The dining room was decked in bright colours, not only the flowers but the clothes people wore, the little cakes, the decorations that were everywhere. I thought about Jamila’s tales of Bangladesh before it had been drowned, of the spices and the heat and the way that rain turned everything a bright, vivid green and of a pink and gold sari she had once worn. I thought of Patience, tending to ripening watermelons, deep green on the red earth of her homestead, and the pale bleating of her goats. I thought of the tulips of Holland leaving their scarlet kisses on the ocean floor when the dykes gave way. And my mother, her green silk dress floating about her, at one with the sea.
Yellow sunflowers in the paintings of Van Gogh.
I’m having a baby, Mother, I whispered silently, and I saw her, sitting on the balding velvet sofa in London, picking at its arm. My father had just set off his expedition to secure now-outlawed art materials for the ship; the sound of the locks being set behind him was still reverberating in the air.
‘Van Gogh killed himself,’ she said quietly, dropping her hands. ‘He created a thousand paintings, but still he died, mad with his inability to show what was inside him. Your father hasn’t got enough canvas for even one Van Gogh. Not one. Vincent would clean him out in a week if he came on board.’
‘But Vincent’s dead.’
‘We’re all dead,’ my mother said, looking out of the window onto the square. ‘All of us.’
We’re all dead, she said into my wedding celebrations, breaking her silence at last. All of us. And I knew what I had to do. It was not a decision I made over time. It was sudden and absolute and irrevocable, like the moment the overhanging cliff falls into the sea, or the moment my child was conceived.
I think my father knew too, because he watched me leave the dining room without a word, my long white satin skirts trailing behind me. I don’t know what Tom thought; he was a dream from a place I should never have visited, and he wasn’t even looking at me. I left them celebrating with their people, and I thought, maybe this is what has happened to me. I am going mad with the inability to express what is inside me, and my father has run out of canvas.
TWENTY-FOUR
Tom and Roger the speeches at my wedding Tom and my father
I went to my cabin and picked up a bag, and then I went down to the stores and filled it so full I could barely drag it to the little boat, from which I had learned to swim. The people were busy singing and dancing in the dining room; the rest of the ship was deserted, and no one saw me heave the bag into the boat. The solar panel showed that the engine was fully charged. I went back for some clothes, although I did not stop to change, and the gown swept after me, rippling over the diamond pattern on the walkways. It was but the work of moments to release the pulley and lower the boat into the sea, where it bobbed cheerfully at the end of its rope, like an image from a holiday picture in another world.
The ladder was fixed to the hull; it would not take long to climb down to the little boat, even if I went slowly.
I saw my mother’s body floating away from the ship. The sea had borne her up; it would do the same for me. The canvas was still on the fourth deck, waiting for my father’s Van Gogh. I had never tried to paint a picture. If I stayed, he would give me canvas. He would give me paint, and brushes, and I would paint my pain onto the canvas, even though I did not know how. People would look at my painting like they looked at Alice’s embroidery, and there would be a point to existing. There was no canvas on the little boat, which looked pathetically flimsy now. I imagined the next great rainstorm, my slowly swelling stomach and I hunched in the cabin as the sea and sky became one. And I knew that my mother had been afraid of the ship, just as I was now afraid of the world beyond it.
I heard the door behind me swing open.
‘Lalla. Where have you been?’
He had come. Tom had come. And when I saw his face pink and his green eyes alive with concern, I wanted to stay. If his heart beat like mine, if his hopes were wrapped in me as mine were in him, then we could live and love and die on the ship, and the future would be for our baby to sort out. He had come for me. I could do it. I could brave the degeneration of the ship. I could eat from tins and packets of powder until they were exhausted, and then I could starve with him and say nothing of my hunger. I could stand between him and my father, and take one of their hands in each of mine and press them to my growing belly, and see them look at each other with pride, and their love for me would make our inevitable descent to the ocean bed as nothing.
I could do this, if Tom loved me.
‘What are you doing, Lalla?’
