There was no time like the present to explore, so the boys poked their heads out the cabin doorway. With no sign of either of the chaperones, Harry and Davey slunk along the middle deck past the cabins and suites. There were plenty of other children, as well as lots of empty rooms. The sea air was chill and brisk against his face, and Harry found himself smiling as he jogged after Davey.

  They were out of sight of land, although Harry knew it wasn’t far. The crew member had described how they’d sail across the North Sea to Cuxhaven in northern Germany first. There were six hundred passengers to take aboard, also headed to Australia. Then the Strathaird would steer back through the English Channel and south to the Bay of Biscay. Finally, it would leave England behind on its way to Gibraltar and the Mediterranean. Nerves wrestled with anticipation in Harry’s stomach and made his head feel light.

  The German passengers came aboard, but stayed in the downstairs cabins. Harry heard two Englishmen muttering something about how that would show them who won the war. But he couldn’t hear any more of the conversation even though his ears strained through the doorway from the promenade deck to the lounge where the men sat, playing a hand of cards and sipping snifters of brandy.

  The reason his attention was so divided was that he was currently in the middle of a game of hide and seek, and he had yet to find a decent place to hide. The problem wasn’t that there was nowhere suitable—it was that there were so many good hiding spots, he’d rendered himself frozen through indecision. And so, he stood beside the lounge, head swinging from side to side as he considered his options.

  He pushed the hair back from his forehead, but the wind mussed it right back into his eyes. Then, with a squint, he chose a small nook in the lounge, behind the grand piano, for his hiding place. It wasn’t as good as some of the other spots on board the enormous ship, but after one game had lasted two hours and the teacher from New Zealand, Betty Cousins, who was staying in Mary’s cabin, had sent them all to bed in frustration when she’d been unable to find Davey in time for tea, they’d made up a set of rules that they each had to follow to ensure everyone was safely located before the game ended.

  So, the nook would have to do.

  He scurried into the lounge, around the outside with his back pressed up against the wall. He still wasn’t used to being allowed the freedom they had onboard. He’d never been so pampered, trusted and respected before in his life. The two chaperones the Fairbridge Society had given them were young women who loved to have fun with the children. They dressed them, sang to them, bathed them, and read books to them before bedtime. He felt like a child for the first time in his life — or at least, what he thought perhaps a child might feel like who had someone to care for him.

  Still, waltzing into the lounge wasn’t something he could manage. Especially this time of the afternoon, when it was lousy with adults playing board games or cards and downing their first cocktails of the day. He was completely out of place and yet strangely at home all at the same time.

  Armchairs dotted the space in clusters around small, round tables. There were thick Persian carpets lining the floors, and a bar, built of dark timber, set against one wall. The bartender was dressed all in black and white, with a tie tucked tight beneath his chin and an apron around his thin waist. The women seated throughout the lounge wore long, full gowns with tight, belted waistbands. Their hair was curled back from porcelain faces in soft waves, and their lips were various shades of red and pink. The scent from their perfumes and the men’s aftershave filled the room with a heady aroma of florals and fruit that gave Harry a dizzy feeling.

  His gaze fixed on a man with blond hair combed back with a neat side parting who leaned against the bar. Two women with thin waists and wearing stockings beneath their gowns with the black seams showing down the back leaned in close to him. At something he said, they threw back their heads and laughed — a tinkling sound that filled the room. They shook their shining manes as though unable to believe his words, and one of the women rested a hand on his arm. He smiled at them, reached for a pastry on a plate at the bar, and took a bite. The pastry crumbled and he caught the crumbs with his thumb, brushing them from the front of his black jacket.

  Harry would be a man like him someday. He’d make jokes and beautiful, glamorous women would throw their heads back to laugh. He’d casually reach for a pastry and eat it whenever he liked. Maybe he’d even have two or three for good measure. His stomach grumbled, although not for lack of food. He’d never eaten so much in his life before as he had since he’d first arrived at the Fairbridge House in Kent. And the meals on the ship were even grander and more sumptuous than those had been.

