by Evans, Ilsa
‘Another drink?’ asked Petra, taking my empty glass before I could answer.
I waited for her to leave before turning back to Lew. ‘How’s Deb?’
‘Still pretty gutted. They’re going to have a low-key evening tonight.’ He hesitated. ‘They met with April’s son this morning. Hard stuff.’
I felt my eyes moisten. ‘That poor guy. It’s just terrible.’
‘Yeah.’ Lew sighed. ‘Even worse because they’d been sort of estranged. Nasty split with the husband, I believe, and the son took his side. Deb said he didn’t have much time for them either. Prickly bloke. See, they almost cancelled everything to stay in Rome, but after meeting him there didn’t seem much point. Nothing they could do there.’
I nodded, still thinking of April. ‘Do you think the estrangement might have been part of the reason she …?’
He sighed again as the unspoken words hung in the air. ‘Yeah. Maybe.’
‘Nell!’ called my mother impatiently. She was sitting on the divan, her feet not quite reaching the ground. She looked uncomfortable. ‘Do you intend to join us?’
‘Yes, Yen, I’ll be there in a moment.’
Lew glanced at me curiously. ‘I’ve always meant to ask: why do you and your sister call your mother Yen?’
‘Just one of those daft things. She wanted us to use her first name but apparently when I was little I shortened “Lillian” to “Yen”. Petra copied when she came along. So Yen it was. That’s what you get when you try to manipulate kids.’
‘Drinks!’ said Petra, passing me a fresh cocktail. ‘Sorry, Lew, did you want one?’
‘Nah, I’ve got a beer over at the table. Come on, join us.’
Sitting beside Yen was Uncle Jim, as always, and then Enid. Around the other side was Lyn Russo, along with Darcy and Tessa. I paused, and then veered towards a nearby column. I wasn’t about to be crammed into a divan with my ex-husband and his new partner.
‘Petra, get me a chair, please,’ said Yen. ‘This couch is bloody awful.’
‘You’re just not sitting right, Lillian.’ Enid was perched plumply on the edge. ‘There’s no need to jam your butt into the cushions.’
‘I’ll get the chair.’ Uncle Jim unfolded himself as Lew wheeled into position and picked up his beer.
‘Perhaps it’s because my butt isn’t as well padded as yours,’ commented my mother acerbically, trying without success to wriggle forward.
Enid ignored her.
‘Isn’t this glorious?’ exclaimed Tessa, waving an arm to encompass everything. ‘Absolutely glorious!’
‘Glorious indeed,’ said Petra, sliding into the divan beside her. ‘You must be missing your baby though. Her being so young.’
Tessa’s face clouded. ‘Yes, it was hard to leave her behind – though my parents were thrilled to have her.’
‘Still, a couple of weeks. That’s a long time.’
Darcy frowned. ‘Petra, must you?’
Enid whispered something to my mother, who nodded. They were both watching Tessa. It did seem unfair that she was being held solely responsible for the abandonment of their child. Darcy was getting off scot-free.
‘And it’s like we haven’t been alone since she was born,’ continued Tessa defensively. ‘It’s important for us too, you know? Some together time?’
An uncomfortable silence fell as everybody avoided looking at me. Darcy had become very interested in his lap, but perhaps that was nothing new. Tessa flushed. The band chose that moment to launch into a lively version of ‘Love Shack’, much to the delight of the growing group of dancers. A waiter materialised with fresh cocktails and I realised that I had finished the one I held.
‘Anyway, Sophie’ll be having a ball,’ said Lew heartily. ‘Getting spoilt rotten out at the farm.’
Petra nodded. ‘Oh, absolutely. She won’t want to go home.’
‘How’s everybody’s room?’ asked Lyn Russo. ‘Ours is so nice! She raised her voice to call over to her son. ‘I was just saying our room is nice, isn’t it, Griff?’
‘Yep.’
‘And twenty-four-hour room service! We’re thinking breakfast on the balcony.’ Her voice rose again. ‘Aren’t we, Griff?’
‘Yep.’
‘He should write the brochure,’ said Yen. ‘Such a way with words.’
