Dastardly Deeds

by Evans, Ilsa

One of my least favourite things, on an admittedly long list, was standing to the side of communal diners with a full plate in my hands. It was not just awkward but ostensibly friendless, and seemed to happen to me more times than was reasonable. Sure enough, a few minutes later I was standing stupidly, casing the diners, trying to work out where Deb was. Finally I saw a hand wave from right at the back. Whoever it was, I was joining them.

  ‘Nell!’ Deb had half risen from her seat. ‘There you are! Grab a seat and I’ll introduce you. This is Phoebe, and over there are Donald and Scott.’

  The only spare chair had its back to the magnificent view. I smiled at the others as I sat. Phoebe had her fringe pinned back, a white tendril having escaped to contrast with the grey plait. On either side were the men from the Colosseum. Donald was the slim one, with his eyebrows reclining atop his rimless glasses like furry caterpillars. He was frowning slightly.

  ‘Have we met? Were you in that group who joined us for dinner in Rome?’

  I shook my head. ‘No. Not me.’

  ‘You’ve probably seen her picture in the paper,’ said Deb, with rather touching pride. ‘Nell’s a journalist. She writes a column called “The Middle-aged Spread”.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve got one of those,’ said Scott happily, patting a solid belly. The pile of pork crackling on his plate suggested that middle age was not the only culprit.

  ‘You and a million others,’ said Donald, glancing at me again. For a moment I felt affronted but then I realised he was still trying to place my face.

  A waiter stopped to take drink orders and everybody opted for soft drinks. I guessed they had hit the alcohol last night. I waited until he had left. ‘I just wanted to say how sorry I am about your loss. We were shocked when we heard.’

  Scott was nodding. ‘Yeah. We were shocked too. Didn’t see it coming.’

  ‘So unexpected,’ said Phoebe. She stared at her plate.

  ‘But maybe that’s it,’ said Donald abruptly. His voice had a soft, sibilant quality, as if he had once had a lisp. ‘Maybe we should’ve noticed something.’

  Phoebe reached out a hand. ‘You can’t think like that, Don. We weren’t to know she’d been depressed. She didn’t even tell us about her marriage.’

  ‘It recently broke up,’ said Deb to me by way of explanation.

  ‘Let’s drop it,’ said Scott. ‘I know it sounds bloody awful, but we’ve been talking about it for three days and I’m, well—’

  ‘Drained,’ Phoebe finished for him. ‘Yes.’

  Scott turned his attention to his meal. I realised that he had a tiny gold stud in one ear. For some reason, that surprised me.

  ‘Nell’s here with Lew,’ said Deb. ‘She’s got two of her daughters with her. She has five altogether.’

  ‘Five?’ Donald paused, his fork suspended. ‘Five daughters? Wow. That’s very, um, consistent.’

  ‘Yes, that was our objective. Consistency.’

  Scott snorted. The waiter returned with our drinks and the conversation paused as everybody concentrated on their meals. I saw Yen and Uncle Jim join the queue at the buffet but fortunately they appeared to have their attention fixed on the food. My mother was at her most acerbic towards me when meeting new people. It was as if she thought this cemented our relationship.

  ‘We’re a little cross with Deb actually,’ said Phoebe lightly. She had a breathless tone even when she wasn’t announcing the death of a friend. She also had a habit of keeping her head down so that she had to raise her eyes as she spoke. ‘We all agreed this was to be a partner-less holiday, and then here’s Lew.’

  Deb shrugged. ‘Wasn’t my doing. I can’t stop other people from booking on the ship. Just pretend he’s another passenger.’

  ‘Who’s sharing your cabin,’ said Donald.

  Despite their blithe tone, I had a sense this was a sore point. I decided to change the subject. ‘So you all met at university? Were you doing the same course?’

  ‘Well, we were all doing a BA,’ replied Deb. ‘Though mostly different subjects.’

  ‘We shared a dorm,’ added Phoebe. She placed her cutlery neatly on her plate. ‘I don’t know whether they’re still like that, but the resi blocks had these six bedroom units that shared a common room. Such fun.’

  Deb shook her head. ‘Actually, that other guy was there first. Remember him? The weird one with the clingy girlfriend?’

  ‘Cockhead,’ said Scott around a piece of pork crackling.

