Splintered

by Laura J Harris

  Again, a small wave of subdued laughter.

  ‘Do you suffer a weak stomach?’ This time the question came from Andrews.

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘That surprises me.’ Prior, again.

  ‘Well now, that makes two of us,’ she said. Prior raised an inquisitive eyebrow. ‘Most of my own work colleagues seem blissfully unaware of or are, at the very least, obstinately unwilling to even acknowledge my academic qualifications.’ She paused, smiling, ‘But, not you it seems.’

  He grinned, expelling a small laugh that bore the slightest hint of resentment. ‘Well, the Captain isn’t the only one acquainted with your work or your career . . . Miss Livingstone.’

  Strike three.

  It was rare that a man — any man — ever truly surprised her even once in a given period of time, let alone three times in one evening. But, it would seem that Jonathan Prior was ever proving himself to be the exception to the rule.

  ‘So, you don’t like the title of Doctor?’ Christine asked, slicing through the uneasy atmosphere that seemed to have descended upon the table.

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘And why is that?’ barked the Dominatrix.

  Kelly knew that her opinion of use of the preamble of Doctor as being a socially discriminating, middle-class-versus-working-class tool of elevation and oppression would not be much appreciated at this table. Or — in fact — anywhere in this room.

  ‘I . . . just . . . I don’t feel I’ve earned it.’ she said, lying through her teeth.

  After that, the table broke into smaller groups of chit-chat, the guests talking amongst themselves and enjoying a main course of lamb roast, salmon en-cruet or Mediterranean vegetable lasagne. Kelly had ordered the latter, much to the disbelief and almost open-mouthed horror of the wild-eyed Kemp, who tucked hungrily into the meat on his plate.

  For him the term vegetarian just didn’t compute.

  As their dishes were cleared away in anticipation of dessert Kelly felt the heat of a feminine body press against her own. A slender arm appeared to the right of her, taking up her plate and cutlery with a mastered precision and speed.

  ‘Thank you.’ she said, looking up into a pair of dark-chocolate, almond-shaped eyes; warm, but understated tones and a slash of liner lending a feline air to the already seductive and devilishly dark, glistening orbs.

  ‘You’re welcome.’ replied the smiling young woman.

  Kelly watched her move off, navigating the obstruction of tables with ease.

  The waitress had great poise and — from where Kelly was sitting — she seemed to be blessed in every other conceivable way as well. Long, shapely legs; toned arms; all the right curves in the right places, great . . .

  ‘. . . assets.’

  ‘Sorry?’ she said, crashing back down to earth and the dinner table conversation with such a thud it almost hurt.

  Apparently the compact carnivore had been talking to her. But, for how long?

  And about what?

  ‘To pay off the solicitor’s fees and inheritance tax.’ He continued as if she’d been paying attention. Which she hadn’t. She stared blankly at him, trying — so hard — to think of something relevant to say. ‘After my father passed away.’ he said finally, still waiting for a response.

  Oh, she was going to hell!

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m not feeling too good.’ she lied for the second time that evening.

  ‘You did look a bit spaced out for a second.’ he said.

  Yeah, just a bit!

  Had he noticed that she hadn’t been listening to him? Or had she somehow managed to get away with it?

  ‘Well, they ripped us off anyway.’

  His tone said it all. He was clearly pissed off.

  Having watched the events from a little way off and seeing Kelly now sweating under the pressure, Christine joined the conversation.

  ‘I had a similar experience,’ she said, ‘when we lost my Mother.’ This appeared to both content and overwhelm the young — and somewhat emotionally unstable — male nurse, who smiled sweetly at Christine; tears suddenly glazing his eyes.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Kelly mouthed the words Thank you, to which Christine smiled a subtle reply as Kemp continued to speak.

  ‘I don’t suppose that you get on well with solicitors, full stop.’ he said, pulling himself together, ‘Especially if their anything like that last one.’

  Christine instantly threw up her guard. Shield, walls, castle and moat.

  The change in her was physical, absolute and instant. She was an entirely different woman. Closed, locked down and giving nothing away, save a very clear message; Do not go there.