‘I’m leaving,’ I said, and as soon as the words were in the air, I knew that they were true, and that I could no more stay on the ship than I could change my father. Tom followed my eyes to the little boat.
‘You’re what?’ he said, his voice constricted. ‘Just – please, Lalla. Don’t even joke about it.’ My hands were shaking in his. I held his hands more tightly.
‘I love you,’ I said, and my voice was steady. He tried to take me in his arms, but I could not lose him now.
‘Lalla,’ he said.
I looked at him, and I saw how we had changed. This was not the face of the boy who had jumped eagerly at the gift of a football. The sun had coarsened his boy-skin; there were tiny red veins in his eyes and lines on his forehead. And I – I was no longer the grieving child who had come on board, so needy, so lonely, so desperate to be liked. We had grown together on the ship, and now it was time to leave. ‘We’re married,’ he said, this man who held my hands. ‘You don’t mean this. You’re ill, Lalla. I’m going to fetch Michael, and Roger, and we’ll help you. All the excitement – it’s sent you a bit mad. That’s all. I’ll get Michael.’
‘Don’t,’ I said. My husband. My lover, who was going to be a father.
But of course, he didn’t know. Did he know? I took his hand and pressed it flat against my belly. ‘This is why,’ I whispered. ‘There’s a tomorrow now. We can’t be right here, right now anymore, and the ship won’t let us be anywhere else.’
‘I know.’
‘You know?’ I said, and the colour drained slowly out of my world.
‘Roger said it was possible. He said to keep an eye on you. How long have you known? Why didn’t you say anything?’
‘I’ve only just realised,’ I faltered. ‘You sound angry.’
‘I’m not angry. But you’ve got to stop saying stupid things now. You just ruin things. This ought to be the happiest day of our whole lives.’ He pulled me towards the ballroom door, just as he had once pulled me onto the top deck. ‘Let’s go and tell Michael. He ought to be the first to know.’
‘Stop it,’ I said, and I held myself hard and would not be pulled. ‘It’s our baby. Yours and mine. Not his.’
He stopped pulling. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘But he’ll look after you. I’ll look after you. I said I’d always be with you, and I will.’ He put his hand back on my stomach, but the baby was still. ‘Roger said to take you to the infirmary as soon as you said anything. Just to be certain.’
But I was certain. I didn’t need Roger, and I didn’t trust him.
‘Have you said anything to my father?’
‘Of course not,’ Tom said indignantly. He paused as though he expected thanks.
‘Let me go, Tom,’ I said.
‘Go where, darling? Tell me, where?’ He came and stood beside me at the deck rail, and the warmth of his hands on mine made me waver as his words had not.
‘Just away. Away over there,’ and I gestured at the horizon, beyond which was land or death. Or land and death.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I won’t let you. How can you even ask me? There’s nothing out there. I saw it. I know. Trust me.’ And I could not hold myself apart from him anymore. ‘Come back,’ he said. ‘Eat. Cut the cake. Dance with me.’ He smiled and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘Would that be so painful?’
I shook my head. No, it would not be painful. If dancin
g with Tom had been painful, leaving would have been easy. ‘You said you’d come with me,’ I burst out.
‘We’d starve.’
‘So will the ship.’
‘We’d die on the sea.’
‘So will the ship.’
Tom let me go then, and stepped backwards. ‘What if you die, like Roger’s Sarah?’
‘Then you’d have our baby.’
‘What if the baby dies?’
‘You’d have me.’
‘And if you both die?’
‘You’d have yourself. Free. And maybe none of those things will happen. We might find land. You have to choose, Tom.’
‘There is no choice,’ he said. I felt a terrible tearing in my own breast, as though a part of me was being clawed apart. ‘I’m going to be a father. Do you know what that means? It means not breaking your promises. It means putting your children first.’
‘Did my father tell you that?’ I asked.
‘He’s done better. He’s shown me. All the plans he made, the provisions he stored. For you. Do you know what frightened me most when I came on board, Lalla? Do you know?’
‘What?’
