by J. M. Hewitt
She nodded to herself. No head count then. She stored away the knowledge to be used in a few days’ time, at their next stop in Iceland.
* * *
Paula stared at the cobbled main street, disappointment evident on her face. The few shops that lined the road were of no interest to her.
Behind her, Tommy tapped her shoulder and nodded across the road. Paula’s heart sank even further as she spotted the sports bar he was gesturing at.
‘Pint?’ he asked, hopefully.
She sighed and looked back the way they had come. Behind her, the street opened up to a large expanse of green water, a slow-moving river that twinkled as it caught the light of the glaring sunshine.
‘Maybe we could take a walk,’ she said. ‘Down the river, maybe find somewhere to have lunch.’
Tommy nodded and checked his watch. ‘Tell you what, you have a look around, I’ll catch the first half of the rugby, then we’ll go and have some lunch.’
Paula lifted a hand, a half-hearted gesture that he took as permission. He swooped in to land a kiss on her cheek and darted across the cobbles, vanishing into the gloom of the bar.
Paula turned around and walked back down towards the river. Across the water, the Ruby Spirit loomed large, and she sat down on a bench to admire it. She still couldn’t get over the size of it, and she wished very much that Tommy was there with her.
But he wasn’t.
He never was.
Suddenly Paula felt very lonely, hit by the realisation that she was in a perpetual state of solitude. This wasn’t a new thing; the feeling was constant, always there, even when Tommy was beside her. To make up for it, she bought stuff, things that were pretty and expensive, but items that she would give up in a heartbeat for a man who wanted to be with her more than he wanted to hang out with the lads or watch the rugby.
‘I’m lonely.’
She said the words out loud, her voice breaking as she admitted to herself for the first time that something wasn’t working the way it should. She bit her lip and wondered how she could make it right. The image of a baby – that phantom miracle-working child she’d thought about so often over the years – popped into her mind. It was a cliché, she knew. It would be a Band-Aid baby, a patch to cover the open wound of boredom. But underneath, the scars would remain.
‘Shit,’ she whispered as tears stung at her eyes.
Finally, the truth hit her: a baby was the furthest thing from Tommy’s mind. It was a joke. They hadn’t even made love yet on this holiday. And despite the fact that she had told Julie he had agreed to have a child, she knew now that that wasn’t the case. He had placated her with this cruise, just as he had appeased her last year when she had brought up the subject by buying her a new car. The year before that he had mollified her with the house.
She had been so stupid. She had believed that the car (a family one) and the house (also a family one) were signs that he was preparing for their little unit to grow.
She swiped at her cheeks as tears dripped down them, cold rivers on her face. Where did that leave her? She was thirty-five, the years were rolling on. Soon she would be forty, with nothing to show for it. It was too late to start again, and even the thought of it was enough to make her feel sick. How would she cope on her own, with no skills apart from the ability to keep a beautiful home?
Anna popped into her head. Beautiful, independent Anna who needed no man, who oversaw a whole company and took holidays on her own. A woman who sat naked in saunas, showing off her body with absolute confidence; who moved easily into conversations and friendships with strangers.
A jagged gasp escaped, and she put her gloved hand to her mouth, very aware that it could easily turn into a scream. How could she be like Anna when she had gone from her childhood house to shared student accommodation to a home with Tommy? She had never been on her own, wasn’t cut out for it. She didn’t have a job or a career or an ambition. She felt swamped, drowning in realisation of facts she had never before let herself acknowledge.
She pushed herself up from the bench and turned in the direction of the bar. Her head was swimming with things she didn’t want to feel, but she shoved the thoughts and fears away and went to find her husband.
There was nothing for it; she had to make it work.
There was nothing else.
* * *
Tommy had a prime seat in the bar, underneath the large flat-screen TV. Around him sat a dozen other men, pints in hand, eyes fixed on the game.
