by J. M. Hewitt
‘It wasn’t open,’ she said. She pushed the door closed, more firmly than was necessary, and turned to face Tommy. ‘It wasn’t open. I was locked in, I couldn’t get out.’ Suddenly she recalled her mobile. ‘Do you have my phone? I can’t find it.’
He stopped counting the euro notes in his hand and looked at her. ‘The door was open, it wasn’t closed. You weren’t locked in.’ He shook his head. ‘Wait, you’ve lost your phone?’
It struck her then, a realisation, a certainty, and despite knowing what Tommy’s response would be, she voiced her concern.
‘I’m being targeted,’ she said, and her voice trembled with emotion. ‘Someone’s after me.’
She watched him carefully. He held her gaze for a moment, then averted his eyes. He scratched at his head.
‘I don’t know what you want me to say,’ he replied, and his tone was weary, as though he’d heard it all before.
‘Too much has happened, Tommy.’ She moved over to him at speed, sat beside him on the bed. She hated the plea in her voice, but he had to know, had to understand that this wasn’t in her mind. ‘It’s the second time in days I’ve been locked in; look what happened to my hair, the attack on deck…’ She trailed off as something else occurred to her. ‘That sleep, just now.’ She stood up, wrapped her arms around herself. ‘That wasn’t normal. Oh my God!’ She dragged her fingers down her cheeks. ‘I was drugged.’
Tommy laughed. ‘You’re obviously not getting to grips with the locks,’ he said. ‘It’s all right, it’s a new place, locks and key cards and all sorts of security.’ Noticing her expression, he pushed on hurriedly. ‘I just think you’re anxious; it’s your first cruise and I admit the thought of being out in the middle of the ocean can be daunting.’ Awkwardly, he put one arm around her. ‘You just need to get a good rest and start over again tomorrow.’
At first she thought she was seething, shaking with anger. It took her a moment to realise that it wasn’t anger, but fear. Was someone after her? Or – and the second thought was almost worse – was this all in her mind? From the corner of her eye she watched her husband as he gave her one last squeeze and went to the bathroom, leaving the door open. She walked back to the chair she had been sleeping in. Was it even possible that it was Tommy doing this to her? It was a frightening thought, one that she would never have even considered before this trip. He was capable of a lot; she wouldn’t put it past him to have an affair, if she were totally honest with herself. She certainly wouldn’t be shocked if he eyed up other women.
But this… She was being gaslighted. And in a million years she wouldn’t have thought Tommy would have the capacity to do that. And why would he?
He was a narcissist, though, for sure. His response just now proved that.
‘Something’s happening,’ she said. ‘I don’t know if it’s you or me, but something’s changing.’
She heard the toilet flush and the tap running in the bathroom. Tommy didn’t hear her, or if he did, he didn’t reply.
* * *
The wind had settled a little, and Anna pulled on the stolen waxed jacket and picked up a towel and a cushion and went out onto the balcony.
She laid the towel on the deck, put the pillow on top of it and knelt down. She stayed still and silent, listening for evidence that either of her neighbours might be outside on their own veranda. Next door, in the Expedition Suite, she thought she heard Paula’s voice, shrill and high, panicked and frightened, though she couldn’t discern the words. There was nothing to be heard from Tommy.
Satisfied that she was alone, she went to work on the bolts. Soon her fingers were red with blisters. It was so cold they didn’t sting, and Anna very rarely felt pain anyway, but the look didn’t really go with the stylish businesswoman persona she was trying to put out there.
In spite of the little piece of meat and the salad she had eaten earlier, the work was even harder than she had anticipated, and she rested as frequently as she dared, which wasn’t that much because this needed to be done before first light. Today was Mark’s day off; he had told her that, back on the night they had slept together. He had said it with a suggestive leer, not even a question, as though she would leap at the chance to spend the day with him.
But he would be expected to report for duty tomorrow, and when he didn’t turn up, questions would be asked. People might already be asking questions. She knew how workmates were; they generally hung around with each other even when they weren’t on duty, a fact that was even more likely on a cruise ship.
