The Life She Wants

by J. M. Hewitt

  ‘So, midnight walkers, make sure you look up to the skies if you are taking a late-night stroll on the upper deck, and keep your eyes open for some unexpected surprises!’

  Chapter 11

  Paula groaned as Tommy shook her awake. She batted him away, pulling the quilt over her head.

  ‘Wake up!’ he hissed.

  She lunged through the fog of sleep, arms windmilling as she struggled out of the covers.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she cried. Glancing at the glowing digits of the clock, she saw it was 2:30 a.m.

  Tommy loomed over her, fully dressed, pulling his coat on. ‘It’s a clear sky!’ he said excitedly. ‘We’re going up to the deck to see if we can see the Northern Lights.’ He did a funny little dance on the spot, his excitement apparent as he thrust a glass at her. ‘Drink this, it’ll wake you up.’

  Paula put a hand on her thumping heart and scrubbed at her face. ‘It’s the middle of the night.’

  In the darkness of the cabin, his face glowed white in the moonlight. She saw something in his eyes, a disappointment, and her heart sank at causing him hurt. ‘Give me a second, let me just get dressed,’ she said.

  She accepted what she thought was a glass of water from him and threw it back. ‘This is vodka!’ she gasped, coughing and spluttering.

  He nodded eagerly and brandished the bottle, topping up her glass. ‘It’ll keep you warm, it’s gonna be cold on deck.’

  Still clutching the bottle, he moved away to the window, peering out anxiously.

  As she pulled on her jeans, she caught a glimpse of the pillow, and the black stains that adorned it. The hair mascara. If it was on the pillow, it meant it was no longer on her hair. She would need a hat. She shivered. Tommy was right, it was cold. She swallowed back the vodka and held out her glass for him to refill it again.

  He grinned at her, and suddenly, standing half dressed in the middle of the night, she was reminded of how they used to be, back when they were teenagers. It was a good feeling, and she giggled, already light-headed. Impulsively she planted a kiss on his lips.

  ‘Go,’ she said. ‘I’ll meet you on the upper deck.’

  He grinned, shoving the bottle of vodka at her as he hurried from the room.

  In his wardrobe she found his hat, big enough to stuff her hair inside. She put it on without looking in the mirror and vowed again that she would be outside the salon door when they opened in seven hours.

  Out in the corridor, she pushed open the door to the spiral steps that led up and outside. All was quiet in the other suites, and she cast a glance back at Anna’s door. What had Tommy meant by ‘We’re going up to the deck’? Who was ‘we’ – his fishing buddies? Or Anna? She shivered, wondering when this had been arranged, or if someone had texted Tommy to tell him about the clear sky and the prospect of the Northern Lights.

  Up and up she went, and as she pulled herself from stair to stair, she realised how utterly different the ship was in the midnight hours. From deep in the bowels of the boat she heard clangs and metal scraping. The low hum of the engine, which she couldn’t remember hearing in the daytime, whirred beneath her. Everything else was deathly silent. She pushed herself to move faster.

  For some reason, she had expected the top deck to be lit up. Instead, it was in total darkness. On the floor were tiny glowing circles, like emergency lighting strips in a hotel hallway. She pulled her coat tighter around her and wobbled as the vodka hit in the fresh air. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d thrown back so many shots in the space of a minute.

  She hesitated, staying perfectly still, cocking her head as she listened for sounds of chatter that would lead her to Tommy, all the while trying to get her eyes to focus through the alcohol haze. She called his name, once, but heard nothing in reply. She wished it was lighter out here. The deck couldn’t be lit up, though; it would detract from the view of the Northern Lights. Still, it was a little intimidating, walking in the pitch-black.

  With her arms outstretched in front of her, she made her way to the left side of the deck and clutched onto the railing. She peered over the edge, and found herself staring into nothingness. The sea was there, she could hear it, but the darkness was a hole, broken only by white foam as it shunted the side of the ship.

