by Alex Bell
I expected him to leave now that he had his ball back but instead he stayed in front of me, bouncing it on the tarmac beside him. After a few moments I glanced up but he was looking right at me so I ducked my head again hurriedly.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked at last.
‘Jasmyn,’ I said, the word coming out as barely more than a whisper.
He was silent for a moment before saying, ‘Are you a snow princess?’
I looked up at him in surprise, forgetting to be ashamed of my appearance for a moment. ‘Snow princess?’ I repeated. ‘I . . . don’t know.’
‘I think you are,’ he decided. He then promptly sat down cross-legged and rolled the ball towards me. It didn’t seem to occur to him that I would do anything other than roll it back so I tentatively did so, half-thinking that this might be some new trick to make me feel small and worthless. We rolled the ball back and forth to each other across the tarmac until the bell rang to signal the end of break. Then we both stood up and I handed the ball back to him.
‘Thanks,’ he said, thrusting it into the pocket of his shorts. Then he said, ‘Do you want to play again at lunchtime?’
I nodded shyly, a tiny glow of happiness - and relief - fluttering in my stomach at the thought of having someone to spend the lunch break with. He grinned at me and said, ‘I’ll bring the ball.’ As he turned towards the doors, he added over his shoulder, ‘My name’s Liam.’
Right from the beginning, he saw me differently from everyone else. I was never a freak to him. I swallowed the lump that rose in my throat and looked in the mirror once again. Something shifted and suddenly - for a brief moment - I didn’t see a white, freakish misfit standing in the glass before me. Instead I saw a tall, slender woman with flawless pale skin - smooth and perfect, like alabaster; straight white hair cascading down her shoulders and cool blue eyes set in a face with high cheekbones. The dark-blue velvet dress complimented her white skin dramatically, as if blue blood coursed through her veins and she really was a princess from some mythical winter wonderland who lived in a palace made of ice and snow . . .
Then the image was gone - like an optical illusion I had clutched at just for a moment - and all I saw was myself in the mirror. But I knew that Laura was right, and the image I’d seen for a moment was exactly how Liam would have seen me in this dress. So I bought it, feeling like I was doing it for him as much as for me.
As I was getting changed into it in Laura’s guest room that evening, my mobile went. I could see from the caller ID that it was Ben.
‘Where are you?’ he asked abruptly as soon as I answered.
‘I’m in California,’ I replied.
‘Yes, I know. But where exactly are you?’
‘In Anaheim staying with a friend.’ Then I remembered that Ben knew her too, for I had met her through the Gracey family, and added, ‘I’m with Laura. How do you know I’m in California?’
‘I . . . your mother told me when she rang.’
‘Why did she ring you?’ I asked, my eyes narrowing suspiciously.
‘Have you found Jaxon yet?’ he said, ignoring my question.
I frowned and said nothing, trying to work out what on earth he was talking about.
‘That’s why you’re in California, isn’t it?’ Ben demanded. ‘To talk to him?’
I opened my mouth to say that this holiday with Laura had been booked long before Liam’s death but then I hesitated, remembering what Ben had said about Jaxon living in America, and I wondered if he was anywhere near California. It occurred to me then that if Ben thought I was talking to Jaxon, he might unwittingly tell me why the photographer had acted the way he had when he’d come to my house.
‘You didn’t return my calls,’ I said evasively. ‘And your mother wouldn’t give me your address. I had no way of getting hold of you.’
Ben took a deep breath and I heard the irritation in his voice when he spoke. ‘I don’t know why the hell she didn’t give you my address. She’s very upset right now - I don’t think she knows what she’s doing half the time. Why haven’t you had your phone on? I’ve been trying to get hold of you all week.’
‘I didn’t feel like talking to anyone,’ I said rather coldly, for I was starting to feel quite irritated by his tone.
‘All right, well, at least I’ve got hold of you now. Jasmyn, I forbid you to try and contact Jaxon.’
