We fell into silence. I pulled out my phone and started scrolling through my photos. Yes, it had been crowded – and yes, the blasts of the scooters had irritated me – but I’d seen beauty in the colours of Mykonos: in the white of the buildings, the blue of the sea, the narrow lanes and the pink of the bougainvillea. How was it possible, I wondered, to have so little in common with your sibling? There were times when I wondered how John and I could be related at all, let alone twins.
John poked my leg across the aisle. I looked at him and he nodded towards Mum.
‘Look.’
She was asleep, her head resting on the glass window, her mouth hanging open, her port guide open on her lap. She looked old and exhausted, and her skin, under the flush from the heat, looked brittle.
‘You finished her off?’ John whispered.
‘John!’
‘God, Lexi, I was only joking.’
‘Please have some respect. It’s her birthday,’ I whispered. ‘It was hot, all right? And we walked a fair bit. Even I’m exhausted.’
‘I wonder,’ John stroked his chin, ‘what provisions were made for if one of us dies before Mum does. When she died, would the other one get the lot?’ He looked at me sideways. I looked away.
15 July 2013, 11 p.m.
Mum patted her lips with her napkin, folded it, and placed it neatly on the table, then she looked at us expectantly.
‘So who’s up for a dance with an old lady?’ she asked.
We’d had her birthday dinner, birthday cake complete with singing waiters which I’d requested just to annoy John, coffee, and even liqueurs. Now Mum was keen to get to the White Night party. She leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms around behind her. ‘If we don’t get going now, I don’t think we’ll ever make it.’
‘Do you really feel up to it?’ I asked. ‘After Mykonos? Because we don’t have to. We’ve had a lovely evening …’
‘Of course! There’s life in the old bird yet.’
‘Just don’t feel you have to go through with it just because you said it. We don’t mind.’
‘Alexandra! Enough.’
‘I might retire early, if you don’t mind,’ said John. He spoke through an exaggerated yawn. ‘Suddenly very tired.’
‘I do mind, actually,’ Mum said, looking squarely at him. ‘If I can do it, you can do it. Come for just a bit. You don’t have to dance, but come along, it’ll be fun.’
‘I haven’t got anything white.’
‘You’re wearing a white shirt!’ I said.
‘Trousers,’ he said. ‘Haven’t got any white ones. Or shoes.’
‘You don’t need to be all white. As long as you’ve got a bit on, I doubt they’ll throw you out. Next excuse?’
‘You’re actually going?’ he countered.
‘Yep.’ I pushed my chair back and stood up. ‘Come on, ye who dare to dance.’
John ran his hand through his hair and sighed. ‘All right. Just for a bit. But I’m not dancing.’
‘Great,’ said Mum. ‘Children: I know a cruise with your old mum was maybe not your best idea of a summer holiday but thank you. Thank you for coming, and thank you for humouring me. It means a lot to me.’ She touched the locket we’d given her. ‘Thank you both for this and, Alexandra, thank you again for the train ride. Best birthday ever.’
I looked to check she wasn’t teasing me, but she was smiling.
‘You’re welcome,’ I said, and I felt a blush creep up my cheeks. It made me ridiculously happy to think I’d been able to give her something so simple that had brought her so much joy. I thought back to the beautiful painting we’d seen in Mykonos – I’d been prepared to buy it for her, too, but maybe she’d been right: there really was no need.
The White Night party took place on the pool deck. We could hear the music thumping even before we pushed through the door that led out to the deck above. There, we paused at the railings and looked down at the party. Although the deck was busy, the loungers had been pushed back to create as much dancing space as possible and it wasn’t as densely packed as I’d imagined it might be. We stood for a minute and took in the scene around the floodlit pool; everyone there wore at least something that was white, if only a borrowed hat, but many had gone the whole hog and dressed head-to-toe in white, which glowed under the fluorescent lights that had been set up around the bar and dance floor. There were women in shorts and halter neck tops, women in floaty white dresses, and some in nothing but white bikinis, white captain’s hats, and sky-high stilettos. A few of the men wore white suits, shoes, and captain’s hats, too.