  But Adrian Kemp was relentless. For a nurse he didn’t seem to have a clue about when to stop pushing and Kelly found herself wondering about his bedside manner, which — she couldn’t help but think — might be more than a little lacking.

  ‘What was his name?’ He raised his voice, opening the conversation up to the rest of the table, ‘That guy . . . the solicitor that got Butler off recently?’

  ‘Thomas Butler?’ Dr Matthews questioned.

  ‘Oh yes, the Butler case.’ chimed Dr Cunningham dryly as he finished a glass of red wine, ‘I thought I recognised your face, Dr Kane.’

  Matthews moved Cunningham’s glass across the table before it could be topped up, silently reprimanding him. He shot her a burning look, before returning his attention to Christine.

  She was blushing.

  It wasn’t the humble blush of someone recognised for their own particular fame, nor was it wholly borne out of embarrassment, but something else. Kelly stared at the strong woman sat across from her, trying to figure her out.

  Their eyes met once more. And in that instant she knew.

  It was guilt.

  It was, unmistakably, guilt that flushed her cheeks and flooded her eyes. Guilt and regret.

  Kelly raised her eyebrows, silently questioning her.

  Christine gave a small, discreet nod.

  ‘Lomax.’ Captain Andrews said, choosing to join in with the conversation that appeared to be awkward for no one other than Christine.

  For her it seemed excruciating and Kelly felt it as she watched her dark eyes filling. ‘Kevin Lomax.’ Andrews continued, ‘He’s the man every criminal low-life wants to represent him. Makes Cochrane look like an amateur.’

  Christine tried her best to smile, but she was on the verge of tears. And no one seemed to care.

  ‘I think I could use some air,’ said Kelly suddenly. She wasn’t even sure the voice had been hers, but she was on her feet none the less, ‘How about you Dr Kane?’

  The relief on Christine’s face was as clear as a cloudless day; as loud as a holler on the wind. She smiled and fumbled to grasp something besides her, something just out of Kelly’s view.

  Next to her, Prior stood up. This appeared to be partly out of gentlemanly respect and partly in offer of assistance, which Christine reluctantly accepted. She thanked him as she moved slowly around the table . . . leaning heavily onto a polished, dark-wood walking stick.

  Kelly waited, allowing Christine to go before her.

  The further they walked the more Christine’s leg appeared to loosen and by the time they’d reached the open deck, her limp was barely noticeable.

  ‘Thank you.’ Christine said, breathing a great sigh as she leant against the railings, watching the waves crash against the hull.

  ‘You did the same for me. With Kemp. Just thought I’d repay the favour.’

  Kelly looked around the deck. It was a warm night with a warm breeze, yet there weren’t that many people about. Perhaps they were still eating. Or drinking. Maybe both.

  ‘Quiet, isn’t it?’ Christine said, as if entering her mind.

  Kelly nodded.

  The pair remained in silence, watching the waves, seeming to enjoy one another other’s company without the need to speak about it. Eventually Christine turned, making her way towards a small table with two c
hairs already set up.

  Kelly followed and as she sat, a violent pain — violent like a bolt of jagged lightning — cracked through her skull; her temples suddenly throbbing, her eyes burning. She pressed her hand to her head, wincing and massaging the tender pressure points.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Christine said, her voice expressing the true concern that accompanied the worried look in her eyes. Kelly struggled to nod, unable to offer any further answer for several moments more. Taking in breath after deep breath and feeling the bile rising in the back of her throat she desperately fought the urge to vomit. Gradually, very slowly, the pain began to subside.

  ‘Sorry.’ she started, ‘I suffer with these . . . headaches. Painful fucking headaches. It’s usually when there’s crappy lighting in a room or something. Atmospheric pressure and stuff like that.’

  ‘Have you ever seen anyone about it?’

  Kelly shook her head. ‘There’s no point. I’ve always had them. Ever since I can remember. But, fortunately they don’t tend to last too long.’

