The Life She Wants

by J. M. Hewitt

  ‘How long do we spend there?’ she asked now, playing the game nicely in the way he wanted.

  ‘All day, enough time to see the scenery.’

  She nodded and rolled her shoulders, tried to dissipate the tension that had built and built over the last few days. ‘Maybe see the Northern Lights,’ she said, hopeful that his current favourite topic would perk him up.

  ‘Maybe,’ he conceded.

  She watched as he pulled his phone out and started scrolling again.

  She sat up straight. ‘Can I borrow that?’ she asked. ‘I’ve not spoken to Julie in days; she’ll have been sending me messages and she’ll be worried that I’ve not answered her.’

  He raised his eyes, and she shivered at the sudden intensity of his stare.

  ‘Yeah,’ he answered finally. ‘Let me just finish this.’

  She wondered what was he thinking about her request. Did he think she had asked to use his phone so she could skip through his apps, through his texts and calls and email to see if there was anything on there from Anna?

  Back and forth went his thumb, scrolling, flicking, jabbing at the screen.

  Deleting?

  Miserable, she slumped in her chair. When he was finally finished and passed the phone across the table to her, she shook her head.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ she said, smiling bravely.

  With an eye roll, he put the phone back in his pocket, then the waiter arrived and Paula had to feign enthusiasm for a cuisine she didn’t particularly enjoy.

  * * *

  It was a risk wearing the stolen waxed jacket, but it was the only weatherproof outerwear Anna had, and besides, it wasn’t like she was going to go out in public wearing it. She stood on her balcony, leaning far over while adrenaline pumped around her body, bringing a fresh wave of dizziness that she harnessed and held close.

  Below her, the waves smashed the starboard side of the Ruby Spirit and reached up towards her, six-, seven-, eight-feet-tall sheets of ice-cold sea. Curling tentacles grappled and fought each other to get to her, and she watched, mesmerised by the danger, until she remembered why she was out there.

  She hauled herself even further over the same rail that she had removed and pushed Mark through. Turning her head to the right, she gasped, a strangled choking sound, as the wind punched at her face. Tiny flakes of snow mingled with needle-sharp rain, rendering her blind.

  She withdrew, clambering off the railing and reversing back inside the suite. She shrugged off the coat, leaving it on the floor, and peeled off her clothes, then pulled a fluffy robe around her shivering body. Picking up her phone, she huddled on the chair by the window, watching the sleet pelt down outside. She thought about giving up on the CCTV surveillance. Surely if they had coverage they would have been here questioning her already?

  A knock at the door had her snapping upright in the chair, as though they had sensed her thoughts, as though they had caught up with her. She shrugged inside the robe until it hung loosely around her, then tiptoed to the door and squinted through the peephole at the man who stood outside.

  He was older, this one, wearing the same uniform as Mark had: three stripes on his arm with an insignia of an albatross on the sleeve.

  She pulled the door open.

  He nodded to her and gave a strange half-salute. ‘Madam, I’m sorry to bother you. I’m First Officer Patrick Duane, and I wonder if I can have a moment of your time?’

  She looked him up and down, compared him to the effeminate man who had spoken to her in the casino. This one was a whole different ball game, that much she could tell straight off. Power and authority spoke volumes.

  She pulled the door open. ‘Come in,’ she invited.

  He stepped through and removed his cap. Underneath, his hair was short, military style, greying round the edges. His face was tanned, with deep-set lines, and she could tell that underneath his clothes he was muscled. He clearly took care of himself. She noticed that his eyes did not travel to the plunging neckline of her robe. She would have to be careful.

  ‘Is this about Mark?’ she blurted.

  His face betrayed no expression as he nodded. ‘I understand you last saw him in Åndalsnes, when we docked?’

  ‘That’s right,’ she said cautiously. ‘His shift had finished, he got off the boat.’

