I reached up and touched my cold face.
‘Oh yes,’ I said, ‘so I have.’
‘What’s the matter?’ India said, concern in her eyes.
‘I’m fine,’ I lied, trying to rub some feeling back into my hands.
‘You’ll tell me eventually; you might as well tell me now.’
I thought about it. She was probably right but even so …
‘Not here,’ I said.
India’s face brightened. ‘Flip, that sounds interesting.’
She drained the last of her brandy and Ike reached over to give her some more.
‘Cheers, Ike!’
‘You too, darlin’?’
I put my hand over my glass. ‘No thanks, Ike, bit of a headache.’
The party had evidently started in my absence. Marion and Caron were talking about going dancing and Marty was trying to persuade them to go to the casino.
‘So you weren’t outside pushing the lovely Marnie overboard?’ India said, leaning towards me.
‘Someone’s fallen overboard?’ Caron said, blinking across the table, her nose twitching with the scent of excitement. ‘Well, how terrible. Ike, we should tell someone.’
‘No, Caron, no one has fallen overboard,’ I said, foreseeing a full-scale alert and the ship turning round. ‘Look, India, not now – later.’
Our companions had decided against that night’s show because the crew were basing the evening on Mamma Mia! and Ike and Marty refused point-blank to go. Apparently they had been to the stage show in Boise and hated every minute. They had also been forced to sit through the film countless times at home. Enough was enough.
‘We thought we would just stay and chat this evening,’ Marion said, gesturing for the waiter to come over. ‘Honey, this brandy is giving me heartburn. Let’s have something else. How about –’
The waiter stood patiently while Caron and Marion went through the cocktail list and tried to decide what to have.
‘Irish coffee,’ Caron said at last.
Marion gave two thumbs up. ‘Brilliant, let’s order four. The boys can carry on with the brandy.’
I was beginning to understand why the ship was filled with older people: their livers must be seasoned travellers too. I tried to protest but Caron was having none of it and four large coffee glasses appeared within minutes followed by four glasses of Frangelico, which Marion had been reading about and fancied trying.
My head was splitting with too much alcohol, the late hour and the remnants of my shock. I couldn’t think properly. India was now having a rambling argument with Marty about American politics. Which was a bit weird because I didn’t think India knew anything about politics, American or otherwise.
‘Yes, but the electoral votes system,’ she said, tapping her coffee glass with a teaspoon, ‘that’s what I don’t understand. And the importance of loss aversion? How does that work then?’
Blimey! She would be explaining the offside rule next. Living with Jerry was obviously having quite an effect on her.
Marion looked a bit flummoxed and nudged Marty. ‘Over to you, Idaho’s answer to Tim Russert.’
The conversation veered off American politics and on to the ethics of zoos – don’t ask. Then we realised the waiters were methodically clearing the tables and extinguishing the candles so the darkness of the dining room was gradually creeping towards us. There were only half a dozen tables left with people chatting and drinking while the waiters lurked around the dark edges of the room like the Nazgûl in Lord of the Rings, waiting to pounce and sweep the tablecloths off.
‘I think I want to go to bed now,’ I said. I looked at my watch; it was after midnight.
India dragged herself up from the table and tottered after me, weaving backwards and forwards along the corridor, eventually taking her shoes off.
‘So,’ she said, tugging at my arm, ‘tell all. What’s happened?’
I put my finger to my lips as we were nearing our room. After all, Gabriel was probably next door. Would he be crossing the Atlantic with us, or would he, like a lot of the American travellers, be getting off at Nova Scotia and touring Eastern Canada?
Maybe he would return to his mother’s house in Maine with its view of the waves crashing over the rocky coastline? Perhaps he would stand and watch as the Reine de France sailed down the Gulf of Maine and out into the Atlantic. Would he think of me or would he have forgotten about a drunken kiss on a warm September night and a girl who had melted against him, oozing desire from every pore?
We got back into our cabin and India went into the bathroom. After a while she opened the door; the tap was running and I could hear her brushing her teeth.
