A Distant Dream (20 page)

“Mel not joining us for dinner tonight?” asked Harold, as the three of them met up for a pre-dinner drink, whilst waiting for the maitre d' to announce the restaurant open.

“Lover's tiff,” said Kathleen astutely, after noticing that Patrick's eyes looked a little red and and he was wearing a “hang dog” look. “Still you're young yet, Patrick, plenty more fish in the sea and you don't want to go tying yourself down just yet.”

“It wasn't a tiff; I stupidly went down on one knee and asked her to marry me. It's not funny.” He glared at the couple, who couldn't help but laugh at the seriousness on his face.

“You did what?” Kathleen chuckled. “You and Mel must have been watching that film they were showing,
Seven Brides For Seven Brothers
. Did she turn you down, is that why you look as if you've lost a pound note and found a sixpence?”

Patrick nodded. “I really thought she felt as I did.”

“Well, she told me only the other day that she was having a gap year, seeing a bit of the world and returning home to study at university. You can't expect her to give up her dreams just because she met someone she liked on holiday.” Kathleen felt relieved at the turn of events.

“I suppose not.”

“Come on Patrick, cheer up, we'll be docking at Port Said in the morning and Harold has said he'll treat us to something from the bumboats, seeing as its just been Christmas.”

*

Port Said, “the valiant city”, was situated at the west side of the Suez Canal, a little further up the Mediterranean coast. It was founded by President Sa'id of Egypt when, as Ferdinand de Lesseps, the architect, gave the first symbolic swing of the pickaxe at the beginning of the construction of the Suez Canal, Port Said and its twin city, Port Fuad on the eastern side of the canal which could be reached by little ferries, was deemed to become a vital part of the area's economy.The ship was to anchor there for a few brief hours, intending to top up with fuel for the final leg of its journey then take on more provisions and a hold full of cotton to sell in London. Most passengers were anxious to be on their way, as the weather was hot and humid and the only relief was to sit in the air conditioned lounges. They preferred to bargain with the dusky faced traders who swung their goods on poles from their little boats that abounded around the vessel, calling out “cheap, very cheap,” in high pitched, pidgin English.

Of Mel there had been no sign, neither sitting with her friends in the restaurant that previous evening, nor later when they watched a show in the entertainment lounge. Patrick assumed that she had taken her meals in her cabin and hadn't wanted to be seen around. He missed her – missed the way she held his hand, laughed at his attempts at making jokes, her sweet tasting lips when she had offered to kiss him and the cute little outfits in which she liked to dress. His world had been brighter since she had walked into his life.

Harold, told of the situation by Kathleen, who was relieved that the young lady hadn't got her claws in him, sought him out to commiserate.

“You know, Patrick, marriage is a commitment for life and I can vouch for that. My wife and I were wed for thirty years before the cancer took her, God bless her. You need to really know that person before you ask them to marry you. You've known Mel for what, a couple of weeks and you were ready to propose to her?”

“But I love her, Harold. She's the first girl who has ever made me feel this way, well, the
only
girl that has made me feel this way. I've never had a girlfriend before. To be honest Harold, that is what I thought you had to do if you love someone, go down on one knee and ask them to marry you.”

Harold patted the young man's knee in sympathy. The lad hadn't got a dad to guide him, to tell him about the birds and bees and how to woo a young lady.

“Tell you what, Patrick, how about you and me having a couple of jars together? I'll tell you about my conquests before I settled down with Joan.”

*

She watched him through the window of the library door. Patrick was hunched over a book at one of the tables and Mel, her heart going out in sympathy as she looked at his lonely figure, wondered at her readiness to let him go. He was a nice bloke, a kind bloke, better than any of the boys she had met back home in the Barossa, better than this gang that had been her and Sue's companions whilst being on board. The problem was that he was too nice. He wasn't tough like her brothers, strong minded or self willed. He was an innocent, rather immature, he behaved in an awkward fashion and was difficult to get to know. He wasn't the type of man she would want if she were to ever marry, if the truth was told. And yet – No. It was a career, not a marriage, that she looked forward to – a brilliant career as a lecturer, or even a professor one day of European history. A husband and children would come later, of that she was sure.