  ‘Brian,’ said Deb. ‘He lasted about six months. Then, thankfully, we got April.’

  ‘And you’re all still friends?’ I was impressed. ‘I’m only in contact with one person from uni, and that’s just on Facebook. We don’t even catch up for coffee, let alone go on overseas trips together.’

  Phoebe smiled. ‘That’s what everyone says. But we just got on really well. We’ve caught up quite a few times over the years. Though nothing like this, of course.’

  ‘We were supposed to do it three years ago,’ said Deb. ‘For our twenty-year reunion. But things just got in the way. Then last year Scott broke his leg.’

  ‘In two places,’ said Scott cheerfully. ‘I’ve got a steel pin in there now. Sets all the security off at the airports.’

  ‘Which isn’t as much fun as it sounds,’ said Donald a little sourly.

  It struck me how different the two men were. Scott was jovially blokey, while Donald looked like he might collect stamps when not penning letters to the editor. As I ate, I mused on the quirks of fate that brought people together. Then I did some maths. ‘That’s only five of you. Didn’t you get on with the person from bedroom number six?’

  Everyone fell silent. Scott put down the crackling and wiped his hands on a napkin. His chin glistened.

  Finally Deb spoke. ‘Oh, yes. That was Anna. She was killed six months after we all graduated.’

  ‘Two thousand three hundred and thirty-one people died on the roads that year,’ said Phoebe. Her eyes were a pale blue. ‘I’ll never forget that number. Anna was the odd one at the end. Just wrong.’

  Deb nodded slowly. I noticed her sneaking a glance at Scott.

  ‘She had everything,’ said Donald, his voice hardening. ‘Everything.’

  Deb nodded again. ‘That’s true. She was smart and funny and drop-dead gorgeous. And she’d just landed this amazing job in international women’s aid.’

  Scott pushed back his chair. ‘I reckon it’s time for a drink. Anyone else?’

  After a second’s hesitation, Donald stood also, followed by Phoebe. She picked up a fringed lilac bag.

  ‘I’ll give the drink a miss. I’m off to the thalassotherapy pool to re-centre myself.’ She turned to me. ‘It was nice to meet you, Nell. And sorry we were such downers. We’re usually a lot more fun.’

  ‘Oh, totally understandable. Not a problem.’

  ‘I’ll grab us some coffee,’ said Deb as the others left. Phoebe had the gangly gait of a newborn calf, courtesy of long legs and wide hips. I pushed her half-eaten meal aside and slid into her seat, so that I could see the sea. The islands had now disappeared and rippled blue stretched all the way to the horizon. I finished my meal in silence, mulling over the conversation. They were an interesting group. None of them really seemed to fit with the other, but they clearly had the bonds of long acquaintance. It was amazing how a brief sliver of time spent together in youth could turn into long-term friendships. But they were also quite an unlucky group, with two of the original six having now died. Stats suggest high risk of death among university graduates with ‘A’ names. Abigail and Adam a little worried.

  I suddenly remembered Ashley, and the reason I had been in the buffet in the first place. It occurred to me that I didn’t need to look for Lew at all. I had his wife right here. Right on cue she put a coffee before me and sat down with a sigh. ‘I’ve got to touch base with Lew in a few minutes but I need coffee. Bit too much to drink last night.’

  ‘You and me both.’ I took a sip. It was not pleasant. ‘Your friend
s seem nice.’

  ‘They are. And Phoebe was right, they’re usually a lot more fun. We’re all pretty gutted at the moment.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ I hesitated for a moment. ‘Listen, is anyone else joining us on this trip?’

  ‘Why?’

  I regarded her thoughtfully. ‘That’s a funny response. Okay, I’ll be more direct. Is Ashley Armistead joining us on this trip?’

  Deb leant back in her chair. She was grinning. ‘Would that be a bad thing?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Your mouth says one thing but your eyes say another.’

  ‘Actually, my eyes are just angry. Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?’

  She looked a little embarrassed. ‘It was all very last minute, only became definite about a month ago. And Lew asked me not to say anything. You were so annoyed after Darcy and Tess came on board that he thought you’d pull the pin altogether.’

  ‘He was right. Bloody hell, Deb. When’s he arriving?’

