‘This way,’ I said, and started to walk, leaving John to drag his own case.
‘I mean, why we couldn’t have flown from Bristol or Exeter or Bournemouth is beyond me. Any of those would have been easier than coming all the way into London.’ John strode beside me.
‘Because there were no direct flights,’ I said, my patience by now as fragile as the crispbreads he kept pulling out of his pocket and nibbling in a way I’d come to think of as distinctly rat-like. Mum had given us the option of taking a non-direct flight from Bristol or of taking the train to London and getting a direct flight. Despite the long journey up from Cornwall, John had insisted on the latter on the basis that there was less of a chance of our luggage getting lost in transit. I’d tried to argue but he, as usual, knew best.
‘But why aren’t there any direct flights?’ he said. ‘I mean, we can’t be the only people living in Cornwall who want to fly to Europe in July – am I right or am I right?’
‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘Right, this is us.’ I positioned the trolley adjacent to a pleasingly empty check-in desk and fixed John with the look I give my class when they’re misbehaving. ‘Okay. We all know where you stand on local flights to Europe. But now we’re here can you please drop it? We’re checking in for a flight to Venice. I’m very excited, and I’d like to enjoy the moment.’ I softened my voice. ‘Please?’
‘Next please!’ called the woman behind the check-in desk and I pushed the trolley forward, wondering if John would check in with me or separately. It was odd to be going on holiday with him instead of Mark and I felt strangely self-conscious as I approached the counter: my brother and I hadn’t been on holiday together since our early teenage years. Mum had flown to Venice a couple of days before, saying she wanted to spend more time there. While that was undoubtedly true, I also suspected she was tickled by the idea of John and I travelling together. It had always bothered her that we weren’t as close as twins should be.
‘After your father and I’ve gone, all you’ll have is each other,’ she used to say when we were teenagers. ‘Nurture that relationship. It’s special. Look after each other.’
That’s all very well, I used to think, if you had a normal brother. But John somehow seemed to be missing something; the gene that enabled him to relate properly to people, perhaps. He and Mum were similar in that respect. Both kept their distance. Or, I suddenly thought, maybe the problem was me.
I handed my ticket and passport to the woman behind the desk and John reached over and plonked his on top. Was he, too, thinking about holidays of the past at this moment? About long car trips, vomiting into hedgerows on the side of winding A-roads, flapping windbreaks, the cold, brown, British sea in which our father had forced us to swim, teeth chattering?
‘Where are you flying to this morning?’ asked the woman. Her make-up was immaculate and I realised how I – having been up since before dawn – must have looked in contrast. John stood behind me, a shambles in crumpled combat trousers, a polo shirt, and a fleece. He stooped down and checked the name tag on his bag.
‘Venice.’ I couldn’t keep the smile out of my voice. ‘Very early start, though. We’ve come up from Cornwall.’ I beamed at the lady but she didn’t look up.
‘How many bags?’
‘Two.’
‘Have you packed them yourselves?’
‘I have. Can’t answer for him. John?’ I said.
‘Yep.’
The woman went through the rest of the questions then started tapping at her keyboard. Behind me I heard the slightly soggy crunch of John biting into another crisp-bread.
‘We don’t have to sit together,’ I said suddenly. ‘I mean. He’s not my husband. If you have any spare single seats you need to use, that’s perfectly fine.’
‘No. You’re all right,’ said the lady giving me a megawatt smile. ‘I’ve got you two together. Here you go – 24A and B. Boarding at Gate 18 about nine fifteen.’ She handed over the boarding passes. ‘Enjoy your flight.’
Until the very moment I laid eyes on the gargantuan cruise ships berthed at Venice’s cruise terminal, I’d never understood why people chose to go on a cruise. For me, it was something that ‘other people’ did: older people, less independent people, maybe; people who wanted a structured holiday. I’d always seen the ads in the Sunday supplements and moved swiftly on; not interested, never tempted, and perhaps even slightly repulsed by the thought of – as John so succinctly put it – ‘being herded around Europe like seaborne cattle.’
