by John Boyne
‘Of course not. I have to get used to it now anyway. Canada will be quite different from London, I expect.’ Mr Robinson nodded in agreement. ‘Do you suppose we’ll ever return?’ Edmund asked.
‘To England?’
‘Yes.’
‘Perhaps. Some day. We have new lives to start now though, and it’s best that we focus on them. A few weeks from today, you’ll have forgotten all about it and won’t want to go back. England will be nothing more than a bad memory. A few months from now, we’ll have forgotten the names of all our old friends. My old friends, I mean,’ he corrected himself after a moment.
Edmund wasn’t so sure but he allowed the observation to go unchallenged. He slid the last of the suitcases under the lower bunk, and the tightly sealed hat box which had been contained inside one of them went on top of the wardrobe. Edmund had secured it earlier with tape and rope to prevent it from spilling open.
‘Why do you insist on bringing that thing with you?’ Mr Robinson asked, looking up at it and shaking his head. ‘It’s such an encumbrance.’
‘I’ve told you. It contains my most private belongings. It’s just the right size and shape.’
‘Well, it’s just as well you kept it in the suitcase,’ he said. ‘Imagine a boy carrying a lady’s hat box with him. We would have had some strange looks at the harbour with that.’ He tapped his fingers lightly against the side of the dresser as he glanced towards the door anxiously. The deep boom of the ship’s horn continued to sound every few minutes and the noise was giving him a headache.
‘We’re getting close to departure,’ said Edmund.
‘You can always go up there on your own,’ Mr Robinson pointed out. ‘If you want to watch as she sails, that is. You don’t need me with you, surely?’
‘I don’t need you with me. I want you with me. I want us to see Europe disappearing into the distance behind us together. I think it would be bad luck for me to be up there alone. Besides, I get nervous on my own. You know that. I’m not used to . . .’ He held out his palms as if to indicate that he couldn’t even find the words to explain this situation. ‘ . . . all of this,’ he said finally.
Mr Robinson nodded. ‘Very well then,’ he said with a smile. ‘If it means that much to you, we’ll go together. Let me fetch my coat.’
Edmund grinned. His powers of persuasion were second to none; even on trivial matters like this, victory gave him a tremendous sense of power.
The wind was blowing quite strongly on the deck of the ship and, as many of the passengers had decided to remain below decks, they did not have to struggle to secure a place along the railings; the first-class deck was separated from steerage anyway, leaving them a lot more room to walk around or to relax on deckchairs. From where they stood, the harbour of Antwerp was spread out before them, and it seemed as if there were thousands of people walking around busily, working, travelling, collecting or despatching their loved ones, looking lost.
‘It wasn’t as nice as Paris, was it?’ Edmund commented, buttoning his coat against the breeze.
‘What’s that?’
‘Antwerp. I didn’t like the city as much as Paris. We had more fun there.’
‘That’s because Paris is the true city of romance, or so they say,’ said Mr Robinson with a smile. ‘I’m not sure there are many cities in the world that can compete with it. I read somewhere once that when good Americans die, they go to Paris.’
Edmund laughed. ‘And are you one of those?’ he asked. ‘Are you a good American?’
‘Of those two things,’ he replied, ‘I am certainly one.’
A gust of wind blew quickly from behind them and, without even thinking, Mr Robinson’s reflexes reacted and his hand shot out to grab a lady’s hat before it was blown over the side of the ship and into the water below. He stared at his catch, amazed to see the dark blue bonnet he was holding, and turned around to see a woman standing a few steps behind them, her own hands clasped on either side of her head where they had remained for a moment after the hat blew away.
‘Your hat, madam?’ he asked, surprised.
‘Thank you,’ she said, laughing gently as she retrieved it and tying the bow securely under her chin in a double knot. ‘The wind took it right off my head before I could stop it. I was sure it was lost. It was very quick of you to catch it.’
He gave a polite half-bow and tipped his own hat slightly to acknowledge this courtesy. Lost for words, he was unsure whether it might be considered rude of him to turn around again to face the port, for then he would be offering his back to her. However, she saved him the trouble for she immediately walked to the railings herself and, folding her arms in front of her, stared into the distance as the ship began to move.
‘I imagined there would be more people,’ she said, looking ahead.
‘Really?’ Mr Robinson replied. ‘I don’t believe I’ve ever seen so many. They say the ship can hold eighteen hundred souls.’