She glanced over her shoulder at his body. Yes, he had to go tonight; she couldn’t risk keeping him in her suite for one more night. She bent her head to her task and spun the bolts harder and faster. The spanner slipped in her bloodied fingers, but she kept going. Finally, the last bolt came free. She picked it up and put it on the threshold, just inside the door.
In the living room area, she stood beside Mark’s body and removed all her clothes. She slipped on the shower cap that came free with the suite, and a pair of rubber gloves.
Now came the really hard work.
It took an age to roll him to the door, and over the threshold. Sweat poured freely down her thin body, and the heat of the chore was a strange contrast to the biting cold outside.
For the final few feet, she put her gloved hands on his thick, cold skin and wedged the corner of the plastic covering under her knees. Carefully she unfurled him, gripping the plastic and rolling it up. Finally, he was on the precipice, the gap just large enough for his bulky frame to be pushed through.
She clung onto his meaty arms as she scanned the horizon. All was quiet, the sea stretching for miles in every direction, black under a cloudy sky; not even a hint of the moon or any stars.
Still keeping hold of Mark, she leaned across him to look down at the balconies below. She clenched her teeth against the chill and with her free arm swiped her eyes clear of the tears that had sprung up in the biting wind.
He would fall straight down, she told herself. He had to. If a gust came and knocked him onto someone else’s balcony, the resulting investigation would be catastrophic. There was nowhere to run to on a cruise ship in the middle of the ocean, unlike at William’s house, where she’d been able to pack her things and walk away to another life.
She pushed herself back, gripping Mark with both hands now, and settled into a crouch. The wind was as still as it was ever going to be, and with a primal grunt she shoved at him as hard as she could. His limbs opened up as he fell, arms and legs spread, and for a moment he was flying. It was almost beautiful, she thought. There was no sound as he hit the water; the waves already crashing against the side of the ship disguised any splash.
She pulled her jacket around her and stayed in a crouch for a while, listening keenly for any shouts or sounds of a Good Samaritan raising the alarm. There was nothing, and eventually she stood up and made her way back inside.
* * *
‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’
Propped up against the pillows in the bed, Paula put her head in her hands.
His words had turned into a mantra. I don’t know what you want me to say. Over and over and over again. Had he always been like this? So… dismissive.
Yes, thought Paula. And she wondered about the other women she knew, whose husbands were possessive and willing to raise their voices and fists in support of their wives, sometimes against their wives. Tommy was too laid-back for that. This was a different sort of control.
The sun had risen now, after a night of no sleep for either of them. Paula had been too frightened to drop off, and Tommy was… well, Tommy was simply mystified at her behaviour.
‘I want to get off this ship,’ she said now. ‘I don’t know what I’ve done for someone to target me so intensely. I just need to leave.’ She waited a beat and then said pitifully, ‘Please.’
He had been pacing for a while, up and down, back and forth, pausing every so often to look out across the patio. Paula followed his gaze
. The sea looked calm, blue and glacial, an almost perfect colour match to the winter sky.
‘We don’t stop now until Iceland.’ He came over to the bed and sat down next to her. The mattress dipped with his weight as he leaned across and took her hand in his own. ‘We get off for a whole day before we set sail for home.’ He squeezed her fingers. ‘You’ve just got cabin fever.’
She was sure that wasn’t it. What even was cabin fever – a form of claustrophobia? If so, that wasn’t her problem at all. She would have been quite happy spending more time in the sauna, or even in her plush suite, but she had been forcibly locked in.
‘What did you do last night, when I was in here?’ she asked suddenly.
He shrugged. ‘Had dinner, some drinks with the boys.’
‘Anna was here,’ she said. She narrowed her eyes. ‘Actually, she was the last one who went out of the door. As soon as she did, I couldn’t open it.’ She raised her hands, palms up, an unspoken question, and stared hard at him.
