I’m last.
Thomas looks pleased to see me. ‘Charlotte, hello! Glad you made it all right.’
‘Thank you.’
The yacht crew direct The Party up some stairs to our right. Thomas and I hold back.
‘So, you’ve met most of the party,’ he says, ‘which is great stuff. However . . .’ He lowers his voice as though he is about to let me in on a fascinating secret. ‘I’ll formally introduce you to Josephine. She’s the one you need to impress. She trusts my judgement, so I very much hope you won’t let me down.’
He smiles as if I should be grateful for his insights.
‘It was lovely to meet everyone,’ I say, sounding as pleasant as I can. ‘I would appreciate some more background information, though. I’d also like to know where my cabin is so that I can get my bearings. An itinerary for the rest of the day would be good too.’
‘Of course,’ he says.
I watch as the crew offload my bags among all the others. I feel stuck in the middle – neither guest nor crew.
‘Follow me,’ says Thomas, as he leads the way up some steps. ‘You’ll be sharing a cabin with one other person,’ he says over his shoulder, ‘but I’m sure you’ll love her and get along like the proverbial house on fire. She’s a great laugh.’
Crap. I knew I would probably have to share living quarters, in fact, it was inevitable given that space on boats, regardless of size, is at a premium, but still . . . I am not keen on the sound of someone who is a great laugh. It could mean anything.
We reach the top deck where everyone is standing at a safe distance from the black helicopter, hugging and exchanging greetings with one another. I scan the small crowd and pick out Josephine.
She is not exactly how she looks in her pictures; they don’t do her justice. She is stunning, with long, red hair and pale skin. Her eyes are hidden by sunglasses, but I know that they are green. She has a presence that is about more than just money. Sam and I would have referred to her as confidently wealthy. We used to categorise people, number them in order of interest. Josephine would have made number one. On her wrist is a silver and ruby bracelet. I can’t make out her earrings from where I am standing but they appear to be a matching set with the bracelet. Envy jolts. I want to be her.
‘Step inside, please,’ a yacht member is asking us all. ‘The helicopter is going to depart.’
We all do as we are told. The lounge area, decorated in cream and burgundy, feels gloomy now that we are out of the sunshine. Most of us remove our sunglasses, blinking as our eyes adjust.
Outside, the roar of the helicopter’s engine shudders the glass as it drowns out any chance of conversation before it lifts off and heads back towards shore. I watch it go. The tender has gone back to shore, too. I wonder who else it will collect.
‘Charlotte,’ says Thomas.
I turn away from the window, somewhat reluctantly. I feel oddly homesick.
Josephine is at his side.
‘This is Charlotte,’ says Thomas. ‘My godsend. And this is Josephine Fox-Smith.’
‘Nice to meet you.’
Her voice is calm and measured. She is a Josephine, not a Jo, not a Josie. It’s important. I get it. I am a Charlotte. Not a Lottie, not a Char (heaven forbid) or any other such variation that people try to impose on me. The only exception was when Sam called me Lola.
‘Nice to meet you too,’ I say, reaching to shake her hand. ‘I am thrilled to be here.’
‘As am I. I’m so glad you’re going to help run things smoothly. It’s so important, don’t you think, to make the most of everything?’ She doesn’t wait for a response before continuing. ‘Thomas is a workaholic, but even he needs to sleep.’
Polite laughs all around as Josephine turns.
‘Harrison! Come and say hello.’
A man appears at her side; a jolt of recognition hits because it’s a face I’ve seen before.
‘Hello,’ he says.
‘Hello,’ I reply.
I am unsure what else to say. The last time I met this man, he was in Val d’Isère and he went by the name of Harry.
FIFTEEN
Then
Alaska
My third favourite story was:
My parents were conned out of their life savings by a rogue builder and plunged into a previously unknown world of debt. True. The consequences were devastating, my father had a stress-induced heart attack and died.
‘Did they ever find the cowboy?’ asked Jake. ‘There are rules and regulations, ways of checking these things out.’
