Waves of Tomorrow | Titanic

Day 5 (April 14th, 1912)

A quiet ruffling awakes me from my slumber; the sound of soft fabrics sliding across one another, in combination with footsteps.

I squint my eyes and roll over, looking at the blurry nightstand beside me, but what rests on it is unfamiliar to me – my water cup and array of hair clips are replaced by a pair of reading glasses and a pen – and suddenly I feel uneasy. I sit up quickly, eyes wide as I glance around the room to find the source of the footsteps.

Suddenly, at the foot of my bed, a crouched man stands up straight, holding a pair of oxfords: Andrews. His eyes grow wide as he sees me and I let out a sigh of relief, realising I'm not in any danger.

Wait... where am I... Then it hits me. I'm in his bed.

My face flushes red as I process the situation, recognising now that I must have fallen asleep while Andrews was out of the room yesterday. I look down and, as expected, I am wearing the same blue dress as before.

"I'm sorry," Andrews stutters as he begins to explain himself, "you see, you were asleep when I returned from the bridge and..." he trails off before shaking his head and regaining his composure. "And you just looked very peaceful, and I wished not to wake you, so I just carried you over here," he pauses, waving towards the bed.

Now his face grows as red as my own. His brow is furrowed, and even his appearance mirrors his dishevelled voice. It appears as though he has only just awoken, black trousers and an untucked, and not fully buttoned up white shirt. His hair, un-styled, sticks up messily as if taunting him to gel it down.

"Shit, I mean," he starts again, looking away and pointing to the couch, "I slept there, I didn't try..." he holds his hands up defensively, not wanting to be seen as such a depraved man.

I shake my head and force a smile, to reassure him, though I am only just recovering from my own embarrassment of falling asleep.

"Andrews it's alright, don't worry. I appreciate you letting me sleep, but really, next time just wake me up." I laugh to lighten the mood, "I hate to steal your own bed away from you."

His posture relaxes as he sighs deeply with a smile.

"Really, it's no problem at all." He crouches down to place the oxfords back on the floor.

I slowly get out of bed, assuming I have well overstayed my welcome.

"Oh, please allow me to help," Andrews says as he sees me leaving the bed. "I placed all of your belongings, including your shoes, right by the couch," he explains, pointing across the room. "I'll escort you back to your room, allow me to finish getting ready."

As I make my way to the couch, Andrews quickly finishes his morning routine: he finishes buttoning his shirt, tucks it in, and grabs a belt, all while finding his hair gel and smoothing the top of his hair back. Finally, he grabs his coat and makes his way towards me with a smile. He gets ready all in this room, not even the bathroom? What would have happened if I woke up earlier...

"Ready to go?" My thoughts are interrupted by his cheery voice. I nod, and we slowly open the door to the hallway. Andrews peers his head through the frame, looking both ways before stepping outside.

I awkwardly leave the room after him, fully aware that if anyone had seen me leaving the shipbuilder's room at such an early hour, rumours would travel.

As we make our way side-by-side down the hallway, we pass by other first-class passengers heading to breakfast. They greet us with the occasional "Good morning!" or "Mr. Andrews, how are you?" but we continue our journey and I keep my head down. Re-wearing the same dress as the day before may be a dead giveaway that something is wrong.