‘Go on then!’ she said, trying to disguise her sudden breathlessness.
‘The problem lies in Shona. And girls like Shona. The ones who know they’re pretty and flaunt it and tease guys like me. They go on and on, making us believe they’re gonna let us see the treasure; hit the jackpot. They get us all riled up and then . . . they say ‘stop’.’ He eyed Kelly for a long moment, ‘Do you know how difficult it is for a guy like me to simply stop?’
Have a bit of bloody self control! she thought.
‘So, Shona turned you down? Is that it?’
‘No!’ Mike shouted, ‘She didn’t fuckin’ turn me down. We were together.’ Kelly resisted the urge to eye Shona and question her silently as Mike continued ranting. She was finding it difficult enough just to remain standing, never mind trying to turn her head without falling on her arse. ‘We were together and I really thought you might be the one, Shona.’ He flushed suddenly redder still as his eyes flooded with tears of rage, his words slurring as he spoke, ‘But, no! You had to go and . . . humiliate me! And then all this lesbian nonsense! I mean, come on. Really?’
This time Kelly couldn’t keep from laughing.
Despite the pain and the blood-loss and the dire nature of the situation, she laughed. She laughed out loud.
‘What the fuck are you laughing at?’ he asked, staggering a little; this way and that.
‘I’m sorry.’ she said, really quite breathless now, ‘I’m . . . actually I’m not sorry at all. You’re such a pointless piece of shit! I mean, did you actually just hear yourself? Can you hear what you’re saying? You sound ridiculous.’ Both Mike and Shona appeared momentarily shocked into silence. Both stared at Kelly as she continued to sway; spilling her words and her blood into the room. ‘I just love how guys like you can never seem to get your fat, stupid heads around the idea that a woman . . . because that’s what she is Mike, she’s a woman, not a girl . . . That a woman as fit — as delicious, talented and as beautiful — as Shona would choose to be with another woman rather than a man. That she would choose me over you.’
‘You’re just the latest fuckin’ trend! Don’t think you’re anything fuckin’ special.’
‘What’s next?’ asked Kelly, ‘It’s just a phase?!’
‘If it was, that slag’s had plenty of opportunity to decide what she really wants.’
‘Stop saying that!’ said Shona. ‘If anyone’s a slag here Mike, it’s you.’
‘You’re pathetic.’ Kelly joined in, ‘A sad, little boy who likes to throw his weight around. Why don’t you do yourself a favour and just piss off.’
Kelly had no idea where her sudden burst of courage had come from, but it was strangely intoxicating. It was delightfully self-feeding and she found herself instantly hooked.
The more she stood up to this pointless, little man — despite his stance, his rage and the knife he still waved at them — the more of a kick she felt; the more it tingled beneath her skin. It was wholly addictive and far too difficult to turn her back on now that she had begun.
‘Sad, little boy?’ he said, rolling his shoulders back, ‘we’ll see about that when you’re lying in a pool of your own blood and piss watching me show her exactly what she’s been missing.’
‘Over my dead body.’ Kelly said, knowing — again — that is was a pretty crappy comeback. The worst, most obvious and overused of all comebacks really, but still. It wasn’t as though anyone was keeping score.
‘If you like.’ he said calmly, before swiping the knife in front of Kelly’s mid-riff, clearly hoping to catch some flesh or more with the blade.
To her own astonishment, Kelly managed to dodge the knife by twisting back to her left as Mike thrust forward. Somehow she continued the twist, which then became a sort of roll along his knife-arm until she reached his shoulder where — despite landing heavily on her injured leg and wincing in pain — she was still able to grab Mike in a sort of head-lock before he could realise what had happened.
Appearing momentarily unaware of the fact that Kelly had now clamped onto his head and seeing only that a gap had opened between him and Shona, Mike attempted to step forward. Kelly threw all her weight back and yelped in agony as she hit the deck with Mike crashing painfully down on top of her.