‘That I wouldn’t be worthy. That I could never be what he wanted me to be for you. He loves you so much, and he trusts me. He chose me for you. It wasn’t the China pictures I posted on my blog. It was his plan for you. That was why he told me to give you space. He needed to know that you’d chosen me for yourself. And you did. You love me, and I love you. He was right.’
‘He chose you?’
He nodded eagerly, and the last fibre holding me to the ship strained, and snapped.
‘You say you love me,’ I said quietly. ‘But you don’t. You love the girl my father sold you. And I’ve tried to be that girl. But I’m not.’
‘And the girl you are can’t love me?’
‘Not on the ship.’ The baby moved. ‘Tom,’ I said, ‘if there was ever a moment when you loved me for myself, then you have to come with me.’
He put his hand in his pocket and there, held between his thumb and index finger, was one of the skylight screws. ‘I wanted to give you this instead of a wedding ring,’ he said. ‘But Father had the ring ready, and …’ He put it into my palm and folded my fingers over it. He pulled me to him and kissed me, and I clung, not to my father’s creature but to the boy who had followed me out through the skylight and into the world.
The ballroom door opened and the people spilled out onto the deck. They were laughing, and when they saw Tom and me, kissing on the deck, they began to cheer. Tom put his arm around me.
‘The cake.’ I heard my father’s voice through the open door. ‘Where’s the happy couple? We should cut the cake.’
I put my lips to Tom’s ear and whispered, ‘Let me go. Now.’
Tom hesitated for a moment, and in that moment, my father appeared in the doorway, all smiles and pride. ‘Tom,’ he said. ‘Lalla. Come back inside. Cut the cake. You’ll be together all your lives. Today you have to share each other with the rest of us.’
Tom put his arm around my shoulders and pushed me forwards, back through the doors into the ballroom, smiling to left and to right. My red shoes had no grip and I slipped along, propelled by his strength. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly, guiding me up onto the podium. The clapping and the stamping that greeted us drowned out the music and made it impossible for me to reply. He bent down and kissed me again, and the ballroom exploded in cheers. And I liked it. Oh how I liked it, even though I was furious. There was nothing simple here.
Patience and Mercy bustled over with the cake knife, its handle tied with ribbons and flowers. Tom took it and offered it to me, and I ran my finger down the flat of the blade. The cutting edge caught the light; it looked wickedly sharp. Patience and Mercy looked at each other, delighted, as though they’d overheard me saying something lovely. I held the knife, and Tom put his hands over mine, and together we pushed it through the smooth white icing and into the cake below.
‘Speech,’ someone called out, and the word was taken up. ‘Speech, speech.’ Tom grinned and held up his hand as though he was reluctant to comply. But I could see his eyes, and I could see his pride in standing where my father had stood, speaking to the people as my father spoke to them. My father was there, standing with his people and gazing at me. He took in my dress, my veil, the tiara in my hair. But he could not see his compass, tucked inside the bodice of my dress, warm against my skin.
‘Speech,’ the people called, but not until my father held up his hands and joined in the cry did Tom lean over to the microphone.
‘Is this on?’ he asked, and it clicked into life. ‘I just wanted to say one thing. Only one. And it’s this – that I really, really wish Lalla’s mother were here.’ Silence fell, broken only by murmured agreement. People looked at Tom, and at each other, and at the floor. Only my father continued to look directly at me. ‘Lalla loved her mother, and I know we all lost people, but Lalla actually lost her mother here on the ship, and I think that’s why it’s taken her a bit longer than the rest of us to be happy here. But Lalla’s happy now, aren’t you, Lalla, and I’m going to make sure she stays that way.’
People began to clap, but I leaned across to the microphone and said, ‘Wait.’ I spoke louder than I had meant to, and the word echoed slightly. Hundreds of pairs of eyes followed my father’s and fixed on me.
‘What are you doing?’ Tom asked, frowning.
‘I’ve got some things to say.’ I tried to say this to him quietly, but the microphone was on and Tom was leaning over me, so our words were picked up and broadcast across the ballroom.
