‘Give me some hopeful news, please!’

Brynn flipped more pages, frowning and pursing her lips.

‘Quick!’

‘Shut up…Oh, here we go. This is the best news I’ve heard all day. No one will think you are a lazy housewife when you use tinned food, if it is good.’

‘Really?’

Brynn nodded.

‘That’s the best news you can find?’

‘Tinned peas. Hallelujah.’

I snatched the pamphlet from her hands. The cover had a photograph of a happy-looking couple dressed in civilian clothes, standing in front of the Statue of Liberty. She was leaning into him, and he stood strong, his two American feet firmly planted on his home soil. I leaped out of the deckchair and ran to the railing.

‘What’re you doing? Sarah!’ Brynn followed me, reaching out to grab my arm, but I evaded her grasp.

I tossed the booklet as far out to sea as I could. A few brides watching us gasped, and Brynn put her arm around my waist, both of us watching as the sodden speck of white grew more distant. A seagull swooped in and bobbed beside it for a moment before flying off, beak empty.

‘See?’ I said. ‘Even he recognises how useless it is.’

Brynn rubbed my back, sighing, looking at the distant horizon where we had been told America lay.

‘You’ll be fine,’ she said, her voice thick with the tears I had swallowed. ‘I know you will.’

•

When I recall the day we pulled into the harbour at San Francisco I think of the low fog, the deep, eerie horns which broke through my sleep that morning like fish breaking the surface of water. I dressed quickly, skipped breakfast and stood against the rail of the ship, the brides around me straining to see, patting their hairdos, pulling out compacts and reapplying lipstick. The engine strained as it turned and shifted, the red steel of the Golden Gate Bridge loomed, only appearing when it was just before us, magically revealed from beneath a layer of fog. I hadn’t expected the low mountains on all sides of the harbour; their brown earth and scrub reminded me a little bit of home. But the sky was so different, so moody, as was the way light cut in rays through the patches of fog. There were fishing boats, tugs, ferries, sailboats and tinnies weaving and dodging through the chop. The wind whipped our hair into our mouths, across our eyes, lifting hems of skirts and dresses. The sailors were all business now, every one of them occupied.

A ferry pulled alongside us and many of the women began shrieking; there were husbands of some of the girls on board. They had a loudspeaker and called out to us, the men’s voices crackling with static.