  He nodded, his granite eyes not leaving her face as he circled her and sat down uninvited in a chair by the window. ‘Only his shift hadn’t finished,’ he said. He offered no further explanation.

  ‘Oh.’ Clutching her robe tightly, she followed him and sat down opposite.

  ‘This is unlike Mark.’

  She nodded in agreement.

  ‘Did he tell you of his plans?’

  She looked down and to the side. Outside the window the sky was white with the promise of further snow.

  ‘Madam?’ he prompted.

  ‘He was meeting a woman, I think.’ She spoke haltingly, her tone loaded with hesitation.

  He nodded. ‘Go on.’

  Anna took a deep breath and exhaled. ‘I’ve known Mark for a while, before this cruise. Our relationship wasn’t what you think.’ She picked up the belt of her robe and let it run through her fingers before glancing at Patrick. ‘We were friends.’

  Patrick tilted his head. ‘So, he left his job to be with this… woman?’

  Anna nodded. ‘He asked me not to tell, but I can see you’re all worried about him.’ Even as she spoke, she berated herself. This was a risky lie, too risky. He would have told his crewmates that he’d slept with her. Locker room talk, boys together; Anna was a catch, of course he’d bragged about her. ‘I’m sure he’ll be fine,’ she said. Her tone was one of finality, signalling the end of the conversation.

  Patrick nodded gravely. Planting his hands on the arms of the chair, he pushed himself to a standing position.

  ‘Did he come to the Arctic Suite often?’ he asked.

  Anna concealed a sigh. He was pressing her. ‘A couple of times. We were friends, like I said.’

  Patrick’s mouth twisted in an odd smile. ‘Were you also friends with his wife?’

  It was as though the snow outside had entered the suite. A sudden chill, the realisation like a violent blow to her chest. He didn’t believe her. And she hadn’t known Mark was married.

  She raised her chin. ‘Yes, of course.’

  He nodded again. ‘Jasmin, isn’t it? Mark’s wife’s name, I mean?’

  She hesitated, just for a moment. ‘That’s right.’

  He turned sharply, moved towards the door. As he passed the coat hook, he stopped and stared. She followed his eyeline to the pink beret, only partially hidden behind her tailored black coat. He glanced back at her, his gaze moving swiftly past to settle on the floor behind her.

  She didn’t turn around to see what he was looking at. She knew it was there, the stolen waxed coat. She remained defiantly still and silent.

  Finally, he spoke. ‘Thank you for your help.’

  She released the breath she had been holding. ‘If I can be of any further—’

  ‘His wife’s name is Belle,’ Patrick interrupted her.

  Caught in a lie.

  When cornered, do nothing, say nothing, she reminded herself.

  ‘I’ll be in touch.’ He smiled, but it was cold and distrustful.

  After a moment, he put his cap back on and left the suite. As she listened to his footsteps out in the corridor, she stared at the door, which he had left open.

  Caught in a lie.

  With a strangled sound that she tried to push down, she ran to the door and kicked it closed.

  * * *

  ‘I’m going down to the bar.’

  Paula sat on the bed and watched Tommy through the open bathroom door as he smoothed back his hair. She didn’t push for an invitation; there was really very little point. It stung, though, and she sat up straighter and called through to him.

  ‘I’ll try and stay awake. Keep an eye out for the lights!’ Her voice was false
ly jovial, a tone she hated. She was only just beginning to realise how much she used it when she spoke to him.

  ‘Sure,’ he replied.

  She didn’t know if it was an agreement or a question. Either way, he had responded, and that was a good thing.

  He was humming to himself now in the bathroom, and she felt her muscles relax at the sound. He was simmering down, their earlier argument drifting away. In the back of her mind she knew it was a bad thing that they hadn’t actually discussed anything, either his inappropriate behaviour with Anna in the casino or her own deception about the pill. There had been no resolution, just bitter acrimony on his part that came off him in waves. She had backed off, apologised, fallen to her knees and accepted the blame for everything.