‘We’re leaving!’ yelled Quinn. ‘Look!’
Sure enough, the stretch of cobalt-blue sea was now sliding past. Lew swivelled one hundred and eighty degrees then shot over towards the railing while everybody else slid awkwardly from the divan. Darcy paused to help my mother up. I joined Ruby and Quinn to watch silently as the container-laden dock and the hills of Civitavecchia receded from view. Quinn leant over the railing and my stomach turned. But I knew what she was peering at: the churn of white water as the ship surged forward, cutting smoothly through the calm sea.
‘Hey, come on!’ Griffin Russo grabbed Quinn by the upper arm and pointed towards the front of the ship. She grinned as they headed off. I guessed they were planning on having a Titanic moment. Darcy might have come to the same conclusion as he didn’t look happy.
I finished my cocktail and wandered over to the bar. There was a group of women there who had clearly imbibed a few of the cocktails themselves. Two of them looked very much like Patsy and Edina from Absolutely Fabulous. With much laughter, they appeared to be narrowing down candidates for a shipboard liaison. The shortlist included the captain, the guy on drums and the pool attendant with the really nice thighs. I fully intended on having a soft drink to slow down my alcohol intake but found myself asking for two more cocktails. One was for Petra.
‘She didn’t want to come, you know,’ said Darcy. He put an empty tumbler down on the bar. ‘I talked her into it. It wasn’t easy.’
‘Perhaps you should write those brochures.’
‘Don’t be like that.’
I took a sip and then turned to face him, making sure my voice was low. ‘That’s the second time you’ve said that to me. I tell you what, why don’t you write down exactly how you’d like me to be, and then email me the list?’
He sighed. ‘Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.’
‘What the hell did you expect, Darcy? Seriously? Did you think I’d provide turndown service or something? You signed up for a holiday when you knew I’d be there. Along with my mother, my sister, my—’
‘If you’re going to say my daughters, then I’ll stop you right there. They are my daughters too, and I’ve got every right to be here with them.’
‘You could have taken them on a holiday any time. Anywhere.’
Darcy opened his mouth to retort but must have thought better of it. Instead he turned to the bartender and ordered his drinks. I started to move away.
‘At least call off Petra.’
I gave him a disdainful look but didn’t bother answering.
Uncle Jim had finally arrived back at the divan with a chair. He looked a bit confused so I filled him in as I passed. Petra had moved away with Lew and Lyn so I left her drink on a low table. Enid was using her mobile phone to take photos and was receiving advice, or perhaps criticism, from Yen. I leant against the railing and sipped my drink. It really was the most beautiful view. The setting sun cast the water with ruby-tipped diamonds. Land could still be seen in the distance but so shadowy as to be almost a mirage.
I turned, wanting to share my delight at just being here. Petra and Lyn Russo had crossed to the other side of the upper deck with Lew a little farther away, talking on his phone. Ruby was taking photos of them all with what looked like a new, and rather fancy, camera. And standing apart, with their backs to me, were Darcy and Tessa. Even as I watched, he took a half-step towards her and then brought his hand up to her neck, massaging it lightly before running a finger lightly down from her hairline to the scoop of her T-shirt. I shivered instinctively. It was a favourite move of his; I remembered it well.
I dragged my eyes away before anyone noticed me staring. I felt ill. It wasn’t as if I d
idn’t know that they were intimate. Apart from anything else, there was a baby who looked very much like Scarlet, Ruby and Quinn had at her age. But for obvious reasons, I had never given it much thought. Never comprehended that of course he was the same with her as he had been with me, that his moves were transferable. No doubt he also nibbled on her ear, finished each long kiss with a gentle tug of the bottom lip, gave her a slow, post-orgasm smile as if he had just been given the greatest gift ever.
I drained my drink and then picked up Petra’s. My gaze flicked back but they had moved apart again. I suddenly knew, without doubt, that the touch on the neck was intended to be surreptitious. They had never meant me to see; in fact, had probably agreed to avoid any touchy-feelyness when I was around. That just made everything worse. I felt hollow, nauseous and lonesome. I was surrounded by music, laughter, joyousness, but I was alone. And a tad tipsy. Australian columnist clambers over cruise ship railing and falls to her death. Nobody notices.
