Ship of Brides by Jojo Moyes

beyond. Is this it? she thought suddenly, her breath catching in her throat. My last view of Australia? Then, with a lurch, the streamers snapped, their cobwebby strands releasing the ship from the rails of the dockside and, with an audible groan, she lurched away from the quay, sinking a few degrees as she slipped anchor.
    There was a collective gasp. The engines began to power. A girl shrieked and over the din the band, now clearly visible on the quayside, struck up with ‘Waltzing Matilda’.
    A few items were hurled from the ship’s berth and fell short, sending up small splashes of futility. The thin ribbon of blue water widened beneath them, then became an expanse. The ship, as if oblivious to the madness around it, glided, surprisingly quickly, away from the harbour.
    ‘You’ll be sorry!’ came a solitary cry, over the music. It sounded like a joke. ‘You’ll all be sorry!’
    It was at this point that the ship’s passengers descended briefly into silence. Then, breaking it, the first of the girls began to cry.
    Murray Donleavy placed his arm round his sobbing son, and sat silently as the crowds melted away, the sound of grieving women becoming more distinct. Finally, only a few huddles of people remained, staring out as the ship gradually merged with the horizon. It was getting chilly and the boy was shivering. He took off his jacket and threw it about Daniel’s shoulders, then hauled the boy against him for warmth.
    Every now and then Daniel raised his head as if he wanted to speak, but was unable to find words and sank back into silent weeping, his face thrust into his hands as if the tears were a cause of shame.
    ‘Nothing to be sorry for, boy,’ he murmured. ‘It’s been a tough day.’
    Theirs was one of the few vehicles remaining, sitting in a sea of muddied streamers and discarded sweet wrappers. Murray walked round to the driver’s side of the pickup, then halted when he noticed that his son was standing still and staring at him. ‘You all right now?’
    ‘Do you think she’ll hate me, Dad?’
    Murray moved round and hugged his boy again. ‘Don’t be so bloody soft.’ He ruffled his hair. ‘She’ll be banging on about you visiting her before you know it.’
    ‘In England?’
    ‘Don’t see why not. You keep saving up that rabbit money and you’ll be able to fly there before you know it. Things are changing fast.’
    The boy gazed ahead at nothing, transported to a world of richly rewarded pelts and huge aeroplanes. ‘I could fly there,’ he repeated.
    ‘Like I said, boy, you save your money. The rate you’re going, you’ll be able to pay for all of us.’
    Daniel smiled then, and his father’s heart ached to see him meet another loss so bravely. This must be how it had felt for the women during the war, he observed, as he climbed into the truck. Except that they hadn’t known if we were coming back. Take care of her, he told the ship silently. Look after my girl.
    They sat in the cab for a few moments, watching people trail out through the dockyard gates, seeing exposed the vast expanses of ground that had been invisible, hidden under human traffic. The wind was picking up now, sending bits of paper scuttling around the quayside, to be dived on by seagulls. He sighed, suddenly conscious of the length of the drive home.
    ‘Dad, she’s left her sandwiches.’ Beside him, Daniel held aloft the greaseproofed package that Letty had put together that morning. ‘It was here, on the floor. She’s left her lunch behind.’
    Murray frowned, trying to remember what his daughter had said about leaving them at home. Oh, well, he thought. She must have been mistaken. That’s women when they’re carrying. All over the place. Noreen had been the same.
    ‘Can I have them, Dad? I’m starving.’
    Murray stuck his key into the ignition. ‘Don’t see why not. They’re no use to her now. Tell you what, save one for me.’
    It had finally begun to rain: the grey skies that had threatened to