*

Kathleen, aware of Patrick's descent into despondency, tried to cheer him up with promises of what they would do when the ship docked at Tilbury.

“I'll come with you to Ireland. We'll see if the name of Mayo in my ancestor's letter is one and the same” she said, staring at him fondly. “We'll catch the train to Liverpool and travel by boat to Dublin. Harold said it docks in a place called Dunleary. You'll remember where you lived before your parents went to Liverpool, won't you? Yes – then we'll go there, have a look around, then decide if you want to stop there or travel on with me.”

“It isn't fair that I continue to be your burden, Kathleen, which I have been for the past ten years. Don't think that I'm not grateful for all you've done, but you should be following your own dreams of the future, your independence from your brother Joseph. I'm a big boy now, I can manage on my own.” He gasped as she pulled him tightly to her, giving him a motherly hug.

“Never say that, Patrick” she cried, her voice muffled against his chest, as he was at least a foot taller than her. “You've been the reason for my existence for all these years.”

She suddenly pushed him from her and sat back on the settee where they were sitting together in one of the lounge rooms. Her eyes were full of tears and she groped into the black leather handbag that Harold had bought her from one of the Aden bumboats, frantically looking for a handkerchief. “Have you any idea what it was like for me as a woman, not having a chick nor child that I could call my own? You coming into my life gave me purpose and helped me to feel that I was needed. I wouldn't be at all happy if I lost you from my life after all this time.”

“But what of Harold?”

“Yes, Harold and I have tentatively discussed a future together. He is undecided whether he wants to go back to Melbourne or stay with his elderly parents and help out on their farm. Either way and most of all, he has agreed that your happiness should be my chief concern.”

*

It was a few days later, when on entering the beginning of the Bay of Biscay, the ship began to feel the effects of a storm that had been brewing in the unpredictable Atlantic. It started with scudding rain and an unfamiliar lurching of the decks. The passengers, unused to more than a heavy swell in the oceans that they'd been travelling, felt alarm and more than a little seasick. With no sun to warm their limbs and a chilly whistling wind that heralded that they were definitely now in the northern hemisphere, many passengers crowded into the public salons or sat in the safety of their cabins, surveying the waves through their portholes as they lashed over the ship. Sick bags began to appear at strategic points along the bannisters, corridors began to stink and fights broke out amongst fractious families, who hadn't bargained for any of this.

It was just after dark, when those people who had sea legs, or hadn't visited the doctor for pills and had managed to finish their dinner, felt as if the ship had plunged to the bottom of the ocean, sighed, pulled itself up, then hit the depths once more. It was a stomach churning experience and Patrick was thrown to the ground as the ship keeled over, whilst he waited in the salon for Kathleen and Harold to appear for an after dinner drink. He couldn't help but think that this was the end for him. There would be no return to the land of his birth, no listening to the chirrup of the birds in the trees outside his window, just a watery grave for him and the other passengers. He heard screams, thuds, the sound of breaking glass as he lay there winded, feeling other bodies close beside him and listening to their cries of alarm, because the lights had gone out. As the vessel buckled under the weight of the mighty waves, he felt panic, then grief that he might never have a glimpse of Mel nor Kathleen again.

Then above all the mayhem came the sound of the loud speaker and the authoritative voice of the captain from his precarious position on the Bridge. He asked for “lock down”, all passengers must make their way calmly to their cabins and stay there until the vessel was under his control again. There was a rush as those not thrown from their perches on the bar stools or armchairs, began to find their way to the exits, helped by sympathetic members of the crew with light from their torches. Patrick got to his feet unsteadily and began to follow suit.

“Which deck?” A crewman shouted over the roar of the wind, then grabbed Patrick by the shoulder, whilst trying to marshal the crowd that had gathered by the doors in consternation, not sure which way to turn.

“C Deck.” Patrick spoke quickly, looking over the railings uneasily at the huge, white tipped waves that might engulf them at anytime.

“C Deck, wait over there. When I've enough of you, I'll guide you down to the corridor.”