  With quiet footsteps, Harry glided behind the grand piano, an enormous instrument with shining black lines, and settled himself into the small cavity in the wall. He poked out his head to keep watch on the door, his heart rate thundering.

  He waited there, with bated breath, for half an hour. How long would they take to find him?

  When Mary appeared by his side, his heart leapt into his throat. Then he laughed when he realised it was her.

  “Found you,” she said with a glint in her eye.

  “Are you it?”

  She shook her head. “No, but I don’t feel like playing anymore. I want to find something to eat.”

  “Me too,” he replied, rubbing his empty stomach. “I’m starved. It must be time for afternoon tea.”

  “Scones with jam and cream,” she said, her lips curling into a smile. “Or maybe bread-and-butter pudding.”

  “I’m hoping for chocolate cake.”

  “Oh, me too. Did you see the library yet?” asked Mary, her back sliding down the wall to sit beside him.

  “Yep.”

  “I didn’t know there were so many books in all the world.”

  “You gonna read some?”

  Her gaze fell to her hands, twisting together in her lap. “I can’t.”

  “You never learned?”

  “Mam didn’t want us going to school when we could be at home hunting for food or doing jobs around the house.”

  He gaped. He thought everyone had to go to school. There’d been plenty of times when he’d wished he didn’t have to, but seeing the look of shame on Mary’s face shook that right out of him. He’d hate not to be able to read his favourite stories, or the signs by the side of the road, or the menus in the dining hall.

  “Come on,” he said, reaching for her hand and pulling her to her feet. “I’ll teach you.”

  Her cheeks coloured pink. “You can’t. I’m too stupid.”

  He frowned. “Who told you that?”

  “Mam. She said I should aim for being a maid, that it’s the best I’ll ever do. And that I didn’t need reading for that. Besides, I was too stupid to learn anyway.”

  He shook his head. “I reckon anyone can learn to read if they try.”

  Hand in hand they ran across the promenade deck and down beside the cabins, finally ducking into the library. It was darker in there with the wood panelling on the walls and shelves holding countless books that seemed to glow. The scent of leather and paper filled the room. Mary dropped his hand and stood staring.

  Harry knew where to go. He walked down one aisle, across the back of the room, then halfway up the next aisle, one hand held up brushing the books as he went. There he plucked a book from the shelf. Its blue leather spine contained gold gilt text that read Charlotte’s Web. It wasn’t an easy read for someone who didn’t know how, but he figured he could at least point out some of the letters and words to Mary to get her started.

  They found two small chairs against one wall in a stream of sunlight that came through a high round window. Harry opened the book and got to work showing Mary every letter in the alphabet, how they looked and sounded. Harry listened as she repeated the sounds back to him, her finger tracing the letters he’d taught her. A deep satisfaction crept up his spine and filled his heart with warmth at the sound of her voice. It wasn’t much, this teaching of letters. But it was something. And the little, lost, and lonely boy deep inside of him clung onto that feeling with both hands.

  12

  Current Day

  Mia

  There’s always some kind of noise in the maternity ward. Beeping of medical machinery, banging of doors. Then the lift arrives on my floor with another beep, shuffling of feet, the door whooshes shut again and off it goes. I shift slowly onto my side so I can watch the baby sleeping in the crib beside my bed, grimacing at the pain of movement.

  He’s there, our little peanut. So tiny. So cute and vulnerable, with a mop of black hair and eyes squeezed shut. He’s peaceful now, sleeping with puckered rosebud lips. But this is the first time he’s slept in twelve hours. He spent the night vacillating between feeding and crying. And I spent it either perched in my bed with him clasped to my breast or pacing the cold tiled floor, my dressing gown fanned out behind me.

  I study him with a smile tilting at the corners of my mouth. He’s perfect. The torture of sleep deprivation is pushed aside for a moment while I revel in the beauty of his cheeks, the tiny little fingers clenched close to his chin. The squishy sounds he makes as he breathes through his perfect little nose.

