My palms were so slick with nervous sweat that the phone nearly slid from my hand while I waited through the silence that followed.
But Dan didn’t have to know that . . .
‘We’re clear,’ he said eventually.
‘Good.’
‘And I know you’re not going to want to hear this but can I just play the role of the blackened soul here for just a second? It’d be a lot easier to get the studio to wait patiently if I told them about this, about what you’re going through, because you know what? This has Oscar contender written all over it. It’s like Taken meets Gone Girl on a boat, only it’s true, and you know how Academy voters love a good true—’
I ended the call.
Dan had secured a script deal for me, yeah, but it seemed his real talent was for making me question my career choice.
I made my way back outside and looked to see if Peter was still in the same spot. As I crossed the deck I felt a faint, brief vibration beneath my feet, followed by a gentle lurch.
A cheer went up from the crowd.
The Celebrate was sailing away.
We met Megan for the first time that night in Fizz, the cocktail bar where Estelle was last seen.
Fizz was in the stern, from the view I could make out through its narrow floor-to-ceiling windows; I’d lost all sense of direction on the twisty route here. Despite the fact that it was still reasonably bright outside, it was dark in the bar, with partially draped curtains, soft lamps and recessed spotlights all adding up to not much more than bad reading light. Everything was purple, from the covers of the menus to the upholstery on the chairs.
Peter and I took stools at the bar. We ordered hamburgers and Cokes from the bartender, Javier, whose favourite Blue Wave destination was Stockholm. As he set our drinks down in front of us, Peter said to him:
‘A friend of ours works here. Somewhere. He doesn’t know we’re on board and we’d love to surprise him. Maybe you know him? His name’s Ethan Eckhart.’
I kept my expression neutral as best I could, but I was shocked. I hadn’t expected Peter to just start throwing the man’s name around so soon, and so openly.
What if Ethan himself was nearby? What if he overheard us?
‘It doesn’t sound familiar, sorry,’ Javier said. ‘A lot of people work on this ship.’
‘How many is a lot?’
‘Like a thousand?’
‘Our friend works in the Food and Beverage Department. Does that help?’
‘Not really. F&B is every bar, restaurant, cafe and ice cream stand on the entire ship. Room Service, too. We have more F&B crew than anything else. I’m sorry but I think you’ll just have to call your friend.’
‘But we really want to surprise him . . .’
‘I can ask my manager? Maybe he will know.’
Peter smiled. ‘That’d be great.’
Javier disappeared through a purple velvet curtain that must have been hiding a passageway to the kitchens.
‘A thousand crew?’ I whispered to Peter. ‘We’ve only got four days. And are you sure it’s a good idea to be—’
‘You didn’t avail of your friend’s Blue Crew, then?’ a female voice said.
We both turned towards the source: a woman sitting three stools to my right.
I recognised her instantly.
In real life, Megan of Megan’s Muster Station seemed older than she did in her YouTube videos. Late twenties to early thirties, if I had to guess. She was slim and pretty, with short blonde hair and a sun-kissed, outdoorsy look. There was a book open on the bar in front of her, but she was smiling at us.
‘Pardon?’ Peter said.
‘His Blue Crew rate.’ The American accent was strong now that I knew to listen for it. ‘The Blue Wave employee discount for friends and family. If he doesn’t know you’re here, I’m guessing you paid the full ticket price.’
‘Oh, yes. Yes, we did,’ Peter said. ‘Unfortunately we don’t know him that well.’ He gave a short, odd laugh.
‘Shame,’ Megan said. ‘Mind if I join you?’
‘Not at all.’
She moved to the stool beside me and stuck out her hand.
‘My name’s Megan.’
‘Actually, I know,’ I said. ‘I’m Adam, and this is Peter. I think I’ve seen one of your videos . . . ?’
‘Oh, really? God.’ She blushed. ‘That’s embarrassing.’ She reached across me to shake Peter’s hand. ‘It’s fine when you’re at home uploading them but then, when I meet a real, live person who’s seen them, it’s mortifying. You’re British, right?’
‘He is,’ I said. ‘I’m Irish.’
‘Really? My mother is Irish. Like, has-an-Irish-passport Irish. She was born in Galway.’
‘Galway’s nice.’
‘I must get there some day. What part of Ireland are you from?’
‘Cork. Down the very south.’
‘That’s the Titanic place, right?’
‘One of them, yeah. Built in Belfast, sailed from Cork.’
‘You’re American?’ Peter asked her.
Megan laughed. ‘How’d you guess?’
‘I wasn’t sure. I have occasionally made the mistake of saying that to Canadians.’
‘Which I bet they love.’
‘There’s been some awkward silences, you could say.’
‘Well, I would take offence too but I guess it’s just like the Irish/British thing, right? Sometimes you guys all sound the same to me.’
‘Are you doing one of your video things on here?’ I asked her.
Megan smirked at my phrase video things.
‘Yep. Busted. I’m on a junket. All expenses paid so long as I post a few videos. I’m not supposed to tell full-price-paying passengers that, actually, but you two look trustworthy.’
