Whiskey Summer

June 1941

Tuesday 4 June 

We've been on this boat for nearly a week now and it's slowly driving me mad. Of course Percival is having a grand old time, he can make a laugh out of anything. I, on the other hand, am suffering from what Sebastien calls choroba morska. I think he means seasickness, but he's Polish. It's hard to ever tell what he means, which can be problematic, considering we're bunking with him on this stupid boat.

Percy had a nightmare last night. I think it was about the air raids but I can't be sure because he won't tell me, the stubborn git. He won't even admit it happened. I tried to tell him that it's nothing to be ashamed of, that the raids were bloody scary and gave me nightmares sometimes too, but he won't even listen. Oh well. Everyone's got to muscle through being thirteen sometime, and now it's Percy's turn.

I just pray to god we get to Boston soon or I'll jump out of this boat and swim there myself..

Saturday 7 June 

I'm going stir crazy on this goddamn boat. Thank god we're set to dock on Monday -- a day longer and I doubt there'd be much left of me. Percy laughs whenever I run to empty my guts over the side of the boat and I've had to stop myself from strangling him more times than Mum would be comfortable with if she were here.

God, I miss Mum. Percy does too, he's just afraid to admit it. I fear for her everyday. I pray she got out of London safely and made it to her sister's alright. I'm honestly not sure what we'd do if something got to her. Dad, Percy and I love each other, sure, but Mum is the glue. She's what holds us together, really.

And god, I'm whining to a journal about my mum. I don't know why I use this ruddy thing, let alone why I kept it in the first place. Mum insisted -- she thought it would help me 'sort through my feelings' or some rubbish of that sort, but I'd be better off just throwing it in the ocean at this point. But therein lies the problem. I can't. I suppose I've grown attached. It's like I couldn't be anymore of a ninny. And god forbid Percy finds out, he probably already thinks all sorts of things about me that he shouldn't.

Honestly, at this point I'd rather be in London dodging bombs than on this decrepit vessel two days out from Boston.

Monday 9 June 

Forgot to write yesterday. Oh well. We docked today, and Percy and I said our farewells to Seb, who said he's going to New York to follow his dream of becoming the first Polish Broadway star. I wished him the best of luck, then shook my head, because as determined as he is, the man hardly speaks a lick of English and has got the singing voice of a dying cat.

Just a bit after Seb departed, I saw Mrs. Mobley for the first time, standing at the start of the dock. She's a thin woman, tall and graceful, with curling blonde hair. She seemed to recognise Percy and I -- later she told us Mum had mailed her a photograph of the two of us -- because the moment she laid eyes on us, she straightened up and began waving madly, grinning like a fool. Pushed forward by the surging crowd of people coming off the boats, Percy and I were pushed forward until we were face-to-face with Mrs. Mobley.

The moment we were within proper speaking distance, she clasped her hands together and said, "Well, isn't it just a pleasure to finally make your acquaintances? I'm Mrs. Mobley, but seeing as you'll be living with me and my family in our house, you may as well call me Lucille. Or Lucy. Or whatever you'd like. Oh, where are my manners?" Then she stuck her hand out, obviously for me to shake. "Daniel, right?"

I nodded, taking her hand in mine and giving it a firm shake. "You can call me Danny. That's Percy." I knocked my head in his direction.

Percy grunted at me and muttered, "Could've told her myself." He crossed his arms, apparently deciding to be petulant at precisely the worst time. When Mrs. Mobley offered her his hand, he ignored it.