Free Ship of Brides by Jojo Moyes Page B

all been like – like our sisters.’ He broke down and, after a brief hesitation, Sister Mackenzie bent over him, murmuring to him not to upset himself. ‘That’s what I’ll think of when I think of you, Sister. Nothing else. I just wish poor Chalkie . . .’
    Audrey placed herself swiftly between them. ‘I’m sure we’re all very grateful to Sister Mackenzie, aren’t we? And I’m sure we’d like to wish her all the best for the future.’
    A few nurses clapped politely. A couple of the men exchanged a smirk.
    ‘Thank you,’ the girl said quietly. ‘Thank you. I’m glad to have known you . . . all . . .’ She bit her lip and glanced towards the door of the tent, apparently desperate to be away.
    ‘I’ll see you out, Sister.’
    ‘You take care now, Sister Mackenzie.’
    ‘Give the boys at home our best.’
    ‘Tell my missus to warm up my side of the bed.’ This was accompanied by ribald laughter.
    Audrey, lifted briefly from her strange, low-level anxiety, observed this with satisfaction. Several weeks ago, some of the men could not have told her their wife’s name.
    The two women walked slowly towards the ship, only the sound of their starched uniforms and the soft thud of their shoes on the sand breaking the silence as the sounds of the party faded. They walked the length of the perimeter fence, past the now-deserted rows of hospital tents, the corrugated-iron staff quarters, cookhouse and latrines. They nodded at the security guard on the gate, who saluted, and then, free of the camp, they walked the length of the deserted road to the end of the peninsula, footsteps echoing on the Tarmac, to where the hospital ship sat in the glinting water, illuminated by the moon.
    They reached the checkpoint and stopped. Sister Mackenzie stared at the ship, and Audrey Marshall wondered what was going through the girl’s head, suspecting she knew the answer. ‘Not long to Sydney, is it?’ she said, when the silence became awkward.
    ‘No. Not long at all.’
    There were too many inappropriate questions, too many trite answers. Audrey fought the urge to place an arm round the girl, wishing she could better express some of what she felt. ‘You’re doing the right thing, Frances,’ she said, eventually. ‘I’d do the same if I were you.’
    The girl looked at her, back straight, eyes level. She had always been guarded, Audrey thought, but in the past weeks her expression had closed over as completely as if it had been cast in marble. ‘Don’t pay any attention to the others,’ she said suddenly. ‘They’re probably just jealous.’
    They both knew that wasn’t it.
    ‘Fresh start, eh?’ she said, holding out her hand.
    ‘Fresh start.’ Sister Mackenzie shook it firmly. Her hand was cool, despite the heat. Her expression was unreadable. ‘Thank you.’
    ‘You take care now.’ Audrey was not a woman given to sentiment or high emotion. As the girl turned towards the ship, she nodded, brushing off her slacks and went back towards the camp.

PART TWO

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    Sydney’s most stirring show last week was the departure for England of HMS Victorious with 700 Australian wives of British servicemen aboard. Hours before the ship sailed the road outside the wharf was dense with relatives and friends . . . Mostly the brides were amazingly young.’
    The Bulletin , 10 July 1946
    Embarkation
     
    Afterwards, she realised she wasn’t sure what she had expected; perhaps some orderly queue of women, suitcases in hand, making their way past the captain. With a shake of his hand and some discreet, perhaps tearful goodbyes, they would walk up the gangplank on to their big white ship. She would wave until her family were out of sight, call a few last-minute instructions about the feeding of the mare, the whereabouts of Mum’s good boots for Letty, then finally her love and goodbyes, her voice echoing across the harbour as the ship slowly pulled out to sea. She would be brave, keep her eyes trained on what she