by Maureen Lee
‘Her heart beat very fast, like engine. It not . . . what word I want?’ Miss Strauss’s round face screwed up in a frown. ‘Regular! Her heart not beat regular.’
‘Oh, my God!’ Mollie could feel the colour drain from her face. ‘Last night, I forgot her digitalis, she has five drops on her tongue.’ Until recently, Annemarie had administered the drops herself and Mollie hadn’t got into the habit of remembering.
‘You better get it now. Is important.’
‘It’s in the washbag.’ Mollie leapt to her feet, her head meeting the frame of the bunk above with such force that, for a few seconds, the world went black.
‘Mein Gott!’ gasped Miss Strauss.
‘I’m all right.’ She reeled across the cabin to the locker where she’d put the things they’d need on the voyage. The washbag was right in front: she’d used it only that morning. She rooted through the toothbrushes, the tooth powder, soap and face flannels, but couldn’t find the little brown bottles with rubber droppers that she distinctly remembered putting there before they’d left the doctor’s house.
But they must be there. Desperate now, she emptied everything on to the bed, but there was no sign. Perhaps she’d put them somewhere else. But where? She wouldn’t have left them loose in the suitcase or her handbag where the tops might become loose. Just in case, she searched both: no digitalis. Knowing it was hopeless, Mollie reached for the fat, brown envelope in which she kept the money, their passports and other papers. The bottles weren’t there either.
She sat back on her heels, closed her eyes, and relived the last hour spent in the Doctor’s house, packing their clothes, trying not to make a noise, Annemarie lying fully dressed on Mollie’s bed, watching with her big, violet eyes. Mollie had already taken an extra bottle of digitalis from the medicine cabinet in the surgery to add to the one that was almost full. She’d put both bottles on the bedside cabinet, crept into the bathroom to collect the other items for the washbag, returned to the bedroom, picked up the digitalis . . .
No, she hadn’t. When she’d looked, Annemarie had fallen asleep and she’d had to wake her, tell her they were leaving any minute, that they had a long walk ahead of them. Then she’d put the washbag in the suitcase and snapped it shut . . . leaving the digitalis on the bedside cabinet.
‘I’ll have to buy some,’ she muttered. She searched through the mess on the floor for a ticket to see when the boat sailed. ‘Thirteen hundred hours.’ Three o’clock. It was a strange way to put it. ‘I’ve plenty of time.’
‘Where you go?’ Miss Strauss asked.
‘To find a chemist’s and buy some digitalis.’ She shoved her purse into her pocket. ‘Do you mind looking after Annemarie while I’m gone? I won’t be long.’
‘Of course I look after your sister, but—’
Mollie didn’t wait for the woman to finish. She was already outside, racing along the corridor, and Miss Strauss’s final words - ‘Ship doctor will have digitalis’ - were addressed to the empty air.
She’d forgotten her hat, and the spot where she’d banged her head felt as if someone were banging it with a hammer. There wasn’t a shop of any description in the area outside the dock, let alone a chemist’s, just the majestic buildings she’d seen from the boat and streams of traffic, including dozens of tramcars whizzing by, sparks exploding from the lines overhead. It was a sight that, normally, would have made Mollie stop and stare, entranced, had she not had more important things on her mind. She grabbed the arm of the first man she saw and asked if he knew the whereabouts of the nearest chemist.
‘Let’s see now.’ He chewed his lips with maddening slowness. ‘The nearest chemist’s. Well, you won’t find one around here, luv. You’ll have to go into town to find a chemist’s. If you cross the road and go up Chapel Street . . . no, no, Water Street, it’s more direct, and turn right at Crosshall Street, you’re bound to find one there. A tram would take you quicker. They start from over there, but I’m afraid I don’t know what number.’
‘Is it far to walk?’
‘Not too far for a healthy young lady like you,’ he said with a wink and a smile.
‘Then I’ll walk.’ That way she was in control of the situation. Her legs wouldn’t let her down.