  ‘Day after tomorrow.’ She pushed her coffee away. ‘That’s awful. Look, I’d better go. Sorry, Nell, there really wasn’t much I could do. Tell you what, if it gets too awkward, just join up with my group instead. Hey, what do you think of Donald? He’s single.’

  I stared at her, my irritation escalating. ‘So what? Do I look like I’m desperate or something? If I’d wanted that sort of cruise, I would have gone with Contiki.’

  ‘I don’t know that you’d enjoy Contiki. Bit of a young crowd there. And what’s wrong with Donald?’

  ‘Apart from the fact he’s gay? Even for someone as old and desperate as me, that’s a bit of a stretch.’

  ‘Actually, I don’t think he is gay. April always said he was but, if so, he’s pretty closeted. Maybe you could test the theory.’

  ‘You’d better quit while you’re ahead.’

  ‘You’re right.’ She grinned ruefully as she stood. ‘But the whole thing with Ashley is Lew’s fault. Blame him.’

  ‘Oh, I will. Tell me one thing: if he wanted to go on the cruise, why wasn’t he here from the start?’

  ‘Couldn’t. Something to do with work. They’re flying straight to Turkey instead. Now, I’m off. I’ll tell Lew to avoid you for a while.’

  I watched her weave her way around the tables and then transferred my gaze to the view. The longer I stared, the more it blurred into a paint sample. I wasn’t just annoyed by the news about Ashley and the fact they had kept it from me, but also by the light-hearted way Deb had delivered it. As if I was prone to overreaction and any normal person would be absolutely fine with their ex-boyfriend and his current partner joining them on a cruise. Along with her ex-husband and his current partner, of course. I decided to send Lew an email when I got back to my cabin, letting him know the names of the two guys I had gone out with before meeting Darcy. Perhaps he would like to look them up and invite them, along with their significant others, to join us on the cruise. Why go for half measures? After all, in for a penny, in for a bloody pound.

  Chapter 5

  I am writing because I have a problem and you seem to know lots of stuff. About 70 years ago I used to eat fish and chips wrapped in newspaper. All kids did then but I notice they don’t use newspaper any more. Is there a health reason? I ask because lately I’ve been feeling a little off and I think it might be connected.

  Sympathy from my sister was in short supply. She was heartily amused by the situation. This was probably fuelled by the fact she quite liked Ashley and felt that I hadn’t negotiated hard enough for a ‘friends with benefits’ relationship. She was wrong. I would have loved our relationship to continue but it hadn’t been an option. Not on my terms anyway.

  Mid-afternoon we settled in a pair of deckchairs on the upper deck, with a view of the sea on one side and the pool on the other. That was where we remained for the rest of the day and much of the evening. After two generous scotches, I began to see the humour in my situation also. It was the sort of thing you saw on a television sitcom and thought, ‘Well, that wouldn’t happen.’ I shared this insight with Petra, who then derived a great deal of enjoyment from calling ‘Action!’ every so often. We got some odd looks, plus a few hopeful ones from men who thought she was making a request rather than a comment.

  At dinnertime, instead of going to the restaurant, we treated the buffet as a takeaway and returned to the deckchairs. The only alteration was the move from scotch to wine. Others joined us briefly from time to time. Quinn and Griffin, holding hands self-consciously; Enid Hurley, in a floral muumuu; Deb and Phoebe, on their way to the gym; Lyn Russo, taking a promenade in her finery before attending the formal meal; and Lew, with an apology posy that looked suspiciously like it might have been a table centrepiece.

  Mostly, though, we just talked, catching up on each other’s lives. Relationships, family, inertia, aspirations. When the evening turned cool, we moved to the balcony off our room, wrapped in complimentary candlewick dressing-gowns. From there we could just hear the music floating from the piano bar and just see the white water churning along the side of the ship, far below. The tranquillity was as intoxicating as the wine. I hadn’t felt this content for a long time.

  The following day continued in the same vein. Starting with breakfast in bed, delicious in every way apart from the coffee, and followed by a trip to the health spa, where Ruby, Petra and I were pampered with a facial, massage, manicure and pedicure. In a way it would have been the perfect time to talk things over with Ruby, but even the thought seemed to clash with our surroundings. The indulgence was almost overwhelming. Real life was miles away, not just a different continent but a different world. The day rolled on, with a gentle cadence that was reminiscent of the sea itself.

