I don’t believe it.Ava’s voice. Her face – the pinched line between her brows, the furtive look in her slate-grey eyes.
And his reply:Well, then you are the only one in this world who doesn’t.
Then believe it with me,and I won’t be alone.
He looked down in time to see two burly men upon the dock begin to untie the ropes holding the gangway in place, readying to pull it back into the belly of the ship, and something speared through his stomach like a red-hot knife.
‘Wait—’ he called, plucking up his hold-all. ‘Wait!’
Now he was running, fighting his way through the crowd crushed against the railings, so desperate to catch one last glimpse of their loved ones they could not hear him shouting, could not feel him trying to gouge a frantic path for himself towards the stairs.
‘Please!’ he called, hoisting his hold-all atop his head lest it get trapped between people’s legs. ‘You must let me past!’
‘Really.’ A woman tutted, pulling her daughter aside.
‘Therudeness,’ muttered another.
But Damien didn’t care. He pushed, and pushed, though it felt like carving stone with a butter knife: the press of people, the sheer mass of them was unyielding, but then the ship rocked once more, and the crowd staggered, and he seized his chance, trying not to trip as he pushed backwards, towards the spiralling staircase that would lead him down, back towards the doorway. Beneath him came the metallic clank of something closing, the screeching roll of wheels.
‘Wait!’ Damien bellowed, at the same time the ship’s horn blasted again, long and low, and the crowd above let out a gleeful cheer.
‘Wait! I need to get off this ship!’
Chapter Sixty-Four
Backstage on show night had its own kind of music, a wild, breathless symphony of thudding boots, creaking ropes, and increasingly frantic voices. It didn’t matter how much they rehearsed, how much they prepared – it always felt like this. Always felt utterly impossible until the moment the lights dimmed, and the curtains drew back, and it all began.
Ava sat in the relative peace of her mother’s dressing room, glassy eyes upon the mirror. The room was still barren – Lillian having point-blank refused to return anything before opening night was over – although Bertie had crept inside earlier, a small brown package in her hands.
‘For you,’ she’d said. ‘I thought you might want it for tonight.’
Ava undid the twine carefully, the paper falling open to reveal a delicate silk gown, and her breath caught in her throat.
‘She was never gunna just toss them all away,’ Bertie said, taking off her cap. ‘She loved your ma too, you know. Grieved her, when she died. For all she talks big, I don’t think she wants her to disappear either. She still has all her cuttings from the papers saved in a file in her office. I see her take them out and read them sometimes.’
‘Thank you Bertie,’ Ava said, fingers tracing the soft silk. It was the colour of forget-me-nots, the colour of summer skies, and sparkling seas.
‘Fifteen minutes,’ said Bertie, opening the door and letting a burst of noise into the room – men calling to one another about the gas lines, and the rigging, and the props – and above them all was Miss Lillian’s cane,clackingback and forth. ‘And then she wants everyone readied in the wings.’
‘I’ll be ready,’ Ava said.
‘She’d be proud of you, you know,’ said Bertie, brow creasing. ‘Your ma. Very proud.’
And then the door swung shut again, silencing it all – leaving Ava with only the sound of her own, thudding heart. She thought of all the times she had felt unworthy of those words – because she was not as confident as her mother had been, not as certain.
She blinked, a tear sliding down her cheek. Without Damien, she wouldn’t be sitting here, ready to show the world that she was not her mother. And proud of that fact – proud that she was her own woman. Proud she’d found something to carve for herself, rather than trying to whittle at what her mother had made.
And perhaps … that was enough? Perhaps, the fact that he’d taught her that, he’d shown her that, was enough. Even if he had left – he had left her with something important. Something she would carry with her. Something she would believe – not just for herself, but for him. And she would. Each and every day she would believe it – fiercely – as though he could hear her, all the way across the ocean – that we were all worthy of love. No matter who we were. No matter what was in our past – the mistakes we’d made, the things that haunted us – we were still worthy of love; and yes, it was scary – terrifying, even – but it was still worth the risk.
She knew that one day, she’d be able to think of Damien and not feel this same, dragging ache in her heart. One day she’d be able to hold those memories in her hands, and they wouldn’t cut her. She’d be able to focus on the happiness she’d felt, and not on the loneliness, the sadness. The dull, searing pain of it.
‘Five minutes, Ava!’ came Bertie’s voice as she thundered past the door.
But that day was not today.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Damien had never been so glad to plant his feet upon steady ground.