My breath came out in an incredulous snort. ‘Piss off!’ I snapped. ‘You can’t forbid me to do anything whatsoever! I haven’t spoken to Jaxon yet but if you refuse to tell me what he meant when he came to my house then I don’t see that I’ve got much choice but to look him up myself whilst I’m here.’ I had no intention of doing anything of the sort. I didn’t know if Jaxon had been the one who broke into my house when I was away or not but he had frightened me before. I’d given his name to the police and had no wish ever to see him again. But Ben wasn’t to know that.
‘Listen to me, Jasmyn, and listen very carefully. Jaxon Thorpe is a dangerous man. The photography thing is just a front. He’s a career criminal. A thief and a blackmailer. The police arrested him a few years ago for beating a man almost to death behind a pub but he wasn’t prosecuted because of lack of evidence. The sole witness suddenly changed his mind, for no apparent reason, and was not prepared to testify. I wouldn’t have told you any of this if I didn’t have to. I didn’t want to scare you but you’ve given me no choice.’
For a moment I was silent, filled with horror at what Ben was telling me for I had never dreamt that Jaxon was as dangerous as that. And to think he’d been in my house . . .
‘Jasmyn?’ Ben said. ‘Are you still there?’
‘Yes. Look, Ben, the only reason I came out here was to have a holiday with Laura. I never had any intention of trying to find
Jaxon. But before I left home, someone . . . someone broke into my house—’
‘I know. Your mother told me. It must have been him.’
‘But I’ve got nothing that valuable to steal,’ I said. ‘Besides, nothing was taken, the place was just ransacked.’
‘That’s because he was looking for—’ Ben broke off, then said, ‘Look, we really need to talk face to face.’
‘Face to face?’ I repeated. ‘Are you going to be in England again soon, then?’
‘No, but I’m in California right now. I came as soon as I heard you were here.’
‘What? ’ I gasped, hardly able to believe that he really was so close when a moment ago I’d thought he was half the world away in Germany. ‘Why?’
‘To keep you away from Jaxon Thorpe, of course,’ he said irritably. ‘Up until now I haven’t been able to get you on the phone. I didn’t know what else to do other than come out here and put you on the next flight home myself.’
His patronising tone aside, I couldn’t help feeling just a little touched that he had spent the time and money to drop everything and come all the way to America to warn me and I felt a little burst of warmth towards Ben in that moment . . . but he deftly ruined all that with what he said next.
‘Meet me tonight,’ he ordered brusquely.
‘Tonight? Why? I’ve already told you I’m not going to look for Jaxon.’
‘This isn’t just about Jaxon,’ Ben replied impatiently. ‘I need to . . . there’s something I have to ask you.’
‘Can’t you just ask me now? On the phone? I can’t meet you later, Ben, I’m just about to go to the Queen Mary for dinner.’
‘This is about Liam,’ Ben said stonily. ‘And it’s important. Your dinner plans aside, I would have thought you might have taken an interest in the matter.’
My hand gripped tighter around the phone as anger rose up in my chest and I silently cursed him and his heartless tongue. The truth was that every time I came close to enjoying myself I felt guilty, as if I was being grossly disrespectful to Liam somehow - as if I shouldn’t be able to be cheerful, or even to fake cheerfulness, when such a horrible thing had happened. Then I would become miserable an
d no doubt depress everyone who was around me as well. But the way Ben spoke was as if he believed I’d been out living the high life every night since Liam died. Like I didn’t miss him or even notice that he wasn’t there any more. Like I didn’t have to struggle desperately to appear normal every second of every minute that I was around other people. In Ben’s eyes I was sure all he saw was me swanning off to America for shopping and expensive meals and sightseeing, with Liam not yet cold in his grave, but the truth of it was that any pleasure I’d got from the trip I already felt guilty over - even without Ben condemning me for it.
‘Of course I’m interested,’ I said through gritted teeth, trying to keep my voice level and determined not to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’d touched a nerve. ‘But I can’t just cancel on Laura when we’re minutes away from leaving the house. I’ve been her guest all week and she really wants me to meet her boyfriend, so I have to—’
‘All right, all right, I’ll meet you at the Queen Mary, then,’ Ben replied. ‘At midnight up on deck at the prow. You can manage that, can’t you?’ he said in the tone of voice usually reserved for dealing with impossible people.
