‘I’m alright,’ I said, turning my back to him so he could fasten the top buttons of the pale blue dress with the hem that fell below my knees. I had let down the hems on most of my dresses just for the sake of his mother. Roy hadn’t seemed to notice. ‘Just homesick. It’s so different here. And with Jack…’

Roy put his hands on my shoulders, solid, only they gripped a little harder than was comfortable.

‘We all lost something in that war, you know.’ His voice cracked at the end. It was as close as he came to talking about his injury.

‘I know.’ I turned and put my arms around him, hearing his heartbeat against my ear before he stepped away. I thought of Jim on the train, the rattle of the china between us.

‘You have to try too,’ he said. ‘You can’t expect things to be the same here as they were at home.’

‘I know. I’m sorry. I am trying. What else can I do?’

‘Try smiling every once in a while, to start with. Not looking so glum.’

I clenched my cheeks, raised the corners of my mouth.

‘That’s better,’ he said, kissing the top of my head.

He left the room and I heard his unsteady gait on the stairs, pictured his sideways descent, favouring the left hip.

I looked at myself in the mirror, keeping the false smile. He was easily placated. If only I were too.

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 26

I wake in a strange room. The walls are pale green and I am in a low bed with metal rails. There is the long narrow tube of an IV, the cloth tape holding the cannula in place in the crook of my arm. An ECG monitor beeps. A furry feeling in my mouth and the dull persistent ache of my temples. I touch my nose. At least there isn’t a tube. Thank God there’s not a tube. I touch my torso, my empty belly, my jutting bones and feel relief. A doctor walks into the room. Grandma slips in behind him.

‘Are we still on the ship?’

He looks at Grandma, an expression I can’t read, and nods. ‘What do you remember?’

‘Being seasick. Having to lie in bed for a day, maybe two.’

‘You passed out. Your grandmother tried to get you to stand up, to help you to the bathroom, and you fainted. When is the last time you ate something?’

‘Not sure,’ I lie.

He shakes his head, writing something on the chart.

‘Your grandmother tells me you have a medical history of anorexia.’

I nod.

‘Sometimes changed circumstances—different diets, different situations—can exacerbate these conditions. Do you think that’s happened to you, Hannah?’

My immediate instinct is to deny, but I see Grandma watching me with her liquid blue eyes. She sees right through me.