  A nurse strides through the doorway and pushes aside the curtain that separates my bed from the three others sharing a room with me.

  She smiles and glances at the clipboard attached to the end of my bed. “You should be sleeping.”

  I sigh. “I know. He finally got to sleep. But I can’t help staring at him.”

  “You’ll learn to sleep when he sleeps or you’re going to be very tired.” She’s matter of fact, but there’s a kindness behind her eyes as she takes my temperature, checks my blood pressure, and then examines my abdomen to see if my uterus is contracting back into place the way it should.

  “Everything looks good,” she says, tucking a brown curl behind one ear. “I’ll be back in a few hours to do another check.”

  “How’s he going?” I ask, dipping my head in Peanut’s direction.

  “He looks good. His Apgar score was fine. Let one of the midwives know if you have trouble feeding and we can come and help you.”

  Then she’s gone and I’m left lying on my back, staring up at the high ceiling overhead. A fan spins listlessly, squeaking once on each rotation. It only adds to the cacophony of background noise. Somewhere a baby is crying, then another one joins in.

  I close my eyes and wait for sleep to overtake me. But it doesn’t. Even though I’m tired to the very core of my being, every part of me aching, I can’t fall to sleep in all that noise and the baby so close by. I worry about him. What if something happens to him while my eyes are shut? He’s so small and vulnerable. Is he breathing? My pulse accelerates, and my eyes flicker open again.

  I turn my head and study his chest — it rises and falls in a steady rhythm, and my heart rate slows to its normal pace as I breathe out a sigh of relief. I try again, and this time I find myself sinking, sinking. Sleep comes, but the moment it does, someone else bursts into the room and speaks in a loud voice to one of the other new mothers in the bed beside mine. It wakes me with a jolt of adrenaline and I’m breathing in and out too quickly, making my head light.

  This is ridiculous. I’ve got to get some sleep, since the baby will be awake again wanting to feed before too much longer. And I’m already operating on twenty-nine hours without sleep. The labour was long and intense. I managed to waddle back to the hospital after my waters broke and found someone to help me. The first nurse I came across fetched me a wheelchair, and before long I was in the maternity ward, waiting for contractions to begin.

  Darkness begins to flood my consciousness again and I’m drifting until beside my bed, a phone rings. Another jolt of adrenaline and I’m semi-conscious, patting the bedside table with half-lidded eyes to find the offending mobile. It’s buzzing and ringing, turning itself in a circle on the table with its vibrations. Then my hand settles over it and I pull it up to look, bleary-eyed, at the screen. It’s my parents, and they’re video calling me.

  I sit up with a grunt at the pain, shuffling until my back is pressed against a mountain of pillows, and flick open the video call with a fingertip.

  “Hi, Mum. Hello, Dad. How are you?”

  “How are we — more like, how are you?” quips Dad, leaning in close to the camera until all I can see are his cheek and chin.

  “I’m okay. Sore and sleep deprived, but fine really. The baby is sleeping next to me, and he’s perfect.”

  I hold the phone so that the camera is angled at the crib, and my parents make all the appropriate noises about their adorable new grandson. I’m smiling the next time I gaze into the camera lens.

  “Congratulations, darling,” croons Mum. “He’s absolutely beautiful. I can’t wait to see him in person.”

  “Thanks, Mum.”

  We chat about the weather in Paris. About Dad’s job at the consulate. How they attended a soiree the previous evening. Then, finally their plans to see us.

  “When do you think you’ll be able to come home?” I ask.

  Mum’s lips purse.

  Dad leans forward again, speaking too loudly into the phone. “We’ve booked flights to Brisbane in two weeks’ time. We figure that’ll give you and Ben some time to get settled before we arrive.”