Her arms were now tightly locked around his neck and it finally seemed to be making a difference, though Kelly didn’t know how much longer she could hold on before she herself passed-out.
At that moment a blur of noise exploded through the room as the door was sent crashing back against the mirrored wardrobe doors, the glass splintering instantly.
Then Mike was off her and Kelly fell back into the warm and inviting pool of oblivion. Unconscious once more.
Chapter Seven
12:50
Sunday 15th May, 2011
Davies crashed though the swinging doors of the medical bay backroom.
‘Dr Matthews!’ he called as went, ‘I have a patient here in need of some attention.’
Replacing the coronation chicken sandwich — that she had finally sat down and attempted to start eating — back onto the white side plate, Dr Matthews climbed labouriously down off the metal stool and made her way across the room.
‘Where is everyone?’ Davies asked.
‘If by everyone you are referring to the limited number of staff I actually still have working with me — physically here — in the med bay, I sent them for a lunch break now that things have finally started to quiet down . . . or rather had at least appeared to have quietened down.’
She stopped suddenly and Davies looked up to see an expression of irritated disbelief slapped across the physician’s face.
‘I don’t believe this.’ she said, letting her fingertips touch the cold rail of the mobile bed. Lying there — blood-soaked towel tied roughly around her thigh — pale and unconscious once more was the raven-headed artist, Kelly Livingstone. ‘This woman’s been the bane of my life recently. What happened this time?’
Davies shook his head, ‘Some sort of altercation with Mike Jones.’
‘The dancing lad?’
‘Yeah. I got to Shona’s room just in time to see Prior press his face into the ground and cuff him. He asked me to bring Miss . . .’
‘Livingstone. Kelly Livingstone.’
‘Kelly?’ Davies asked, raising an eyebrow.
‘I think I should know her name by now, Marc. I’ve had to write it down enough times in the last few days.’
‘To be fair, she does look like she’s been in the thick of it lately.’
‘And don’t I know it.’ Matthews said, sucking her lip.
Davies didn’t like Matthews’ tone.
He didn’t like her attitude or way she was currently eyeing her patient. It was a look of exasperation and disgust, as though tending to the poor woman involved far too much effort on Matthews’ part.
However, a single withering look from the stern doctor informed Davies that it really wasn’t his place to comment.
‘Dr Kane and Shona are on their way up.’ he said, at a loss for anything else to say.
‘Oh, great!’ came the reply from the woman who for whom the solemnity of this whole situation seemed to have had no physical impact what so ever.
Unlike himself, Prior, Christine Kane and even Captain Andrews, Dr Matthews appeared completely dislocated from the reality and the horror of everything that had happened recently.
Not a single hair was out of place on her white-blonde head. No, every last one had been neatly pinned into the typically caricature scraped-back bun that they had all come to associated with her.
‘That’s just what I need.’ she continued, ‘More bloody drama. Well, no thank you. They can wait outside.’
‘Yeah, well good luck with that.’ Davies said dismissively.
He had had enough of Matthews and needed no excuse to leave.
He had done as he had been charged in delivering the injured woman into her cold, sterile hands for some much-needed medical attention.
&nb
sp; Prior had instructed that with that done he should make his way down to the brig and ready one of the small and stifling interview rooms for Mike Jones to be questioned.
He turned on his heel and heard Dr Matthews make a noise that was something between a sulky huff and a high-pitched, nasal ‘humph’.
She clearly wasn’t impressed.
He smiled to himself as he went, letting the doors swing shut behind him.
Leaving the miserable Matthews alone.
12:50
Sunday 15th May, 2011
Christine had to admit that this was the last place she would have wanted to be.
Arm in arm with the woman who had just been enjoying the woman that she was apparently — and unexplainably — attracted to. Typical.