Except today they did. She was half walking, half running along Water Street, when her head began to swim, the pavement began to rock, and the tall buildings looked about to topple down on her. Her legs positively refused to move in the right direction. This must be what it was like to be drunk, unable to put one foot in front of the other. People were giving her some very odd looks: a woman stopped and asked if she was all right. ‘I’m fine,’ Mollie insisted, although her breath was coming in little hoarse gasps. She held on to a wall and gritted her teeth so hard that her jaw hurt: the Doctor had said Annemarie’s heart condition was nothing to worry about, ‘As long as she uses the drops every night before she goes to bed.’ She had to get the digitalis for her sister or die in the attempt.
Her breathing was easier now, so she resumed her search, hanging on to railings, supporting herself along walls, more people stopped to ask if she was all right, until she arrived at Crosshall Street and saw a chemist’s directly across the road. Without thinking, she stepped off the pavement and was nearly mown down by a van. It stopped, just in time, with a screech of brakes. ‘D’you want to get yerself killed, you stupid bitch,’ the driver yelled.
Mollie hardly heard. A bell sounded loudly when she entered the shop, hurting her ears. ‘Digitalis,’ she gasped. ‘Two bottles, please.’
‘Digitalis is a poison,’ the young woman behind the counter informed her. She wore wire-rimmed spectacles and a white overall, and her brown, frizzy hair was coiled over her ears. She had a pleasant face, very friendly. ‘I’m afraid I can only sell you one.’
‘One will do. It’s for my sister: she has a heart condition. Oh, do you mind if I sit down.’ There were two chairs at the front of the shop.
‘Sit down for as long as you like, luv. You look dead puffed. Would you like a glass of water?’
‘Please.’ Her throat was as dry as a bone and she felt desperately hot.
‘Here you are, luv.’ The girl came round the counter with the water. ‘Crikey! There’s a bump on your head as big as a football and it’s bleeding. Hang on a mo, I’ll get some disinfectant and bathe it. You’ve been in the wars, haven’t you?’
‘I banged it.’
‘Well, you must have banged it awful hard.’
It was rather nice to just sit there, sipping the water, while the girl gently dabbed the bump with cotton wool and disinfectant.
‘It’s not bleeding much, but you’ll need to be really careful next time you wash your hair. Don’t use a scented shampoo or anything.’
‘I won’t,’ Mollie promised.
‘I’ll give you a couple of Aspros. I don’t know whether your head’s hurting much, but it’ll ache like billy-o before the day’s out.’ She seemed extremely knowledgeable. ‘In fact, it mightn’t be a bad idea if you bought a box of Aspros while you’re here. Two tablets won’t be of much use.’
‘It’s throbbing more than aching at the moment. You’re being very kind,’ she said gratefully.
‘Oh, think nothing of it. I wanted to be a nurse, so I like treating people, and it makes a nice change from just selling things over the counter.’
‘Why didn’t you take up nursing? You’d make a great nurse.’
‘Ta.’ The girl blushed slightly, pleased by the compliment. ‘The thing is, the training takes for ever and you only get paid a pittance. When our dad was killed in the war, me, being the eldest like, had to find a job that paid a decent wage.’
‘That’s a pity, about your dad, and you not being able to become a nurse. Is that a clock on the wall over there?’
‘Yes.’ The girl regarded her worriedly. ‘It’s just gone half twelve. Can’t you see it proper?’
‘It’s a bit blurred.’ Everything was a bit blurred.
‘Yo
u really should go to the hospital with that bump. You might have suffered brain damage.’
Mollie laughed. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘You should at least be lying down, resting, not running like mad all over Liverpool,’ the girl said sternly. ‘I could tell you’d been running when you came in. Have you got far to go home?’
‘I’m not going home. The truth is, my sister and I are on our way to America - New York. We were already on the ship when I found out I’d forgotten to bring her drops.’
‘New York!’ She looked hugely impressed. ‘Flippin’ heck, I’m green with envy. Shouldn’t you be getting back, then? The ship might sail without you.’
‘It doesn’t sail for another couple of hours.’ She should get back to Annemarie, but her legs still felt wobbly and her vision still wasn’t right. ‘You don’t get many customers in this shop, do you?’ Not a soul had entered since she’d come in.
