After the Ferry

by C. A. Larmer

Monty tried to think back. She recalled the invitation, Amelia’s pleas for her to accompany her and how she had put her off. They’d been working around the clock lately; she needed some time out.

  They dubbed these events “Free beer and chicken nights” even though they both knew it would be more champagne and sushi and there was nothing free about them. If you wanted Apple’s advertising revenue, some regular double-page spreads showing off their latest gleaming device, you fronted up whether you were tired or not.

  “I didn’t realise she went to that,” Monty said. In fact, she was pretty sure Amelia had told her she hadn’t. So why the lies?

  “She was there all right. Turned out to be quite a night, lots of glitz and glamour. And to run into Millie, well that was the highlight. At least it was for me. We had a good yarn. I thought… well, I thought everything was fine. She’d convinced me to place an ad, even though we all know Global Solutions is as suited to Eve as I am to—” He stopped, laughed. “Well, you, I suppose!”

  He laughed some more as Monty’s heart continued to shred itself.

  Luckily she had a moment to recover while Angus stopped to shake hands with two passing suits. He told them he’d catch up with them, then turned back to her.

  “So where is Sillie Millie? What’s she really doing? Simmering at her desk? Throwing darts at a board with my face on it? Or is it you she’s angry at?”

  “Why would she be angry at me?” Monty said as a sliver of ice began trickling down her back. He hadn’t told her about them? Surely.

  “Nah, you’re right. She seemed fine with it.” He looked around, then back at her. “Although I’m surprised you never mentioned it to her before. Aren’t you two like the Topsy Twins?”

  As he glanced around the room again, Monty’s insides also turned to ice, and she tried to keep her tone calm as she said, “You didn’t mention us, did you? How we… you know?”

  She’d been swallowing the words down for almost thirteen years and couldn’t bring herself to finally spit them out.

  “…hooked up?” he said, finishing the sentence and having another belly laugh.

  Of course he told her. He was a bloke, wasn’t he?

  “I can’t believe you never mentioned it yourself,” he was saying, oblivious to her turmoil. “I mean, all those late nights working on that magazine together, can’t believe it never came up.”

  Monty realised then that he was only thinking of himself. How could one of his conquests not want to shout it from the rooftop? But that was a fleeting thought. Her mind was now settling on Amelia; things were starting to make more sense.

  “Don’t sweat it, Monty, she thought it was a great joke.” Then, finally sensing that she was indeed sweating, he added, “Hey, we were all kids, right? Young and foolish. Honestly, Amelia didn’t care! How could she? She was the one who jumped ship first, remember. She got her just deserts.”

  Monty stared at him then, searching his face. What did he mean by that?

  Then another fleeting thought—he holds it against her! He can’t believe she chose a Greek stranger over him. He can’t believe he was left with sloppy seconds.

  Angus reached for her hand, his tone now conciliatory. “Sorry if I put my foot in it, but she was such a fatalist, remember? The one who believed everything happened for a reason. If she holds it against you, just tell her to reread that stupid book; that’ll set her straight.”

  “Book?”

  “You know? The one she kept banging on about, the Prophecy something.”

  “The Celestine Prophecy.”

  “That’s the one. I couldn’t make sense of it but she loved it.”

  Pity she lost it, Monty thought, absentmindedly. Except that wasn’t quite true. Amelia hadn’t lost her copy, it had been snatched from her on a soggy Greek beach, along with her purse and her ID, her dignity and her sense of self. It was the reason no one knew who she was for so long, why no one could get her help until she’d come out of the coma and uttered her first words in that surprising Australian accent.

  But he didn’t need to hear all that, and she had heard enough. Monty downed the rest of the drink and forced herself to change the subject.

  “So, how’s Thomas, have you seen him lately?”

  A frown appeared and he didn’t look quite so handsome with a deep scratch between his eyes.

  “Ahh, Tom Wilson, what can I say? We catch up every now and then, sink a few beers, reminisce.”

  “How’s he doing? What’s he up to?”