‘I went outside on to the deck for some fresh air –’
‘Can’t hear you,’ India shouted from the bathroom. ‘Wait a minute and start again.’
The taps ran again and India dropped something and swore. Then she came out in her pyjamas and flopped on to the bed.
‘Now tell me everything,’ she said, ‘and don’t leave out anything.’
‘I went out on to the deck for some fresh air and it was lovely. Cool and dark. And he was out there. Gabriel Frost.’
India gasped and lifted her head off the pillows for a moment.
‘You’re kidding?’
‘No, he was standing by the ship’s rail as I knew he would be. And he saw me and didn’t say anything; he just came towards me and kissed me. I mean properly kissed me. Not a peck on the cheek to say hello, but a full-on snog. And I liked it, India, I mean I really liked it. And then he said he wished things were different, and something about tomorrow, and then he kissed me again. And then he just went and I couldn’t move for a bit. You know? I was sort of frozen with the shock or something. And then I came in again and I couldn’t think straight. All I could think of was: why? Why did he do that? Was he drunk? Did he do it on purpose?’
There was no reply. I looked over at my sister; of course she was fast asleep, zonked out cold.
‘India!’ I hissed. No response. I threw a pair of socks at her and she grumbled at me in her sleep and turned over.
Bloody typical. I’d listened to just about every detail of her romance with Jerry from the day they met in B&Q. She was looking for sandpaper to try out some furniture-distressing effect and he was looking for floor wax because he’d dropped coffee on his glamorous, loft-style apartment floorboards. Now, for the first time in years, I had something decent to share with her and she’d gone to sleep.
I pulled the duvet over her and went to brush my teeth. As I lay down I thought about Gabriel, asleep in the room next door. I put my hand up to touch the wall behind my pillows. Perhaps he was just the width of the wall away?
I woke a couple of times during the night, needing the loo or a drink of water. Each time my brain started up again, thinking about Gabriel, remembering how he had looked, what he had said to me, the feel of his shoulders under my hands.
Chapter Eleven
Hair of the Dog
Honey, 12-year-old Scotch Whisky, Single Cream, Milk
The following morning I got out of bed at seven-thirty, desperate for a cup of tea. It felt as though I had hardly slept at all. The air in the cabin was hot and stuffy and stank of alcohol – hardly surprising really considering the previous night. India was fast asleep and snoring like a rhinoceros, one arm thrown over her head, as relaxed in sleep as a child.
I showered and dressed and went out into the quiet corridor. I wanted to be alone and I was greedy for my memories, wanting to relive the previous night.
The air was colder here and I shivered in my thin shirt and jeans. I saw Ike and Marty in matching Chicago Bears jackets striding towards the stern. They must have been made of strong stuff considering how much alcohol they’d shifted the previous evening. I went in to find a cup of tea, or preferably two. My mouth was dry and my hangover only just under control. Why did I keep doing this to myself? Apart from anything else, India and I were going to end up spending all our m
oney on the bar bill at the end of the trip, and there were still six days of transatlantic crossing ahead.
I found a seat by the window, away from the bickering Army veterans and their endlessly hungry wives, and drank my tea, wondering what to eat. It’s very hard to think properly with a thumping headache.
The veterans were sitting in a large group in the middle of the dining area with a huge pile of hand luggage, backpacks and video cameras. It looked as though they were leaving the ship and taking full advantage of the breakfast – stuffing fruit, bottles of soda and muffins into their bags with no hint of shame.
In the end I had a croissant and apricot jam, scattering flakes of pastry over a wide area. Then I had some more tea and sat looking blankly into the far distance. I supposed I should go and wake India up but I didn’t have the energy. If I did I would have to chivvy her into her clothes and towards breakfast and paracetamol, and make a fuss of her, when all I really wanted to do was sit by myself and think about Gabriel.