“Patrick” Her hand gripped his and they were pushed along together, the crewman deciding to tell his group to follow him to the carpeted landing below. The ship lurched, causing them to be hurled into the bulkhead, there were screams from the females and stalwart gasps of consternation from the men.

“Patrick? I came looking for you. I was scared that the ship might go down and I had never had the chance to tell you –” Mel shouted above the melee, but he didn't hear her words, lost as they were in the din of confusion as people began to head down the next set of stairs.

“Mel!” He grabbed her hand as they made it to the corridor, fumbling in his waistcoat pocket for his cabin key. There was no time to think of the niceties of convention; he dragged her through his cabin door and set her on his bunk.

“Patrick–” Then her mouth covered his with joyful kisses and explanations were no more.

*

It was with noticeable relief from all on board, when the ship nosed its way into Tilbury Docks and the last twenty four hours could be put down in history as a passing nightmare. Amazingly, the
Arcadia
was only four hours late, even though the captain had hove to once out of danger, to give all his passengers a chance to sleep and those who had suffered from broken bones or scalded by boiling water, as two stewards had, chance to be seen to by the doctor.

Not that there had been a lot of sleeping going on in Patrick's cabin. A lot of talking certainly, interposed with much physical contact and lots of giggling, and to give them their due, the couple were respectful of Patrick's wish to wait until they were married, before the ultimate intimacy. It had been difficult for two young people to deny themselves the pleasure of each other's bodies, confined as they were for hours on a narrow bunk suitable for only one person, but their decision felt justified when Kathleen, worried that Patrick had come to harm and had made her way during a lull to check on him, brought them back to reality. Whilst Mel hid herself under a blanket trying not to laugh, as Patrick assured his ‘aunt' at the cabin door that he was well and not worried about the storm in the slightest, the seriousness of their situation could not go ignored. In a few hours time when the ship had moored at its destination, decisions must be made.

It had come as a bit of a shock when Kathleen, hearing the knock on her cabin door the next morning, found that not only was Patrick grinning from ear to ear before her but Mel, the girl who had caused so much anguish to the poor fellow, was standing right behind him. Looking a bit sheepish admittedly and rather windblown as if she hadn't had access to a brush since waking, she stood without speaking whilst Patrick explained her presence there.

It appeared that Sue, the girl with whom Mel had been sharing a cabin with, had pleaded with her during the terrible storm the night before, to allow her boyfriend to share their quarters to keep them safe from harm. He was not a man that Mel had much liking for, as arrangements had already been mooted, thanks to him, for Mel to continue alone on her European journey, whilst Sue and her crewman beau, who was going to ask for his discharge papers at the end of the voyage, were planning to look for work together in London. Here Patrick wavered in his explanation, causing Kathleen to have the horrible suspicion that it hadn't been three people who had shared the young ladies' accommodation, it had been only two.

“So we wondered –” Patrick stuttered a little, not used to telling lies to Kathleen. “Well, Mel and I met up this morning when the captain said we were allowed to move about the ship freely. Mel was sitting in the salon and I passed her by when I went up deck. We wondered if perhaps she could join us, Kathleen, now that she's on her own, that is? She'd be happy to travel to Ireland with us and if we were to get a bit of a move on, we could all be there to celebrate the new year.”

*

It was the hour of disembarkation, something that the passengers and crew had prayed for, as many had thought that their time had come and they wouldn't reach the safety of the docks at Tilbury. It was also decision time. Kathleen and Harold had talked about the situation often, once they had realised that the feelings between them were reciprocated. Suddenly Kathleen, she who had thought that her days as a spinster would be played out as the Aldridge pioneer of travel and Harold on his part, knowing that Australia held too many painful memories of watching his wife affected by the horror of cancer, were faced with a dilemma. It would feel like abandonment of the chick that had fulfilled her yearnings of motherhood if Kathleen was to choose Harold. Patrick was penniless, of no fixed abode and she couldn't see herself cutting off the apron strings and allowing him to go to Ireland alone. Harold could picture a future. It was one where he and Kathleen moved to his parents' farm, married, settled down and perhaps even started another family. She'd be an asset, someone who would work as hard as he did to make the place prosperous. His cousin could buy him out from the construction firm that they ran together and there'd be a bit of money in the bank. But what of Patrick?