In fact, if Mum hadn’t organised this trip, I suspect I may have got through my entire life without ever having set foot on a cruise ship but now, as our glossy wooden water taxi rounded a corner in the canal and I saw the ships lined up their berths for the first time, I gasped and scrabbled reflexively for my phone to take pictures. The cabin door of the motoscafi opened and John, presumably having felt the engine slow, emerged from where he’d been hiding from the sun, the wind, the humidity and, I suspected, perhaps even life itself.
There was a moment as he took in the ships and the crowds of people snaking their way around the quay, then, ‘Crikey. They’re massive.’
‘Floating hotels,’ I said, trying to get a whole ship into one camera frame. ‘But I don’t think ours is one of those really huge ones.’
‘One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten,’ said John, his finger waving in the air as he tried to count the decks. ‘That one must have sixteen decks. Look at it! It doesn’t look like a ship at all – it’s like a block of flats with a point at the front.’ He gave a hard laugh. ‘I mean: give me a yacht any day.’
‘I think ours is only ten or twelve decks,’ I said. ‘Certainly not sixteen.’ I squinted at the funnels, identifying our cruise line, and then our ship by name. I pointed. ‘Look, there it is! There’s our ship. That one!’
John’s gaze followed my finger and he looked down at a paper in his hand and back up at the ship.
‘Yep. That’s it.’ He pursed his lips, taking in the lines. ‘At least it looks like a ship.’
I had to agree: ours had an elegant line to it. I bit my lips to stop myself from smiling; despite myself, there was something undeniably glamorous about embarking for a sea voyage and a shiver of excitement ran through me.
John nodded. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘Let’s see what it’s like inside.’
‘Pleased you came now?’
He huffed. ‘There’s not a fibre of my being that’s looking forward to being trapped on this monstrosity for a week but if it’s what it takes to get Mum to consider moving into Harbourside, then I’ll do it.’ He crossed his arms over his chest.
‘There’s not a part of you – not even a tiny part – that’s looking forward to this?’
He shook his head.
‘Really? Not seeing Mykonos? Or Santorini? I’ve always wanted to see those places. They look so beautiful, so vibrant in the brochures.’
John sighed. ‘Okay, yes. I’m looking forward to seeing the islands. As long as I can get away from the crowds. And I’ve no intention of spending every day at sea gorging myself.’
‘I’m sure they’ll have crispbreads,’ I said.
‘Per favore,’ said the driver, holding his hand out to me. ‘Arrivati.’
‘Grazie.’ I took his hand and stepped onto the quay. Behind me, I just knew John was shaking his head.
12 July 2013, 4 p.m.
‘I hope you’re not claustrophobic,’ John said as he followed me along the corridor of Deck 8. ‘I can’t think of anything worse than being stuck in a tiny room on a rough sea.’
‘Fifty-four, fifty-six, fifty-eight and, here we are: zero eight sixty.’ I looked at my key card to check I’d got it right. ‘And I presume that’s yours next door. Look – yes it is. Right – ready?’ I swiped the key card and pushed open the door. ‘Let’s see.’
If I’d thought we’d be sleeping in the maritime version of shoeboxes, I was mistaken. The cabin was by no means large, but neither
was it unpleasant. In front of me I saw a bed, a dressing table and chair, a small sofa, and a coffee table. Right by the door was a compact wardrobe area, and I noted with surprise that my suitcase was already there. There was a door, presumably leading to the bathroom, and, at the far end of the room, double doors opened to a balcony. Outside I could see two wooden lounge chairs and a table. Decorated in fresh, sea colours, the room was bright and breezy. I held the door open with my foot and turned to John.
‘You coming in?’
‘I’ll look at mine.’
‘All right – see you in a bit.’
The door sprang shut when I let it go and I took a deep breath, revelling in the peace and quiet after so many hours travelling. I checked out the bathroom – now that was definitely compact – then opened the balcony doors, letting the breeze rush into the cabin and sweep away the sterile smell of the air-conditioning.