  She looked up; what was that, at the far end of the ship? Dots of light floated in the air, tiny beams against the night sky. For an insane moment she thought of a UFO, and then wondered if this was the famous Northern Lights. But no, she’d seen photos of them, pictures on the internet. This wasn’t them.

  Tommy! He was there, and judging by the pinpricks of light, he was with others, the torches on their mobiles or perhaps camera flashes lighting her way. She smiled. It wasn’t the Northern Lights, but never had she been so grateful to see light or people.

  She opened her mouth to shout to him, to tell him to stay there, she was coming, but the wind had got up again, and it whipped her words from her mouth to carry them away over the dark sea. She held onto the railing, put her head down and moved forward. The wind was against her, but if she clutched onto the side, she would be fine.

  The wind dropped, suddenly and swiftly, and she let go of the rail and stood up straight, amazed at the sudden calm. Tommy’s hat, a little too big, slipped down, and she reached up with both hands to adjust it. Ahead of her, the lights seemed to have vanished, and she stepped up her pace.

  She thought it was Tommy coming at her, the speed and suddenness just like him. She half turned, expecting him to grab her round her waist, pick her up effortlessly and swing her around to make her shriek and beat at his chest. She was already smiling, already relieved that someone bigger and stronger than her was there, so she could cling onto him as they made their way to the bow, rather than gripping the railing. She started to speak, words she wouldn’t remember later, but as the person kept coming and didn’t slow their pace, she knew that this wasn’t Tommy, that it was the wrong shape.

  ‘Hey!’ she said, and there was a smile in her tone, because the way they were charging towards her meant they were probably drunk, and perhaps didn’t know they were heading straight for her. ‘Hey!’ she said again, a little louder this time, and instinctively she raised her arms, crossing them in front of her.

  The person slammed into her and she staggered backwards, feeling the railing behind her crush her breath out in a whoosh. She wheezed, bent double, and her assailant put their arms around her but said nothing.

  That was the moment she realised she was in trouble, she thought later, the lack of speech. No apology, no shocked words, just a body against hers, and then the realisation that this person was still moving, still coming at her, and now they were both sliding along the railing, until the cold metal at Paula’s back vanished and suddenly there was nothing any more.

  She went down painfully on one knee, grabbing at anything she could: the decking beneath her with one hand, the unknown assailant with the other.

  And still they pushed her, and there was nothing behind her, nothing apart from the deep, dark sea that churned far below.

  It was over as soon as it had begun. Just as her right leg slipped off the ship altogether, she spotted the gap in the railing and threw her arm up. Clutching onto the rail to her right, she heaved herself upright.

  ‘TOMMY!’ she screamed, and she shouted his name again and again, her words trailing off to a single thin scream.

  The pressure against her vanished as her assailant let go, but the knowledge that they were there, still close, frightened her almost as much as if they were still attacking her. Footsteps came now, hard and pounding, and she shifted position, crawling along the deck, slippery and cold, as she continued to shriek. Feet skidded to a stop beside her, three or more people there now, and finally, there was Tommy, on his knees in front of her, pulling her up to slump against him.

  * * *

  Tommy fed her a shot of whisky as she sat in the chair by the window. Her teeth knocked against the glass and he pulled the duvet tighter aro
und her. She swallowed hard to stop herself gagging at the strong taste, and the sharp tang of bile rose in her throat.

  ‘I’m not cold,’ she protested, pushing the suffocating quilt away.

  The late-night unscheduled announcement from the captain rang in her head. Keep your eyes open for some unexpected surprises! She shuddered, and a strangled cry emerged. When she had listened to his words over the sound system it had been magical, a hint of promise of something spectacular. Now, after the event, it seemed like a warning.

  One she had not paid heed to.

  ‘She’s in shock,’ said Dermot, one of Tommy’s fishing friends. He pulled up a stool and sat down in front of her.

  She looked up at him, noticing him almost for the first time, then pushed herself out of the chair and grabbed his sleeve. ‘He wore a coat like this, waxy,’ she said, her voice trembling as she rubbed it between her fingers. ‘It was green, I think, just like this. A dark green waxed jacket.’