‘Nice job to have,’ Peter said. ‘Do they let you bring someone along?’
‘Unfortunately, no. I’m all on my lonesome. But it’s okay. I’ve just met two really nice guys in Fizz.’
She winked at me.
I looked at my Coke.
‘Do they make you say nice things in return?’ Peter said. ‘On your videos?’
‘Let’s just say I wouldn’t get invited back if I said anything too nasty. But between you and me, I’ll say whatever they want me to say. I make decent money from their affiliate programme. I’m saving it up to go back to school.’
‘To do what?’
‘Hospitality Management. So’ – Megan addressed me – ‘how do you guys know each other?’
I opened my mouth to speak, then realised I was preparing to say, Well, we don’t really.
‘From university,’ Peter said.
‘Oh yeah?’ She seemed dubious, probably because going by our appearances Peter and I would’ve only met at college if one of us had been the lecturer.
‘He was a mature student,’ I said.
Javier reappeared through the velvet curtain.
‘You guys have friends in very high places, eh?’ He wagged his finger at us in mock reprimand. ‘I hope you’ll only be telling him very good things about me. Tell him I’m the best bartender, okay? Tell him I deserve a raise.’
Peter and I looked at each other, perplexed.
‘Your friend,’ Javier said. ‘He doesn’t work in the F&B department. He runs it. Mr Eckhart is our F&B Director. You didn’t know that?’
‘No . . . No, we didn’t,’ Peter said. ‘We, ah, haven’t seen him in a while.’
A director. That made sense, given Ethan’s age. The average age of all the front-of-house staff we’d encountered on the ship so far seemed to be somewhere between old enough to vote and not old enough to rent a car. It was like Logan’s Run around here.
Peter asked where we could find him.
‘I don’t know for sure,’
Javier said. ‘The director doesn’t just work in one place. He moves around all the time, from restaurant to restaurant. If you want, you can give me a message and I’ll—’
‘I think we’ll try finding him first,’ Peter said.
‘Good luck then. Lots of places to check on here. And you’ll be moving around, he’ll be moving around . . .’ Javier shrugged. ‘The cruise is only four days, guys.’
He moved away to serve other passengers.
‘You know,’ Megan said, ‘you could just ask to speak with him. Go to one of the service desks and do it. You don’t have to give your real name. You could even pretend you want to make a complaint. How funny would that be? Imagine his face then when he sees you!’
I imagined Ethan’s face when I told him I was Sarah’s boyfriend.
‘Yes,’ Peter said flatly. ‘That would be funny.’
‘Or . . .’ Megan rubbed her hands together like she had an evil plan. ‘We could sneak into the crew quarters.’
I froze at the suggestion.
Peter asked how.
‘I used to work for Royal Caribbean. I know all the tricks. And they have the best parties back there. Do you know the crew have their own pool? I don’t think all three of us could manage it together, but maybe I could sneak one of you in.’
She looked at me as she said the last bit.
Megan was flirting with me, I realised. I could feel it, the twinge, the pull of someone else’s presence on mine. The subtext. Come with me. Be with me. Stay with me.
‘I don’t think that headache went away,’ I said.
‘No?’ Peter narrowed his eyes. ‘Didn’t you take something for it?’
‘I did. But I feel it coming back now.’
‘I have something in my purse,’ Megan offered.
‘It’s okay. I have something in my cabin. I think I’ll go get it.’
I started to slide off my stool.
‘I’ll see you in the morning?’ I said to Peter. He just glared at me. I turned to Megan. ‘It was nice meeting you.’
‘Feel better,’ she said, patting my arm.
‘Yeah. Thanks.’
I was already moving towards the door. Peter was pissed off with me, but I just wanted to get away.
Because I couldn’t do this. I wasn’t cut out for this.
Breaking into crew quarters? Seriously?
You wouldn’t get me past the yellow line on the platform at the train station.
‘Adam!’ Peter had run out after me. ‘Adam, wait. What are you doing?’
‘Look, I’m sorry,’ I said when he’d caught up. ‘I just don’t want to do this. I don’t think I can.’
‘Do what? Find him? Because this is the finding him bit.’
‘I’m not going to go sneak around crew quarters, Peter. We could get thrown off for that.’
‘That’s the worst thing that could happen to you now, is it? Getting thrown off this ship?’
I said nothing.
‘She’s perfect, Adam. Megan is perfect. Come on. This is our lucky break! She knows the ship, she knows the industry. She used to be crew. And she obviously likes you. You should encourage that.’
‘Encourage . . . ? What?’
‘I’m not talking about doing anything. I mean, you know, let her think what she wants to think until we find Ethan.’
‘What are we going to do then? What’s the actual plan when we find him? Because . . .’ I shook my head. ‘I’m not sure I’m cut out for this. When she said about going into the crew quarters, Peter, I was . . .’ I didn’t want to admit this. I wanted to be stronger. But the truth was, ‘I was scared.’
‘Of what?’
‘Of him.’
Peter bit his lip, considering.
