told Jennifer, as they drove out of the sprawling mass of Heathrow, the equivalent of a mile and a half by the time he had searched the ship and worked out she had already gone. All the time he had been shouting her name. Frances! Frances! Frances! And then he had done the same on land, pushing his way through the throng of people on the dockside, running in circles, physically pushing people out of the way, his uniform crumpled and dirty, the sweat beading on his skin. The pitch of emotion around him was such that nobody paid him the slightest heed.

  He had shouted until he was hoarse. Until his chest hurt from running. Then, as he despaired, chest heaving, hands thrust on to his knees, the crowds at the jetty had thinned, and by chance he had seen her. A tall, thin figure, standing with her package and suitcase, her back to the sea, staring at her adopted homeland.

  ‘What happened to the others?’

  Frances smoothed her skirt. ‘Margaret and Joe went back to Australia after his mother died. They had four children. She still writes to me at Christmas.’

  ‘So no regrets?’

  Frances shook her head. ‘I think they were very happy. Oh, don’t get me wrong, Jenny dear, no marriage is without its hiccups. But I always had the impression that in Joe Margaret had found a good man.’

  ‘What about Avice?’ She laid a heavy emphasis on the A, as if still amused by the anachronistic nature of her name.

  ‘I don’t really know.’ It had begun to rain, and Frances was watching the drops streaming diagonally across the glass. ‘She wrote once to say she’d gone back to Australia and to thank me for everything I’d done. Rather a formal letter, but I su
ppose that wasn’t a surprise.’

  ‘I wonder what happened to him,’ said Jennifer. ‘I bet he divorced that woman in the end.’

  ‘Do you know? He didn’t. We met him once, didn’t we?’ Her grandmother nudged her grandfather. ‘At a drinks do about twenty years ago. We were introduced to them and I remembered where I’d heard the name before.’

  Jennifer leaned forward, interested. ‘Did you say anything?’

  ‘No. Well, not exactly. But in conversation I made sure I told him what ship I’d come over on, and gave him a bit of a look. Just so he knew. He went quite pale.’

  ‘Went home pretty early, if I remember,’ said her grandfather.

  ‘That’s right, he did.’ They beamed in joint satisfaction.

  Jennifer sat back in the upholstered seat, wishing she could light a cigarette. She pulled her phone from her back pocket to see if Jay had texted her again, but her inbox was empty. She would text him when she got home. He would be back in two weeks and she wanted to see him again, but she didn’t want him getting any ideas. He had the potential, she thought, to get clingy. ‘You know, I don’t understand why you two didn’t just get it together on the ship, if you liked each other so much,’ she said, putting her phone away. She was vaguely irritated by the way they looked at each other then, as if what they had shared had been something she could not possibly understand.

  Her voice became more assertive. ‘It just strikes me that people of your generation often made things far more difficult for yourselves than they needed to be.’

  They said nothing. Then, from the back seat, she watched her grandfather’s hand slide over to take her grandmother’s and give it a squeeze. ‘I suppose that’s possible,’ he said.

  When he had told her the truth about his marriage, about what it meant for the two of them, she had been silent. She had sat down on the grass, her expression stilled, as if she were only just able to absorb what he was telling her.

  ‘Frances?’ He seated himself beside her on the grass. ‘Remember what you said to me, the night the planes went over the side? It’s over, Frances. It’s time to move on.’

  She had turned to him slowly, her expression almost fearful, as if she could not trust herself to believe what he was saying.

  ‘This is the beauty in it, Frances. We’re allowed this. No, we’re entitled to it.’

  Underlying the determination, there was a faint note of panic in his voice, as if she might somehow disallow herself the chance to be happy, as if he, too, might be one of the things for which she felt the need to atone.

  ‘We’re entitled, you hear me? Both of us.’

  She had stared fiercely at her feet, and he had thought briefly that she was still closed to him. Unreachable. And then he had seen that she was hiccuping, as if her chest struggled to contain some huge, unbalancing emotion.

  A faint sound escaped her, and he saw she was smiling and crying at the same time, her hand reaching clumsily across the ground for his.

  They had stayed there for some unknown period of time, their hands entwined, pressed into the rough grass. Chattering families passed them on their way home, occasionally eyeing them knowingly but without curiosity, a marine and his sweetheart, reunited after a lifetime spent apart.

  ‘You are Nicol,’ she had told him, as she traced the still bruised lines of his face with her fingers. ‘The captain told me. Nicol. Your name is Nicol.’ The way she said it was joyful. It made it sound like treasure.

  ‘No,’ he said, with certainty, and as he spoke his voice sounded strange, unfamiliar even to himself, for it had been years since anyone had said this word. ‘I am Henry.’

  About the Author

  Jojo Moyes was born in 1969 and was brought up in London. A journalist and writer, she worked for the Independent newspaper until 2001. She lives in East Anglia with her husband and three children.

  She is the author of Sheltering Rain, Foreign Fruit, which won the RNA Novel of the Year award for 2003, The Peacock Emporium and The Ship of Brides, shortlisted for the 2005 RNA award.

  Table of Contents

  The Ship of Brides

  Also by Jojo Moyes

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Part One

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Part Two

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Part Three

  Chapter 27

  About the Author