‘She was in the restaurant, she had dinner with us,’ he said.
‘Oh. So, it wasn’t just dinner and drinks with the boys after all?’ Even as she spoke the words, she wanted to take them back. They were too combative, she shouldn’t confront him like that.
He sighed and let go of her hand.
‘Honey, when I came back, this door was open. It wasn’t even just unlocked, it was open.’
Paula bit her lip. He’d told her that as soon as he’d woken her up. All along he’d been adamant the door had been ajar. And that heavy, heavy sleep she’d had… Turning away, she wrapped her arms around herself. Was it possible she’d dreamed the whole being-locked-in thing?
She shivered, despite the warmth of the room.
Was it her mind that was playing tricks on her, and not some stranger with a grudge?
The deck attack, the push, the missing railing… that hadn’t been a dream. But she had been drinking the night she was pushed. Those three shots of vodka, one after the other. The way she had staggered and wobbled when she’d first come out on deck in the freezing night air.
As if sensing her hesitation, Tommy put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Look, it’s going to be a bright day. Why don’t we have breakfast and then wrap up warm and go out on the deck?’
She looked into his face, into his eyes that she knew so well. Sometimes she thought she knew the contours of his face and body better than she knew her own. Was that what all this was about? The fact that they’d been together coming up for two decades? Things shifted and changed, and maybe everything that had happened to her on this trip, and the way he’d reacted to her recent misfortunes… She felt her mouth turn down. She couldn’t blame him; if she were him, she would be irritated with herself too.
She nodded reluctantly, her mind made up. ‘Let’s go and have some breakfast.’
He smiled and was up and off in an instant, pulling his shoes on, picking out his thickest coat and hat. She moved more slowly, disconcerted at how easily appeased he was. At how quickly he seemed to forget her troubles.
Chapter 15
Anna slept like the dead. The physical work of disposing of Mark’s body had left her exhausted. Afterwards, she had been unable to shake the feeling that someone would spot him moving around in the waves, and so she had wrapped herself in her duvet and camped just inside the door of the balcony until the dawn light had started to spread its grey fingers across the ocean.
She had listened keenly through the shrieking wind. Nobody had raised the alarm. She hadn’t heard the sound of anybody else’s doors opening. No low conversation or startled screams. She had got away with it. Smiling, she had finally gone to bed.
When she awoke, it was almost nine o’clock and the sun was streaming through the doors. Another couple of days and they would be in Iceland. She remembered how she had locked Paula in last night. When she had slipped into the Expedition Suite, Paula had been dead to the world in her drugged sleep. She would be feeling terrible this morning; groggy, almost like a hangover. Which meant she had probably declined breakfast.
Which meant Tommy would be in the restaurant by himself. Or if not alone, with his pals.
She slid out from between the sheets and dressed hurriedly, pulling on skinny jeans and a thick knitted jumper. The jeans gaped at the waistband and she smiled.
It was going to be a good day.
* * *
Anna swept out of the elevator and into the restaurant, wrinkling her nose at the smell of the hot buffet. As if in reaction, her stomach growled noisily, and she frowned, holding her breath as she walked past. She poured herself half a cup of black coffee and took a single slice of melon before looking around the busy room.
There was Tommy in his normal spot, a full English in front of him, along with a newspaper. He was shovelling bacon into his mouth while turning the pages of the paper.
She hesitated, thinking that maybe she should wait until he’d finished eating like he was in some sort of competition. But she steeled herself and walked over to his table. Putting her coffee and melon slice down, she smiled at him.
‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘Is this seat taken?’
His mouth was full and he chewed frantically, though her question hadn’t been a request for permission. She started to pull the chair out.
‘It is taken, I’m afraid.’
The voice came from behind her, and spinning around, she came face to face with Paula.
‘Oh, er, hello, good morning,’ Anna said, stumbling over her words. ‘How are you?’