Suddenly, the next ten days stretched before me like a prison sentence. I had no idea how I was going to survive with my dignity intact. Perhaps this was how April had felt. Lowering my intake of welcome cocktails might be a step in the right direction, but this didn’t seem a good time to start. I took another sip. A more achievable objective was returning to my cabin before everybody regrouped. I could recalibrate, wallow. I felt washed with a mix of bitterness and self-pity. One thing was certain: if I discovered that they were in the next cabin to mine, and the walls were thin, I was leaving the ship as soon as possible. Via the gangway or via the railing, whatever it took.
Chapter 4
I have an idea for you for your next column. Chin hairs. One of the more bizarre accompaniments to middle age. Sometimes I feel like I’m waging an ongoing war. Hate them, but quite like finding one – because there’s nothing quite as satisfying as plucking one of those little buggers out.
Unbelievably, there was a volcano to the aft of the ship. Or perhaps the starboard. I never quite worked the two out. But there it was, short and squat but most definitely a volcano, smack dab in the middle of a kidney-shaped island. I opened my mouth to tell Quinn but then thought better of it. Instead I watched, fascinated, as we sailed smoothly past. Another island came into view, this one with houses nestled into the folds of a hill. I wondered about the people who lived there, entire families I would never meet, living complete lives.
Quinn sighed heavily and broke my reverie. I turned back to my laptop. It was mid-morning and I was trying to put together a column. Thus far I had a title – ‘What I did on my holidays’ – and was feeling quite chuffed with the school-day vibe. I planned on exploring the ironies of being forced to write such essays as a child against the eventual embracing of Facebook and the like, uploading holiday statuses even while in the midst of the holiday itself. Unfortunately, I hadn’t got much further than the title and the concept, but at least it was a start.
Quinn was lying on my bed, reading. Every so often she would sigh, lower her book and stare at the wall for a minute. It was rather annoying so I wasn’t about to reward her by asking what was wrong. But I didn’t feel in a good position to be overly critical about her teenage-y behaviour after my melodramatic reaction to Darcy and Tessa the evening before. I still experienced a twinge every time I replayed his finger trickling down her neck, but desensitisation was working wonders. The more times I replayed it, the less effect it had. I was chalking the initial nausea and self-pity down to excess alcohol.
I changed the font of my title on the laptop, and then changed it back. I was already having doubts about my idea. It seemed a bit lame. For motivation I logged on to Facebook and checked out the photos that my fellow passengers had posted. There were Lew and Deb at a little cafe in Rome, Lyn Russo at the port in Civitavecchia doing a duck face and a series of photos of the scenery from the ship. There was even, already, a photo of the volcano we had just passed, courtesy of Ruby. It looked like it had been taken from the pool deck.
I shared a few on my own feed. I could also see some of Darcy’s photos, where he had tagged one of the girls. We ourselves were not Facebook friends. I mused over the wisdom of leaving a comment or two, but decided that would make me look a bit needy. Instead I scrolled through the past few days, looking for interesting updates from actual friends. I had gone past the most interesting before I paused, frowning, and slowly backtracked. The photo was innocuous enough – a pile of suitcases with a podgy laptop bag balanced on top – but the status was from Ashley Armistead. At the airport now and raring to go. As promised will post lots of pics.
This was the first time I had ever seen Ashley post anything at all. Lucy and Quinn had signed him on to Facebook about eighteen months ago, insisting that he had to be more connected. I could still see them sitting in my lounge room, laughing, dragging his details from him, taking a photo for his profile. They had penned his first status, something innocuous like I’ve finally joined the twenty-first century!, and as far as I knew, it had remained his only status. Until now.
‘Griffin thinks Ruby is cute,’ said Quinn.
‘That’s nice.’ I stared at the pile of suitcases. There were too many for a single person. And one of them was purple.
‘Thanks! Thanks a lot!’
‘What?’ I frowned at her.
‘Were you even listening to me? I said Griffin thinks Ruby is cute!’ She glared at me. ‘Oh, whatever. Like, you don’t care.’