  That evening I visited the restaurant for the first time. Crystal and silver and gleaming white porcelain, chandeliers sparkling above burgundy carpets, wine waiters and service waiters and a maître d’ who was everywhere at once. Our group had been allocated a large table that overlooked a sweeping staircase. I could see Deb and her friends at a smaller table on the lower floor. The restaurant was only half full, with the Anzac dawn service, scheduled for the following morning, having led many to opt for a quiet evening. Lyn Russo was the exception, making the most of her final night aboard ship. On the way back to our room we passed her in the piano bar, cocktail in hand, collecting signatures on a napkin to petition the band to play ‘Nutbush City Limits’.

  I spared her a wry thought as the alarm went off the following morning at 4.45 am. The dawn service was held on the upper deck, a sombre yet oddly exhilarating experience. As the sun crested the horizon, it became clear that we were in the mouth of a cove, bracketed by hills in the distance. Anzac Cove, where a century ago Australian soldiers and their Turkish opponents had died in the thousands. The service finished with the bugle playing the last post, and the haunting notes seemed to echo across the water and into the stillness of history.

  There was ample time afterwards for showers, followed by breakfast. By nine o’clock, Petra and I, with the girls, joined the throng of sensibly shod passengers heading down to disembarkation. I filched muffins from the buffet on the way, secreting them in my handbag. Soon we were walking along the dock in the direction of a staggered row of tourist buses. It felt strange to be on shore once more. I already felt homesick for the ship.

  It was easy to pick our bus as Lew was parked by the front door, alongside most of our fellow travellers. There was also a stocky man holding a sign that read TAYLOR GROUP.

  ‘Sounds like an investment portfolio,’ muttered Petra.

  ‘Welcome!’ Lew was beaming. ‘Come, gather round. We’ll just wait for everyone else and then I’ve got a few words to say.’

  ‘Did you sleep in?’ asked Yen, eyeing Petra and me.

  I felt my serenity slipping. ‘It’s just gone nine. We’re actually early.’

  Her gaze slipped upwards. ‘That is my least favourite of your hats. It looks like a floral tribute. Have you heard from Lucy? I emailed her yest
erday about the shop and haven’t heard back.’

  ‘No, and thanks.’ I straightened my felt hat self-consciously, tucking my hair back. I’d thought it went rather well with my cargos and a coral-pink T-shirt.

  ‘Hello, all!’ Tessa had joined us, Darcy grinning by her side. Behind them I could see Lyn Russo approaching, in dark sunglasses, and also, rather surprisingly, Deb Taylor and her reunion friends.

  ‘Okay, so we’re all here.’ Lew waited for the latecomers to join us and then wheeled forward and spun in a tight semicircle to ensure he had everyone’s attention. ‘First of all, I’d like to introduce you to our tour guide for the day, Ali.’

  The stocky man smiled genially. He had a deeply receding hairline and a tuft of dark hair in the centre, like an unfortunate island.

  ‘And now for the not-so-good news. I know you were all looking forward to touring Gallipoli today, on Anzac Day, and then Troy tomorrow. But Ali tells me that there’re lengthy delays with the ferry and it’ll be about a three-hour wait both ways. So I’ve made the executive decision to reverse our order. Do Troy today instead and Gallipoli tomorrow when the crowds are less. I do apologise, but it really was the only option.’

  ‘Dictatorship,’ sniffed Enid from behind me.

  ‘Oh good,’ said Lyn Russo. ‘Now Michael will be with us for Gallipoli. He won’t be here till this afternoon,’ she explained to anybody who was interested. ‘His meeting was delayed. Couldn’t be helped.’

  ‘Now for some better news,’ continued Lew. ‘Our group today has expanded.’

  I was suddenly sure that Ashley was right behind me. My spine tingled.

  ‘Of course you all know my wife Deb.’ Lew waved an arm in her direction. ‘And I’d also like to introduce her friends, Scott Quartermain, Don Barrow and Phoebe Gould. There were some problems with their booked tour so they’ll be joining us today and also tomorrow. And now, let’s go!’

  I turned around but there was no one there. Ali was helping Lew with the wheelchair lift at the rear of the bus as I joined the queue at the steps. I followed Tessa into the bus, her rounded butt just inches from my face. Once inside, I took the seat beside Petra. Deb and Phoebe were directly across the aisle. I leant over.