At the front of the dance floor, on a raised deck, a selection of the Entertainments team’s female dancers, in white hot-pants, cropped tops, and knee-high socks, performed an energetic routine to a Britney Spears song. Two male dancers, dressed in tight white trousers, long white jackets, and white trilby hats accompanied them. As we watched, the men ripped off the jackets to reveal white vests that barely covered their rippling muscles. I could almost smell the testosterone.
‘Oh look! There’s Stavros,’ said Mum. ‘Come on.’ Clicking her fingers, she jived towards the steep metal stairs that would take us down to the pool deck.
‘Careful on the steps,’ I called after her. ‘Hold on!’
‘Seriously?’ John muttered. He looked at the dance floor and exhaled. ‘Shoot me now. This. Is. Hell. On. Earth.’
‘Do you ever loosen up?’
‘Um, let me think.’ He tilted his head, placed his index finger on his lip and pretended to think. ‘For things like this? No.’
A deck below, Mum headed straight for the dance floor while I went to the bar to get drinks. John arranged himself on a lounger in the shadows as far away from the dance floor as possible. The cocktails came with sparklers – gingerly, I carried a couple over to John, trying not to catch my hair with them.
‘One White Hot Lady for you,’ I said, enjoying the joke as I handed him a glass. ‘I won’t tell Anastasia if you don’t. Cheers.’ I clinked our glasses and turned to watch the dance floor. Now and then I caught sight of Mum in among the whirling dancers. She may not have been as expressive as some of the younger people, but she had great rhythm and I enjoyed watching her dancing salsa steps to the beat.
‘She’s having a great time, isn’t she?’ I said. ‘Look at her face! She can’t stop smiling.’
‘Huh,’ said John. I took it to mean yes. I drained my glass and stood up.
‘Right. See you in a bit.’ I shimmied my way onto the dance floor.
‘I’m taking a breather!’ I shouted to Mum over the music. We’d been dancing non-stop for ages, and I was hot. Sweaty bodies writhed all around me; I was being bumped and jostled from every angle. I didn’t know how Mum could stand it.
‘Okay, me too,’ she shouted, the dance suddenly going out of her, and we threaded our way through the dancers to the nearby table. I flopped onto a chair, my feet suddenly aching. Mum fanned herself as she got her breath back. John appeared, wending his way through the tables. He put a bottle of water and two plastic cups on the table.
‘Thought you might need this. My contribution to victory. And on that note, I’m retiring.’ He raised both palms in the air and took a few steps backwards away from us. ‘No arguments. Goodnight.’
He turned to go.
‘Bye John,’ Mum said. ‘Thanks for coming on the cruise. I appreciate it.’ She stood up, her arms open as if to accept a hug.
‘Sore heads tomorrow,’ said John. ‘Anyway, have a good night.’ He turned and walked away.
Mum looked at me and shrugged. Then she kissed her hand and blew the kiss at his retreating back. She watched him for a second, her hand over her lips, then she looked at me, raised her eyebrows and pulled a funny face. We both burst out laughing.
‘Now let the fun really begin,’ she said.
‘How late are you planning to stay?’
‘As long as there’s any dance left in me.’
‘It finishes at two.
’
‘Then two.’
‘Mum, I won’t manage that.’ I shook my head apologetically. I’m really tired.’
‘I’ll be fine without you. I’m a big girl.’
‘I know.’
We sat and watched the dance floor, my head nodding in time with the music. It was a song Mum knew and she sang a bar or two until the song ended.
‘But seriously, Alexandra, thank you for today. For coming on this cruise. It means a lot to me. And I had the best day ever, today.’ She reached for my hand and squeezed it. ‘Thank you.’
‘It’s a pleasure, Mum. Really.’
Stavros danced up to us. ‘What you doing hiding here, my favourite lady?’ he said, reaching out his hand. ‘You’ll come and dance with me?’
Mum stood up. ‘Just give me a minute. Are you off now?’ she asked me.
I finished my water and stood up, too. ‘Yes, I think so. You’re in good hands.’
‘Audrey is amazing,’ Stavros said. He pronounced her name Ord-a-ree, with a long roll on the ‘r’.
