Onboard RMS Titanic, Evening, April 10th 1912
"What time are we due at dinner, Joan?" Joan looked at Lily.
"Half past eight, I believe. Why do you ask?" Lily glanced out of the window at the ocean, thoughtfully.
"Well I was wondering if I could take a little walk, just before. I mean, dinner doesn't start for almost an hour. Joan looked nervous.
"Well. I must say I'm not completely comfortable letting a lass like you out alone on a vessel this size."
"Please?" Lily pulled her 'sad angel' face, which in the past had melted many an icy heart. Miss Joan Federick was not a mean woman.
"Oh, go on then."
"Yay!" Lily skipped off towards the deck.
"But I want you back by quarter past eight!" a by now distant voice called.
Lily sat down peacefully on the little cream bench. Dusk was falling, and she felt restful, at peace. There were a lot of couples walking past stiffly, and often the woman would make a jaunty comment about the sea, and the husband would nod, and they should walk on. Lily was depressed by this. 'Is that what I'll become?', she thought to herself. She could not bear the thought of just being another stiff little porcelain creature with immaculate curls and satin enrobing her body every moment of every day. She got up, squinting to avoid the sun's astonishing orange rays, and walked around, looking for a different part of the deck. When she looked below her, she could see all the third class folk. They were smoking and drinking joyfully. The little boys had merry expressions on their faces and the little girls had head full of gypsys' hair and coy smiles.
"Why must they all look so happy, and us look so sad?" she whispered to herself. A few boys of around 16 looked up at 'the posh girl' and waved at her. She gave them a small smile back. She felt uncomfortable once again, and walked to the other side of her deck. She sat down on another little bench, lonely, and decided she could not bear not talking to anyone at all. 'I came to have a pleasant time, and that's what I shall have.' She spotted the First Officer mulling around, keeping a sharp eye on the sea. She walked over, slowly, and looked around at the boat they stood on.
"How heavy is she?" she asked, pleasantly. Mr Murdoch looked at her quickly and then replied,
"Oh, she's 70,000 tonnes of steel, near enough. Not a small ship, is she?" Lily giggled.
"Definitely not."
"So, er, are you Miss Shaw?" Lily smiled.
"Yes, but please call me Lily. All this formality is killing me." Murdoch grinned. "And are you Mr Murdoch?"
He looked out at the ocean.
"I prefer Will."
"Alright then." All of a sudden, loud, clip-clopping footsteps sounded from behind.
"Oh, Lily, LILY, you silly girl! You're hair's all ruined. And your dress is all windswept and, - oh, I'm most terribly sorry sir, she hasn't been disturbing you, I hope?" Mr Murdoch winked subtly at Lily.
"No no, quite the contrary. We've had an interesting little talk." Lily smiled slowly.
"Well we'll have to run along, it's dinner in 5 minutes and I don't know what I shall do if we're late."
Lily laughed.
"Die most probably!"
"Oh be quiet, saucy little thing! Come along, come along do!" Lily grinned and allowed herself to be dragged away, as Joan's chubby hand desperately ran through Lily's hair, straightening as best it could.
Lily was sitting down at the table, 'perched' looking as usual. With her was Mr Hockley, Rose, Ruth, Molly Cole (a large, nouveau riche but kindly soul), Mr Andrews, Joan, a young American man with Rose (apparently a 3rd class friend, Jack Dawson), and of course many other rich (or famous) folk. For quite a while now, the DeWitt Bukaters had been talking to Mr Andrews, asking him about the ship. Lily noticed Rose was very bitter and hostile towards her mother, intentionally blowing cigarette smoke in her face and being really quite cheeky with Mr Andrews. Lily had, as yet, not said a word.
"Well," began a rather noble looking, middle-aged man opposite Andrews. "An unsinkable ship. That's nice to know." People laughed.
"But surely no ship is totally unsinkable, sir?" Everyone at the table turned towards Lily.
"Really, child. That's no way to speak. Of course she can't sink, it's a certainty," Joan flustered. Lily looked at her, almost annoyed that Joan had obviously forgotten the phrase she so often trilled to her friends.
"Nothing in life is a certainty." Lily said, a little more quietly. Cal tittered. Ruth blushed. Rose stared, intrigued. Mr Andrews smiled.
"Ah," he smiled, " a thinker. I'm liking this. And you are…?" Lily smiled politely.
"Lily, Shaw. Nice to meet you."
"And you too." Cal turned to Joan.
"You ought to be careful of this one, Miss Federick. She'll outwit us all a dead cert one of these days." Lily smiled sarcastically and kept quiet. She went off into a dream world. She did not remember much of the conversation after this, only that Rose and her mother disagreed over Rose's behaviour or some such trivia, and Rose left the table. As she did, she leaned ever so slightly across to Lily and whispered:
"I know how you feel, Miss Shaw." It was evident to Lily, thankfully, that nobody else heard this little remark. She was left thinking about this all night, whether it just might be ambiguous, whether it's meaning were as plain as it sounded.
It was a lot later at night when, dressed in her flimsy yet adorable little white nightdress and tucked up under the unmistakably 'new-smelling' sheets, that she finally remembered home. It embarrassed her to think she had completely forgotten the 'other life' she would be leaving behind for a couple of weeks. But Lily's head was so full of experiences, quotes and faces that it quite exhausted her and much to Joan's surprise, she fell quickly and quietly off to sleep.