Back The Passengers Save as PDF
Chapters (45)
  1. COVER PAGE
  2. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  3. DEDICATION
  4. CHAPTER 1
  5. CHAPTER 2
  6. CHAPTER 3
  7. CHAPTER 4
  8. CHAPTER 5
  9. CHAPTER 6
  10. CHAPTER 7
  11. CHAPTER 8
  12. CHAPTER 9
  13. CHAPTER 10
  14. CHAPTER 11
  15. CHAPTER 12
  16. CHAPTER 13
  17. CHAPTER 14
  18. CHAPTER 15
  19. CHAPTER 16
  20. CHAPTER 17
  21. CHAPTER 18
  22. CHAPTER 19
  23. CHAPTER 20
  24. CHAPTER 21
  25. CHAPTER 22
  26. CHAPTER 23
  27. CHAPTER 24
  28. CHAPTER 25
  29. CHAPTER 26
  30. CHAPTER 27
  31. CHAPTER 28
  32. CHAPTER 29
  33. CHAPTER 30
  34. CHAPTER 31
  35. CHAPTER 32
  36. CHAPTER 33
  37. CHAPTER 34
  38. CHAPTER 35
  39. CHAPTER 36
  40. CHAPTER 37
  41. CHAPTER 38
  42. CHAPTER 39
  43. CHAPTER 40
  44. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  45. FURTHER READING

‘I know, Mum, it’s just…’ She sighs. ‘It’s not fair for you to have to look after her. She’s meant to be helping you.’

‘She has been. This has only just happened. We’ve been having a lovely time up to now. She’s always so full of questions, and I’ve been telling her about my trip over—you know, on the bride ship. About being a girl on the farm before that. About Sydney during the war.’

‘I’m glad. I am. But what now? Is there a doctor on board?’

‘There must be a dozen.’

‘Can you get one to check her over? Tell them her history. And she needs to call me, too. I won’t yell, but she needs to call. I’ll be sick with worry.’

‘Okay, doctor tomorrow. I don’t want you to worry.’

‘You know I can’t help it, Mum. But thanks for the heads-up.’

‘Get some sleep, love. Sorry I woke you.’

I hang up and push open the door to our cabin. Hannah’s still asleep and I can see the network of blue veins beneath the surface of her skin. The skin itself looks dry, flaky; even in the dim lamplight I can tell the colour isn’t right. I wish I could go into her brain and fix that strange compulsion she has to hurt herself. I wish there was something useful I could do.

•

I hardly slept that night on the train. It was black outside and everyone else was asleep around me when I finally reached the last page. The dam they built against the floodwaters breaking, Rose of Sharon losing her baby, the family torn apart. Rose of Sharon feeding the starving man with her dead baby’s milk, from her own breast. The strange image stayed with me. I was left with that hollowness at the end, that feeling of wanting to stay in the lives of these people but not being allowed. The window rattled against my head and I saw my own reflection, yellow from the reading light, wan and worn.

I fell asleep with the book on my lap, the pages soft from use. I dreamed of picking grapes, squeezing them in my fists so they popped, and rolling their slippery skin between my fingers. I dreamed of Roy on a wagon, riding away from me, clouds of dust like a sheer curtain between us.