  ‘Still, you shouldn’t have to put up with pain like that.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ A nervous smile broke across Kelly’s face that told Christine she didn’t want to talk about it. Not yet. Christine didn’t push. ‘But, it looks like I can add travelling at sea to the list of things that I know set it off. Should make the rest of the journey . . . interesting, if nothing else.’

  ‘Do you have some painkillers?’

  Kelly nodded, touched by Christine’s concern. It was her third white-lie that evening. She did have something to take the edge off the pain, but it certainly wasn’t an over the counter remedy.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said, ‘Honestly.’

  They sat in silence a few minutes more. But, it had now become a strained silence, the kind that begs to be broken.

  Christine’s move.

  ‘Do you have any plans for the rest of the evening?’

  ‘Actually, I do.’ Kelly said, still rubbing just above her eyes, ‘I’m never usually this organised, but yeah. I actually have a ticket to see the show tonight; The Rape of Lucrece. I know . . . sounds like a barrel of laughs, doesn’t it.’

  Christine chuckled, ‘Should certainly be fun with a bad head.’

  ‘I know. Typical. But, I suppose that’s what I get for trying to be all cultured and shit.’ she said with a smile, pausing for a moment, ‘Will you be there?’

  ‘No. It’s not really my thing.’ Christine said, noting the disappointment that had played — just for an instant — on Kelly’s face, ‘It’s had great pre-show reviews though. So I’ve heard.’

  Kelly laughed, knowing that she’d slipped up; that she’d been caught out. That Christine seemed able to read her like an open book. But, it had been worth it. Just to see that warm smile curl her soft lips again; to see the walls torn down once more.

  Yes, it was definitely worth it.

  ‘What?’ Christine asked as Kelly continued to chuckle.

  ‘I don’t know, I just assumed that someone like you . . . I just thought you’d have a ticket that’s all.’

  Now it was Christine’s turn to laugh. ‘So, what? Because I’m not going tonight I’m not one of the cultured people after all?’

  ‘I never said that.’

  ‘Sorry to disappoint.’

  Kelly shrugged; don’t worry about it. ‘Why’d you ask, anyway?’ she said after a moment. ‘About my plans for the evening.’

  Christine took her time, considering her answer. ‘I might have asked if you wanted to go for a drink.’

  Kelly nodded. Involuntarily. There was clearly . . . something . . . between them.

  Exactly what that something was she didn’t yet know, but then, discovery was often half the fun. ‘We could meet up tomorrow.’ she said, ‘For breakfast or something . . . If you wanted to.’

  Christine looked at Kelly, tilting her head as though she were trying to solve a puzzle. ‘You haven’t asked about my leg?’

  ‘None of my business.’ Came the reply.

  Christine held back, waiting for the inevitable question; But as you’ve brought it up . . .

  It never came and she smiled at Kelly, instantly regretting having tested her.

  ‘You can tell me anything you like, whenever you like.’ Kelly continued, ‘And whatever you don’t want to talk about, you keep it to yourself. I’ll never push you. I’m just not that type of girl.’

  Christine couldn’t resist, ‘So, what type of girl are you?’

  Kelly smiled, sucking her teeth absently. ‘One who’s not interested in boundaries or labels, or other people’s bullshit concepts of right and wrong . . . we live in such a fucked up world, anyway.’ she paused, looking out across the sea, ‘And you only live once. So what’s the point in worrying?’

  Christine weighed the statement and gave a small nod of acknowledgement and approval, ‘That sounds like something we should have toasted.’

  ‘Then, why don’t I get us a drink?’

  ‘Do you have the time to?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Kelly said, jumping up, ‘You should never let a nice evening and good company go to waste. What d’you fancy?’

  Christine didn’t voice the first answer that sprung to mind, though her reddening cheeks spoke volumes. But then, was that really what she wanted? Was she simply becoming swept up in her own conflicting emotions?

  Was this just an overwhelming — if not slightly psychotic — response to the first person who had treated her humanely since . . .

  Or was she actually attracted to this wild, young artist? This very secure and self-assured, very attractive, witty, funny and very female artist?

  She’d never even questioned her sexuality before, but there was no doubt about it; she was already developing — no! — she had already developed feelings for this woman; Kelly Livingstone.

