The Life She Wants

by J. M. Hewitt

  * * *

  Anna stood in the reception and tapped her nails on the counter. Behind the desk, the stylist who had worked on Paula’s hair stared at her, a troubled expression on her face.

  ‘She’s your friend, no?’ she asked in a low murmur.

  Anna shrugged. ‘Not really, I just met her yesterday.’

  The stylist nodded and lowered her eyes. Anna let the silence stretch on.

  ‘I don’t understand how it happened,’ the hairdresser said, her voice a thin, painful whisper now.

  Anna said nothing, wondering what the woman expected in response. Platitudes? Sympathy?

  Finally, the stylist stabbed at the computer till and pushed a receipt across the desk.

  ‘It was very upsetting to witness,’ said Anna without glancing at her bill.

  A single moment, then the stylist flushed a deep red. She picked up the receipt and screwed it up, dropping it into the bin.

  With a small smirk, Anna nodded to her and made her way out of the salon.

  In the elevator, she pushed the button for the top deck and, holding her shoulder bag close, watched as the numbers ticked off.

  The deck was deserted when she pushed through the heavy door. She didn’t notice the sting of the wind and rain as she walked briskly to the rail. From her bag she pulled out the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and ammonia. She shook it, once, and the milky white dregs glowed bright against the gloom of the day. Then, pulling her arm back, she threw it as far as she could overboard. There was no splash. The bottle bobbed for a moment and sank in the white-plumed waves, to vanish forever in the trail of the fast-moving ship.

  * * *

  At lunchtime, Anna gave in to her body and ate a small bowl of soup. She spooned it mechanically, taking no pleasure from the flavour. Food meant little to her. It was a chore that she had to succumb to on occasion to keep her strength up. At times, as well as the light-headedness, she experienced other symptoms. Colours, vivid flashes of greens and blues affected her vision, along with a dense headache. She found the flashes diverting; she imagined the Northern Lights would look similar, if she were ever lucky enough to see them.

  As she pushed her discarded bread roll to one side and sipped at her cup of water, she heard a commotion in the doorway. She looked up and sat a little straighter when she saw the fishing expedition boys come piling through the door, headed by Tommy Ellis. The dining area was empty but for her, and he hailed a hearty greeting as he made his way over to her.

  Anna sat back and crossed her legs. ‘You boys are back early,’ she remarked.

  ‘We had to turn around. Have you been on deck? It’s wild out there,’ said Tommy as he pulled out a chair uninvited and sat down.

  ‘Drink, mate?’ asked one of his fishing buddies.

  ‘Pint, please,’ said Tommy. He glanced at Anna’s water. ‘Anna?’

  She pretended to mull it over. ‘Gin and tonic, thanks,’ she replied.

  Tommy pulled off his jacket and slung it on an empty chair. ‘How were your salon appointments?’ he asked, and before she could answer he reached a hand towards her face.

  For a second she thought he might touch her hair, and she held her breath, but his finger stopped just short of her. ‘Looking good,’ he said, and the roughness of his voice had gone, to be replaced by a softness she would never have thought he possessed.

  ‘Good, thanks. Paula had a problem, though.’

  His pint landed in front of him, and a heavy hand shoved a gin and tonic towards her. She barely glanced at the man as she murmured her thanks.

  Tommy took a long sip. ‘What problem?’ he asked.

  She shrugged. ‘Something wrong with the conditioner they used; it might have been a colour or something.’ She shrugged again, allowing her oversized jumper to slip deliberately off one thin, tanned shoulder.

  ‘How’s that a problem?’ he asked, his eyes travelling to the bare patch of skin. ‘I’m sure it looked okay, didn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Anna lowered her eyes. ‘She stormed out and I haven’t seen her since.’

  Tommy’s face fell, and she knew she had got across what she wanted. That Paula had had a tantrum; that she was hiding somewhere on the ship in a sulk.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  An apology. On behalf of his wife. Interesting. She smiled at him. ‘It’s not your fault, is it?’

