The Island Girls: A heartbreaking historical novel

by Noelle Harrison

  Did you receive all my letters from Oxford? I know the mail takes a long time from England to America, so some could still be on their way to you, or worse, lost over the Atlantic. I shall tell you everything when I see you next, but Oxford is the most magical place I have ever set foot in! I was in heaven to be part of so much history. The buildings are much older than Harvard’s; some of them date back hundreds of years. They’re not red brick as I imagined, but soft, honeyed stone, with latticed windows and small courtyards of green grass with colonnaded walkways called quads. They are what I think medieval monasteries might look like. Most of the students were away for the summer, but some still remained. You could tell who they were immediately as they cycled around Oxford city, their heads up in the clouds.

  My duty was to mind Nathan and Joshua, but the boys were old enough for us to have great fun exploring the nooks of Oxford. We went to the Ashmolean Museum, after which Joshua became quite obsessed with Ancient Rome. And we went punting on the River Thames. Now, this is the kind of water activity you would like, Katie. On the river, you can see the banks on either side, and the current is gentle and the water shallow. Punting involves propelling a long rowing boat with a big stick, which Professor Whittard tried to do rather unsuccessfully. In the end, I had a go, and must admit I was a little better than he, much to the delight of the boys.

  There is so much history in Oxford, Katie. Truly, it felt like every building I was taken to had been visited by a king or queen or someone of note. One evening the Whittards organised a babysitter, and took me out for a drink in an English pub! I had no idea what to drink so copied Mrs Whittard, who ordered a gin and tonic. It’s very nice indeed with a slice of lemon. But what I want to tell you about this excursion is that the pub they brought me to was the one that C.S. Lewis and Tolkien drank in. Can you imagine? I could have been sitting on the same stool that the man who created Narnia sat on. Do you remember how much I loved those books when Mrs. Matlock got them in the library?

  Wow, this is turning into a very long letter! I shall write again soon, but please send me news of how you are and what you’re doing now you’re no longer in school. I’d better race; going to be late for a lecture.

  It had been a dream summer. The only downside of being in Oxford was that Susannah had missed Ava terribly. Ever since that unforgettable snowy Thanksgiving night, the two girls had spent nearly every free evening together. If not at Club 47, then hanging out in the coffee house where Ava now worked.

  Until Susannah had gone to Oxford, she hadn’t been able to put a name on what she and Ava were to each other. She knew it was something more than friendship, because of what had happened at night when the two of them shared a bed. But would she be just as aroused if a boy had touched her in the same way as Ava? Sometimes, in her chilly attic room in the eaves of the Whittards’ house, she’d close her eyes and think again of Ava stroking her skin. Immediately, her heart rate would quicken, and she’d feel a softening between her legs. She’d pretend Ava was there and caress herself, unable to stop, although it was such a bad thing to do. Ava had done something to her. Freed a part of her that had been captive. As if she had been a bird locked in a room, and her new friend had opened the window, let her fly free. She wanted to experience the sensation again, and again.

  In England, despite being entranced by Oxford, steeped in so many centuries of history, it had still not been enough to ease the sheer physical sensation of missing Ava. She worried all the time that when she got back, Ava would have found a new best friend to hang out with. But when she had stepped into the coffee house on the first night of her return, she had been greeted by a loud squeal of delight as Ava almost dropped her coffee pot in her rush to hug her. Susannah had spent the whole night sitting in a booth being fed coffee and cherry pie by Ava, who was giddy with joy to see her. By the time they’d got back to Ava’s room, Susannah’s head had been spinning, and her body buzzing from all the coffee and cigarettes.

  ‘Stay here,’ Ava begged her. ‘Just tonight.’

  ‘What about your roommate?’

  ‘Take a look! She’s gone. I have my own room now,’ Ava said, sweeping her arms wide. The second little bed had disappeared and in its place was one slightly bigger bed.