The ship was slowing to a halt now, and the quayside buildings moved infinitely slowly past my window. Ropes were thrown out to men on the quayside and soon passengers would scurry away from the ship to explore the new delights of Halifax. Refuse lorries began to unload the trash and other vans started to load more food into the ever-hungry belly of the ship. How could there be so much folded and baled cardboard coming off? We’d only been on for a few days. It was as though there had been a delivery of vast magnitude, of new beds or washing machines or fridge freezers. And where had all those bottles come from? The ones that were crashing into the skips? Ah yes, in retrospect most of them were probably ours. It gave me the shivers just thinking about it.
Right, from now on I was going to stop eating so much and deffo stop knocking the booze back. Definitely.
I finished my croissant and dabbed at the crumbs on my plate with a damp finger. I felt a bit more human now. I needed more tea and then I’d be fine. Perhaps I should have another croissant? With black cherry jam? Or possibly one of those maple pecan ones? A tray of them had just been wheeled out of the kitchens and the veterans would spot them in a moment and snarf the whole lot up in seconds. I almost got up, ready to sprint across to grab one.
No. I would be disciplined and sensible.
I got a fresh mug of tea and sat looking out of the window. The gangway had been opened and people were starting to drift on to the quayside. Occasionally there was a group, scurrying after a tour leader, heading for a bus to take them off on a coach ride somewhere else.
Suddenly I saw a familiar figure on the dockside in front of Pier 21. No, two familiar figures. I squashed my nose against the glass so I could see better. Gabriel and Marnie. He was carrying a small case and she was standing in front of him talking nineteen to the dozen. If I hadn’t known better I would have said they were arguing. Gabriel turned away and Marnie touched his sleeve. Then she put her face in her hands. I watched as Gabriel slowly hugged her, rubbing her back, and they stood there for a few seconds, not moving while the other passengers who were leaving the ship for a day out dodged past them. She looked up at him, her face pale in the bright sunlight, her lovely red hair spilling over her shoulders.
What the hell was going on? After last night, I felt even more confused.
Perhaps something had happened to the sainted husband, Leo?
No! Perhaps he was dead or lying seriously ill in a coma and Marnie was about to hurry to his bedside with Gabriel on call to comfort her.
Or maybe Gabriel had made a pass at her and she was letting him down gently. I fear I can never be yours for I love another and will always love him. Hmm, suddenly she was talking like a Jane Austen heroine. I could almost see the sprigged gown and shy bonnet.
Oh hell, what if he had made a pass at me because he was frustrated in his pursuit of Marnie? Or what if he’d been drunk and mistaken me for her? I’d had a mask on! Yes, that was it! That’s why he had come across and kissed me.
No, don’t be ridiculous, I told myself; Gabriel would have had to be out of his skull on magic mushrooms and had a bag on his head to confuse the two of us, mask or no mask. And he’d ripped off my mask first thing, so unless he was blind drunk …
The two of them moved along the quayside. He had one arm around her little shoulders as he guided her towards the terminal building.
Well, bloody hell, what was going on? Was he leaving? My thoughts were tumbling over each other in my need to make sense of this. Was she trying to persuade him to leave her alone and find love elsewhere? Or maybe she was using his mobile to ring the hospital and find out if her husband was going to live? I ran over to the counter, grabbed another cup of tea and snaffled the last maple pecan Danish from under the quivering nose of a woman in a tartan tracksuit who almost growled with disappointment. Then I returned to my seat and pressed my head against the window again so I didn’t miss anything. I stayed like that, eating my Danish pastry and drinking tea until I was desperate for the loo. But of course I didn’t dare go in case I missed anything.
‘Well, here you are! I’ve been searching everywhere for you. What are you doing?’
I looked up to see India about to sit in the seat opposite mine. She had a tray of breakfast: two mugs of black coffee and a bowl of fresh fruit.
‘What are you looking at?’
India stared out of the window with me, watching a man far below push a trolley full of cardboard boxes towards the ship. I wondered what was in them? Exotic vegetables or more wine maybe? Or edible flowers to scatter in this evening’s salad?
‘I’m watching them,’ I said.
‘Who?’
Let’s be fair, India looked as rough as a badger’s bum. She was pale, tinged with green around the edges, and her eyes were – as my father would say – like two rissoles in the snow.
