The Girl Who Came Home(27)

Maggie sat and thought for a moment.

‘D’you know something, I thought I would feel sadness. But I don’t. I think I finished with all my sadness a long time ago. Now? Now, I guess I feel comforted. I feel at peace.’

‘I’m glad Maggie. So glad. I was terribly afraid this would all be far too upsetting for you.’ Grace stood up then to stretch her legs and walked over to the window. She liked to watch the birds which always flocked to the feeders and nesting boxes dotted around Maggie’s garden. ‘What were the letters you mentioned by the way?’

‘Ah, now that’s a different matter altogether. That does make me feel a little sad.’

‘Why? What were they?’

Maggie laughed to herself. ‘They were from my boyfriend. I left him in Ireland. He wasn’t so good with his words but he gave me a packet of letters the morning I left our village. I remember him saying it would mean I didn’t have to wait on any deliveries; that I could read a letter from him whenever I wanted to. He’d put fourteen letters in, one for each month we’d known each other. I’d only read one or two of them. I thought I should wait until I reached America to read the rest, thinking that I might read one a month as if he’d actually just sent it to me. That way I could be reminded of him whenever I was missing him the most.’ She paused then, remembering him; his gentle manner, his soft eyes, his beautiful red hair. ‘We used to meet under a blossom tree after market on a Wednesday morning. It was a nice arrangement.’ She smiled to herself.

‘So, what happened to the letters?’

‘I lost them all that night Grace. They were in my coat you see, and I have no idea what happened to it. I had it on when I got into the lifeboat and it was gone when I left the hospital. I seem to remember a well-to-do lady who was on the lifeboat with me giving me her overcoat because I was shivering so much with the cold. She was an actress – Vera or Violet or something; I can’t remember her name now. I often wondered whether my coat was mistakenly returned to her along with her own, or maybe it was just lost somewhere in the hospital. It was all so confusing you know, trying to track people down, trying to find out if they had survived or gone down with the ship. I’m sure nobody paid much attention to a simple black coat. I’ve often wondered what those other letters said. It would be nice to know.’

Grace waited for a moment, before asking, ‘And did you ever write to him again? You know, afterwards?’

‘Yes, I did. Once or twice. He only wrote back once though.’ A gentle smile crossed Maggie’s lips as she remembered him, but Grace sensed that she didn’t to want to dwell on this.

‘And did you never go back to Ireland?’

‘No Grace. No, I didn’t.’ Maggie spoke quietly, as though this were the hardest thing to say. ‘I never wanted to set foot on a ship again after that terrible night. And I felt so guilty you know. Why had I survived when so many others, even tiny little babies, had died? I knew I could never go back home, knowing the sadness there would be there and knowing that I escaped with my life while I had watched so many others die.’ She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts. ‘I was sailing to America to start a new life, and in a funny way, that was the only way I could carry on after Titanic; with a new life. The girl who had left Ireland was gone to the bottom of the ocean with the rest of them. I had to start over. Start again, and that meant never talking about Titanic again. Not with my own family and not with those we had left in Ireland.’

The two sat then for a good while longer; Maggie leafing absent-mindedly through the newspaper cuttings and touching her belongings, Grace reading through the journal. There was no need for either of them to talk.

Eventually, the clock on the mantelpiece chimed midday, the first chime startling them both and causing them to laugh.

Grace got up then and walked through into the kitchen. ‘Are you ready for another cup of tea yet? I’m gasping!’

Maggie looked up and smiled. ‘Yes dear. That would be lovely. And Grace…’

‘Yeah?’ Grace popped her head back around the doorframe.

‘Have you called that newspaper editor of yours yet?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Well, you should y’know. I think he might just be interested in my little story. Do you?’ She winked at Grace and started to put everything back into her small case. She imagined, for a moment, a small packet of letters, wrapped in brown paper and tied up with a fraying piece of string, and wondered where they had gone that night. She thought about the man who had written them.