Susan swayed with the motion of the Harwich boat train as it rumbled through the dark Essex countryside. She looked over at Titty and Roger, crisp in their uniforms, asleep on each other's shoulders, Roger's arm protectively cradling Titty's shoulders.
So much like old times, Susan thought. They were all heading to Shotley to meet Daddy, Mother and Bridget. John and Nancy had met a bunch of Dutch naval officers and there was something about a bottle of schnapps mentioned...
Dinner at Shotley. Why did that hold more dread for Susan than her inevitable posting to a hospital ship? "Hospital ship..." - it was a sort of family joke. Ever since she had spent that weekend on Goblin keeping house for Jim Brading, her family had descended into fits of knowing glances and nudging whenever Jim was mentioned.
And he was a perfectly decent fellow. He was doing very well at Oxford and had been held back there from joining up - officer material, they said, needed to graduate first, best way to help the war effort. His own little ship, now that his uncle Bob had died, and he had the best part of a deposit on a house saved up. But every time Susan contemplated the perfect conjunction of her own and Jim's circumstances, the crushing inevitability of it all felt like she was being smothered, like choking, gasping for air...
What did a woman want in a man but good career prospects and a strong roof over her head? He was certainly good looking; Susan felt herself blushing at the thought of his perfectly honed torso. Susan wasn't a passionate woman like Titty or Dorothea but she knew well the earthly warmth of a strong, muscly embrace, and, to run her fingers through those mop-like curls, so similar to Roger; the pipe-tobacco smell, so like Daddy... how queer, she thought, to compare Jim to her own family.
That made her think of John. It was John who had taken charge that stormy night on the North Sea. She hadn't felt at all like Mister Mate. They were at so many times only moments away from shipwreck and even death, but somehow John had kept his head the whole while. We didn't mean to go to sea... John blamed himself for not keeping an anchor watch, but that seemed hardly fair; they had only expected Jim to be away a few minutes. What was it Daddy had said? "The only thing you did wrong was to go ashore. Captain shouldn't leave his ship... You should have sent John in the dinghy for the petrol... But I'm glad you didn't." Susan didn't know if that last comment was because her father had imagined John having the accident with the motor bus or was simply made to avoid hurting Jim's feelings.
Daddy had said that they were "better drowned than duffers." They weren't duffers that night on the North Sea; well, maybe she was but John certainly wasn't. And to be fair to herself, she had taken charge when she had recovered from that awful sickness, and kept the fo'c'sle hands in order. In a way, the only duffer had been Jim.
What did a woman want in a man? Someone to protect her young. She looked again at Rodger, still kindly embracing Titty in sleep. He was growing up to be a fine young man. He would go to war, come home in all probability (he always had a knack for landing buttery-side up!) and make a great husband for someone.
Susan's "young" had been Roger and Titty. John had looked after them most admirably on that frightful night on the Goblin. Comparing Jim to her older brother, Susan had found him wanting.
What was it back at nursing school the Sister had said? Florence Nightingale Syndrome. Patients falling in love with their nurses. Or the other way round. Susan hadn't even become a nurse when she spent that weekend aboard the Goblin. This "thing" with Jim was infantile, she thought. It is being fed by everyone's expectations. Jim had never had to earn her affection, and she didn't feel beholden to him. They should both be made to work work harder for each other or they were in grave danger of forming an attachment that would only lead to misery.
"I'm breaking it off with Jim."
So far the only witnesses to that statement were fast asleep. Thoughts turned to the drinking party in the next carriage.
Grown-ups having fun while good old Susan looks after the little ones. She seemed to fall in to this pattern years after it was necessary, she scolded herself. Look at them: they are both days away from heading off to fight a war. They probably don't need looking after any more. Susan picked up Roger's greatcoat off the floor and draped it over the her brother and sister. She quietly shut the compartment door.
A glass of schnapps would be just the thing to set her up for their arrival at Harwich.