I glanced at the suitcases once more, lingering on the purple one, which definitely looked feminine, before concentrating on my youngest daughter. ‘You’re upset because you think that means he fancies her.’
‘Well, duh.’
‘But you look like Ruby, just a few years younger. So if he didn’t think she was cute, then wouldn’t that be a problem?’
She considered this. ‘I suppose. But, like, how would you feel if … I don’t know, say Dad thought Auntie Petra was cute?’
I shrugged. ‘He does. It doesn’t mean they’re going to run off into the sunset together. Besides, your father is probably not the best example to use.’
‘Yeah.’ She grinned. Then her face fell again. ‘But he didn’t have to say it!’
‘You’re right. That was daft. But he’s sixteen, Quinn. Sixteen-year-old boys aren’t known for their emotional intelligence. Anyway, maybe he was admiring the woman you were going to become. Maybe it was more that he was calling you cute rather than Ruby.’
She stared at me, as if trying to decide whether to accept this waffle or not. Her phone pinged and then, a second later, pinged again. She looked at it and then jumped off the bed, her book sliding to the floor. ‘I’m going.’
‘Was that him?’
‘Yeah. He’s sorry.’ She flung a smile in my direction as she pulled the door open. ‘I’ll be up near the pool if you want me.’
I returned to the suitcases. There were four of them, two large, two small, and the laptop bag. The purple one had a sparkly tag shaped like a lemon. Several comments had been left beneath the posting but none that gave a clue regarding where Ashley and the suitcases were headed. A knot had formed in the pit of my stomach. Surely Lew would have told me if there was any crossover between his trip and ours. Surely that ship had sailed anyway. Literally.
Ashley Armistead and I had been an item, so to speak, for about six months. It had been a very pleasant six months, with a number of perks, including a trip to Norfolk Island, where none of the luggage had been purple. I had thought we were trundling along quite nicely, taking it slow, when Ashley suddenly decided he wanted more. The problem was that with my marriage not long dead, I simply didn’t have more to give. In the end we parted amicably. I had only seen him a few times since, mostly at Deb and Lew Taylor’s house as he was a good friend of theirs. The knot in my stomach tightened. I needed to find Lew.
*
Bodies were lined in deckchairs, plump flesh glistening in the mild sunlight. There was an energetic table tennis competition happening, the ball
occasionally bouncing over towards the bar and being tossed back with a cheer. I could see Ruby and Quinn with a group around Ruby’s age on the upper deck but Lew was nowhere in sight. The only other people I recognised were the Absolutely Fabulous ensemble, ensconced in the smoking area with a tray of what looked like piña coladas.
I took the stairs down to level four and went through the casino, where a few people were glued to poker machines. Enid was one of them. Beyond was Cafe Stefano, with its deep armchairs and heady scent of coffee. I did a circuit and then headed upstairs one floor to the buffet. Lunch was in full swing, with the circular centre buffet surrounded by people carrying plates. I realised that I was feeling quite hungry. I lined up behind a large man wearing checked Bermuda shorts.
‘Nell!’ I heard someone call from behind me.
‘Deb!’ We hugged and I stood back to examine her. Her blonde hair was pulled into a messy bun and she looked tired. ‘I was so sorry to hear about your friend.’
She nodded. ‘Thanks for your message. I would have replied but …’
‘No problem. I just wanted to let you know we were thinking of you.’
‘Thanks. I mean that. Hey, are you getting lunch? Come and join us.’ She gestured over towards a section of tables. ‘You can meet my friends.’
I peered in the direction she was pointing, recalling my foray into French at the Colosseum and the spiky attitude of the slimmer man. ‘Oh no, I don’t want to intrude.’
‘You wouldn’t be. They’d love to meet you. I’m just getting cutlery and then I’ll meet you there.’
I watched her bustle off and then glanced back towards the tables. A wraparound window gave a stunning panoramic view of the sea. I couldn’t pinpoint Deb’s friends. There was a good chance that they wouldn’t recognise me anyway; it had only been a brief encounter and I had been wearing a hat. I shuffled along behind Bermuda man as I filled my plate with a varied selection.