It seemed to Kathleen that now it was Mel that was pulling Patrick's strings. He was a gentle soul, rather naïve, unused to the wiles of women and she wondered if perhaps this sudden wish to be together was on Mel's part, a calculated ruse. How long would she stay when she realised that Patrick hadn't got a penny to his name and that the very clothes that he stood up in had been bought and paid for by her, his benefactor? And did she want to part from Harold, journey to Ireland for the sake of a promise that she had made to Patrick, when now there was this Mel in the young man's life? As Harold had said to Kathleen after she had cried in frustration upon his shoulder, when he had come to check that her luggage was ready for the porter, parting from the very person who had made her life worth living for the past ten years was a tough decision, but there was nothing much that she could do. He was twenty two, a young man who imagined himself to be in love with the young woman and objecting may well cause a rift forever between the two of them.

*

As Kathleen waited with Harold in the warmth of the salon, all dressed up in their heavy overcoats, Harold wearing a trilby and Kathleen a felt-brimmed hat that would keep her recently styled Marcel wave in place, whilst they listened for their call to disembark, Patrick and Mel stood on deck looking out across the busy dock land, with its ocean terminal, grain stores and a dry dock for ship repairs, towards the iconic River Thames with all its ancient maritime history. It was an awesome scene, especially for Mel, whose nearest city of note had been Adelaide, with its history no older than a hundred years. Patrick, for whom places had no appeal unless it was a town or village in his homeland, was anxiously scanning the cloudy skies for the threat of snow. If he was to be in Ireland with the intention of celebrating New Year there, he didn't want a downfall of snow to disrupt his plans, nor his methods of transport to be delayed in any way.

Mel shivered as they stood there in a temperature of five degrees, both used to the summer temperature that they had left behind six weeks before. She wasn't as warmly dressed as Patrick was in his thick three quarter length coat. She had just a blue, single breasted jacket which she wore with black, tailored trousers and a pair of black ankle boots. She tucked herself under his arm where he drew her trembling body to his to keep her warm.

“I've been thinking Patrick,” she began, not wanting to upset his plans in any way because of her presence, but wanting to clear up a few misunderstandings that might occur over the next few days. “We haven't really talked about it but if you and I are going to travel on together, where does that leave Kathleen and Harold? I know that Harold wants to travel back to his farm in Lincolnshire. He told me so when he and I first met and I thought that Kathleen would want to accompany him, not trail along with us, when she has the chance to hook up with him.”

Patrick nodded. It was something that had passed through his mind too. Was it fair to expect Kathleen to continue her substitute motherhood, when she had a life of her own that she was entitled to?

“Is it money, Patrick?”
There she'd come right out with it
. She knew of his background, the orphanage, the petty Uncle Joseph who had never given him a penny piece for his labour on the farm. “If it's all down to money and having Kathleen along means that money won't be a problem, well I've got plenty. I only have to send my dad a wire and he'll send me more if needs be.”

Patrick stiffened and took his arm away from Mel's shoulder.

“So that's it” he said rather sharply. “You think that the only reason Kathleen's in my life is because of her money. I am not a parasite. I worked long and hard on the Aldridge Farm and it wasn't my fault that Kathleen's brother was stingy. I was given bed and board and love from a good woman, who by a twist of fate was never given the chance to have children. No, it's not down to money, I just don't want Kathleen thinking I'm abandoning her, just because I have given my love to you.”

His face softened after he had said those words, on seeing her surprise at his reaction. It wasn't right to take his frustration about the situation out on her. “You know how I feel about you, Mel, don't you?” He said quickly.

“I do, Patrick and I didn't mean to have come out with it like that. I'm sorry. It's just –”

“When Joseph asked me to leave the farm, it was Kathleen who decided that she wanted to come with me. She knew that I would never have made it back to Ireland on my own. As you know, I'm not very confident. I suppose in her eyes, she was finishing the job, taking me back to the place where I was uprooted as a lad. To me she's worth her weight in gold.”