I hoped he wasn’t trying to blame my father.
‘This was a pre-online world,’ I replied.
I think Megs detected the ice in my voice because she quickly stepped in. ‘So awful. So cruel and tragic for you and your family.’
We had arranged to go hiking in Alaska, just the three of us – me, Jake and Megs. I was legitimately allowed to go because Megs personally requested my assistance. She told me this as though she had done me some sort of huge favour and I should fall on my knees in gratitude.
I didn’t.
Prior to the trip, I visited the spa to see if either Jake or Megs had taken me up on my suggestion of indulging in some treatments. Megs had booked in for facials and a hot stone massage, Jake had used the hydrotherapy pool and the gym.
‘Why do you need to know?’ Lucy asked.
‘I’m arranging a hike for them. I want to know how fit they are. The trails can be challenging.’
‘Sounds wise,’ she said. ‘You don’t want to end up in a tricky situation.’ Lucy logged in to the system and talked me through their health and fitness questionnaires. It was certainly illuminating.
On the back of it, I arranged a five-mile trek, with promised views of meadows, dams, glaciers and ice caves with warnings of danger and not to visit without an experienced guide. I didn’t share that last detail. We passed the organised tour group fairly early on with a sense of satisfaction.
‘You were right,’ said Megs. ‘It would have held us back and we wouldn’t have seen nearly as much.’
We stopped for lunch at a bench beneath a canopy of spruce and pine. The cold seeped through our wet-weather gear as we feasted on prawns, crayfish and beef sandwiches made in the ship’s galley early that morning, all packed into a neat picnic hamper.
As we ate, Megs probed into my life, and I fed her the answers she wanted to hear.
‘Sam and I loved our work, but we were keen to start a family, put down roots.’ Untrue. It naturally led to a story about another family . . .
Sam’s non-identical twin brother had gone missing while hiking in Scotland/India/The Grand Canyon (we changed the destination simply for variety). Devastatingly, the search had been scaled down or had trickled to a halt. Sam’s parents were distraught – obviously – and Sam and I were trying to raise funds to continue the search. We had a fundraising page set up especially, as it happened. So nice of Megs to ask . . .
Megs opened up, too. They were not childless through choice. I said that I hoped Sam and I weren’t leaving it too late. Even I really believed my lie at the time. The words felt so true.
Jake went over to examine a fallen log, as we continued to chat.
‘It was Jake who didn’t want children,’ Megs blurted out. ‘I always do what he wants. It makes for an easier life. He has a son as the result of an affair very early on in our relationship. He’s a nice young man and I do love him, but . . .’ She bites her lip, before looking up at me, eyes brimming. ‘It hurt, you know?’
‘You are a saint,’ I tell her, placing a hand over hers.
The sadness in Megs’s eyes touched something in me. Sam’s flirting hurt, too.
I was used to sharing confidences – up to a point – with other crew. Lucy and I sometimes drank together in the crew bar. We shared stories of past boyfriend disasters. It would have been good to offload some of my ever-increasing secrets, yet I knew silence was everything. One drunken slip-up and I would risk t
oo much.
I had never had a guest open up to me quite like Megs before. Usually there was a natural us and them barrier, regardless of how friendly and full of bonhomie it was on the surface.
Jake chivvied us along the moment we had finished eating. As the trail became steeper, his breathing became more laboured. According to his medical questionnaire, he had suffered a foot fracture only last year and had multiple back-pain issues. I felt simmering rage at his treatment of Megs, despite not knowing her long.
As we stood at yet another view, for more pictures, a seed of badness flittered into my mind. How easy it would be to set up a fall, an accident.
‘Shall I take a photo of the two of you?’ I offered.
The backdrop of the clouds skimming the tops of the mountains in the distance against the luxuriant greenery was perfect. Below, a river snaked through the gorge.
Jake put his arm around Megs as they posed, smiling. They looked happy.
The urge to give Jake a shove swiftly darted away. Yes, I had crossed dubious lines, but it didn’t mean I needed to cross them all. I wasn’t a bad person.