  “Not much these days. He’s had some trying times, that’s for sure. Never quite got his shit together, you know? Floundering a bit.” As he spoke, Angus waved yet again and Monty finally turned to see who was stealing his attention. She spotted the PR woman standing near the stage at the back, looking flustered despite the glacial smile.

  “Bloody speeches. I better stop putting it off.” He leaned in again, but this time he embraced her, bringing her to the warmth of his warm, wide chest.

  “Give my love to Millie, yeah? And tell her not to be a stranger.” He tapped his top pocket and produced a business card. “You too. Stay in touch.”

  He handed it to her, then swept away, shaking hands with more ogling guests as he strode towards the lectern.

  Watching him go, Monty felt chilled to the bone and wished she’d agreed to bring a wrap as Fleur had suggested. At least it was all making more sense now. This had to be the reason Amelia had booted her from Eve, shoved her onto House and then done a runner. Because, just ten days earlier, Amelia had learned what she should have learned more than ten years earlier, what a good friend would have mentioned at the first opportunity—that Monty and Angus had ended up together, at least for a little while. Not because it mattered—he was right, they were kids, Amelia had already chosen someone else—but because by not saying it, by acting like it meant nothing, she had made it mean everything.

  Amelia was not the traitor. It had been Monty all along.

  She slipped his card into her silver handbag, downed the rest of her Prosecco, then turned back to the bar and ordered two more.

  TOM

  Tom watched the seven-o’clock news bulletin and recoiled at his oily orange face. His expression was pinched, his voice jittery, his eyes darting about like a homicidal maniac. He wished he’d opted for the powder, and his heart sank as he remembered the real reason they paraded haggard husbands across the evening news—to see how guilty they looked under the spotlight.

  But then who wouldn’t look shifty under all that startling light? Tom thought sullenly. Even the Dalai Lama would come away looking dodgy.

  He snapped the TV off and flung the remote control at the couch, wondering if Phil had seen it, grateful yet again that he had plenty of mates to keep him distracted. He was with Belinda’s boy tonight and couldn’t get into her Mazda fast enough. Tom couldn’t blame him. He was going through his agony alone. At least Tom and Harry had had each other.

  Of course, if it were up to Tom, Phil would have had another brother to turn to for solace. Or a sister, he wasn’t fussed. But Amy was never interested. Despite envying Scarlett’s brood, she didn’t want more of her own. She was an only child; it had worked well for her, she had said. Why mess with the template?

  “For company?” he had suggested initially, but the truth was Phil was never short of that. It wasn’t simply that his son made friends easily, he also had six cousins just a backyard and a few bushes away, each of them vying to be his favourite.

  He wondered now if he should have pushed her on the baby thing. Perhaps she might have been more fulfilled. Perhaps she might have stayed…

  The doorbell rang, cutting through Tom’s thoughts, and he growled like a caged animal. Now who wants their pound of flesh?

  He swung it open to find Polly at the door, two women standing just behind her, two familiar faces whose names he could not remember. He wasn’t sure he’d ever said a word to either of them.

  “Hey there,” Polly sang, glancing through to
the room behind him. “Do you mind if we come in. Just for a minute?”

  No, he wanted to tell them. Leave me alone. But he opened the door wider.

  They seemed surprised by the move and exchanged glances with each other, then stepped inside and began looking around as though for lost treasure. He wondered if they’d ever been inside the house before. Had Amy ever invited anyone over?

  “We heard you were on the news tonight,” Polly said, adding quickly, “We just held a special P&C meeting so we didn’t get to see it. But we’ve taped it. Will watch it later.”

  Please don’t, he wanted to tell them as another voice said, “Has it helped, do you know? Any word yet?”

  This was the shorter, fatter of the women. The butcher’s wife if he recalled correctly. He shook his head. He said, “Not that I know of.”

  All three nodded as though expecting this, and Polly cleared her throat.

  “I hope you don’t think we’re interfering…”

  “But?”