‘Yes.’ I sighed. Dinner would be over by then and we would likely have moved on to the bar for an after-dinner drink. I would just have to excuse myself halfway through to go and talk with my brother-in-law.
‘Good. I’ll see you then,’ Ben said. And before I could say another word, the rude bastard hung up on me and I felt all the earlier warmth melting away. He hadn’t travelled to America to look out for me. He’d come because he wanted something and I could no more say no to him than I could stop missing Liam, for if this was anything to do with my husband then I had to know about it. I had to prod the bruise and pick the scab and pour more salt into the open wound by meeting Ben and listening to what he had to say . . .
I told Laura about the phone call as we drove to pick her boyfriend up, explaining that I would have to go and talk to Ben once we had finished dinner. I was sketchy with the details as I was reluctant even to mention Jaxon Thorpe to her. I hadn’t said anything about the swans or the wedding photos or my nightmares or the break-in. I wanted her to think that everything was normal. I wanted to think that everything was normal and if Laura started exclaiming in surprise about Jaxon and the other things, it would only make me feel even worse than I already did.
As it happened, she made me feel worse anyway when she said, ‘I always did like Ben. I imagine all this must be terribly difficult for him.’
‘Why the hell does everybody keep saying that?’ I exclaimed in frustration. ‘It’s no more difficult for Ben than it is for anybody else! This isn’t easy for anyone!’
‘Of course it isn’t, hun, but . . . well, the circumstances are different for him, aren’t they? I mean, there was all that upset last year and he wasn’t on good terms with Liam when he died . . . ’
She trailed off into silence, no doubt because of the look on my face. I bit my tongue and said nothing. I didn’t want to take my worry and anxiety out on Laura and I could sense how easily I might start an argument with somebody in my current mood. But the fact was that if Ben had wanted to make up with Liam then he had had nearly a whole year to do so.
The Queen Mary was beautiful - over seventy years old, yet inside she was all gleaming brass and polished wood and the Sir Winston restaurant was stylish, sophisticated and elegant, reeking of 1930s glamour with men dining in suits and women in long dresses. I was too distracted to feel self-conscious in my own dress even though I was aware of turning peoples’ heads. Laura’s boyfriend, Charlie, was surprisingly easy to talk to and I’m sure that, had the circumstances been different, I would have enjoyed myself immensely. As it was I had to resist the urge to look at my watch every five minutes for I felt so on edge with anticipation about my upcoming meeting with Ben that I could barely eat. He would hardly have come all the way to California to find me if it wasn’t important. Whilst forcing the food into my mouth, I tried to comfort myself with the thought that nothing Ben could say would make Liam any more dead than he already was.
We finished the meal and moved on to the bar. Finally it was quarter to twelve and I was able to excuse myself and go up on deck. Ben hadn’t arrived yet and there was no one else around either. It was icy cold and there was a bitter wind blowing in from the sea. It seemed that everyone had been driven below deck into the warmth and the light and the noise. But I hardly felt the cold as I stood at the railing looking out across the dark ocean. Perhaps there was a bit of snow princess in me after all. Up there it was silent. And in that silence Jaxon’s voice filled my mind once again . . . ‘If the bastard’s dead then why are all his clothes in—’ . . . and then stopping short at the realisation that none of Liam’s clothes were in the wardrobe any more.
‘Are you sure he’s dead?’ Jaxon had croaked in a voice that was strained with anger rather than grief.
Yes. I’m quite sure. Can’t you see the huge gaping hole where my heart used to be?
I turned away from the railing and started to walk back across the deck towards the wooden bench I had seen, my heels echoing in the brittle silence and my velvet dress tugged back by the arctic breeze. When I was about halfway across the wooden boards, a single black feather fluttered down from the dark sky to land on the ground before me. I stopped and picked it up, only now realising, as I held it, the stark similarity between the deck of this majestic old ship and the one in my nightmare where I’d twirled about as hundreds of swan feathers fell from the sky like dark snow around me.
