But how to measure it? In miles? Or by the number of waves in the ocean? Or maybe the number of dolphins?
When she stands on the deck at night, she wonders how she is ever going to count the stars that fill the enormous expanse above her.
The Big Barbadian offers her some words to help her. He tells her that an ocean is only a number of drops of water, like the raindrops that drip down the portholes some mornings. Without these drops, there is no ocean. She thinks of the day she found her way onto the ship, when she concentrated on the small details, the ones she could fit into her mind. She thinks the Big Barbadian may be right, so she looks around the ship, her head still held up, but with a new eye. Without the thousands of small iron rivets, the massive hull cannot exist. Without each single petal, there is no golden bowl overflowing with roses to decorate the captain’s table. And without each silken stitch, the passengers could not gaze at the thirty-foot tapestry that cascades from above the grand staircase.
It comforts her to think that such small things matter. For if this is the case, then maybe she has a place in this new world after all.
Chapter 39
Emma
Loosestrife & Valerian
They don’t talk much more about Will. Once Emma has recovered herself, Betty looks at her closely and says, ‘All of that can wait.’ She then suggests Emma has ‘a nice soak in the bath’, while she tidies the room, makes her bed and orders her some food.
As she does this, Betty brings her up to date with news from the garden centre. She seems particularly pleased that she was able to persuade her sister to come in and help while she’s away.
‘Well, let’s face it, she’s got nothing better to do. It’ll do her good to get her hands mucky for a change.’ She sounds almost gleeful.
When Emma comes back from her bath, Betty’s anorak is off, and Emma sees she is wearing a yellow rabbit jumper. As Betty once told her that rabbits are designated springwear, she realises Betty must have been unusually preoccupied when she dressed this morning. Emma finds herself apologising again for worrying her.
As Betty fusses and chats, Emma supposes this is what it feels like to have a mother looking after you. She wants to say something to reassure Betty that she would like her as a friend, not as a substitute mother, but as Betty hangs up her clothes and collects the used glasses, she realises she is overwhelmingly grateful to have both.
At around 8 p.m., Betty departs for Clem’s flat, where she is staying. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow,’ she says. ‘Be ready at 10 a.m.’
Emma looks at her enquiringly, but Betty will say nothing more.
Whatever Emma expected, it was not that Betty would decide to take a boat trip.
The rain has stopped and the sun is trying to shine. The maroon anorak has been put aside in the bottom of their little rowing boat, and Betty adjusts the sleeves of her swallows in flight sweatshirt as she sets about positioning the oars. Betty tells her to sit still and that she knows what she’s doing. To Emma’s admitted surprise, she does. Betty handles the oars with minimal fuss and maximum effect.
As they move further from the busiest part of the city, the fields begin to stretch out between the gaps in the buildings. The riverbank is a mass of purple loosestrife and white valerian, and from where Emma sits it looks like the cows in the meadows are walking knee deep in wildflowers. The air that moves in a gentle breeze across the water carries a hint of something floral mixed with verdant notes. She thinks of the fragrance of flower shops and wonders again if a perfume could ever hope to capture it.
‘Where did you learn to row like this?’ Emma asks, breathing in deeply and trailing a hand in the water.
‘My first boyfriend moved to Derbyshire from North Wales and he missed the sea, so we used to go out rowing on the reservoir. He taught me. My goodness, that’s some time ago now. The thing is, love, there weren’t many places you could go in those days if you didn’t have much money. He couldn’t afford the pictures and I didn’t fancy hanging out in the bus shelter or down by the railway embankment. Taking a boat out was cheap and you could get a bit of privacy. He taught me how to row, among other things.’
Emma looks up quickly.
‘He taught me how to roll a baccy cigarette and blow smoke rings,’ Betty says, raising her eyebrows in response to Emma’s look.
Watching Betty row reminds her of something she read, late one evening. ‘There was a stewardess on theTitanic,’ she tells Betty. ‘I forget her name now, but she was from the Murray River in Australia. She’d spent some time with a farming family there who taught her to row. She managed to get into one of the lifeboats. Anyway, she must have done some of the rowing, because when she got to America the first thing she did was travel back to Australia to thank the family that taught her. Shesaid that knowing how to row saved her life.’
‘Are you still going to write your book?’ Betty asks, lifting the oars and letting the boat drift forward on its own.
Emma finds she can’t answer this one. She doesn’t even have a clear idea of what type of book she might write.
‘I just wondered,’ Betty continues tentatively, ‘whether this started because you needed … I don’t know quite what, but when I think of all the stuff you’ve been bottling up and what that must have felt like– well, it’s no surprise you turned to something else, and really is it any wonder? Not that it isn’t interesting, and as for you saying last night that this quest, or whatever Tamas likes to call it, is ridiculous, well, I have to take issue with you there…’
Emma is losing the thread and is glad when Betty retraces her steps and asks: ‘You said you haven’t told anyone about Will in all this time?’
Emma shakes her head.
‘Not even your mum? I remember you saying she was still alive.’
‘Oh, you haven’t met my mother,’ Emma screws up her face. ‘I don’t think we’ve got long enough to talk about her.’
‘Another day?’ Betty suggests.