  As usual.

  A sour taste filled her mouth, the familiar taste of disappointment. More at herself than him. And now she was expected to stay alone here in the suite until he decided to come to bed.

  There was a sudden flutter in her chest, an unprecedented urge to defy him, though she knew even as she felt it that if she did, it would swing his mood back to a black one once more. She closed her eyes and saw them again, plain as day. Anna looking like a goddess at the roulette table, her head tilted back slightly, her lips parted. And Tommy behind her, thrusting against her, his mouth slack and foolish.

  She sat up and pushed her feet into her boots, reached for her hooded jumper and pulled it on.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he asked, emerging from the bathroom.

  A little thrill ran through her at his question.

  He does care.

  She pulled at the cord around the neck of her hoodie. ‘To see if there’s an internet café, or a computer I can use. I want to message Julie.’

  He kept his eyes on her for a moment before apparently deciding this was okay by him. With a ‘see ya later’, he picked up his key card and dodged out of the door.

  * * *

  She avoided the elevator; instead she took the stairs, circling down, down, down until the familiar mechanical hum told her she was nearing the engine room. There was a space down here, almost like a snug, that she recalled seeing one time. She rounded the corner and smiled as the bank of six computers came into view.

  The lounge area was deserted – unsurprisingly, she acknowledged, seeing as most the passengers were probably up on deck searching fruitlessly for the Northern Lights, or eating a late dinner, or whale-watching or something.

  She slid onto a chair, wiggled the mouse and the screen popped to life. It was free to use, not rented by the hour like some internet cafés. As it should be, she supposed, with the amount the cruise cost overall.

  She logged onto Facebook, crushed a little by the fact that she had posted nothing at all on this holiday so far. She thought of the sights she had seen: the lush green mountain at Åndalsnes, the sheer majesty of the Expedition Suite and the views from the ship as the Ruby Spirit cut through the choppy winter waters. So many missed opportunities. So many breathtaking moments that she had experienced alone. Mostly because that woman had been hanging around, trying to snare Tommy, trying to lure him away.

  She abandoned thoughts of Julie and instead typed Anna’s name into the search engine, overcome by curiosity about the cuckoo trying to take over the nest that she had spent so long building.

  There was a stream of results: Instagram profiles, adverts for lawyers, obituaries, influencers. A succession of clicks confirmed that none of them was the Anna Masi who was currently haunting Paula.

  Puzzled, she sat back in her chair. Surely someone who oversaw a nationwide company, one that was soon to be international, should have a profile somewhere?

  Eventually she clicked off the screen. The home page was a news site, and as she sat there chewing the skin around her thumbnail, deep in thought about the mysterious Anna Masi, she idly scanned the articles. The Essex thing popped up, the old man who had died, the one where the carer had vanished with his money.

  The photo was there again, in colour this time. The carer’s face was obscured as she glanced off to one side. The only thing that was really visible was her coat, black and tailored, and the pop of colour from the vivid pink beret that sat atop her head.

  She doesn’t look like the hired help, thought Paula as she scrolled down the page. She looked expensive and fierce and confident. She looked like everything Paula herself tried to portray but was never sure she actually carried off.

  She was about to click out of the page, already thinking about returning to her suite, having a cup of tea and breaking open the box of chocolates from the welcome hamper that she had so far managed to resist. The mouse was hovering over the cross in the top right corner when her finger stalled.

  She leaned closer to the screen and scrutinised the photo of the woman, and suddenly her heart began to beat in double time.

  Slamming doors and sudden footsteps startled her. There was a flurry of activity in the previously deserted lounge. Paula sank down in her chair as bodies came from seemingly nowhere, not even casting a glance her way as they chattered excitedly about notifications they had received about the last of the Leonid showers, which were apparently happening right now. They moved in a herd, stampeding towards the elevators. Finally, there was the promise of the lights, the very reason for this cruise.