  He ran his large hand over his closely cropped hair. ‘Nah, but she can be a bit…’ He trailed off helplessly.

  Anna debated whether to cover his hand with hers, offer sympathy. All the while the unspoken words that she would never behave that way would hover between them.

  But no, she decided, it was too soon.

  He pushed back his chair half-heartedly. ‘I should track her down,’ he said, though he remained seated.

  Anna took a long swallow of her drink and crossed her legs. ‘I think she wants to be alone… she’ll probably want to sort out her hair.’ She leaned forward, presenting him with an eyeful of her bra-less chest inside the deep neckline. ‘Why don’t you give her a few hours, then text her to come along for dinner? We can all eat together again, yes?’

  For the first time she acknowledged the other men who had taken seats at their table. ‘In the meantime, you can all regale me with your morning’s adventures.’

  * * *

  The wind had picked up to what seemed like gale force when Paula finally peeled herself off the railing and walked slowly back inside. She was numb from her head to her toes, and the deep freeze had settled in the very marrow of her bones. In the elevator, she held her hands up in front of her face and clenched her fingers. Sharp pains shot through her knuckles and she gasped as she looked closer at the split skin.

  With a barely concealed sob, she shoved her hands in her pockets.

  The elevator door opened to a hive of activity and she looked around in confusion. She had ended up in the bar and dining area, and her stomach rumbled noisily, reminding her that she had missed both breakfast and the early lunch she had planned after the hair appointment.

  But it was too close to dinner to eat something now, and catching sight of herself in the mirrored wall, she shuddered and retreated into the lift. She had never looked so awful. She turned away, but not before she had caught sight of her hair, still wet, tangled and with those awful pale bleach patterns.

  She felt tears well up again at the sight of the people already congregating for dinner, laughing and drinking and—

  She blinked.

  Tommy and Anna. Sitting together, their faces close, Anna throwing her head back to laugh at something Tommy had said.

  When had he got back? And why was he with her?

  She slammed a hand on the panel to stop the doors closing, but they swished shut and with an efficient hiss the elevator swept upwards.

  He had texted her, she saw as she closed the door of the suite behind her and picked up her phone.

  We’re all in the restaurant, we’re eating with the fishing boys tonight as the trip got cut short. Anna is already here. Come down as soon as you’re ready.

  She sank down on the bed, tapping her finger thoughtfully on the screen. It was more information than she usually got from him in a text, and it seemed to explain why he was already back. And he’d acknowledged that Anna was with him. Didn’t try to hide it, not like some men would have.

  She tapped out a reply.

  Give me twenty minutes xxx

  Pressing send, she threw the phone on the bed and hurried into the bathroom. Taking a deep breath, she studied her reflection. There was no salvaging her hair, except… In a flash of inspiration, she upended her make-up bag into the sink, scrabbling among the various items until she found what she was looking for.

  Hair mascara.

  A few months ago, she had found a single errant grey hair. In a state of panic she had plucked it out and immediately raced to the shops. She couldn’t put a colour on; that was done by her very expensive stylist and she wasn’t
due an appointment for another four weeks. If grey hairs were going to start prematurely springing up, she needed something on hand for immediate use.

  As luck would have it, no more grey hairs had appeared, and now she had a full tube of jet-black hair covering. It wouldn’t do long term, she noted as she scraped the wand over the worst of the blotches; tomorrow she would go back to the salon as soon as they opened and demand that they fix the mess they had made of her hair.

  And she would go alone.

  She paused mid stroke, wondering why she had thought that. It was hardly Anna’s fault that the hairdresser had messed up. She dashed the thought away and scrutinised her reflection. Perhaps the stylist could lighten her hair all over so that the orange bits blended in. She put the mascara wand down carefully on the edge of the sink and shook her hair out. She’d never been a blonde. And weren’t they supposed to have more fun? She thought of Anna, her tousled sun-kissed hair flying around as she laughed with Tommy, and shivered.