‘We’re going to tell Michael first,’ Tom said quietly. I shook my head. My father raised his eyebrows. The unconditional joy that had reigned only a few moments before dissipated, and in its place was an air of unease.
‘Let Lalla speak,’ my father said, and Tom stepped aside. I could see the satin of my bodice pulsing with my heartbeat and wondered whether I was going to be able to say a word. The bride did not normally make a speech, my father had said casually as he brought the flowers down from the stores. But I had not planned the wedding. I had not chosen to be standing where I was. They had no choice but to listen.
‘I’ve got some things to say,’ I repeated, my voice unsteady. ‘It can be my testimony, if you like. I never got to say what brought me here, like the rest of you did.’ Tom shifted nervously beside me. ‘I wish my mother was here too. But she isn’t. And there’s someone I wish was here even more than my mother.’ My father was looking grave, and Emily’s hand tightened on his arm. ‘Tom had a grandfather. Tom’s grandfather was the only family he had left. The only family. And he took Tom into the country, to find a plot of land to grow things on.’
Tom hissed in my ear. ‘This is an old story, Lalla. Everyone knows it already. We’ve left the past behind, remember? The testimonies are over.’
‘Mine isn’t,’ I said. ‘The point is that Tom’s grandfather wasn’t allowed to come on the ship. It’s not that he was dead. It was because he wanted a garden. And what I wanted to say is that I wish he had been allowed to come, because he had a right to be saved too. You can’t just pick and choose. Not people. Because people aren’t things. You can’t just store the ones you like, as if they were tinned tomatoes or cooking chocolate.’
My father removed Emily’s hand from his arm and strode up to the podium. ‘Let’s talk later, Lalla,’ he said. ‘Stop this now. Say thank you to your guests, and go and dance.’
‘I won’t be dancing,’ I said, and I could feel my smile tight and false. ‘I’m going to leave now. I’m going to find apples. Real ones.’ I gathered my skirts. ‘Thank you,’ I said as I got to my feet. ‘Thank you for looking after me, and putting up with me for so long.’ There was an uncertain smatter of applause as I stepped down from the podium and began to walk towards the doors.
‘What are you doing?’ Tom called.
‘I told you,’ I said, and the room was so quiet that
I didn’t need the microphone. ‘I’m leaving. You won’t let me go, but it’s not your decision to make.’ The wedding was crumbling; people looked around at the flowers, the cake, the clothes they were wearing, as though they expected these things to melt. I kept walking, and the people stepped aside. When I reached the door, I heard my name echoing around the room, and I knew that my father had taken the microphone.
I spoke to him without turning round.
‘Tom doesn’t love me enough,’ I said. ‘Do you?’
Patience began to cry, and her sobs cut through the set air. Mercy held her. I looked at Mercy, her wide soft eyes turned pleadingly towards me. But I could not stay just because Patience wanted me to.
‘Close the doors,’ my father called, but no one moved. I kept walking.
‘Close the doors,’ came another voice, higher, more desperate, but still the people hesitated, scared to do at Tom’s command what they had failed to do for my father.
‘Look at me, Lalla,’ my father ordered. ‘Look at me.’ His voice was cracking and I knew I had to get out of the ballroom before he began to cry. I remembered my mother, how she had stalled and stalled and stalled the sailing of the ship. If she had not been shot, we would still be in London. I knew this now, and I had a suspicion of the lengths my father had gone to, to create the world he wanted.
I heard the desk drawer open and shut.
There was a scream, and another, and I knew what I would see when I turned around as clearly as though it was happening in front of me.
‘I can’t let you,’ my father was calling, his voice choked. ‘I won’t let you. Where do you think you’ll go?’
I was trembling so hard that I wasn’t sure I could turn without falling. Let me be wrong, I begged to nothing. Let me be wrong. But I remembered a figure in faded black running through the crowd and my mother collapsing to the floor. I was not wrong.
I turned around. My father was holding a gun, and he was pointing it at me. The room was so still people did not seem to be breathing. He held the gun steadily and said, ‘I would rather kill you myself than have you suffer what you will suffer before your death in the world beyond the ship.’
The Ship Page 28