‘It’s her birthday today. She turned seventy.’
‘No!’ Stavros looked genuinely surprised. ‘Then you must dance all night with me.’
‘Come here.’ Mum lunged towards me with her arms outstretched and grasped me into a hug. This was something we never did but I found my arms winding around her, too, and we stood locked in the hug for a few seconds as I breathed in the familiar scent of her perfume. Then she patted me on the back, kissed my hair, and pulled away.
‘Bye darling,’ she said. ‘Look after yourself.’
‘I’m only going to my cabin. You look after yourself!’ I goggled my eyes at Stavros.
‘Don’t wait for me tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Explore Santorini – maybe I’ll see you there. I’ll need a lie-in after this.’ She took Stavros’s hand and together they bopped towards the dance floor.
‘I’m glad you had such a good birthday,’ I shouted after her. Mum turned and blew me a kiss, then stepped onto the dance floor.
16 July 2013, 9 a.m.
Consciousness came slowly to me the morning after the White Night party; it was as if I hoped that lying motionless with my eyes closed might fool my body into thinking it was still asleep and do away with the headache that was threatening to rip my skull open. As I lay there, face down, cheek on a wet patch of dribble, I heard John moving about in his cabin. I heard the scrabble of the chain being unhitched, then the door opened and clunked shut again. I moved and a wave of pain rolled through my head but the ship was unnaturally still. We must have dropped anchor: Santorini. I groaned in frustration. I’d always wanted to go to Santorini. Why did I ruin this chance with a hangover?
Rolling onto my back I pressed my palms to my temples to try and hold in the pain while I thought about where I’d put my paracetamol. Easing myself out of bed, I shuffled across the cabin, banged my shin on the edge of the bed, rootled through drawers until I saw the packet, grabbed it and retreated to bed, glugging two caplets down with a slug of water. Had we really drunk that much? It must have been the mix of wine and cocktails. Or maybe we didn’t drink enough water – it had been hot. Why hadn’t I made Mum drink more water? If I felt like this, how was she? Guilt oozed its oily way into my consciousness and I rolled towards the bedside phone, picked it up to dial Mum, then remembered she’d said she wanted a lie-in and put the receiver back down.
Propping myself up on the pillows with a large glass of water to sip, I faced the room, eyes half closed, and listened to the sounds of the ship. In the corridor outside, I could hear the Entertainment Manager’s daily recorded message about the day’s events burbling on in multiple languages. It garnered a sense of excitement about the day ahead – made me think that there were things out there to do and see and, twenty minutes later, I realised my headache was subsiding.
Opening the curtains a crack I peered out of the window: in the distance I could see mountains. A small boat was drawing a wake across a sparkling blue bay. In the distance, another boat appeared to be coming towards the ship – tenders. The buzz of anticipation distracted me from my physical woes. Maybe I could manage a gentle trip after all.
Santorini was a hidden gem – so hidden that I almost didn’t get to see it. From the dock, it didn’t look like much. Once I’d disembarked from the tender, I stood facing the crop of busy tourist cafés and souvenir shops that lined the water’s edge. Behind them, inhospitable-looking cliffs towered, penning the dock, and exhausting me simply with the thought of how I’d get to the top. Heat radiated off the concrete road, sweat trickled down my spine, and the din coming from the crowds thronging the tourist shops made my head pound once more.
I wiped a hand across my forehead and thought, for a minute, about getting straight back on the tender and spending the day sunbathing on the ship; the thought of a quiet sun lounger and a cool swimming pool was tempting, especially if I could assuage the guilt I was feeling about letting Mum drink so much and stay out so late. I’d knocked quietly on her door before I left the ship and, when there was no reply, assumed she was sleeping. Would I get to see her if I went back? As I stood on the dock deciding what to do, an old man in a flat cap and a dirty blue shirt accosted me.
‘Donkey?’ he asked, pointing towards a path.
‘What?’
‘Ride donkey?’ he pointed up to the cluster of white buildings that iced the top of the cliffs – the town of Fira, I guessed.