Though, to give credit where credit was due, Shona appeared to be genuinely concerned for Kelly. She even seemed to have taken an interest in Christine and — much to the psychologist’s surprise — had fallen in step with her rather than racing on ahead towards the medical bay, leaving Christine to struggle along on her own as she had expected her to.
When Prior had first asked her to escort the somewhat-shaken dancer she had been more than a little apprehensive, but the professional in her had soon taken charge; which only aided in making her feel that her initial reaction had been somewhat self-involved and even a little infantile.
And perhaps it was.
Prior had been almost forceful in his instruction that they ‘stick together’, but, despite the strange show of obedience that had befallen Shona at the time, Christine had whole-heartedly expected to be dropped at the earliest opportunity.
And yet, she hadn’t.
And now Christine found herself wondering whether she had perhaps judged Shona too harshly, too soon.
If so, it seemed that she was beginning to make an annoying habit of it.
The delicate and irritatingly perfect dancer had slipped her arm through Christine’s, linking them together as they made their way down the corridor, following the path that Marc Davies had scorched as he had raced through only minutes earlier, clutching Kelly like a newborn babe.
She couldn’t decide if this linking of arms was due to Shona feeling that she should support Christine or that she needed the support herself.
She quickly decided that it didn’t really matter.
However, Shona did appear to need a physical, human connection. A closeness and warmth gained only through actual, physical contact. Though, Christine mused as they turned another corner, it could just as easily have been the shock setting in.
‘Does it hurt?’ Shona asked. Her voice was quiet, but managed to shatter the previous silence as though she had hollered the question up and down the corridor. ‘Your leg. Is it painful?’
Christine turned her head and found herself staring into a set of dark, liquid orbs that appeared full to bursting. Shona’s eyes were red around the edge; her mocha-coloured flesh mottled as she struggled to contain the raw emotion that ebbed and flowed beneath a delicately stitched surface.
Ready to tear at the slightest snag.
‘Sometimes.’ she said, quietly.
Shona nodded and sniffed. She opened her mouth, but no sound escaped and Christine noticed that her breathing had changed. That her hands had begun to shake.
Shock.
‘It’s my knee.’ Christine said eventually, deciding that the pressing silence was probably doing neither of them any favours. ‘Or what’s left of it.’
‘What happened?’
‘It’s a long story.’ she said, trying not to sound too dismissive.
‘We have plenty of time.’ Shona replied, without pushing.
Christine smiled at Shona’s seemingly natural ability to manipulate a situation — or a person — with ease.
No, manipulate was too strong a word, really. Too harsh.
It implied that Shona was actively trying to draw something from her or — at the very least — that she was aware of her unseen power; her charm. And now that she had actually been forced to spend some time with her, Christine found herself contemplating the idea that that might not be the case after all.
In fact, she thought ruefully, it was probably that same charm — or whatever it was — that was responsible for placing the attractive, young dancer directly in the path of the kind of trouble they had discovered her in only minutes earlier.
‘Why don’t you tell me about you and Mike?’
‘What’s to tell?’ Shona said, a small hint of defensive irritation screaming through a tone of otherwise subdued restraint. ‘I thought he was an alright guy. We got together. He was a dick. We split up. That’s it.’
But it so obviously wasn’t.
Shona shrugged her shoulders in the silence as though Christine was still questioning her. Perhaps in anticipation of those questions still to come.
Christine knew she had to be careful or Shona would shut down completely.
Prior had seemed convinced that she knew something of importance. Something relevant to the case. If that was true then she needed to be careful. She needed to tease it from the dancer as cautiously as she could afford to, but as soon as possible.
‘And yet, you still work with him.’ she said, ‘What’s that like?’
‘It’s just work, isn’t it. You do what you have to do.’
‘But, what you do is very physically demanding and even intimate at times.’ Christine said before pausing, thinking; trying not to overweight her words, ‘I know that Jon’s worried about you.’
Shona stopped.
She turned to face Christine, a lump clearly catching in her throat as she tried to speak. Her eyes filling up once more. Only, this time it was anger driving those tears.