I tried to tell myself that it was my mind filling in the blanks of the dream with the Queen Mary’s appearance. And anyway, only one feather had fallen down now, not hundreds. It probably wasn’t even a swan feather at all, I thought as I ran my fingers over it. It was silky smooth and seemed very large and blacker than night itself against my white hands. My mother had told me when I was a child that any stray feathers I found were from angels’ wings, not from birds’. But those feathers had been white, not devilish black things like this. I felt a great surge of dread and let the wind tug the feather from my fingers, fluttering across the deck and over the railing to land in the cold sea so many feet below. Then I turned towards the bench.
But as I did so, a sound from the prow of the ship caught my attention and I turned back. The deck was only softly lit but I could see a huge shape moving out of the darkness towards me, far too big to be a man. I recognised the distinctive clip-clop of hooves and then a black stallion came out into the light. It was huge and beautiful, snorting in the frosty air and stamping at the wooden deck agitatedly with its shiny black hooves. There was a scattering of snowflakes across its back and shoulders and clinging to its glossy mane and tail. In every way it looked identical to Kini - the horse I had seen back on my grandparents’ estate.
I couldn’t think how it had come to be there on the deck of the Queen Mary and for a moment I stood transfixed, wondering if I should go downstairs and tell someone or if I should try to approach it myself to calm it down. But the next moment I heard the door open behind me, startling the horse into taking a few frisky steps back. I looked around and saw Ben on the deck, staring at the stallion.
‘There’s a—’ I began, but Ben cut me off.
‘Don’t move,’ he ordered, in a low, quiet voice.
He walked very slowly towards me, keeping his eyes on the horse, which had now broken into a trot, going round the deck in agitated circles.
‘Where did it come from?’ I whispered as Ben stopped at my side.
‘The same place the black swans came from, I expect,’ he muttered.
Snorting clouds of mist into the freezing air, the handsome stallion broke into a canter, large hooves thundering on the wooden deck. Its mane and tail streaming out behind it as Ben and I pressed ourselves back against the wall. Then, to my horror, it headed straight towards the sea-facing side of the ship and cleared the railing in one jump. I ran to the side as fast as my high heels wo
uld allow, appalled at the idea of the black horse falling down into the ocean below. But the expected splash never came. I gripped the icy railing and leaned out over the water, my eyes searching the darkness for any sign of a horse struggling in the water below.
‘I can’t see it, can you?’ I asked Ben who was also at the railing, gazing down.
‘No,’ he muttered. ‘It’s gone.’
‘Gone where?’ I asked, turning from the rails to stare at him.
He hesitated, then said flatly, ‘I think Liam may have . . . been involved in some dark things before he died.’
‘Like what? If you know something, then for God’s sake tell me!’
‘I know very little,’ Ben replied. ‘Mostly I just suspect.’
‘Well, I know nothing,’ I said - and that one word went right through me like a knife. I was his wife and I knew nothing. ‘So tell me what you suspect.’
Ben sighed. ‘All right. Let’s go inside.’
We turned away from the railing and both stopped short simultaneously. The deck that had been clean mere moments ago was now scattered with human bones. It would have been easier to pretend they were animal if it hadn’t been for the five or six obviously human skulls all staring right at us.
‘Oh my God,’ I muttered. ‘How did they get here?’
‘Let’s just get inside,’ Ben said.
Without waiting for me, he started picking his way across the deck. I hurried after him, through the grinning skulls. When I caught up with him at the door I grabbed his arm to stop him walking through it and said, ‘Are we just going to leave these bones here?’
‘They’ve already gone,’ Ben replied.
I looked back over my shoulder and was startled to see that he was right. The deck was completely clear but for a chalky film of dust across the wooden planks where the bones had been just seconds earlier. And one dark flower - looking rather lost and forlorn in the middle of the huge deck.
‘What is that?’ I said.
‘What?’ Ben replied.
I released his arm and walked towards it, quite sure that it had not been there before. When I picked it up I saw that it was a black rose - long-stemmed and beautiful . . . but I couldn’t help seeing it as sinister when it had been left behind by a pile of bones. I knew there was no such thing as a black rose and yet I could tell this flower wasn’t fake because of its scent - sweet, rich and seductive. In the light of the lamps on deck, the edges of the petals looked almost dark gold, striking, captivating and enchanting . . .