The Lost Sister, Kathleen McGurl [best desktop ebook reader txt] 📗

Charlie would just position items where she wanted them, whereas Sally would have her own ideas where things should go and would try to boss her around. She suspected Sally recognised her own tendency to take charge and had stepped down at this point on purpose, to reduce the chances of any conflict.

The next hour was a whirlwind of activity, as the removals company emptied the van in what seemed to be record time – far faster than they had loaded it. Furniture was put into the right rooms but not the right places, as Sally had foreseen. Boxes were stacked against walls and on kitchen counter tops. All the stuff that she wanted to store in the loft was stacked in what was supposed to be the spare bedroom. By the time the removers left, with a generous tip from Harriet, she was left wondering if she’d kept too much stuff. She looked around in despair.

‘How on earth am I going to sort all this out?’ she said. ‘There’s not even space to build my bed, without shifting loads of boxes.’

‘That’s a job for tomorrow,’ Charlie said. ‘Tonight you come and sleep at ours. Sally’s roasting a chicken for dinner. Tomorrow’s Saturday, and I can spend the day with you making this place liveable.’

Harriet smiled at him. She was exhausted, and so grateful that for today she could just leave the mess and come back to it in the morning.

Chapter 28

Emma, 1916

The men were all jumping overboard and swimming, thrashing, kicking, away from the lifeboat, away from the ship, away from those lethal propellers which were nearer than ever. Surely it was only a matter of moments before the lifeboat would be chopped into pieces, and them with it?

‘Get in the water!’ Emma screamed, and Violet, staring wide-eyed at the carnage around them, nodded and slipped over the side. ‘Lily, now! In the water!’

‘I can’t swim!’ Lily shouted, her voice filled with the fear and desperation Emma herself felt.

‘Our life jackets will keep us afloat. Get your coat off, quick. Hold your breath, get in the water and kick, get away from the ship.’ There was no time to lose. Keeping hold of Lily’s hand she pulled her overboard and they sank together, down into the dark water.

Which way was up? Which way was away from the ship? Lily’s hand in hers felt so slight, so vulnerable, but she could not, would not let go. She’d promised Ma. Whatever happened, she had to save Lily. She kicked frantically, and felt them begin to move up, through the water. Her head hit some sort of debris; for an awful moment she thought it was a propeller and it would all be over, but it was an abandoned oar and then her head broke the surface, Lily’s too, and they were gasping for breath and the life jackets were holding them up.

The water was not too cold. Emma could swim – as a child in the Isle of Wight she’d swum in the sea many times. Lily could not swim – she’d been too young, too frequently sick to learn. Now, Emma put an arm around Lily’s chest under her arms, twisted onto her side and kicked, a kind of side-stroke, her free arm reaching and pulling and somehow making progress away from the ship. There was a sickening crunch as the lifeboat they’d been in just moments before was reduced to matchwood by the propellers, and splinters and shards of wood showered down upon them. Lily screamed and then spluttered as a wave washed over them. Emma could not say anything to calm her sister – all her breath was needed for swimming, getting them as far as possible from the back of the Britannic. She tightened her hold on Lily. The one thing she knew was that she would never let go.

She hoped all those who’d been on her lifeboat and the others in the area had got away. She risked a look back, and wished she hadn’t. In the trail of the Britannic there were streaks of red amongst the debris and foam, and she had to swallow back bile as she realised that not all the debris was wooden – there was a human arm, a torso, the remains of a leg, shoe still on, floating by. Where was Violet?

But she and Lily were steadily moving out of range of the propellers. She twisted to look forwards – she was tiring and needed to plan where she was heading. There were some lifeboats a few hundred yards away, could she make it to them? She kept on kicking, pulling, gasping, groaning. In her grasp, Lily was spluttering now and again as the water washed over her, but she was staying still, clutching Emma’s arm that encircled her chest. That helped, a little. Emma kept swimming, silently cursing her skirt as it wrapped itself around her legs, cursing her corsets that restricted her breathing, cursing her long hair that had escaped its pins and kept plastering itself across her face. But the lifeboats were getting nearer, and she could do this. She had to do this. She thought she spotted Violet a little way off, in the water, clutching a spare life jacket and just treading water, a dazed expression on her face. There was nothing she could do to help Violet. It was all she could do to keep herself and Lily afloat, moving gradually towards the other lifeboats and safety.

Another glance back, and there was the Britannic, nose down and stern up. Emma trod water for a moment, holding Lily up, and watched as the great ship went down, just as the Titanic had gone under, amid a gurgle and a roar, those propellers still turning even as they were lifted out of the water. It was far enough off to not cause them any harm now.

And she must swim. She must hold on to Lily and reach the lifeboats. She checked how far