  ‘But you’re not allowed visitors,’ Susannah protested weakly, smiling all the while as Ava took her hand and slowly spun her around the room.

  ‘We’ll be quiet. Besides you’re a girl. They just don’t allow boys,’ Ava said happily.

  ‘The Whittards will worry.’

  Ava wagged her finger at her. ‘Call them. Tell them your friend is sick. You’re staying over to look after her.’

  ‘Now, that’s a lie,’ Susannah said, shaking her head at her in mock disapproval.

  ‘It’s not. I am sick,’ Ava said, her face suddenly serious. ‘I’ve been lovesick the whole long damned summer.’

  Her declaration swept through Susannah like a hot wind. Ava hooked her boldly with her eye. She was challenging her. It was as if she was saying, Leave now if you won’t acknowledge what we have. But Susannah understood, because of what had happened one evening in Oxford.

  The Whittards had held a dinner party and Susannah’s job had been to help the hired cook, Clara, and serve the guests at table.

  ‘I know it’s not what you usually do, but you don’t mind, darling, do you?’ Mrs Whittard had asked her.

  Mrs Whittard had taken to calling her ‘darling’ recently (mostly after her third martini), and saying Susannah was like the daughter she’d always wanted. It was silly, but her words meant a lot to Susannah, seeing as her own mother still never wrote.

  Dinner had been preceded by cocktails, and Susannah had circled the room with a tray of Manhattans mixed by Professor Whittard. There were six other guests: two male physicists and their wives, one couple from France, and one from Italy; and two English women, both of them academics at Oxford – Milly Agnew, a physicist, and Jocelyn Hartley, an English literature professor and published poet. Mrs Whittard had already whispered to Susannah that the women had a special relationship.

  ‘They’re eccentric, you know, very English,’ Mrs Whittard had said to her before the guests arrived, as Susannah helped style her hair – rather uselessly, but she guessed the point was Mrs Whittard wanted someone to gossip to. ‘Peter says they’re a marriage in all but name. Been together years, it seems. Imagine, Susannah!’ Mrs Whittard’s eyes were incredulous in the mirror. ‘No children of course, but apparently they have three dogs and four cats. Very eccentric!’

  ‘Have you read any of her poetry?’

  ‘Jocelyn’s? Oh no, not really my thing, darling. But I’ve heard she’s very good,’ Mrs Whittard said, lighting a cigarette and offering Susannah one. ‘But you mustn’t stare at them now, will you? We have to be open-minded and all that, as Peter says. But I guess it is a little odd, unnatural. What woman doesn’t want children?’

  Susannah bit her tongue. Me, she wanted to confide in Mrs Whittard. Would you still call me the daughter you always wanted if I told you that? Susannah had always known she didn’t want children, even before she’d ever even thought she might not be attracted to men. Ava felt the same way. But they lived in a society which considered them not to be real women if they didn’t want to have babies. Susannah knew that not wanting children was nothing to do with her loving women. It was something else. The need to mother was not one she possessed. She felt indignant she should be judged for how she felt.

  While Susannah served the cocktails, she tried her best not to stare, but she was entranced by Milly and Jocelyn. The fluidity of their movements: one lighting the other’s cigarette without even having to ask. To Susannah’s eyes, the two women seemed so much more united than the other couples. Mrs Whittard drank too much before dinner and got a little loud, which embarrassed the professor somewhat, especially when she asked the French professor to explain to her again what astrophysics actually was ‘because Peter could never get her to understand’. In response
to this, the French wife began to flirt with Professor Whittard. As for the Italian couple, they were having their own personal argument all the way through dinner, as they broke out in Italian along with wild gestures every now and again. It seemed to Susannah it was Milly and Jocelyn who kept the dinner party together and on an even keel.

  ‘So, Professor,’ Jocelyn said as they were drinking their coffee. ‘Who do you think will land a man on the moon first? Russia or America?’

  ‘Well, I have to say the States of course.’ The professor looked relieved to escape the flirtations of the French wife.