Paula looked around, saw no other women, wondered where the spouses of all these men were. Not shopping, not in this hick town, that was for sure. Or maybe they didn’t even have wives or girlfriends; maybe they were locals, bachelors, living the kind of life that would have suited Tommy just fine.
She put her head down and moved through the crowd to his table, where she slipped onto an uncomfortable bar stool and offered him a tight smile.
‘Babe, that was quick,’ he said, his eyes flicking back to the screen as a roar went up from the crowd.
She said nothing; instead, picked up the wine menu and pretended to read it. The bar was dark, the small, narrow windows near the ceiling the only source of natural light. The tiny strips of bright blue sky hurt her eyes and her heart. She shouldn’t be sitting in a bar; neither of them should be. They were in Norway! They should be outside in the bracing cold, exploring a foreign city together.
Swallowing hard, she slipped from the stool.
‘Get us another one, will you, babe?’ Tommy asked without even looking at her.
She walked the length of the long mahogany bar. It was brighter here, and there was a blast of cold air as someone entered. She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t stop to think. Throwing the wine menu on the bar top, she carried on walking, to the door, through it, and down the cobbled street back towards the Ruby Spirit.
* * *
Anna watched from the first deck as Paula traipsed back onto the ship. There was no sign of Tommy, and from up here, Paula seemed sad and dejected. But her hair! Anna narrowed her eyes. It looked… well, it looked great. Even better than before the bleaching incident.
She waited to see where Paula was headed, and when it became clear she was walking in the direction of the stairwell that would take her to her cabin, she nipped smartly into the corridor to wait for her. As the sound of footsteps started up, she began to walk down the hallway, reaching the door of the Expedition Suite just as Paula turned the corner.
‘Hey!’ she said, giving her best smile. ‘I was just about to knock for you, see if you wanted to grab a coffee.’
Paula offered a weak smile. Automatically her hand went to her head.
Still self-conscious, thought Anna with an internal sneer.
‘It’s looking… fine,’ she said hesitantly, fully aware that her tone was cautious, as though the hair was only a slight improvement on the mess it had previously been.
Paula’s face fell and she shrugged.
‘So, coffee?’ prompted Anna.
Paula hesitated, then nodded. ‘I’ll make us one, though, in my cabin. Is that okay?’ she asked.
Anna smiled. It was more than okay.
Inside, she took a seat by the doors that looked out over the port. This suite was almost the same as her own, a mirror image. Minus the corpse that sat behind the very spot where she was currently sitting. At least Mark was undisturbed; she’d checked on him before deciding she didn’t want to stay in the room with him.
Anxiously, she checked her watch. Less than half an hour before they set sail. When she returned to her cabin, she would try out the tools she had purchased on the bolts on the balcony railing. Later tonight, when they were travelling at top speed and the rest of the passengers were sleeping, she would get to work on unscrewing the rail. Then it would be goodbye, Mark, and by the time anyone realised he was missing from duty, it would be too late to find his body.
‘Is decaf okay?’ Paula held up a coffee pod.
Anna nodded as she pulled her
pink beret off her head. ‘Decaf’s good. Where’s Tommy?’ she asked. ‘Still in the bar?’
She saw the look of suspicion that Paula shot her, and smiled. ‘Isn’t that where they all go when they get day release?’ she laughed.
Paula laughed with her, but to Anna it sounded forced. She put the mugs underneath the fancy coffee maker in turn. When they were filled, and the aroma filtered through the room, she gestured to them before heading to the bathroom. ‘Back in a sec,’ she said, closing the door gently behind her.
Anna sprang into action. From her pocket she withdrew a small vial of crushed zolpidem and divided it between the two mugs, giving them a shake to mix the dark powder with the granules. Then she moved to Paula’s bag on the counter and peered into it, careful not to disturb the objects inside. Spotting what she was seeking, she pulled out Paula’s iPhone and pressed the home button. A text from Tommy flashed up on the screen, a short message asking where Paula had gone, telling her he had bumped into the lads and was having a drink in the restaurant. She should come straight down to dinner when she was ready and meet him at their normal table.
