Chapter 51

Chapter 51

Violet

Stephanotis

She reviews the list The Purser has given her and wonders how she will manage to get it all done. The Olympic has just set sail and she still has so many tasks to complete. She would like to ask The Purser why it is that the youngest stewardesses get more of the work– this is something that has never varied, whatever ship she is on– but she thinks she would need the safety of a confessional, with a screen between her and those flicking eyes to ask him such a question. She does not want The Purser's eyes to rest on her and find her wanting, so she picks up speed and rushes on, like the hull beneath her feet.

When she stumbles, she thinks at first she has forgotten to tie her bootlaces or that her mother's prophecy has finally come true: ‘One of these days you'll rush so much you'll meet yourself coming back and trip yourself up.' Then she realises the stumble is just the first step in a drunken dance, and she is lurching, feet staggering, arms flung out, side-stepping towards the wall.

And then she is falling.

And she is not the only thing to fall; the lamp and ashtray have joined her on the floor. She is glad the White Star Line always insist on the best quality wool carpets for their staterooms.

A box containing powder has flown from the dressing table, coating the carpet around her in a layer of lavender scented dust. She can see spots, like spilt icing sugar against the black of her skirt. The lavender cloud is still settling when she notices the stephanotis scattered around her. The vase rolls back and forward on the dressing table and the water flows and drips onto the carpet, leaving darker splashes in the lavender powder.

Her mind skips to finding a bucket, tidying up, saving the flowers– and it is only then comes the thought, which she understands should have been her first thought: why did the ship stumble in the first place?

It occurs to her that she is in a bucket herself– a bucket floating in water.

She hears people rushing past the door and overhead comes the scraping of chairs and feet. And still she sits on the floor like an indecisive doll.

The door opens abruptly– not with the cough, gentle tap and murmur that The Purser has taught them but with a swish and a clang.

‘You want to get out of here, girl.'

And then the steward with the red hair and bandy legs is gone.

She pulls herself up and heads to the door. She peers into the corridor and watches the barrelling bandy legs hurrying away. She can hear her mother's voice: ‘Just look at that. He wouldn't stop a pig in a passage.' It dawns on her that the legs (that wouldn't stop a pig) are moving at considerable speed.

So she closes the door behind her, leaving the powder to settle and the water to drip, and follows the bandy legs along the passageway to the stairs, running as fast as she can.