She’d got it wrong. She cursed herself, hearing the concern in her own voice, feeling the frown that knitted her brow. As though she already knew that Paula had had a shitty night locked in her suite. She waited, hoping neither of them had picked up on her tone.
‘Good, thanks, looks like it’s going to be a lovely day.’ Paula nudged her way in front of Anna and pulled out the chair. ‘Excuse me.’
It was awful, uncomfortable, and Anna froze, her mind unable to catch up with the faux pas. The tension dragged on until Tommy pushed Anna’s coffee cup and plate to the left of him. ‘This seat’s free,’ he said, over-cheerful, compensating for his wife’s frostiness.
Anna pulled out the chair and sat down. She picked up her coffee cup and cradled it in her hands.
‘Anything exciting going on?’ she asked, gesturing to his newspaper.
He shrugged. ‘There’s a storm coming. Going to hit Europe, Iceland too.’ He angled the paper so she could see.
‘That’s a shame. I really want to get off the ship when we dock, take a look around Reykjavík.’
Tommy guffawed. ‘If you’re anything like Paula, the weather won’t matter. They’ve got a big shopping mall, all under cover.’
Anna caught the pained look that shot across Paula’s face and leapt on it. ‘Not a fan of the outdoors, Paula?’ she asked innocently.
‘I am, as a matter of fact. And I’ve been reading about the frozen lakes. I’ll be taking a look at them, whatever the weather.’ Paula’s reply was even, but Anna detected the undertone. Cool towards herself, belligerent against her husband. But then her face flushed and she dropped her gaze to the tabletop. Anna nodded to herself; neither emotion came naturally to meek, mousy Paula.
Tommy glanced at his wife. ‘You didn’t say. I’ve been looking at trips to the natural springs, I wanted to go and see them.’
An uncomfortable silence fell, broken eventually by Paula. ‘You can, I’ll be fine.’
Anna cleared her throat and shifted in her chair to stare outside. Why didn’t Paula just give up and return to her suite? Probably because she was scared she was going to be locked in again. She smothered a smile.
‘Hey, look, this is near us!’ exclaimed Tommy suddenly.
Anna turned back to him, but he had pushed the newspaper over towards Paula.
‘Look, this poor old guy was found dead in a house in Ilford. That’s not far from us.’
The smile slid from Anna’s
face.
Could it be…?
‘Says they assumed he’d had a heart attack, but the police found evidence of foul play,’ read Paula. ‘Oh, God, they’re looking for his carer in relation to the attack!’
Sweat prickled at Anna’s hairline. Her heart pounded at double time. Discreetly, she smoothed her wrist along her forehead.
‘There’s a photo of her.’ Paula showed the paper to Tommy, seemingly forgetting that Anna was even there.
A photo? Of her?
‘Can I see?’ she asked, as casually as she could manage.
Tommy passed the paper across to her and Anna peered at the article. Two pictures, one of William in his younger days, before she even knew him. And a second photo… and it was of her.
She was wearing the beret she favoured, walking across the road towards William’s house, a shopping bag in one hand, her keys hanging loosely from the other. The photo was black and white, grainy on the page; her face was angled off to one side, her attention caught by something down the street.
Her mouth was suddenly dry, and her chest felt painfully tight.
How was there a photograph of her?
She read the article quickly.
The body of William Hatcher, 82, was discovered at the bottom of the stairs in his terraced house in Ilford, Essex. It appeared that Mr Hatcher may have suffered a coronary episode, but Mr Hatcher’s son, Jason, 45, subsequently reported that a large sum of cash was missing from the property.
Jason Hatcher has been living abroad, and therefore was not aware that his father had a live-in carer. Mr Hatcher’s next-door neighbour, Cameron Henderson, (75) told our reporter:
‘Her name is Gemma, she’s very young, in her twenties, I’d say. Gemma wasn’t particularly friendly and I put that down to her just being shy. But I haven’t seen her since William’s death, and now this money is missing too.’
Mr Henderson added that the whole neighbourhood is in shock.