  ‘Well, I was with Tommy when the accident happened,’ said Dermot after a moment’s uncomfortable silence.

  She winced; she hadn’t been accusing Dermot. An apology poured forth from her at the misunderstanding. ‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean that. I’m not saying it was you, just that this is exactly what he was wearing when he pushed me.’

  ‘It’s a common jacket,’ replied Dermot. ‘Lots of fishermen wear them.’

  ‘Maybe someone had had too much to drink,’ said Tommy.

  ‘I thought that!’ said Paula. ‘I thought they’d just staggered into me, but they grabbed me, they didn’t let go, they pushed me into that very specific gap where the railing had broken.’ She heard her voice splinter with unshed tears and looked from Dermot to Tommy. ‘I was pushed,’ she finished quietly.

  There was a moment of silence before Tommy spoke again. ‘I meant you,’ he said. ‘That maybe you’d had a bit too much to drink.’

  She gaped at him. ‘No, I didn’t!’ But belatedly she remembered the vodkas she had knocked back less than half an hour before. ‘I wasn’t drunk,’ she protested.

  ‘Maybe the ship rocked, or a gust of wind…’ The two men turned to each other as they mused upon the situation.

  Paula sank back into her chair. ‘I was pushed,’ she said. But her words were so quiet the men didn’t hear her. Or if they did, they didn’t respond.

  Fatigue overtook her and she breathed deeply. As traumatic as it was, she went back in her mind to the deck. Had she really been pushed? Or had the wind been so strong that it had buffeted her to the ground?

  Her eyes wandered over to the bottle of vodka on the side. Nausea overcame her and she swallowed rapidly. Maybe she had been drunk. But if she had, she was stone-cold sober now.

  ‘Hey, I thought I heard voices. Is everything all right?’

  Anna was standing in the doorway. To Paula she looked as perfect as ever, not a hair out of place, her eyes not remotely sleepy as she tightened the belt of the thin robe she wore.

  Paula looked down at her hands in her lap and prayed silently that Tommy wouldn’t tell Anna what had happened to her. It was only the third day of their cruise, and already she had had more mishaps than most people usually had during a lifetime of holidays.

  At the sight of Anna, Dermot sprang up and went over to her, and Paula watched as they talked quietly by the door, Anna nodding, gasping, casting worried glances Paula’s way.

  ‘I think I need to rest,’ Paula said to Tommy.

  He stood by the French windows, staring out at the black night. The clouds had dulled the moon; no chance of seeing the Northern Lights tonight. Besides, it was getting on for morning now. From the corner of her eye, Paula saw Anna drift over, ghost-like, a vision in white.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said before Anna could speak. ‘But severely sleep-deprived.’ She attempted a smile, but failed miserably. ‘I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.’

  Anna nodded and leaned forward, kissing Paula’s cheek. Her lips were cold as ice.

  ‘See you at breakfast, Tommy, Dermot,’ she called, and slipped out of the room as silently as she had arrived.

  Paula watched her go, realising that their romantic holiday had suddenly become a group outing.

  ‘I’ll walk you back,’ said Dermot, skipping smartly out of the door. ‘See you guys tomorrow. Paula, get some rest.’

  The door closed behind them, and Paula looked over at Tommy, still motionless by the doors.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, coming to kneel beside her.

  She allowed him to hold her, and leaned her head on his shoulder. ‘I was sure someone pushed me, Tommy,’ she whispered.

  She felt him stiffen, before his arms circled her even tighter.

  ‘It was a gate, not a gap in the railing,’ he said. ‘I’m going to speak to someone about it, make sure it’s shut and locked.’ He held her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. ‘I could have lost you.’ His own eyes were shining, and she was moved by the emotion that she so rarely saw from him.

  ‘I’m okay,’ she replied, because that was what she was supposed to say.

  But she didn’t feel okay. Not at all.

  * * *

  Anna plucked a lemon from the basket on the table and placed the small vegetable knife next to it as she reached for the half-bottle of gin.