‘I locked the door and turned the sign over when you arrived so people’d think we were closed for dinner. I didn’t want them gawping at that bump on your head.’
‘Won’t that get you into trouble? I’d best get out your way, I’m being a nuisance.’ Mollie leapt to her feet and immediately sat down again when the floor rose up to greet her.
‘I won’t get into trouble, there’s no need to get out me way, and you’re not being a nuisance.’ The girl smiled and announced she’d make them both a cup of tea. ‘I’ll just go and put the kettle on.’ She disappeared into the back of the shop. ‘Would you like a butty?’ she shouted. ‘It’s mushy peas.’
‘No, thank you,’ Mollie shouted back. Even the thought of eating a mushy pea butty made her feel sick. ‘I’d love a cup of tea, though. You are being kind. What’s your name? Mine’s Mollie Kenny.’
‘Agatha Brophy. Most people call me Aggie, but I hate it. I’d far rather be Agatha. Have you heard of that writer, Agatha Christie? I’ve read all her books. I get them from the library.’
‘No. Me, I like Ruby Ayres and Ethel M. Dell. They’re desperately romantic.’
Agatha reappeared. ‘Did you see that picture, Mollie, The Sheik, with Rudolph Valentino? Now that’s romantic. He’s got these dark, hypnotic eyes that make you go all funny.’
‘There wasn’t a picture house where I lived in Ireland,’ Mollie said regretfully, ‘so I’ve never been.’
‘Well, there’ll be plenty in New York.’
They smiled at each other and Mollie asked if she would remind her when it was one o’clock. ‘I still can’t see all that well, but it’s getting better. I’ll feel better all round once I’ve had a cup of tea, then I can make me way slowly back to the landing stage.’
At one o’clock, Mollie left the chemist’s and went back the way she’d come, her legs her own again. She was sorry to leave Agatha, who’d become a good friend in the space of half an hour. ‘I’ll send you a card from New York as soon as I’ve settled in,’ she promised. ‘I’ll address it to the shop.’
Agatha wished her all the luck in the world and said she wished she were going, too. ‘Don’t forget to take some more of the Aspros if your head starts to ache.’
‘I won’t.’ They waved to each other until Mollie reached the corner of Crosshall Street and couldn’t see Agatha any more. She sighed and walked steadily in the direction of the River Mersey where Annemarie and the Queen Maia were waiting for her return.
It was just a dream, the sort in which something so hideous and horrible is about to happen that you wake up before it does, heart throbbing, bathed in perspiration, terrified you’ll fall back asleep and return to the dream, to be butchered in your bed or slip off the roof you’d been hanging on to with your fingertips.
But this wasn’t a dream: this was real. The Queen Maia really was sailing away, about fifty feet from the dock on its way towards the Atlantic and New York.
Without her.
Mollie began to scream, to scream and scream, to continue to scream until someone grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her: a man in uniform wearing a white peaked cap. ‘Calm down, miss. What on earth’s the matter?’
‘The ship’s left early and my sister’s on board,’ she gabbled. ‘It wasn’t supposed to sail until three o’clock.’
He shook his head. ‘No, miss, one o’clock.’
‘But it said three o’clock on the ticket, it said thirteen hundred hours. I distinctly remember.’
‘Oh, Jaysus!’ He groaned. ‘I’m sorry, miss, but thirteen hundred hours means one o’clock. Look, what’s your sister’s name? I’ll get someone to telegraph the captain to say you’ve missed the boat.’
‘Annemarie Kenny,’ Mollie managed to say before she fainted dead away.
Chapter 2
Gertie had taken Annemarie to breakfast. Olive waited a few minutes before opening the suitcase. She’d wanted to do it for days, but this was the first time she’d dared. She examined the contents.
The frocks were too girlish for her taste, but the bigger ones which must be Mollie’s could stand some alteration. She wouldn’t take anything yet. Gertie, who had eyes like a rat, might notice they’d gone. The underclothes were good quality; not exactly glamorous, but they’d do at a pinch. There was a small amount of jewellery in quite a nice little wooden box, nothing expensive, mainly silver: childish bracelets and medals on chains, a pearl brooch, a ring with a green stone. She closed the box and put it back in the corner where it had been neatly packed and continued to sort through the contents: shoes - none her size and too sensible anyway; stockings she wouldn’t be seen dead in - they were far too thick; and two pretty crocheted hats - one white, the other pink.
