The Mariposa sailed from Pyrmont on 26 December 1945. She was a cruise ship that had been refitted as a troop carrier during the war and refitted again to carry war brides and their children now that the war was over. She dwarfed everything else at the dock, as big as Roy’s Liberty ship, with nine decks and two funnels, and still painted that gunmetal grey. There were American sailors milling about on the decks, and on the pier were the Australian brides, some carrying babies or holding small children by the hand.

‘I hope you don’t get a cabin with one of those,’ Dot said, and lifted her chin towards the babies. ‘Imagine being trapped at sea in a tiny cabin with screaming babies. I’d rather be torpedoed by an enemy sub.’

She hadn’t let go of my arm since we’d arrived at the pier. Her brother had brought my trunk. I had spent Christmas Day with them, after being brought back to Sydney by the MPs, and despite the efforts of her whole family it had been the loneliest Christmas I had ever experienced. We spoke of what Christmases would be like in America: snow, real fir trees, sledding.

‘Like some kind of storybook,’ Dot said. ‘Excuse me if I turn green with jealousy.’

I knew she was trying to make me feel better, but she was having a hard time too. She’d fallen for Bob but he’d disappeared a few months ago. No ‘I’m being called up,’ no ‘I want to end things’—he’d just vanished without a trace. He didn’t leave a forwarding address. Even Roy said he had no idea where he’d gone to when I wrote and asked. Dot even called Bob’s CO but no one could—or would—tell her anything.

Dot’s brother passed my trunk to two of the sailors who were loading the ship. I’d labelled it clearly with my name and Roy’s parents’ address in Roanoke. It would be stowed in the cargo hold for the trip.

Dot pulled out her hanky and blew her nose, then she grabbed me and held me tight.

I was trying my hardest not to cry by then, and I whispered, ‘Don’t go having too much fun without me.’

‘I’ll miss you,’ Dot said, her voice quavering.

‘Stop, now—you’ll make me want to stay.’

The truth was I already did want to stay. It took all my will to leave.