  ‘I’ve heard they’ve already been doing many of the tests with female pilots,’ Milly said.

  Susannah pricked up her ears. This was information Ava would be very interested in.

  ‘Yes. Apparently women are better suited to space travel. We have more stamina.’ Jocelyn finished Milly’s sentence smoothly for her and Susannah noticed the two women clasping hands beneath the table.

  ‘Yes, it’s true,’ Professor Whittard said. ‘I know about the tests. It’s all happening out in New Mexico. But I’m afraid to say, ladies, it will definitely be a man who sets foot first upon the moon.’

  After the dinner party was over, Susannah helped Clara clean up and wash all the dishes. She carried the trash out to the bins at the back of their rental house in Oxford. It was at that precise moment she saw Jocelyn and Milly departing for home. Milly opened the passenger side door of their car for Jocelyn, and bent down to kiss her on the lips as she got in. When Milly got into the driver’s seat, Jocelyn leaned over and kissed Milly back. Susannah watched the two women kissing in their car for a long, thrilling moment before they separated and drove off.

  She walked back into the kitchen, liberated. Almost felt like taking Clara the cook’s wet hands and dancing round the kitchen with her. At last, she understood who she was. She’d always known she was different, had found out Ava was different too – but they weren’t alone.

  Her first night back at Harvard, Susannah told Ava about Milly and Jocelyn as they lay side by side in Ava’s bed.

  ‘You watched them kissing? But for how long?’ Ava teased her.

  ‘They looked so happy, Ava.’

  ‘As happy as us?’ Ava kissed her gently on the lips.

  ‘They couldn’t possibly be,’ Susannah whispered as she kissed Ava back. ‘As right now, I must be the happiest girl alive.’

  That night, Ava became a part of her, as Susannah stroked her gently, listening for the slightest change in Ava’s breath, releasing and pressing, spinning her fingers into the softest parts of her. Surely nothing in nature was as beautiful as her darling Ava, or as perfect? The two girls barely slept, their love-making sustaining them all night long. In the morning, they lay spent, looking into each other’s eyes.

  ‘Have you ever loved another woman before?’ Ava asked Susannah.

  She shook her head. ‘No, you’re the first. How about you?’

  Ava gazed into her eyes. ‘I’ve slept with one other woman, in my first week at college, but I never felt about her how I feel about you.’

  Susannah felt a twinge of jealousy. Of course, she’d known deep down there must have been someone before her. Ava had known what she was doing from the moment, they’d first kissed.

  ‘I thought I was doing something I shouldn’t, before, with her,’ Ava said. ‘But when we were together first, it felt so right. How can that be wrong?’

  ‘I know,’ Susannah agreed, holding tight onto Ava.

  ‘Let’s be like Milly and Jocelyn,’ Ava whispered to her. ‘Let’s have a secret marriage!’

  ‘Are you serious?’ Susannah’s heart was in her mouth at the thought of it.

  ‘I’ve never been more serious in my whole life.’ Ava looked at her with stern eyes.

  Susannah held Ava in her arms, feeling the beat of her heart against her chest, wrapping her legs around hers. How they fit together, as if designed for it. Ava needed to know she was serious too.

  ‘I promise nothing, no one, will ever make me give you up,’ Susannah swore.

  Later, the two girls went walking. Through their beloved Harvard, and on. They walked down the leafy streets of academics to the furthest edges of Cambridge, before jumping on a bus, leaving Boston city to enter the family suburb of Newton. Long, wide streets with house after house even larger and grander than the Whittards’ place. They got off the bus, continued to walk. There was no one else on the streets apart from the odd kid on their way back from school, yellow school buses trundling by. Pumpkins were already piled high on doorsteps, ready for Halloween.

  Every few blocks, they came across a church. But none of them were right. Too big and grand. Too masculine. Finally, in a small park, they both stopped walking at the same time. Before them was a weeping beech tree split open, its boughs cascading glossy green leaves on either side. They could actually walk inside the tree, so they were hidden from anyone walking by. It was perfect.