  She stopped and swapped another cryptic glance with her friends before continuing. “But the P&C have met and we’d like to help, if we can.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “We were thinking fliers? Door knocking? We could start a Facebook campaign? You know, ‘Have you seen our friend?,’ that kind of thing?”

  He nodded. What could he say? No, piss off, I’ve got this.

  “Maybe even a Go Fund Me page?” the butcher’s wife added, her eyes darting around the room, zeroing in on the old blue lounge. Amy had liked that lounge, insisted it was comfy. Now he saw it for what it was—tip fodder.

  “No,” he said at last. “I mean, thank you but not the fund-raising thingy. I don’t need charity.”

  “Of course not,” Polly said, “it’s just to help—”

  “No.”

  “No worries! But we’ll get the fliers out and put that Facebook page up, okay?”

  “Thank you.”

  “And we’ll send you a friend request?” said the third woman, scrawny with a voice to match. She sounded nervous.

  “I’m not on that shit.”

  “Oh! Right. I see.”

  What, woman? What do you see? He plastered a smile to his lips. “If that’s all ladies, it’s… well, it’s been a big day.”

  “Of course!” said Polly. “Come on, girls, let’s leave the poor man alone.” She bustled them through the hallway, back to the front door, then stopped and turned around. “We’re desperate to help, Tom. We all loved Millie so much.”

  Loved? They were using the past tense already?

  “I appreciate that,” was all he could manage.

  SARISI

  When Millie strolled into the Casa Delfino that evening and asked for a table out the front, Nico felt a range of emotions but mostly surprise. He knew what she had learned, that Sister Agnetha was six feet under, and he expected she would take off on the first ferry out. Had watched one chug away less than an hour ago and assumed she was on it, had felt a stab of disappointment that she hadn’t said goodbye.

  Yet here she was ordering grilled sea bream, a traditional Greek salad, and a half carafe of the house white. She didn’t look like she was going anywhere in a hurry, and now he felt a surge of joy.

  It was quickly tempered by the busy night, and Nico was so run off his feet he didn’t get a chance to stop and speak to Millie properly, only managing a few smiles as he swept past, then scowls as he watched Kostas join her at the courtyard table.

  Kostas rarely sat out there. He usually perched himself at the bar inside, close enough to the kitchen to swipe whatever free food was going. Yet here he was, ordering his own meal and flirting outrageously with the Aussie.

  Nico felt his heart sink. She wouldn’t go for someone like Kostas, would she?

  It’s not that he expected anything to happen between himself and Millie—she was so far out of his league, he’d decided—he simply enjoyed her company, found her intriguing, mesmerising…

  “Oi!” someone yelled. “Plates up!” It was Pete the chef, and he was looking uncharacteristically cranky.

  Nico nodded and returned to the kitchen. Over the following hour he had to settle for brief glimpses of Millie between order taking and food delivery and cleaning up the night’s rubble. When Kostas finally appeared at the cash register to settle both his bill and Millie’s—a minor miracle in itself—he grabbed the opportunity to get some answers.

  “What’s the story? How long’s she staying?”

  “Who?”

  “Kos,” he growled, a note of warning.

  “Millie?” Kostas looked delighted, nudged his eyebrows up and down. “You don’t like gossip! Why you want gossip now?”

  “Just spit it out, mate.”

  “She stay longer. She say she wait for Effie to come back.”

  “Effie? I thought they didn’t know each other.”

  Why would she wait around for a stranger or at least one who didn’t seem to remember her?

  He glanced at the galley. There were no dishes to be brought out, and there was no one lined up to pay, so he slammed Kostas’s change into his hands and made his way out to the front. Millie had an empty carafe and plate before her and was just reaching for a handbag that was hanging from her chair.

  “Can I get you another wine?” Nico said. “Some dessert perhaps? We do a great Galaktobureko.”

  “That sounds exotic but no thanks, I’m done.” She tapped her belly. “That was delicious. Especially the grilled fish. Was it one you caught today?”