‘Okay, Adam,’ he said. ‘Here’s what we’ll do. You go back to your cabin and rest. I imagine you haven’t had much sleep in the past week. You could do with a solid eight hours. Then, in the morning, we’ll start systematically searching the restaurants for him – from afar. We’ll make sure we see him before he sees us. Once we locate him, I’ll confront him. I’ll do what needs doing. It’s the least I can do. After all, you’ve paid for this. I couldn’t have afforded to come aboard without—’
‘It’s fine,’ I said, waving a hand. ‘Don’t worry about that.’
Talking about who had paid for what was an excruciating torture for me, in any circumstance – and this was my point. I was a guy who couldn’t face a full and frank discussion about how best to pay for a shared taxi ride home. How in the hell was I supposed to confront a killer?
‘Good,’ Peter said. ‘Now go get some rest. I’ll see you bright and early for breakfast.’
I sighed with relief as he turned and went back into Fizz. I didn’t know what I was going to do in the morning, but I did know that Peter was right about the fact that, right now, what I needed was sleep.
My cabin looked just as I had left it. There were no chocolates on the pillow; the Do Not Disturb sign had been heeded. I eyed the bottle of champagne on the desk, thought about how easy it would be to get the full eight hours Peter had prescribed with a few glasses of that in me.
But my eyelids were already drooping. I didn’t need it.
I went to close the curtains, stopped at the sea view. I couldn’t help but think it: she could be out there somewhere, floating, alone. Waiting for someone to believe that she was. Waiting for me to find her.
I pulled them shut, kicked off my shoes and climbed into bed, fully clothed.
And let myself sink into thinking about Sarah.
About how it felt to fall asleep with her head on my chest. About waking up in the morning beside her. About how, when she came home in the evening, the first thing she always did was come to my desk, wrap her arms around me and say, ‘Well? Did you get much procrastination done today?’
I quickly drifted off into sleep.
Next thing I knew it was the morning and the frayed ends of Sarah’s navy and white scarf were on the bed beside me, tickling my face.
Romain
Fleury-Mérogis, Paris, 2000
Romain sat on the bed his father had bought for him, letting his weight sink down into the deep, soft mattress. The new sheets still had creases in them from being folded into their packaging. They smelled clean and fresh. When he skimmed them with his palms, they felt soft and strong, not rough and thin like the ones he was used to. The pillows were thick and there were three of them; if he piled them on top of one another, he’d practically be sleeping upright.
‘Romain?’ a voice intruded.
He opened his eyes. His psychiatrist, Dr Tanner, was sitting opposite, his fingers steepled under his bearded chin, a six-inch-thick patient file on the tabletop in front of him. It had Romain’s name on it.
‘What were you thinking about?’ Tanner asked.
‘The bed my father is going to have ready for me, in my new room.’
‘Oh? Have you seen it?’
‘No, but I can imagine it.’
‘What do you imagine?’
‘Something much better than you get in this place.’
Tanner looked around and grinned.
‘For your sake, Romain, I hope so.’
The table between them and the chairs they were sitting on were the only items of furniture in the room. Everything was steel-framed and bolted to the floor, its most recent layer of green paint chipped and peeling, the original smoothness of the material interrupted with the bumps and edges of older, deeper coats. The room was small and bare, the walls breezeblock, the faded yellow paint on them pockmarked from old posters and stains, the only window narrow and secured with a metal grille. Behind Romain was a thick steel door and behind that an armed guard stood sentry.
‘You’re looking forward to leaving, then?’ the doctor asked.
; Romain made a face.
‘Okay, okay.’ Tanner laughed. ‘Silly question. I suppose what I was really asking was: are you nervous, at all?’
‘A little bit,’ Romain admitted.
‘What are you nervous about?’
‘Myself. What if it’s all still there, inside of me? What if it comes back up? What if all this hasn’t worked?’
‘Ah, come now. We’ve discussed this. It has worked. Which reminds me.’ The doctor lifted up the patient file and withdrew from beneath it a printout of several sheets, paper-clipped together. He passed it to Romain. ‘This is the article. It was published in the journal yesterday. You’re famous now.’
Romain took the pages without making a comment about how he was famous already, because he knew that Tanner knew that better than anyone.
The printout was a photocopy of a long, dense article. BOY P AND THE POSSIBLE CURING OF PSYCHOPATHY, the headline read. Dr Gary Tanner on the case study that looks set to rock the foundations of the psychiatry world. Above the text of the article was a large picture of the doctor standing in a garden in front of a big tree, smiling.
‘We’re famous,’ Romain said, tapping the picture.
‘I think there’ll be far more interest in you than in me.’
There was a sharp rap of knuckles on the door. A guard stuck his head into the room and said Romain’s father was here.
‘Off you go then,’ Tanner said. ‘We’ll meet again before you leave. Say hi to Charlie for me.’
——
Three doors.
That’s all that stood between Romain and the outside world. The door behind the guard station that led to the corridor, the door at the end of the corridor that led to the main entrance and the door that separated the inside from the outside. He went through one of them now, into the visitors’ room.
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