  Strong, intense, powerful, throbbing, pounding, red-hot feelings!

  She swallowed, realising she hadn’t yet given an answer, ‘I’ll have . . . anything. Surprise me.’

  Kelly found her way to the nearest bar, which had been cunningly disguised as some sort of Tikki hut. She dug down into her pockets, searching for her cardkey. This trip was all-inclusive, but, it seemed, they liked to keep tabs on just how inclusive you were being.

  ‘What can I get you?’

  Looking up, Kelly was momentarily dumbfounded to find herself gazing into the same big, brown eyes and dark complexion she’d encountered in the restaurant. The young woman smiled. ‘Well, well. We’ll have to stop meeting like this. People will start to talk.’

  ‘Best give them something worth talking about then.’ said Kelly, returning an equally flirtatious smile.

  ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘I’ll have a coke please and . . .’ she looked around for inspiration, ‘what’s . . . nice?’

  ‘Well that depends.’ came the confident reply, ‘If we’re talking drinks . . .’ Kelly nodded, ‘I’m quite partial to a Mojito or Sloe Comfortable Screw.’

  ‘I’ll have to remember that.’ Kelly said, swallowing, ‘but I think I’d better go for the Mojito. For now.’

  ‘For now?’

  ‘Yeah. Play it safe.’

  Laughing, the girl behind the bar passed Kelly a pint of coke and began preparing the Mojito. ‘I’m Shona, by the way. Shona Jacobs.’

  ‘Kelly Livingstone.’

  ‘So, who’s this for?’ Shona asked as she worked, ‘Friend or lover?’

  Kelly thought carefully about the question before making her answer. ‘We’ve only just met.’

  ‘Ah, one of those.’

  Kelly shrugged. ‘Never say never.’

  Shona laughed, briefly and huskily. She was wholly attractive and Kelly felt herself begin to melt inside. As pathetic as it sounded, it was true!

  And she really hadn’t meant to fall for anyone on this break, this cruise, this . . . working-holiday. And now there were two! Two very different women she’d fallen very hard and very suddenl
y for in a matter of hours . . . and this was only the first day!

  Maybe they were pumping pheromones through the venting system or something.

  No, don’t be stupid. And for God’s sake don’t say that. She’ll think you’re crazy. You’ll sound like a crazy person!

  Kelly listened to the little voice inside her head and chose not to mention anything about the pheromone conspiracy.

  She handed over her card, thanking Shona. ‘Put one through for yourself. If you like.’

  ‘I tell you what. How about you meet me for dinner tomorrow?’

  ‘You’re not waiting-on tomorrow?’

  Shona slid the card through the till, tearing the receipt, ‘No. I’ve been covering for someone. I’ve got a busy night, though. I’m in entertainment.’

  I bet you are. Kelly thought, pressing her lips together to stop the crude reply before it escaped. ‘You’re not in The Rape of Lucrece are you?’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ Shona replied, her voice suddenly sharp with excitement, ‘I am Lucrece!’ She took a pen and quickly scribbled her number on the back of the receipt.

  ‘In that case,’ Kelly said ‘I’ll see you tonight. Even, if you don’t see me.’

  ‘I’ll keep an eye out for you, but . . .’ Shona tucked Kelly’s receipt and card back into the breast pocket of her shirt. ‘Just in case I don’t see you later . . . call me.’

  Kelly couldn’t believe her luck.

  Finding her way back to Christine, she couldn’t help but mull over the events of the evening . . . no, the day! She laughed to herself, even as a small, but painful twinge began swirling in her temples once more. She laughed out loud.

  What a fucking day!

  21:07

  Friday 13th May, 2011

  Back in her room Kelly could not help but smile as she dried herself with one of the soft and immaculate bath towels embroidered with the intertwining letters G and S.

  Golden Star.

  Leaving Shona to her duties behind the bar she’d made her way back to Christine, drinks in hand. The evening was still warm and the sky had been surprisingly light as the pair found themselves caught up in conversation after conversation that was so much more than idle chit-chat.