  When had Paula last laughed like that with him? They had certainly laughed a lot at the beginning of their relationship, when they were both students, when nothing seemed very important and life was all about fun. Then came jobs and responsibility, new houses and mortgages. And even though they were the most financially comfortable they had ever been, there didn’t seem to be much to laugh about these days.

  She missed the way they used to be. She realised that so far they had spent barely any time together on this holiday. They were supposed to be making a baby, and yet he hadn’t even come near her. Once again she thought of him downstairs, with his fishing buddies and Anna.

  After dinner they would come back to the suite, she vowed. They would spend the evening in bed, she would even open a bottle of champagne, and later they would sit in the big chairs in front of the French windows and watch the stars and, if they were really lucky, the Northern Lights.

  * * *

  There was something different about Paula as she made her way out of the elevator and raised her hand as she spotted them.

  Anna tilted her head as she studied her. The hair…

  It was Paula’s normal glossy black hair. Had she returned to the salon? But no, there was no way they would have been able to repair the bleach damage in such a short space of time.

  Tommy, previously attentive to Anna, saw his wife approaching, and Anna watched, increasingly disconcerted, as he smiled, wide and happy. He raised his hand, bellowed out for Paula to come over. When she arrived, he stood up and kissed her cheek.

  ‘You look great,’ he said. ‘Where’ve you been? Anna said there was a problem at the salon.’

  Anna reached out a hand and touched Paula’s fingers, mustering up the enthusiasm to sound friendly. ‘It looks great,’ she said. ‘Did they sort you out?’

  Paula fixed a smile on her face. ‘I’m going back at some point, but it’s okay for now,’ she replied. She turned to Tommy, her back to Anna now. ‘How come you’re here? What happened to your trip?’

  With his arm around his wife’s shoulders, he pulled her down to sit next to him. As he repeated his story of the wild seas and torrential wind and rain, Anna sat back in her own chair. It was all very civilised, and she was still at their table, but somehow it was as though she had lost. Husband and wife talked quietly together, their heads close, looking just like he and Anna had done all afternoon.

  Resigned, she came to the conclusion that it was over for today.

  But just for one day.

  Tomorrow she would start again.

  She murmured some excuse to the remaining few men who had been on Tommy’s day trip with him and stood up, walking briskly away from the table towards the elevator. As she waited for it to arrive, she watched the couple carefully.

  Maybe it was time to step things up a bit.

  * * *

  As Anna made her way up and out onto the top deck, she thought about Tommy Ellis. He was easy on the eye, fit and strong, and as long as he was talking about something that interested him, he was a good conversationalist. But all of those plus points were irrelevant. He was a man with a home and very good financial security. He had no children who would lay claim to his inheritance; he had no siblings, no dependants. Soon he would be a widower.

  It was such a simple idea. It wasn’t that much different from what she had planned with William, though that had ended sooner than she had banked on. Because of his son. If Jason hadn’t suddenly appeared, Anna would have spent a good few more years squirrelling away William’s money, siphoning transactions here and there. Laying a base plan for her own survival so that she never had to go back to the way her life had once been.

  And that was why she had changed tack. Once Tommy was on his own, there would be nobody to stop her. No son or daughter swooping in to take care of their dad. There was only one snag: he needed to think less of his wife. She had seen it at the beginning, the tension that simmered between them, the discord, the niggles. She needed to widen that gap of dislike and distaste, and she’d thought she had been succeeding. Only tonight, when Paula had arrived for dinner, Tommy had looked at his wife with something that was almost a new love.

  It wouldn’t do.

  It wouldn’t do at all.

  She walked to the side of the ship and rested her hand on the narrow gate set into the railing. Spotting a bolt at the bottom, she reached down and slid it back, then pushed on the gate. It opened easily, and she stood in the gap. Just one step forward and she would be below in the waves, no hope of survival.

  She closed and bolted it again, then cast a glance around her to make sure nobody had witnessed what she had just done. Why on earth would the gate be there in the first place? She resolved to ask the captain when it was her turn to dine at his table.