‘Gabriel and Marnie.’
India sipped her coffee and hunched over the table, her hands tucked into the long sleeves of her sweatshirt.
‘What about them?’ She frowned and held up one finger. She blinked slowly, trying to organise her scrambled brain. ‘Hang on, you told me something last night, didn’t you? Something about Gabriel Frost. Now what was it?’
I didn’t reply. India carried on drinking her coffee and giving the occasional groan. At last she pushed the bowl of fruit away and went to find some toast and marmalade.
‘Are you okay?’ I said, moved at last to pity, despite her falling asleep during my confession last night.
‘No, not really, thanks for asking,’ she said caustically. She took a bite of toast and chewed, her eyes closed. ‘I think I might be coming down with something.’
‘What? Cocktail-itis?’
‘Is there such a thing?’
‘No, I’m being sarcastic. But there is such a thing as chronic liver damage. I think we could both apply for that. It’s a good job we don’t go on cruises often. I don’t think I could take it. No wonder Dad is so keen. I want to know what they’re doing.’
India shrugged. ‘Having a cup of tea? Or a glass of absinthe? God, ghastly thought. What does absinthe taste like?’
‘No idea and I don’t think I want to know.’
‘What were you telling me last night anyway? You were droning on and I fell asleep. Something about Gabriel Frost? Do you know, I think there’s something going on with him and Marnie. I saw them together last night. I was going to the loos outside the dining room and they were in the atrium place. I could see them over the balcony. Looked like they were arguing.’
‘Really?’ I pulled back from the window to look at my sister. She had finished her first piece of toast and was buttering a second. ‘So what did they do?’
India shrugged. ‘She was talking, and then he pulled out his phone and checked something. Then he walked away and she followed him. I bet they were off for some illicit sex.’
‘Rubbish. She’s married to the most wonderful man in the world. Don’t you remember her telling us?
‘There’s a picture of
her with Leo Miller on their wedding day in the reception area. They had a load of white doves released just after they were pronounced man and wife. I rather like that. When Jerry and I get married …’
‘Oh yes, I’d forgotten you and Jerry were getting married.’
‘God, Alexa, just because you’re not the one getting married! Do you have to be so frigging miserable about it?’ she snapped.
It was the first time she’d ever spoken to me like this.
The basic unfairness of her attitude was overwhelming. All the times I’d cleared up after her, made excuses, done her work. I’d smoothed over her airheaded mistakes, worked into the evening many times because she wouldn’t.
I couldn’t stop myself. Suddenly all of her selfish actions, her rudeness, her self-absorption and now this … Well, I couldn’t stop.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, India, I’ve heard about little else other than your wedding for months! You’ve had half your mind at work and the other half on Pinterest. You leave the office in a state; you’re uncooperative and flaky. People complain about your mistakes and your lateness. All you care about is what you’re going to wear, what Jerry said, what it will be like once you’re married. I’m bored with it. Not everyone wants to hear every little detail about some ridiculous day. The rest of us have lives too you know. The world keeps turning. Meanwhile I have to do my job and most of yours as well.’
‘Well, I’m terribly sorry to take up your valuable time with the most important day of my life,’ India snapped. ‘If you ever do find anyone desperate enough to marry you, perhaps you’ll understand.’
‘It’s not the most important day of your life,’ I said, pretty much shouting now, which I was ashamed of, but somehow couldn’t stop. ‘It’s only one of them. Getting married isn’t the be-all and end-all you know.’
‘Said the expert!’ India shouted back.
A tense silence fell and I looked back out of the window. We’d never talked to each other like this – well, not as adults. I’d bitten my lip, bottled up all of my feelings on the subject, and just grinned and grimaced through the endless monologues. Sat through meals with my parents when Mum seemed unable or unwilling to talk about anything other than table settings or whether India should have a long veil or a short one. Looked at pictures of flowers, vase shapes, the fonts for the invitations, been asked for my opinion on the wedding list.
Come Away With Me Page 12