We took the descent down the mountain trail slowly and I didn’t try to speed Jake up.
There was nothing else I needed to do. Megs had already guaranteed me success. Before they’d left the ship, she had not only donated to Sam’s charity, but given me the biggest cash tip I had ever received.
‘Keep it secret,’ she said. ‘Even from Sam. You just never know.’
I didn’t have time to ask her why. I did feel a twinge of guilt at how nice she was being. I felt hollow. I did what she suggested; I kept the money secret. Just as well, considering what happened later.
I thought that would be that. We didn’t keep in touch with people, regardless of how friendly we had become, how generous they were, how much we genuinely liked them. That was another rule. A clean break was best, although we had to be careful not to do it too abruptly. Our ghosting was always slow and gentle. Busy lives, erratic schedules – all very plausible. Not every holiday friendship lasts, people understand that. Some may have suspected that they had had their heartstrings played, or maybe (and I really hope this was the case with regards to Betty) they eventually accepted that Sam’s Casanova act had been just that – an act – but they either felt foolish for falling for it or accepted it as the price to pay for the fantasy. That, or shame. Shame is a great silencer; I should know.
Megs, however, proved to be persistent. She wrote several times. I took my time replying but when I did I would always keep it light, mentioning the places we had last visited, the views, the shopping, the sightseeing. Until her last email.
Dearest Charlotte,
I hope you and Sam are well.
I haven’t been in touch for a while because we have been living a nightmare. Jake’s identity has been stolen and his primary bank account hacked. We’ve both been struggling with the stress of it all. I’m only mentioning it because I feel certain that it happened while we were on our travels. I would hate the same kind of thing to happen to such a nice person as you. Could you spread the word, please, to help ensure that this horrible, invasive crime doesn’t happen to anyone else? Tell people to be on their guard.
Much love, Megs and Jake.
I wrote back soothing words of sympathy then directed any future mails from her to Junk. The only way I could deal with it was not to think about it. The words ‘crime’ and ‘struggling’ jarred. Crime was murder and violence. Crime was blatant theft, like burglary or mugging. People who can afford to go on cruises do not struggle. If I had – still have – one trigger, it is wealthy people who casually suggest that they are struggling while mentioning substantial pensions, wealth portfolios, shares, favourable interest rates, rising school fees, the difficulties their offspring (or they) are experiencing in hiring decent nannies for the grandchildren, and so bloody forth, all in the same breath. It is rare, in my experience, to hear them discuss real problems: war, hunger, cold, poverty, severe disadvantages. Crime was lots of horrible things – it was not what Sam and I did.
But still, something niggled.
‘Megs has been in touch,’ I said into the darkness of our cabin one night.
‘Who?’
‘Megs. You know, Megs and Jake.’
‘Oh, them. Yeah.’
‘Jake’s identity was stolen, a bank account hacked.’
Sam went silent.
‘It’s not anything to do with us though, is it? It’s a coincidence.’
I so wanted it to be the case.
‘Not directly,’ he said.
I went cold.
‘There’s money to be made in selling information,’ he said.
He pulled me close to him and stroked my hair away from my face. I stiffened. It wasn’t romantic sharing a single bunk any longer. It was claustrophobic and uncomfortable.
‘You didn’t discuss it with me,’ I said.
‘There was no need. I thought you’d be grateful. What you don’t know, you can’t ever be held accountable for. I wouldn’t worry about it. Insurance companies exist for this very reason.’
‘So, you were doing me a favour?’
‘Yes, actually.’
‘I liked Megs,’ I said.
‘And therein lies the problem,’ said Sam, sitting up.
He switched on his lamp; the light felt blinding.
‘What do you mean?’
I sat up too.
‘You like the fact that I’m the bad guy and that you’re the good guy,’ he said. ‘It suits your narrative.’
‘That’s not quite true. I have my limits. You, on the other hand . . .’
I didn’t finish my reply.
Sam got up and pulled a T-shirt over his head.