‘Do you know what it’s like trying to fit-in in a place like this?’ she said. Christine shook her head, remaining silent. ‘It changes you. Forces you to change. Everyone. Even the wonderful, unfaultable Jonathan Prior.’ Her voice broke as a single tear paved the way for the many more that threatened to follow even as Shona stubbornly wiped them away. ‘Because, on a ship like this there’s always somebody who knows your business, or thinks they know your business. Someone who thinks that gives them the right to comment on your life. On your choices and your decisions and . . .’
She finally broke.
Falling back against the wall and covering her face to hide her sobs, she cried and cried as though she had been aching for the freedom to do so for a very long time.
‘Shona,’ Christine said, placing a gentle hand upon her shoulder, ‘You can talk to me, you know.’
Shona leaned into Christine, who instinctively wrapped her arms around this young woman who seemed suddenly so much younger. There was a strange sense of innocence about her and Christine wondered just how much of the Shona that she had met previously was mere bravado. An invention to keep others at bay.
She understood the concept well enough; if not her particular strategy.
‘The things he said, when he was my room,’ she struggled through sobs, ‘it was like I’d gone back a year . . . I was suddenly back there with him and he was . . .’
‘Mike was abusive towards you.’
Shona nodded, ‘But, he was sly about it. And it was mostly just words and stuff anyway, but . . .’ she broke off again. ‘The things he’d say. I feel so stupid, crying over that bastard and his stupid, fucking words.’
‘Words can be very hurtful, Shona. You don’t need to feel ashamed. You’re not stupid.’
Pulling back from Christine, Shona inhaled a great, lungful of air, trying to steady the rapid rising and falling of her chest; to pace the racing, fluttering sensation in her heart. ‘I know.’ she said, ‘I just . . . I can’t believe how bad he made me feel, you know? I always thought I was stronger than that. I can’t believe how easily I slipped right back into fearing him. Oh, my god! I’m so angry!’
‘Why did you fear him? Did he hurt you? Physically?’
‘A couple of times towards th
e end. Just before I finished with him.’
‘Did you speak to anyone about it?’ Christine asked, meeting Shona’s dark chocolate gaze and holding her there. She shook her head. ‘Why not?’
‘Mike has a very good way of twisting things.’ she said, slowly, ‘He had this whole ship believing things about me that weren’t true at all. Not in the least.’
‘Like what?’
‘It doesn’t matter. It sounds stupid now, but it’s hurtful. It gets to you, you know? If a guy sleeps around he’s a hero. But, a girl . . .’
Christine nodded, feeling a fist of guilt hit her — smack — in the mid-riff. She understood perfectly; she had drawn the same conclusions herself.
‘I knew Jon would be devastated when he heard all that was being whispered. And I didn’t want to hurt him.’ Shona said, ‘I never wanted to hurt anyone.’
They began moving once more, making their way in silence through the all-too-quiet corridors of the vast ship. It was only as they clambered up yet another flight of stairs that they began to encounter a steady flow of passengers as they busied about trying to find something to occupy their minds.
The sky had turned a splendid blue and was cloudless as far as Christine could see through the vast tinted-glass windows as they emerged on the next level. It was a far cry from the staff and crew rooms of the lower levels, which featured only small porthole windows. If any.
‘So, you and Jon are close then?’ Christine said, surprising herself as she listened to her voice echo in the small, light space around them. She had been mulling the question over in her head for some time, curious to know the current status and true nature of their relationship.
Though she didn’t really know why.
She didn’t understand this compulsion she had developed regarding Jonathan Prior and his past. Didn’t know what had driven her to air the question at all.
And yet she had.
Why did it matter? Why did she care what their relationship was or might have been?
The feeling — or rather, the compulsion — was like that of sitting around a table, staring at a plate of biscuits. No. Cookies. A plate of cookies.
Splintered Page 30