  He nodded. “Good to see someone eat the scaly critters.”

  She smiled and scooped the bag up.

  “So, you’re heading back to the castle now, hey?”

  Before she could answer, his name was being shouted out from inside the restaurant again, but he ignored it. “Listen, I hear you’re staying a bit longer, to see Effie.”

  “That’s right,” she said. Not elaborating.

  He blushed. God he hated gossip, but he needed to know more, so he swallowed his pride and said, “So how do you know her again? Sorry to be nosy, but she is my cousin. And she didn’t seem to know you so…”

  Millie pulled the bag over her shoulder and then retrieved some hair that had got swept under.

  “It’s okay,” she said casually. “Effie probably didn’t recognise my name after all this time.” I barely recognise it myself. “We knew each other quite some years ago when I was first here. I wasn’t well. I was staying at the convent.” She hesitated, searching his eyes.

  “And that’s when you met Effie? Was she running the Delfy back then?”

  “Um, no.” She hesitated again. “It’s really not my place… You need to ask Effie about that.”

  “About what?” Exactly.

  She sighed, but it came out wistful. “All I can say is it was a different time, a different place back then, Nico. The convent was like a haven for Effie and me. Sister Agnetha, she was like, well, she took us lost souls in, helped us out.”

  “Effie was in the convent?” He had to swallow back a smile. “Effie was a lost soul? Can’t picture that.” Didn’t believe it for a second.

  She smiled, she shrugged, she let it drop. Again, she thought, not my place. Then she remembered that Zoe had used those exact words, and it got her mind racing.

  Nicholas’s mind was racing too, but he couldn’t inquire further. Pauly was now hollering for him while a customer screeched profanities from inside. He groaned, wished her a good night’s sleep, then raced back in to handle the dispute at the cash register.

  By the time he returned to the courtyard, Millie’s table was empty and she was long gone, so he reached for her empty wineglass and began cleaning up.

  “This one, she play hard to get, hey Nicholas?”

  He looked around to find Catalina, still perched in the chair where she’d sat across from her husband. He’d shuffled off an hour ago.

  “What’s that?”

  She nudged her head towards
Coso Point. “This Aussie. She no look interested to me.” Catalina’s voice was singsong, almost melodic, but it left him cold. He heard her snigger. “I interested. You know that. I no play games.”

  He shook his head and continued cleaning up.

  “Joe-Joe leave for Athens tomorrow,” she whispered, a smile creeping across her face. “I come over? Yes?”

  Not turning around this time, he said, “No thanks, Cat.”

  Her smile flickered out and she sat back in her chair. “So, you do not know then. You have not worked it out, have you?”

  He glanced at her and back to the table. “What are you on about?”

  She went to say something and then seemed to reconsider. Her smile reignited as she tapped her eyebrows up and down. “Come, Nicholas, why you be so cranky? You know I give you what you want.”

  This time he had lost his patience. He turned to face her, his eyes flashing with annoyance. “But I don’t want it, Catalina.” He lowered his voice. “Not anymore, okay?” I never really did, he wanted to tell her. I was lonely, I was stupid. I was an idiot. He took some deep breaths. “Now please, Cat, we’re packing up, dinner’s over.”

  Catalina remained in her seat, her smile twitching again. “You think this girl give you what you want? This Australian woman? She too posh for this.”

  Nicholas stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. “You don’t know anything about her.”

  He gathered the last of the plates and began to walk away.

  “I know she so posh she won’t sleep with Greek man.”

  He stopped.

  “I know she so posh Greek man has to take it from her.”

  He turned back. “What did you say?”

  Catalina was finally getting to her feet, gathering her things. She stopped and met him head-on. “You be very careful, my love.” She hissed. “She seem sweet, yes, but she is dangerous that one.” She swept the hair back from her face and added, “Is no good for you. Is only here to hurt you.”

  Nicholas strode across the courtyard until he was inches from her face, then he leaned in, barely containing his fury as he spat out the words, “Go home, Catalina. Go home to your husband.”