‘I meant, to see us off. I expected crowds of men and women waving their handkerchiefs in the air, crying at the loss of their loved ones.’
‘I think that happens only in books,’ he said. ‘Not in the real world. I don’t think people care about others that much outside of fiction.’
‘Thank heaven for that,’ she replied. ‘I don’t care for crowds myself. I was going to stay in my cabin until we were out at sea, but then I thought I might never see Europe again and would regret missing my last sight of it.’
‘That’s what I said,’ Edmund chipped in, leaning forward to look at the lady, a little suspiciously. If there was to be conversation, he was determined to be part of it. ‘I had to persuade him to come up here using that very argument.’
She smiled and looked at her two companions. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I should have introduced myself. Martha Hayes.’ She extended her hand to each of them in turn. ‘Pleased to meet you both.’
‘John Robinson,’ came the reply. ‘My son Edmund.’ As he named him, he gave the boy a sideways glance that suggested this was the very reason he would have preferred not to have come up on deck. Although the trip would take about eleven days, he was convinced that the fewer people they encountered the better, even if it meant a period of enforced isolation in each other’s company.
For her part, Martha had been immediately drawn to Mr Robinson as he had an air of quiet respectability which she liked in a man. She had heard stories that transatlantic crossings were notorious for the numbers of lotharios on board, but she could sense that he was not such a character. His downcast eyes and despondent air stood in contrast to the excited glow of the other passengers.
‘Are you going specifically to Canada or travelling on from there?’
‘Travelling on, most likely,’ he replied, even though this was not the case.
‘Where to?’
He thought about it and licked his lips. He pictured the map of North America in his mind and wondered what destination he could name that would make sense. He was tempted to say New York—but then the question would be raised, why he had not taken a ship directly to that city instead. And of course there was nowhere to travel to north of Canada. He closed his eyes and felt a dull rush of panic begin in his chest and work its way up towards his throat, where the words flickered away and were lost.
Fortunately, Edmund saved the day by changing the subject. ‘What deck is your cabin on?’ he asked, and Miss Hayes hesitated for only a moment before answering, turning her head to look at the boy.
‘B deck,’ she said. ‘Quite a nice room, all in all.’
‘We’re on A,’ said Edmund. ‘Bunk beds,’ he added with a frown.
‘Mr Robinson! It is Mr Robinson, isn’t it?’ A loud voice from behind them forced all three to turn around. Standing there, grinning like the cat that had got the cream, was Mrs Drake from Cabin A7, with her daughter Victoria standing gloomily by her side. Mrs Drake was wearing a different hat from the one she had worn earlier, a much more elaborate affair this time, and she carr
ied an unnecessary parasol. Her perfectly round face was glowing with happiness to see them there, although she looked Miss Hayes up and down distastefully, as if she suspected the woman of being a member of the working classes and therefore unsuitable for polite company.
Victoria stared at Edmund and narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
‘It’s Mrs Drake,’ the older woman added after a moment in order to save the embarrassment of a lack of recognition. ‘We met while my daughter and I were looking for our rooms.’
‘Ah yes,’ said Mr Robinson. ‘Mrs Drake. How nice to see you again.’
‘What a coincidence that we should meet downstairs and then, when we come up to take the air, you’re the first people we see. I said to Victoria, I said, “Look there’s that nice Mr Robinson and his son, let’s go and say hello to them. They’ll be delighted to see us again.” I said that, didn’t I, Victoria?’
‘Yes, Mother,’ said Victoria dutifully. ‘Doesn’t the city look far away now?’ she added to no one in particular. ‘We’ve only been out five minutes and the mist is already taking it from sight.’
‘And a good thing too,’ said Mrs Drake. ‘I didn’t care for Antwerp, not one little bit. The place smelt foul and the people were thieves, every last one of them. Don’t you agree, Mr Robinson? I dare say you felt the same way. You look like a man of breeding to me.’
‘We didn’t like it as much as Paris,’ Edmund admitted.
‘Oh. Were you in Paris recently then?’ asked Mrs Drake, turning her head to look at the boy. ‘Only, Victoria and I were there for the winter. Where did you stay? We have an apartment there. It’s convenient, because we spend at least three or four months there every year. Mr Drake generally stays in London, where his business interests are. I love the theatre particularly. Couldn’t you just die for the theatre, Mr Robinson?’