  The sun was trying to push through, but hazy grey clouds almost smothered the weak orange rays that she could see on the horizon. She poured a healthy slug of gin and knocked it back. In the cabin next door, everything was quiet, and she wondered what the pair of them were doing in there.

  As far as she could tell, no crime had been reported yet. And from what she’d managed to get out of Tommy’s friend Dermot, it seemed that none of them had actually witnessed what had happened. A drunk man had crashed into Paula was what they were assuming, even though Paula herself was adamant she had been attacked.

  Anna clutched the glass so hard it was in danger of cracking. As she huddled in the chair, she swore quietly. It had been her chance, the best chance she was going to get, and she had failed.

  Anna didn’t like failure. She was used to working hard to get what she wanted and she had become an expert at biding her time and not missing once-in-a-lifetime opportunities. Now Paula would be careful, on the lookout. She would cling to Tommy and his gaggle of mates as though they were bodyguards.

  Anna drank again.

  She had missed her chance.

  A tap at the door, and she rose and walked across the room, tightening her robe. She hoped it wasn’t Dermot; it had been obvious when he walked her back to her cabin that he was angling for an invitation to come inside. For a moment she had debated with herself, but she knew enough about him to confirm that he wasn’t a suitable prospect for her plan. Too many relatives; an ex-wife, children too.

  As she unlocked the door, hope flared briefly. Perhaps it was Paula, come to seek refuge with another woman, stifled by the men and their macho protectiveness.

  She pulled the door open, a welcoming smile on her face.

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘It’s you.’

  Mark, her bedfellow of the night before, leaned against the door frame and grinned at her. ‘Sorry it’s so early. Can I come in?’ he asked.

  Anna hesitated. Mark had served his purpose. But on the other hand, he was staff, and he might have information on whether anything had been reported by Paula and her clan.

  She opened the door wide and stepped back. ‘Come on in.’

  She walked back to her chair and grabbed another glass from the shelf. ‘Drink?’ she asked, one hand subtly loosening the belt on her robe. She leaned over to pick up the gin.

  He narrowed his eyes, his gaze flicking from her face to her chest. ‘Go on, then,’ he replied, lowering himself into a chair. ‘Good view,’ he said, gesturing to the horizon.

  She murmured her agreement as she filled their glasses and picked up the knife and lemon.

  ‘Not as good as the top deck, though,’ he commented. />
  She kept slicing, but felt the ice as it ran through her veins. There was something in his tone, a caginess that had her hackles rising. She made no reply.

  ‘Did I leave any keys here the other night?’ he asked.

  The knife stilled; she put the lemon down on the cutting board and turned to face him. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said.

  He crossed one leg over the other and smiled up at her. The smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  ‘You unlocked that gate on the deck. You had a fight with the woman from the Expedition Suite.’

  She blinked slowly. The incident hadn’t even been reported when she was in Anna’s suite. How did Mark know about it? Was it possible he had seen her? She thought of Dermot, of the hushed excitement he seemed to exude when he told her about what had happened. She imagined him trailing through the rest of the ship, informing all and sundry about the night’s adventures.

  She said nothing. In Anna’s experience, it was a sign of weakness or guilt to even attempt to take part in the conversation with an accuser. She slid the knife into the sleeve of her robe and fixed her gaze on him without saying a word.

  He stared back.

  Don’t look away.

  Mark blinked.

  Anna allowed herself a small smile.

  Wrong-footed, he bit his lip and tried another tack. ‘Everyone’s keys are being checked. Two of mine are missing.’ He smiled strangely at her. ‘You and I can come to an agreement. Compensation, say, for the fine I’ll face.’

  She wondered what sort of compensation he had in mind. Money, or her body? But she didn’t ask him. She remained still, fighting the urge to do something – take a sip of gin or light a cigarette or even sit down or walk away. All would be signs that he had edged in front of her in this strange two-horse race.

  ‘You’re fucking mental.’ His words were careful, considered, and held just a hint of unease.

  She readied herself. His next move would be to mask his fear with a reaction, and he would use the only power he had over her: his physical strength.