‘What’s this?’ she asked aloud, when she noticed a large brown envelope tucked in the pouched pocket beneath the case top. She emptied it on the bed: passports, birth certificates, some letters with an American stamp and ‘Miss Margaret Connelly, 88 Bleecker Street, Greenwich Village, New York’ written on the back - she must be the Aunt Maggie the girls were going to live with - and a leather wallet with money in. Her heart did a cartwheel when she counted it out: thirty-six pound-notes.
Thirty-six! She’d never seen so much money in her life before, not even half that much, not even a quarter. Did Gertie know about this? Had she counted it? Olive wouldn’t have minded a few quid to be going on with, but it wasn’t worth taking the risk. If she played her cards right, she might end up with the lot. It could be changed into dollars when she reached New York.
Picking up Mollie’s passport, she wondered if she could make use of it. The photo inside was nothing like Mollie and had clearly been taken a few years ago. Her eyes were almost closed, her mouth was turned down, and she looked like a corpse. You never know, it might come in handy. It all depended on the way things turned out.
She put everything back in the suitcase, closed it, and had a quick look in the girls’ locker: a washbag, two nightdresses, two more frocks, and a smart, navy-blue handbag that contained a comb, a couple of hankies, a pencil and a little notebook, but no purse. Mollie must have taken the purse with her and left the bag behind.
Olive put the bag back and lay on her bunk to think. Gertie had been right to say she should be travelling steerage. Olive had been obliged to leave London in a hurry when she’d got into some serious trouble with the Sutton brothers, gangsters really, who’d give her a good beating if they found her - that’s if they didn’t kill her first. It was only because she’d been doing some private business of her own and not giving them their cut. It was her body, she thought indignantly. She didn’t see why she had to share what she made from selling it.
She’d come to Liverpool only because she happened to be near Euston Station when she’d heard the Sutton brothers were after her and the next train to leave was for Lime Street. There hadn’t even been time to pack a bag. She’d hung around Liverpool for a few days until she discovered the Queen Maia was about to depart for New York and jumped at the chance. She’d seen New York in films: it was the sort of place where she coul
d start a career in show business, something she’d longed to do for years. A steerage ticket didn’t cost more than a few bob, easily obtained on the Dock Road where foreign sailors hung about looking for women.
It had been just as easy to persuade a friendly steward to find out if there was an empty space in third-class and get her away from the scum in steerage: dirty, smelly creatures with whinging kids and disgusting habits who couldn’t even speak English.
The steward, Ashley was his name, had discovered there was an empty bunk in a third-class cabin with Gertie and the Kenny sisters. He’d brought her up through the kitchens because passengers were strictly forbidden to move from deck to deck. ‘You’d better behave yourself, gal,’ he advised. ‘If anyone finds out, don’t bring me into it. I’ll swear I’ve never seen you before. I suggest you stick to the cabin rather than flaunt yourself on deck.’
She’d taken his advice, emerging only for an occasional breath of fresh air. The weather had been fine and, so far, the voyage had gone quite smoothly. She’d enjoyed having nothing to do for days on end apart from lie on the bunk and think about the future.
He was all right, Ashley, not bad-looking, though it was a shame about the squint. But even he, helpful though he was, couldn’t manage to get her into the third-class dining room. ‘The passengers’ names are on a list and ticked off when they come in. There’s no way I can add your name,’ he said. At night, he brought her odds and ends of food: bread rolls, pieces of cheese, chocolates and bits of fruit. She repaid him in the way she was used to paying for things. It was a pity Gertie had had to see them.
At that moment, Gertie came into the cabin alone.
‘Where’s Annemarie?’ Olive enquired.
‘She gone for walk with Rowena, nice girl who came search for Mollie to play cards. Such pity about Mollie.’ Her round face grew sad. ‘Ship doctor have digitalis. No need for her go and miss boat.’