  Inside the hidden sanctuary of the weeping beech, they took their vows to love each other until the day they died.

  20

  Emer

  26th October 2011

  Here he was. Right before her in Vinalhaven, the sun setting behind him, taller and more beautiful than she remembered him. She didn’t need to ask Lars why he was there. She had become his compass as much as he was hers. She ran to him, and he took her in his arms, kissing the top of her head. Her cheeks were wet with tears.

  ‘I thought I’d lost you,’ he was saying. ‘Oh Emer, my darling.’

  They pulled away, and Emer felt herself colouring. She had publicly embraced a man in the main street in Vinalhaven. Had anyone seen her? Lars didn’t care, clearly, for he took her hand and led her back along the street – but she tugged away.

  ‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘I have to be somewhere.’

  ‘You’re all dressed up!’ he said, looking at her outfit. ‘You look beautiful.’

  She blushed. ‘I’m sorry, Lars, that’s why I have to go.’

  For a moment, she thought of inviting Lars to go with her but then would it look like she was on a date with Henry? Instinct told her to keep the men apart.

  ‘Let’s just talk,’ Lars tried to persuade her.

  ‘I’m late already,’ she protested. At this very moment, Henry was probably ordering her a beer.

  ‘Please, we can’t talk out here on the street. Just come to my room for a minute.’ He took her hand again in his. It felt so good to feel his fingers around hers. The warmth and safety of his grasp.

  ‘Okay,’ she heard herself saying to Lars. ‘For a little while.’

  He led her to the inn on the harbour, then up the stairs, his hands trembling as he opened the door. All thoughts of Henry and The Sand Bar were gone as they tumbled into the room, kissing. Lars pulled back and gazed at her.

  ‘My god, you’re stunning,’ he gasped as she took off her jacket. ‘Where did you get the dress?’

  Emer didn’t have time to answer as he began kissing her again, while helping her unbutton Kate’s organza gown.

  Their synergy was effortless as they came together. How could she stop herself from succumbing to what felt most natural, most right? Lars unlocked her body, which had felt so cold and unloved, encased within her tomb of grief. Both of them naked, they made love on top of the bed in the inn, not even bothering to get under the covers. As Lars kissed her lips, her throat, her breasts and belly, each part of her awakened, and gave back. It had never been like this with anyone else in her life. She had wondered after their first time if she had imagined how connected she and Lars had been physically, but now she knew it was as if her body had been made for his. The sensations were beyond anything physical: it was her mind which was opening with pure rapture. He brought her to the edge, and for the few minutes they were united, guilt, responsibility, everything was abandoned to bathe in pure, erotic love.

  It was only afterwards as she lay in Lars’ arms, snug under the covers now, th
at Emer remembered Henry. She slipped out of bed and rummaged around for her purse. Found her phone. Henry had sent one text.

  I guess you’re not coming. Shame.

  She felt a little irritated by it. How did he know something hadn’t happened with Susannah? But then she had stood the poor man up. Her feelings for Lars had made her selfish yet again.

  As she watched the love of her life sleeping, it all came back to her. How her need for Lars had taken precedence over Orla’s need for her. In the end, she’d let everyone down. Even Lars, by bringing him into the whole mess.

  She began to get dressed.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Lars asked her as he woke up, stretching his arms above his head.

  ‘I have to get back to Susannah.’

  ‘Is that the name of the lady you’re looking after?’ Lars asked her, leaning up on one elbow. God, he looked so gorgeous, it was all she could do not to get back into bed with him.

  ‘Yes, I can’t risk falling asleep here; she might need help overnight.’ She put on her jacket, zipped it up.

  ‘Emer, what are you doing here?’ Lars said, sitting up completely. ‘This is crazy. Come back with me tomorrow. We’ll find a replacement nurse for Susannah.’

  She shook her head. ‘I can’t go back to Boston, Lars.’