It didn’t take long for me to unpack. When I was done, I slid my suitcase under the bed and stepped out onto the balcony. Alongside us an even bigger ship drew up its gangplanks, its horn reverberating across the port. The water between our two ships churned as the huge propellers moved the other liner backwards out of the berth as if it were no larger than a Mini. People lined the decks; they were waving and cheering; some held glasses in their hands; music pulsed from the decks; every now and then I caught a snatch of an announcer encouraging the party atmosphere in any number of European languages. I smiled at their excitement and waved at the people on their balconies: soon it would be our turn to leave. Inside the cabin, my phone rang. I turned my back on the frivolities and stepped back inside.
‘Hello?’
‘Alexandra,’ said Mum. ‘Good. You’re here. How was your journey?’
‘All good. Did you have a good time in Venice?’
‘Oh, it was lovely, thank you. Really lovely.’ Mum’s voice was wistful. ‘Wish I’d done it years ago.’
I made a noncommittal sound.
‘Anyway. John came with you, presumably?’
‘Yes.’
‘He didn’t do a runner halfway here?’
‘No. He’s here. He’s in his cabin.’
‘Good. How are your rooms? Not too small, I hope?’
‘They’re perfect. Thank you. I love the balcony – it really makes the room.’
‘I’m glad. I thought you’d like that.’
‘It’s lovely. I’ve just been on it,’ I said, thinking at the same time how much more I would have liked it had Mark been with me. Still … I’d sailed down the Grand Canal in a motoscafi like George Clooney arriving at the Venice Film Festival, and I’d seen some of the sights of Venice. Now I was about to spend the week sailing around the Greek islands on a luxurious cruise ship. Life could be worse.
‘Why don’t you come to my cabin for the sail-away?’ Mum said. ‘I’m at the front. We should get a good view of Venice as we go through. Will you tell John?’
‘Sure. I’ll get him. We’ll be there in – what time are we leaving? Half an hour?’
‘Perfect.’ She told me her cabin number and hung up.
I rapped my knuckles on John’s door. There was a rustling sound, the lock turned, the door opened a crack, and John’s face peered out.
‘Only me,’ I said, and he opened the door wider, blocking the entrance to the room with his body as if to stop me stepping inside. ‘All unpacked?’
‘I didn’t bring much.’
‘Anyway, look. Mum called. She said we should go up to her cabin for the sail-away, which is in about,’ I looked at my watch, ‘quarter of an hour now. She’s at the front.’
‘I was going to sit on my balcony for it,’ said John. ‘I’m on the right side for San Marco, I think.’
‘Suit yourself. But I kind of got the impression Mum would like to be with us. And the view from the front will be a lot better.’
John sighed. ‘Okay. All right. But I hope we’re not going to spend the whole trip doing what Mum wants. There are things I want to do, too. And, if she thinks I’m joining in with any cruise ship “happy campers” stuff, she can forget it. Did you see the activity sheet? Line-dancing? Bingo? Jesus, Lex. No way am I doing any of that.’ With his foot wedged in the door, he leaned back towards the wardrobe and grabbed his camera and room key, then he followed me out, watching carefully until the door had swung to a hard close.
‘I hear you, but please be reasonable,’ I said as we walked towards the front of the ship, our footsteps muffled on the bright blue constellation carpet that swallowed the entire floor of Deck 8. I hurried to keep up with John as he strode ahead, his thin, white legs, bare from the knees down, eating up the corridor, the old-fashioned camera bag he carried banging on his hip with every step. ‘This is Mum’s cruise, not ours. Essentially, we’re here for her. There’s a reason why she invited us, and I’m guessing it was for company.’
‘No such thing as a free lunch.’ John looked ruefully over his shoulder at me as he said it and, for a moment, I saw not him but our father.
‘Exactly. No such thing as a free cruise. And don’t you forget it. Stairs!’
We turned a hard right to the lift lobby, and took the stairs the two floors up to Deck 10, where we continued our walk to the front of the ship and rang the doorbell for Mum’s cabin.
‘Maybe we could do split shifts,’ I whispered as we waited for her to answer the door. ‘You stick with her in, say, Corfu. I’ll go with her in Mykonos, and we can split Santorini and Katakolon. Fair?’
‘I’m planning some hard walks – especially in Corfu – and it’ll be hot,’ John said. ‘She might enjoy pottering about with you more? Please?’
I was still in debt to John for the years he’d been there for Mum while Mark and I had lived in London – and he knew it. I sighed.