‘Ride donkey up? To the top?’ I pointed at the cliff in disbelief.
The man nodded.
‘Really?’ I tried to convey my scepticism through facial expression but even as I did, I saw a straggle of people setting off up the hill on donkeys, their handlers walking by their sides. ‘Is that the only way?’
The man pointed at something. ‘Lift.’
‘Oh, okay. Thank you. Then no donkey.’
I crossed the dock and joined the long queue for what turned out to be a cable car. At the top, I stumbled out of the cable car station onto a platform that was thronged with people looking over the edge. The glare was intense, even with my sunglasses on; the view, when I finally found a space not occupied by people taking photographs, was spectacular. Anchored on the bright blue of the bay, the cruise ship looked like a child’s bath toy. I stared, entranced; I’d heard it said that the Lost City of Atlantis could have been under those waters. I stood for a minute or two, imagining what might lie beneath. Then I turned my back on the view and took a selfie, trying to get the ship in the background so I could show Mum if she didn’t make it.
With a last look at the glittering bay, I made my way down the first street I came to; a narrow lane, riotously colourful with souvenir shops. Ahead, I saw a familiar cotton sunhat, a head and shoulders above everyone else. I ran a few steps to catch up with John and poked his arm. ‘Hey!’
He spun around. ‘Lexi. Isn’t the view amazing? It’s incredible to think we’re standing on the top of an old volcano.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘Did you take a donkey up?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I did. Big mistake. I queued for ages, then I got what felt like a three-legged donkey. It was so uncomfortable I thought it was going to ditch me over the side. It stank of poo and I was covered in flies.’
I laughed. ‘Anything goes in the quest for authenticity – right? So, what are your plans today? Did you see Mum at all?’
‘Was I supposed to?’
‘No. She said not to bother her. But I kind of hoped we might see her here.’
‘I haven’t seen her. Anyway … he looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got to find Gold Street: the buses to Oia go from there.’ I looked at him quizzically – my reading about Santorini hadn’t extended beyond Fira. ‘It’s “the most beautiful village on Santorini”.’ John paused, looked like he might ask me to join him, then carried on. ‘So, we’re due back by five? Shame I’ll miss the sunset from Oia. Maybe see you back on board?’
I shru
gged. ‘I guess so.’
Bored with the souvenir shops that all appeared to sell the same items at the same prices, I sought out the side streets, which I quickly learned were home to more interesting boutiques and galleries selling handmade jewellery, handicrafts, and art. They were also cooler: the streets were so narrow they were in perpetual shade. Deep in the tangle of backstreets, a painting outside a small art gallery caught my eye and I stepped closer to look – smeared with the azure blues of the sky, the sea, and the domed top of a house set against the vibrant pinks and greens of palms and bougainvillea, something about the canvas reminded me of the one Mum and I had seen in Mykonos. I was staring at it when a sales lady emerged from the gallery.
‘You like it?’ she asked.
‘Yes. It’s beautiful. It makes me want to go to Santorini.’ We both laughed. ‘I love the way you can almost smell the flowers and the trees. The way the artist manages to catch the light so perfectly.’ I stopped talking, realising I knew nothing about art and that that fact was probably very obvious. ‘Are you the artist? Did you paint it?’
‘No. I just work in the shop. The artist sometimes works out the back. He has a few shops here.’
‘Is he here today?’
She shook her head. ‘No, not today. Usually he is – he lives next door.’ She nodded towards a green door. ‘But he’s busy today.’
‘What a shame.’ I looked again at the painting, sizing up how difficult it would be to carry, and made an instant decision. Mum hadn’t been able to make it here today; even though she’d said a gift ‘wasn’t needed’, I was going to buy her the painting as a memento of her birthday cruise.
16 July 2013, 5 p.m.
I went straight to Mum’s cabin when I got back on the ship. Hot and sweaty, I was desperate for a shower, but even more keen to give Mum her painting. Putting it gently down on the carpet, I knocked on the door and waited. Nothing. I knocked again, slightly louder, and realised, as I stood there listening for sounds of her footsteps coming towards the door, that I was holding my breath.
The Disappearance Page 19