  I’m fine with that. In fact, I’m happy to have some time alone with Ben and the baby before they fly in and unsettle everything in my life. They can’t help it. It’s their way. Everywhere they go, there’s hubbub and rushing, anxiety and tension. I love them, and I’m glad they’re coming. But I’m also happy to have two weeks before I have to deal with them.

  “That’s perfect. I can’t wait to see you,” I say with a smile. And I mean it.

  They’re my parents. My eyes fill with tears at the thought that I’ll see them soon. It’s partially the hormones, plus the lack of sleep. But also, it’s the fact that I haven’t seen them in months. I miss them. Even with all their craziness.

  “I suppose we’ll stay at a hotel,” says Mum, her blue eyes bright.

  “What about Gammy’s?” I ask.

  Mum and Dad exchange a glance.

  “Well…” begins Dad.

  “I didn’t get a chance to call you and tell you she had a fall,” I say, suddenly realising I’d planned on doing that when I got home from visiting her in the hospital. But I never had the time.

  “Is she all right?”

  “She broke her ankle. But the doctor says she’ll be fine. I meant to tell you, I’m sorry — it’s been a little hectic around here. It would really help me out if you’d stay at her place. Then I don’t have to worry about taking care of her as well as the baby.”

  “That’s fine, darling,” replies Mum. “I suppose we could stay with her.”

  Dad sighs. “The hotel would work just as well.”

  I don’t understand Dad’s negative attitude towards his own parents. From what I can tell, he had a good childhood. He grew up in Brisbane, in the sunny suburbs, with a bike and a big backyard. Gammy stayed home with him and his sister. They had a vegetable patch next to the garage, and there are old photos of them running through the sprinklers in their undies during the hot summer months.

  “Please, Dad, it would mean a lot to me. I hate that there’s this tension between you, Gammy and Gramps. I don’t get it. I mean, they’re your parents. They’re wonderful, kind and thoughtful. They’ve always been there for me when I needed them. What could you possibly have against them?”

  His nostrils flare and he leans back away from the camera, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s complicated, Mia. I don’t expect you to understand. You weren’t there — my parents haven’t always been the kindest, or the most considerate. They were often harsh to us kids, and we never had money for anything. It wasn’t like it is nowadays.”

  I’m losing patience with this conversation, and it isn’t heading in the direction I’d intended. I want to be focused on my new baby, to enjoy this special moment. Instead, we’re heading into argument territory, and from previous experience, this discussion will go nowhere good. We argue, we can’t come to an agreement, and we end up shouting at each other and hanging up the phone in anger. I don’t want to do that today. I’m exhausted with the schisms that’ve torn my family apart over the years. Broken relationships I don’t understand, can’t comprehend. Family is everything to me — why won’t they try harder?

  “I’m really excited to see you both,” I change tack. “And if you can stay with Gammy, that’ll help us cope with everything that’s going on.”

  “Of course we will, darling,” replies Mum as she pats Dad on the arm. “And let me know if there’s anything I can bring you from Paris. They have the most delicious croissants at the bakery on the corner.”

  “I don’t know if you can bring croissants all that way…”

  “Of course we can, darling. I’ll make sure to buy some before we leave.”

  We hang up the phone, and I feel drained. There isn’t an ounce of energy left in my body. A glance at Peanut shows he’s still asleep, breathing peacefully. So, I close my eyes to sleep.

  The door puffs open, and footsteps head in my direction. I sigh inwardly and blink my eyes open only to see Ben gazing silently at our son, a goofy grin on his handsome face.

  He sees me and strides forward to kiss me, both hands cupping the sides of my face. “You’re awake. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to disturb you, but I finished handing over my patients. I’m officially on paternity leave.”

  I chuckle. “Congratulations.”

  “I’m so excited. A whole six weeks off to be together as a family. This is going to be epic.”

  His mood is contagious. I issue a gigantic yawn, then smile at him, feeling all gooey inside over everything we’ve done together and all we’re launching into.

  “I love you,” I whisper.

  He grins and leans over to kiss me again, reaching for my hand to hold between his. “I love you too.”

 

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