‘This is Miss Hayes,’ he answered, directing her attention towards the fifth member of their group and ignoring her question. While they were speaking, Martha had felt slightly awkward, wondering whether they were all old friends, and she had even considered slipping away without a word, unsure whether anyone would notice if she did so, or if they would even care. ‘A fellow traveller,’ he added.
‘Charmed, Miss Hayes,’ said Mrs Drake, extending a gloved hand in such a regal manner towards the younger woman that she wondered whether she should curtsey and kiss it. Resisting the urge, however, she shook it forcefully instead. Mrs Drake curled her lip a little. ‘What a firm grip you have,’ she said critically. ‘Very manly. Are you travelling alone?’
‘There must be a thousand people on board,’ Martha replied, aiming for a little humour but seeing it backfire immediately as Mrs Drake considered her remark to be rude.
‘I meant, do you have a chaperone? Your mother, perhaps, or a favoured aunt? A paid companion perhaps? Some of the ladies go in for such things, I know. Not I, of course, but one hears about such things.’
‘I am entirely alone,’ said Miss Hayes after a moment in a voice of such dignity that Mr Robinson was forced to stare closely at her, wondering whether her reply had referred not so much to her status aboard ship as to her life as a whole.
‘How unfortunate for you, you poor, miserable, godforsaken creature,’ said Mrs Drake. ‘I never travel alone myself. Nor would I allow Victoria to go abroad without me. She’s too young still, you see. Only seventeen. How old are you, Edmund?’ she asked.
‘The same age,’ said Mr Robinson, answering for him. ‘I too prefer to keep him with me.’
‘Ah, but he’s a boy at least,’ said Mrs Drake, as if this changed everything. ‘Practically a man. Men aren’t in such danger. Even ones with such delicate features as your son.’ She stared at him more closely, narrowing her eyes. ‘Have you been in a fight though, Edmund?’
‘No,’ he replied suspiciously.
‘But the scar above your lip,’ she said, noticing the thin pink gash that ran from beneath his right nostril down to his lip. ‘Surely that’s the result of an altercation of some sort. Boys can be so mischievous,’ she added, smiling. ‘The little scamps.’ Edmund felt himself begin to blush and touched the place she had mentioned self-consciously. He was aware that the eyes of the others were on him and he despised Mrs Drake for it. ‘Young ladies are always in peril, I feel, if they travel alone,’ she continued finally, oblivious to his discomfort. ‘I think perhaps we understand each other, Mr Robinson.’
‘I believe I can look after myself,’ said Martha, already feeling a general dislike for this large bulk of a woman, this supercilious sow looking down her nose at her. ‘I have become accustomed to it recently.’
‘Have you indeed,’ said Mrs Drake dismissively, intrigued by what the younger lady’s circumstances were now but not willing to flatter her by showing her any further attention. ‘How nice for you. Now, Mr Robinson, as we are practically neighbours, I do hope that we will be able to dine together some evening? It makes a voyage pass so much quicker, I feel, when one makes friends and acquaintances along the way. I favour fan tan, but am equally adept at whist and baccarat. The first-class dining hall takes reservations, and I have it on the best authority that tables are booked up early. Perhaps I should reserve a table for four for tomorrow evening?’ She didn’t look in the direction of Martha, who allowed herself a brief smile at the snub. Mr Robinson, on the other hand, looked increasingly flustered and his hand went to his moustache, as it always did in moments of crisis, only to find that it was no longer there. His eyes opened wide in surprise.
‘Where’s your mother?’ Victoria asked Edmund in an inquisitive tone. She had removed herself from her mother’s side and had worked her way to the end of the railing so that she and Edmund stood a little apart from the adults and out of earshot. ‘Is she dead?’
He looked at her, surprised by the forthrightness of her question. ‘Yes,’ he said finally. ‘She died some years ago.’
‘What did she die of?’
‘She caught the plague,’ said Edmund in a level tone. ‘And it did for her.’
‘The plague?’ Victoria asked, shocked and stepping back a little, as if it might be contagious. ‘Are you serious?’
‘No, of course not, I’m teasing. Heavens, this is the twentieth century after all. Medical science has travelled on a little. No, she died of tuberculosis.’
‘Ah,’ said Victoria, relieved. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. My aunt Georgiana had that, and she had to spend the last ten years of her life in Switzerland for the air. She died when a bird fell on her.’
‘When a what?’