“Then I'll finish the job on her behalf, Patrick.” Mel reached up and kissed his cold cheek, the temperature having plummeted, whilst they waited to disembark. “Let's go and see what she has to say about our plans.”

There was that heartrending moment, when saying goodbye would last in the longest of memories. Saddened by their parting, there was a sorrowful silence as the taxi made the twenty five mile trip to Euston Station, where Patrick and Mel would catch the train to Liverpool and Harold and Kathleen would book into a small hotel on Earls Court Road. Not even the thought of being shown around the sights of London, could cheer Kathleen.

She fussed, whilst they stood in the queue to buy the tickets, two for the train journey to Liverpool which Kathleen insisted that she pay for and two platform tickets so that she and Harold could wave the couple off. Had Patrick remembered the name of the village where he was born? Did he remember if there were any relatives living close by? He was to write to her, the minute he had access to a pen and paper. Harold's address was an easy one; the Cooper Farm at Nethercote. Lincolnshire. As Kathleen held him close, murmuring in his ear that she would always love him and would always have a home for him, she slipped an envelope into the pocket of his coat.

*

It was to be a seven hour journey from London to Liverpool, changing at Crewe and travelling aboard a steam train that pulled along five carriages with corridors. Once aboard, it was difficult to find a compartment that they didn't have to share; it was so full of people returning from a visit with loved ones at Christmas, or travelling to stay with family for the New Year. Feeling strange, disorientated after spending six weeks on sea legs, they stowed their luggage on the overhead rack and as the train steamed north towards their destination, the swaying of their carriage began to mimic the rhythm of the ship. It wasn't long before they slept.

It was as they were pulling into a major station, when a woman caused a blast of chilly air to wake the sleeping couple, having lowered the window to see if a member of her family was waiting for her on the platform. Mel's watch, having been set to Greenwich Mean Time, showed that it was still some hours to their destination. Dusk was on its way, as the compartment lights were beginning to brighten up. She yawned, then got up to search in her vanity bag for a wrap of sandwiches that she had bought from a kiosk at Euston. It was hard not to hear the sound of rumbling in Patrick's tummy and she was feeling quite hungry herself. The compartment, recently emptied of its passengers, except for an old woman who was reading a magazine on the seat opposite was silent, but for the clink of the engine as it waited in the station. A screech from Mel brought Patrick swiftly to his feet.

“It's gone! Oh Patrick, my vanity case! It's got my money, my passport, all the things I need for–”

Her words hung in the air, as Patrick shoved his arms into his overcoat. He was out of the carriage like a gun salute, searching for the stupid woman who must have mistakenly picked it up.
Though where to look?
There were a couple of dozen passengers milling on the platform, some walking along to the exit and some others were waiting to board the train.

His heart was in his mouth. He could feel it beating, threatening to overwhelm him as he searched high and low for the woman, whom he remembered had red hair. Then, just as the guard had checked his fob watch, blown his whistle and waved his flag in the direction of the engine driver, the woman appeared, full of apologies for her lapse of concentration. She had been looking for her son who was to drive her to Solihull, as she was staying with him and his family for the New Year.

Without a word of thanks as he felt so angry, Patrick turned to see the train pulling out of the station, with Mel frantically waving from out of the window, asking if she should pull the communication cord. As he ran, feeling the weight of the case pulling on his arm, as Mel had stowed her makeup and toiletries inside it as well as all her valuables, the squeal of the wheels as the driver slammed on the brake and the whoosh of steam that escaped from the funnel, was music to his ears. The guard, shaken by events, after seeing the young man running and the young lady waving wildly from the carriage window, raced to the end of the platform and along the track until he had reached the stationary engine, where after mounting the steps he found the driver to be very shaken up indeed.

“I could have killed her” the man said in a wobbly voice, sitting on the bucket seat with his head in between his hands. “Came right out of nowhere, like an apparition if I believed in such a thing. A little girl with long, brown hair, wearing a long white, dress with black boots on.”