‘And yet you’re happy enough to spend the money on shit,’ he said. ‘Whatever shiny thing takes your fancy, you just have to have it. If we saved more than we spent, we could get out of this quicker. But you and your expensive tastes are stopping that.’
He left the cabin and didn’t return until the early hours, smelling of chlorine and spa soap or shower gel, none of which were able to disguise the smell of cigarettes and brandy on his breath. He ignored me when I reached for him and pretended to go straight to sleep.
It was then that I realised that we had never discussed an end plan. We were drifting. Sam was right that we needed to save more. Otherwise, there was every chance we would become trapped in this life. With only each other. That was the first time it hit me: we needed an endgame.
SIXTEEN
Now
Either Harrison is a good actor, or he genuinely doesn’t recognise me. Either way, it speaks volumes. I remember everything about him (even though I didn’t put two and two together when it came to his initial and surname), despite the fact that the last time I saw him he was definitely not in shorts and a T-shirt but dressed for the snow.
‘Champagne?’
A steward offers us glasses of champagne on a silver tray.
Josephine and Harrison both accept a flute.
‘Gosh, I need this,’ she says. ‘Travelling is exhausting.’
There is an awkward silence until Thomas offers to show me around the yacht.
I glance back and notice Harry/Harrison watching my departure. As our eyes lock, he looks away, quickly. Telling.
We walk past an elevator. ‘I wouldn’t bother with it,’ Thomas says, ‘it takes all bloody day to move one deck. Best bet is to use the stairs.’
On the next deck, the marble floor is spotless. Framed pictures – which I will study much closer later out of curiosity because they are no doubt valuable – adorn the walls. A sculpture of a man stands in a corner. His face looks towards a rectangular porthole, like a sailor staring out to sea. His expression is forlorn rather than hopeful, and I wonder why someone would choose this above any other piece of art.
‘On this deck is the business centre, a conference room.’ Thomas opens doors and points as though he is showing me a
round his own home. ‘This is one of the three lounges.’
‘Impressive,’ I say. True.
I spot a piano in the corner and what looks like a well-stocked bar. Sam would love it here. He’d feel right at home. I feel a fresh pang at his disappearing act.
An aquarium fills the space adjacent to the elevator. Bursts of colourful fish dart between the greenery. I follow Thomas down a curved staircase that leads to the outdoor decks. I glance around to take in a pool, two Jacuzzis, three bar areas, an outdoor pizza oven, a teppanyaki bar, a sauna, a gym. The list is impressive.
Back inside is a beauty salon, shelves lined with expensive brands. On one side, there is a massage table and on the other a hairdresser’s chair. I catch sight of myself in the mirror. My face is tinged with red, my fringe needs a good cut. I could do with a few hours in there.
The grand tour continues past the intimate cinema room. There are eight large red velvet seats with spaces for drinks. I could see myself sitting here watching black-and-white movies to my heart’s content as the sea rocks me into a chilled, blissful state. Thomas interrupts my fantasies.
‘And this,’ he says, opening a door further along the short corridor, ‘is your cabin. Ta-daaaah!’
He hovers at the door while I look around. It is spacious enough, with twin beds and an en suite bathroom. Luxury, of a sort. I can’t help wondering what Josephine and Harrison’s cabin is like. I imagine it has a balcony, for sure. My bags have been opened by someone. My dresses are hanging up in the wardrobe, all neat and colour-coordinated. In the bathroom, my make-up and toiletries are neatly arranged on a narrow shelf. I’m not sure how I feel about people going through my belongings. Even though my valuables are safely in my handbag, it makes me feel exposed.
‘Where is my room-mate?’
Thomas checks his watch.
‘Lucy is due to board any moment,’ he says. ‘What do you think, so far?’
I feel a sudden surge of affection for Thomas. He genuinely appears to care that I like the space.
‘It’s lovely, thank you. It’s way more spacious than any crew accommodation I’ve experienced in the past.’
The Ex-Husband Page 12