The journey to England was an adventure in itself. Martha Jane was terrified of flying, so they took a CN train to Halifax, then crossed the Atlantic on a Cunard steamer that Martha Jane’s cousin captained, securing them passage for free. The North Atlantic, it turned out, was not a friendly sea, especially in February, and Martha Jane spent most of the voyage seasick in her cabin. But Kate roamed the open decks, feeling the icy spray on her face and staring out at the roiling black waves as they crashed against the massive steel hull of the ship. By the time they reached England, she felt as though her entire body was caked in salt, a casing that she cracked out of like a shell as she stepped off the gangway and onto dry land.

In London, they spent two rainy days at Miss Featherton’s Guest House in Earls Court and visiting the regular touristy sights – Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, Trafalgar Square – all of which confirmed Kate’s theory that cities were cities wherever you went. Then they took a rattling, musty-smelling bus to the coast, where they spent two more rainy days holed up in a drafty cottage in Clacton-on-Sea. The cottage had a thatched roof and a beautiful garden path lined with heather and pennyroyal that led away from the cottage to the beach, which Kate only ever saw through the foggy windows while she and Martha Jane played cards and drank tea in the stuffy drawing room. Even inside the cottage, with its fussy lace curtains and uncomfortable horsehair furniture, the rain crept into her bones. If on the ship she had felt her skin was encrusted with salt, she now felt perpetually waterlogged, her fingertips bloated and puckered with a dampness that never seemed to dissipate.

On the bus back to London, Martha Jane met a young musician with startling blue eyes and shiny black hair lacquered into place. His name was Colin, and he wore a leather jacket and smoked French cigarettes and claimed he had once played with the Beatles. When they got back to London, Martha Jane elected not to return to the guest house with Kate and instead left with Colin for Blackpool, which he told her was even better than Liverpool. Kate can still see them walking away from her at the bus station, their hands tucked into each other’s back pockets, Martha Jane’s long blond braid swinging like a horse’s tail against her back. Kate never heard from Martha Jane again.