‘A bird fell on her head one day. While she was out walking. It must have died in the air and just fell to earth. Killed her outright. It was a very big bird, you see. Not a pleasant way to go. Especially after only moving out there in order to stay alive. Why, she could have come home and lived her days out in England without the fear of random objects falling out of the sky and killing her. But that’s the Swiss, I expect. They’re a strange people, don’t you agree?’
Edmund nodded and raised his eyebrows a little, wondering whether bird and animal life could actually assume a national identity. ‘Where’s your father?’ he asked, returning the question. ‘Is he dead too?’
‘He’s in . . . London,’ she replied, shaking her head as if it took a little time to remember his exact location. ‘He’s in banking. He travels from time to time but is based there. We’re going to Canada on a holiday to visit my uncle and aunt who emigrated there twenty years ago. Mother hasn’t seen them in all that time. They’re very wealthy.’
‘How nice for them,’ said Edmund sarcastically.
‘Mother says that she wouldn’t allow me to travel alone,’ she continued, ignoring his tone. ‘But next year I will be eighteen, and then I come into my money. When that happens she won’t see me for dust. I’m going to do a little private travelling of my own. Kick up my heels.’
Edmund smiled and looked across at Mrs Drake, who was standing in a troika with Mr Robinson and Miss Haye
s but directing all her questions at the former, who looked as if he might conceivably jump overboard at any moment. ‘Don’t let her hear you say that,’ he said.
‘Oh, she can’t hear me from over there. Not over the sound of her own voice anyway. She could drown out the engines if she really put her mind to it.’
‘And where will you go?’ he asked. ‘With your money, I mean.’
Victoria turned and looked out to sea with a casual air and a wide smile. Her long dark hair blew behind her gracefully and Edmund could not help but admire her perfect skin and the pale prettiness of her features. ‘Wherever the wind takes me,’ she said dramatically. ‘And wherever there are eligible young men to fall in love with me.’
Edmund gasped and gave a little laugh.
‘Do I shock you?’ she asked flirtatiously, narrowing her eyes.
‘No,’ he replied firmly, unwilling to allow her this small thrill.
She looked immediately disappointed. ‘Oh,’ she said, deflated. ‘Why not?’
‘It takes a lot to shock me.’
‘Perhaps you don’t have my sense of adventure,’ she said.
‘Perhaps you don’t have my experience of life.’
‘After all, you’re still travelling with your father.’
‘As you are with your mother.’
‘But you’re a boy,’ she said. ‘Like my mother said, practically a man. Don’t you want to go off somewhere without him? Do a little seduction of your own?’
Edmund allowed a thin smile to cross his face but he didn’t look at Victoria. Already he knew that this was the kind of girl he disliked, but standing there at that moment he felt he had the power to tease her, a sensation which made him feel an extra three feet tall.
‘Victoria, dear, don’t slouch over the railing like that,’ called Mrs Drake, and they turned to face her. Edmund strolled back towards their company and Victoria was forced to follow. She was irritated by the boy’s apparent indifference to her, a new response. In London, where the Drakes lived, and in Paris, where they spent much of their time, she was considered quite the catch and enjoyed the game of stringing innocent boys along, making them fall in love with her and then dismissing them as soon as a new possibility appeared. This took place in the private life that her mother knew little of. One boy in particular, a nineteen-year-old stockbroker’s son named Kenneth Cage, had become obsessed with her the previous summer and announced that he would slit his throat if she did not agree to marry him; but then he had pretensions towards being an artist and believed in wild statements such as this. Unmoved, she had informed him that if she was to reach the age of twenty without some fellow killing himself for the love of her, she would consider herself a great failure. In the end he had swallowed two pots of emulsified paint in an attempt at self-poisoning, but it had gone horribly wrong and, rather than dying or impressing Victoria sufficiently for her to succumb to his charms, he had merely suffered a severe case of diarrhoea for two weeks and pissed several shades of primary colours for months afterwards. And now here was Edmund, a boy her own age—a strikingly good-looking boy at that, with sharp cheekbones, tender red lips, smooth cheeks and the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen. A slim body, the kind she found devilishly attractive. And not only was he making no effort whatsoever to make love to her, he seemed entirely indifferent to her and had even walked away from her without being dismissed. She would win him over, she decided. Before the voyage was over she would make him fall in love with her. Then she would use him and discard him and teach him what it was to lose a person such as her.