  Shivering now, she made her way back along the deck towards the inner corridor. At the door, she paused and looked up at the night sky. It was cloudy, the sky threatening rain again. There would be no chance of any sighting of the Northern Lights tonight.

  Just then, the door swung open, and a crew member stumbled out, colliding with her.

  ‘Miss, I’m so sorry,’ he said, whipping his hand behind his back.

  She caught the scent of hand-rolled tobacco, saw the smoke that spiralled up behind him. She smiled. ‘I had exactly the same idea,’ she said, ‘but I left my smokes in my suite.’

  He gave her a lopsided grin. ‘Suite?’ he asked. ‘Not a cabin?’

  ‘The Arctic Suite,’ she confirmed. ‘Pretty big for one person, I know, but hey.’ She smiled, raised her eyebrows, hoped he’d got the message.

  He leaned against the wall as he offered her a pre-made roll-up. She accepted it, bending forward as he cupped his hands around it to light it.

  ‘What’s your name?’ she asked.

  ‘Mark Taylor,’ he replied, ‘at your service.’

  She nodded to herself. A man other than Tommy wasn’t in her plan for this cruise, but men were generally stupid, led by their lower half, and this Mark might come in handy. She studied the insignia on his thick woollen coat. Three stripes meant he was at the higher end of the staffing scale. Her mind turned over; he would have access to cabins, the master key to all the suites. He could come in useful, very useful indeed.

  ‘Mark, what is the gate for, in the middle of the railings down there?’ she asked.

  He dragged deeply on his own cigarette and looked to where she gestured. ‘There are several of them. They’re for the lifeboats. In the event of an emergency, we can just open the gates and crane them out. See where they’re stored, behind those panels there, and the metal joints they’re attached to.’ He pointed with his cigarette and shrugged. ‘It’s a time-saver.’

  She nodded and moved a little closer to him. ‘Isn’t it dangerous?’ she asked. ‘A kid could come along and open one and fall into the sea!’

  He smiled; a patronising smile, she thought. Slightly irritating, but she waited patiently for his reply.

  ‘Nah, they’re padlocked,’
he said. ‘Only crew members can open them.’

  One of them isn’t, she thought. But she wasn’t about to tell him that.

  ‘It’s my day off tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Maybe you’d like a tour of the ship?’

  She smiled. He was hooked.

  * * *

  Within half an hour, Mark was in the Arctic Suite, naked, on top of Anna on the enormous bed, an almost-empty bottle of champagne clutched in one hand, a lit cigarette dangling from his full lips.

  Anna counted silently inside her head. For her, sex, much like food, was something to be endured; an act that was sometimes necessary but from which she derived no pleasure. As Mark finished and let the champagne bottle drop from his hand to the floor, he muttered something into the pillow, words she didn’t catch, then shifted position and closed his eyes.

  She plucked the cigarette from between his lips and placed it in her own mouth. Within minutes, he was snoring loudly. She slipped from the bed, and as she walked to the bathroom, she picked up the keys from where he had carelessly tossed them as he divested himself of his clothes.

  In the bathroom, she turned the shower on and laid the bunch of keys on the floor. She identified the padlock keys easily, the ones that would open the gates in the railings. She moved past them; the gate she had her eye on was already unlocked. No, it was the master keys she was after, the ones Mark had shown her earlier. Unlike the credit-card-type keys the passengers used, the masters were actual keys. Four of them in all, and as she located the one that locked and unlocked the suites, she slipped it off and put it in the pocket of her robe. As an afterthought, she pulled off the key for the public restrooms.

  When she went back into the bedroom, she put the keys carefully back next to Mark’s coat. On the bed, he slept on.

  ‘Tonight, fellow passengers, may prove a lucky night, as the forecast is clearer than previous evenings. Not only do you have the chance to see the promised Northern Lights, but also shooting stars from the Leonids as well as the waxing gibbous moon, cloud cover permitting.