‘I suppose so. We can mooch about the ports, I guess. Do a bit of shopping …’
Footsteps padded up to the other side of the door and Mum opened it wide and bowed with a flourish, a glass of champagne in her hand.
‘Welcome to my humble abode.’
Mum indicated for us to walk past her into a room that bore no resemblance at all to mine and John’s.
‘Wow,’ I breathed. ‘Can I look around?’
‘Help yourself,’ said Mum. She’d clearly spared no expense: the door opened into a large living room with a dining alcove and a long, side balcony furnished with teak loungers and an outdoor dining set. Beyond that was a bedroom with one of the biggest beds I’d ever seen. The surroundings were luxurious, at odds with Mum’s humble home, but already the room smelled of her – more specifically, of night jasmine – Mum’s signature scent. She never travelled without a fragranced candle and I knew I’d find it in the bathroom.
I padded across the carpet, shaking my head in wonder, and stepped into the bathroom to find a full bath with its own porthole, a full-sized shower, double sinks, and a walk-in wardrobe I’d be proud to own in my own house. I picked up one of the bottles of complimentary toiletries: Bvlgari. I stepped back out of the bathroom.
‘Look, Mum,’ I said as she beamed at me. ‘I’m a little worried: are you sure your bathroom’s big enough? Shall I call Guest Services and see if they’ve anything better? It is your birthday and I don’t want you slumming it.’
Mum tittered. ‘Lovely, isn’t it? It’s an Owner’s Suite. I suppose it’s a bit extravagant to have all this space just for me but I thought, well, as it was my last hurrah …’
John, who’d been examining the contents of the freestanding walnut bar, turned and opened his mouth. I saw the expression on his face and cut him off.
‘Good on you, Mum,’ I said. ‘It’s gorgeous. A real home from home!’
She smiled. ‘You haven’t seen the best bit yet. John? I’ll need you for this. Come. Alexandra, bring the champagne.’ I picked up the ice bucket and two empty flutes and followed as Mum lead us past the enormous bed to a heavy metal door with a huge metal lever on it.
‘I’ll need you to open th
is,’ she said to John. ‘The butler,’ – another titter – ‘opened it to show me but then shut it again. It’s too heavy for me. Has to be heavy, for the winds.’
John grabbed the lever and grunted as he struggled with it before succeeding. Mum shoved the thick door open and secured it with a chain.
‘Come,’ she said.
We followed her out onto a forward-facing balcony. Sunshine pooled on the wooden decking, giving it the feel of a poolside terrace, but it was the panoramic view forward that took my breath away.
‘Wow,’ I breathed, leaning on the railing. ‘I want to spend the whole week here. It’s like that moment in Titanic, the movie. You know, Kate and Leo at the front.’ Realising the fate of that ship, I searched for a better metaphor. ‘It’s like you’re the captain.’
‘Speaking of which: look,’ said Mum, pointing above and behind me. ‘The bridge is right behind us. The captain waved to me earlier.’ She chuckled.
I looked up and saw through the smoky glass the silhouettes of a group of officers. Not wanting to be caught staring, I turned back and nodded towards the small swimming pool in the bow of the ship. ‘Is that the spa pool, do you know?’
‘No, it’s the crew pool, I think,’ said Mum.
‘Nice,’ conceded John, who by now had examined the view from every possible angle. He held a pair of binoculars. ‘It’s nice and private. And they even give you binos. We’ll have a great view from here.’
‘I know,’ said Mum. ‘I booked this suite deliberately. The travel agent advised me. I asked her which cabin to take for the best view of Venice as we left. I doubt I’ll ever get to do this again, so I wanted to do it in style.’
‘Well, you certainly did that.’
The ship’s horn sounded: a deep note that reverberated in my chest.
‘We’re moving!’ I ran to the front of the balcony and looked at the dock as we slid away from it. I waved both arms at the people on the adjacent ship.
‘Oh my goodness, it’s so exciting!’ There was a silence. I looked at Mum. She was staring at the dock, transfixed, then she raised her hand in a static wave and mouthed something I couldn’t catch.
The Disappearance Page 14