  She watched as the last trickle of passengers squeezed into the lift. She should join them really, should look for Tommy and make sure he’d heard the announcement. Instead, she remained at the computer terminal, bound to her chair by a force as invisible as the lights had been thus far.

  Soon, silence descended. She was alone again.

  * * *

  Anna paced in her suite. In the corner of the room was a pile of incriminating items. The waxed jacket. The pink beret. Paula’s mobile phone. Mark’s keys and phone. The plastic sheeting and the spanner.

  She surveyed them all, the pieces that could be used as evidence against her, then she moved to the door, slid it open and stepped out onto the balcony. This time she ignored the snowflakes that the wind spat at her. Leaning over the side, she glanced down, saw the merriment of some sort of party on the balcony below. A handful of people, music from an iPhone speaker. They huddled in their coats, arms and voices raised, glasses clinking as they stared upwards, waiting for the last of the light show.

  No chance of throwing the stuff overboard. She looked back inside. She would dispose of it in Iceland. She would pack everything in her rucksack and take it off the ship. If First Officer Patrick Duane should come back, she would be ready for him and her suite would be clean.

  She pushed her hair back and shuffled inside. Perhaps she should get off in Iceland, melt into the Reykjavík crowds and start anew in a different country. But then this trip would have been a total and utter waste of time and money, and she would lose the biggest prize of all.

  Tommy and everything he owned.

  With her foot she slid the door closed, and sank to the floor with her back to the glass.

  Cornered.

  The net was closing in on her, and she was trapped.

  Chapter 19

  Before

  The days went on, though not like before.

  Carl became an almost permanent fixture in the horrid little house that was my home.

  I had thought I was protecting myself, my mother and my territory when I brandished that knife at him. I had thought I was taking back control when I locked my mother in her room and forced the withdrawal on her.

  Instead, I’d simply managed to lose the battle.

  Winter had arrived, and with it the first real snowstorm that I could remember since I was a child. Roads were cut off, just like our heating, and I started to arrive at school earlier each day just to get some warmth into my bones.

  I was a week off my fifteenth birthday when I was called out of science class and summoned to the headmaster’s office. Inside was Miss Hayle, my English teacher, and the head, Mr Clayton.

  ‘Sit down,’ said M
iss Hayle, and I did as she asked.

  I thought back to the medical room that day when they had taken Rebecca Lavery from her home and given her a wonderful new life. She had never come back to our school, and I’d thought about her often since seeing her that night I’d gone out to buy my mother’s heroin. Wherever she was, it was not in the same place as me. I hated her and envied her in equal measure.

  But now I felt a tremor of anticipation. Had my teachers realised what was happening in my home? Was it my turn to be saved?

  Miss Hayle was talking now, but it was clear from her smile and the enthusiastic nodding along of Mr Clayton that they were not there to save me like they’d saved Rebecca.

  I barely listened; focused instead on the old-fashioned radiator that kicked out more heat in this one room than I had in my entire house.

  ‘So,’ Miss Hayle prompted me, ‘what do you think?’

  I stared dumbly at them.

  It was a trick of mine, a way to save my soul at home. To block out the noises that came from my mother’s room when Carl was in there with her. I’d never done it at school before. School was my saving grace. Learning was my escape.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ I asked, stalling for time.

  Miss Hayle giggled. A girlish sound, in keeping with her whole demeanour. I hated her happiness.

  She clapped her hands together childishly. ‘We want to put your name forward for the Kerry Grant. It’s a scholarship, and the prize is entrance and full payment to study two subjects of your choice at Edinburgh University.’

  My throat closed up. I held my bag in my lap and moved my fingers underneath it, my nails prodding at the scars on my inner thigh through my tights.

  It hurt. The sting told me this was not a dream.

  How did they know?

  ‘How did you know?’ I blurted.

  Miss Hayle’s smile faltered for a second. ‘How did we know what?’ she asked.