The Lost Sister by Kathleen McGurl (i can read book club .TXT) 📕

going to fucking abduct me. For God’s sake, Mum, I can’t believe you went along with this – you? I bet Dad doesn’t know. Christ, you’re all so … just …’ She shook her head, as though she’d run out of words, and began walking towards the young couple.

‘Davina, I knew nothing of this,’ Harriet began. ‘Whatever they’d planned, it wasn’t anything to do with me.’

‘Mum, we were doing it for you,’ Sally said, her voice sounding distressed that it had all gone so wrong. ‘You’ve said so many times you just want her back.’

‘Not like this, love, not like this.’ Harriet was sobbing. How had this happened, how had she allowed it to happen?

Davina reached the watching couple and reassured them she was all right, and that she didn’t need the police. She turned back for a moment. ‘That’s it, Mum. That’s it, for good. Have a good life, all. I’m done.’ Head high, she marched off, the witnesses walking with her as escorts.

Sally sat in the back of the van, head in hands. ‘We messed that up, Lucas. We really did.’

He shrugged. ‘I tried, Sal. Bitch kicked me in the knee. The one I injured playing footie. That’ll be more physiotherapy I need.’ He rubbed his kneecap and stared at Harriet and then Sally. ‘So, I guess we’re not going to the gig after all then. I’m driving back to Bournemouth now, if you want a lift.’

Harriet was still staring after Davina as she walked away from them, down the road and round the corner. She willed her daughter to look back to see how anguished she was, how sorry, even though it hadn’t been anything to do with her. But Davina did not look back, not even the slightest glance, and Harriet knew in that moment that she’d lost her. They’d all lost her.

Chapter 6

Emma, 1911

Emma could not believe how quickly her first voyage on the Olympic had gone by. On the one hand it seemed like months since she’d sailed out of Southampton, first waving at her family, then watching as they passed by Netley Abbey and the huge military hospital, then marvelling at the white cliffs of St Catherine’s Point on the Isle of Wight … and then all the countless other sights she’d glimpsed from portholes and when she’d gone out on deck to assist her passengers. Cherbourg, Queenstown, the long days crossing the north Atlantic, then the excitement of spotting land once more and finally docking at New York to as much fanfare as there had been in Southampton. So much had happened. She’d been kept very busy by her passengers, and had rarely managed more than about five hours’ sleep a night.

Her day would start at six o’clock, when she’d rise, wash and dress, have a quick breakfast in the stewards’ canteen and then set off to her passengers’ cabins. She was looking after a couple of families who always wanted help dressing their children each day. How they managed when at home she had no idea, but on board ship they seemed unable to find shoes, to buckle belts or fasten buttons. Then an old lady who was travelling alone would need her to pick out an outfit and jewellery for the day, before escorting her to the breakfast salon. With everyone up and dressed and at breakfast, she’d then need to go to each cabin and tidy up – rehanging clothes, straightening bed clothes, and once, mopping up a pile of vomit from beside the bed.

By lunchtime she’d be tiring, and more than ready for her brief break and a few minutes chatting with Martin, comparing notes about the day so far. He’d make her laugh with his tales, and she’d feel invigorated and ready to face her afternoon duties after a little while in his company.

The passengers tended to spend afternoons on deck, and she’d be kept busy running back and forth fetching them cups of tea, biscuits, coats from their cabins. Or walking their little dogs up and down the decks, while they reclined on deckchairs sipping cocktails. And then it was the children’s teatime, followed by their parents needing help dressing for dinner. Emma would snatch a meal for herself once everyone was dressed and heading to the restaurants, but sometimes she’d be kept back babysitting, or tidying cabins. With luck she’d get a couple of hours’ leisure time in the stewards’ mess, before needing to help unclasp rows of pearls or hang up evening gowns. Undoubtedly one of her passengers would want an item of clothing cleaned before the morning, too. It was often midnight before they were all settled and she could collapse onto her own bed, exhausted.

‘It’s tough, isn’t it?’ Mary said, on the third night. ‘But in a funny sort of way I do enjoy it, even though the passengers drive me mad at times.’

Emma smiled and nodded. ‘Yes, me too. It’s hard work, but fun.’

As the ship returned to Southampton and docked once more it seemed like only hours since she’d left. Everything looked just the same. There were some people gathered to see the ship come in, though not nearly as many as had waved her out. Emma had a number of duties to attend to before her contract for this voyage was finished, and as the ship tied up and the passengers got ready to disembark suddenly it seemed as though the time could not go quickly enough. She could not wait to leave the ship, run home to Ma and her sisters, hear all their news and tell them all about her adventures. She’d been able to leave the ship for a few brief hours in New York, and had walked up and down streets marvelling at the enormous buildings soaring above her as she tried to find affordable mementos to bring home.

The passengers’ mood was a mix of excitement to have docked and regret at leaving the ship. The Olympic had indeed crossed the Atlantic in