She let the screen fade to black before returning to her chair and slipping the phone into her own bag just as Paula emerged from the toilet.
‘How are you feeling now, after your nasty fall on deck?’ she asked.
The kettle clicked off, and Paula silently filled the mugs.
‘Milk?’ she asked. ‘Sugar?’
‘No, thanks,’ replied Anna, accepting the cup Paula passed her.
Paula sat down heavily in the other chair. ‘You called it a fall,’ she said bluntly.
Anna creased her brow in faux concern. ‘Yes, I saw Tommy this morning at breakfast and asked how you were. He said you’d had a nasty fall, were really shaken up.’ She paused. ‘I was here last night. You were very upset. Did you hurt yourself?’
Paula’s face drained of colour. ‘Tommy said I fell?’ she asked, her voice suddenly hoarse.
Anna frowned. ‘Yes, Dermot said the same.’ She leaned forward, looked Paula in the eye. ‘Why do you ask?’
Paula’s face crumpled, and just for a second her emotions were there, plain as day. Then they were gone, and she sat up straight and gulped at her coffee.
‘I don’t know what happened,’ she said, her voice clear now, a bitter sound to it, ringing out into the room. ‘It was just a shock, is all.’
Anna nodded and set her cup, still full, down on the table between them.
Paula didn’t trust her.
It was an interesting development, and a potentially devastating one. She needed the woman to have faith in her, to confide in her, not to be suspicious or sceptical. If that wasn’t possible, she would just have to move her plan along at a quicker pace. She stood up.
‘Best get back, I’ve got some emails that I really must reply to.’ She smiled. ‘See you at dinner?’
Paula nodded and raised a hand. ‘See you later.’
* * *
When the door closed behind Anna, Paula reached over and picked up the other woman’s coffee. She’d hardly touched it. As she drank it, she noticed her hands were shaking slightly.
Tommy was telling everyone that she’d fallen.
She thought back to it again, that certainty that she hadn’t tripped, hadn’t lost her footing on what might have been a slippery deck. She had been assaulted, attacked, and yet nobody believed her.
She closed her eyes, reliving the night before. The surprise as she had been barged into, the shock in the sudden realisation that it wasn’t an accident, that her perpetrator wasn’t about to haul her to her feet and apologise. Then those terrible seconds as she was dragged to the gap that would take her into the crashing waves below.
The bottle of vodka still sat on the table, mocking her, it seemed.
You were drunk.
A noise sounded in the room, like a sheep bleating, and belatedly she realised it came from her.
She stood up, smoothing down her shirt, and reached for her bag.
Even if someone on this ship hadn’t tried to hurt her, a flaw in the ship’s design had almost killed her.
And if Tommy wasn’t going to report it, then she would.
They’ll ask if you’d been drinking.
The voice of caution whispered to her. Ignoring it, she slipped her feet back into her boots and stamped over to the door, yanking at the handle.
The door didn’t move.
She ran her hands over the tiny gap between the door and the frame, seeking locks, seeing nothing. She turned the handle once more, knowing even as she pulled at it that it wouldn’t open.
She was locked in a room again. Just like in the sauna on that first day.
Breathing heavily now, she moved away from the door and reached into her bag, her fingers searching for her phone to call Tommy to come and let her out.
It wasn’t in there.
* * *
In the suite next door, Anna stepped around Mark’s inert body and let herself out onto the balcony. The wind rushed at her, sent her staggering into the railing, and she gripped it tightly, cursing as she almost dropped the bag she was carrying.
Down on her knees she went, head lowered against the biting gale as she pulled the spanner from the bag and angled it against the railing. It was a battle to get the first turn, and it took every ounce of strength she had, but finally the bolt moved a little.
Breathing deeply, a burning sensation in her chest, she pushed herself up and moved back inside.
Hopefully when they moved out to sea the wind would change and it wouldn’t be so hard to remove the bolts.
She placed the spanner on the side table next to her handbag and pulled out Paula’s phone. Opening the wardrobe, she slipped the phone into the pocket of the waxed jacket she had stolen yesterday.
Chapter 13
Before
When I was fourteen, I met one of my mother’s friends. His name was Carl. It was a Friday afternoon, and when I let myself into the house, he was there in the hallway.
‘Well, well,’ he said, ‘who’s this, then?’
He was a small man; his smile was grey and yellow and brown. His hair was pulled back into a straggly ponytail and he wore a checked shirt and saggy, baggy jeans. I stared at the sleeve of his shirt, rolled up. I could see the faded colours of a tattoo peeking out. He caught me staring.
‘Wanna see it?’ he grinned.
I shuddered. No, I didn’t want to see it. I didn’t want to see his tattoo or any part of him.
He laughed, and my mother drifted lazily down the stairs. ‘S’my girl,’ she slurred.
‘Pretty,’ he said.
With that one remark, I knew that I had to get out. I was a teenager now, and I had grown in places that this man, and all the other ones, liked to stare at. I looked at my mother now, her gown hanging open, the skin between her breasts like crêpe paper.
She moved past Carl towards the kitchen, and another thought occurred to me. My mother would not protect me from these men who hung around her house like flies buzzing around dirty plates in summer.
Throwing my bag down in the hall, I hurried upstairs to my room.
I listened for a while, but the front door didn’t open and close, and I knew he was still here. He had been on his way out when I came in, but he hadn’t left.
I pulled the chair from my dressing table and propped it under the door handle. From the bedside table I took my favourite knife. I slipped off my trousers and slid the blade along my knicker line. As the blood trickled out, my fear flowed along with it. Soon I was breathing easier. I slapped a wodge of tissue against the cut and snapped my underwear elastic back into place.
I no longer cut my arms, nor anywhere that showed. My panty line was a recently discovered perfect secret place. Nobody saw it, and the fine dark hairs that were another recent addition hid the scars.
As I leaned against the headboard, lost in a world that nobody else visited, I heard a creak on the stairs. I sat upr
ight, every part of me on alert now. Sure enough, after a moment, the doorknob twisted round. The chair moved half an inch; there was a grunt, a laugh and then the door was pulled shut.
‘See you again, pretty lady,’ said Carl.
I didn’t answer, and soon I heard his footsteps descending the stairs, and the front door banging behind him.
It was safe, finally, so I opened my door and padded quietly down the stairs. In the kitchen, a cigarette was burning down to the filter in the ashtray. I stubbed it out and went in search of my mother.
I found her in the living room, curled in a ball on the sofa. The room was in darkness, and the curtains – unused to being opened – released a flurry of dust as I pulled them to the sides. I watched the motes spinning in the air, and made a mental note to take the drapes down and wash them tomorrow.
I turned my attention to my mother.
In the sunshine I could see her clearly, her eyes tiny milky slits as she regarded me. Around her left arm was a soft cotton belt. My belt, I realised. Though why my mother would tie a belt around her arm was beyond me. On the floor was a needle, like the kind I’d recently seen when I’d had my inoculations at school. Inside it, a murky brown liquid bubbled. Beside the needle was one of our tablespoons. I bent down to look at it, and touched the brown stain then sniffed at it. I didn’t know what it all meant, but somehow I knew it wasn’t good.
I undid the buckle and slipped the belt from my mum’s arm. A little blood had stained the neon pink, and I sighed. I didn’t have any money to buy another belt. I rubbed at the blood, wondering if I could use a stain remover to get rid of it.
Then there was more blood, trickling out of my mother’s arm. I reached for a tissue and wiped at it, then pressed it against her arm until the blood stopped. In the messy drawer in the cabinet I found a plaster, and I stuck it to where it looked like the blood had come from.