Playing Her Cards Right

by Rosa Temple

  They were off to spend their honeymoon on Marie-Galante, the sister island of Guadeloupe. I’d booked them on the late-afternoon flight on a light aircraft. Their hotel was minutes from the sea and the room would be filled with red roses (Mother’s favourite) and an array of tropical flowers. There’d be champagne and chocolates in the room and they would be having a late-night supper for two in the hotel restaurant.

  Once Mother and Father had left there seemed to be a mass exodus, led by Ebony, to the inside bar where there was air conditioning.

  I sat alone. From my table in the large patio I looked around as staff busily cleared the tables. I watched how efficiently they restored the appearance of the patio after our feast and then I noticed the lone figure of Anya. She was sitting at a nearby table sipping a cocktail. I suppose it’s okay for you to drink considering the decision you’ve made, I thought to myself, staring at her glass. Suddenly she lifted her head and shot a look at me.

  ‘Vot?’ she said slamming the tall glass onto her table.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said. I got up, left the patio, and headed for my room. The last thing I wanted to do was squabble with Anya.

  On the balcony of my hotel room I stared out to sea and all I could think about was Anthony. Eventually I’d have to tell my family the truth about us but in that moment all I could do was question myself. Had I done the right thing? Was I right to make him go like that? With my heart breaking the way it was, maybe I should have given him another chance.

  I needed to talk to someone. I needed to thrash out what had happened back in London and see if there was a way back. After the most romantic of weddings I’d ever been to, being with Anthony was all I wanted. I was so confused.

  I could hear Amber having a shouting match with her oldest daughter as they walked along the corridor. I heard Indigo come back to her room. After having spent the past few nights in the room next to her I knew it was only a matter of time before she and her husband would be letting loose the wild rampant sound of their lovemaking on the dusk-tinged sky, Indigo calling out for God even though she hadn’t been to church in years.

  The heat was driving everyone crazy – including me – because in a split second I decided the only people I could talk to about me and Anthony were my parents. Mother had extended the invitation to speak to her and Father any time, any place, anywhere hadn’t she? I wasn’t so drunk I’d forgotten what she’d said earlier that day.

  I threw on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, picked up the large Shearman Bright tote bag I’d been using for the beach, and bundled in a swag of overnight items. I grabbed for my passport, not really sure if I needed it for an island hop, and took the stairs two at a time. There’d be no more flights that evening but I was pretty sure there would be one more boat out to Marie-Galante before sundown, and I needed to be on it.

  Chapter 28

  The Honeymoon

  No one knew more than me that my instincts for business were as sharp as a razor, but when it came to affairs of the heart, I sucked. Big time. Mother and Father had managed a reconciliation and if Anthony and I had any chance of ever having one, then they’d know how to advise me.

  I ran out of the hotel lobby and waved frantically at a taxi, which had a passenger in it. It stopped for me, as was the custom on the island. If the driver could pick up an extra fare, he would, much to the amazement of the passenger already comfortably on board.

  ‘Where you going?’ asked the driver in a slow, lazy voice, New York Jets cap on his head as he leaned out of the window.

  ‘The harbour,’ I shot back, grabbing open the door.

  ‘Jump aboard; I’m passing right by.’

  Another custom on this island was that if a driver said he was “passing right by,” you could guarantee that he had a thousand other errands to run on the way and that “passing right by” could mean in an hour’s time. Nobody rushed on this island. I was the only one in a hurry – and it showed. Beads of perspiration sprang up on my upper lip and temples, and I puffed and tutted at the laborious way the driver took the corners. He simply turned up the radio to cancel out my puffing and panting and pointing out that he was heading the wrong way.

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked the passenger sat next to me.

  ‘Marie-Galante,’ I replied. I noticed for the first time that my back-seat companion was a small man, local, with thick-rimmed glasses and an overstuffed holdall on his knee.

  ‘On holiday?’ he asked me.

  ‘On a mission,’ I replied and started to bite my fingernail.

  ‘Like Mission: Impossible?’

  ‘I hope not,’ I said.

  All of a sudden the driver decided to put on some speed. He swerved quickly around a bend in the road lined with palm trees and the small man and I slid against each other to one side of the seat.

  ‘Looks like your mission trumped dinner with my mother,’ he said. ‘He’s going to the harbour first.’

  ‘Thank God,’ I breathed.

  I ran to the ticket office on the harbour and noticed a group of holiday-makers boarding the only boat along the deck. It was a long, low-sided vessel and the engine had already started up. The sun was sinking customarily fast so it had to have been almost six-thirty in the evening, which would explain why the ticket office was shut.

  A man came towards me along the deck. I had no idea who he was but I grabbed his arm.

  ‘Is this place going to reopen? I need a ticket. Is that the last boat to Marie-Galante?’

  The boat at the end of the pier, by now filled with passengers, had started to move.

  ‘Yes, if you run you might just catch it,’ the man said.

  ‘Great!’ I shouted over my shoulder as I zoomed off down the deck. The boat was still moving, edging away from the pier.

  ‘Come back I was only joking,’ the man shouted.

  ‘What?’ I looked round at him but when I turned my attention back to sea, I saw the boat was a good couple of feet from the deck. I’d have to jump. Ahead, at the stern of the boat, was a crew member, dressed in white shorts and a white T-shirt. He was shaking his hands at me in a “please don’t jump” kind of way but it was too late. Both feet had left the ground. There was green sea between me and the back of the boat, a lot of green sea and a higher clearance needed to jump into the boat than I’d realized. I wasn’t going to make it. There was no way.

  My feet made cycling motions in mid-air. Clutching on to the tote with one hand, the other arm extended like Superman, I shut my eyes tight and shouted, ‘Oh God!’ the way Indigo and her husband had that morning. After what seemed like a very long time of being airborne, I landed. I didn’t hear a splash, which would either signify that I was dead or knocked unconscious after crashing into the side of the boat.

  ‘What the hell!’ a loud voice choked out from somewhere near my ear. I felt a pair of arms around my waist. I opened my eyes to find that I was sprawled on top of the crewman who’d been waving at me. I lifted my face from his neck and eased up so I could look into his eyes.

  ‘What the hell?’ he shouted again into my face.

  ‘He told me to run,’ was all I could say before rolling off the poor man who lay flat on his back. ‘I’m sorry, but I had to get to Marie-Galante.’

  ‘You could have waited for the next boat,’ he said sitting up. He pointed at the deck and I noticed another boat a short distance from the point I’d embarked. ‘It leaves in twenty minutes.’

  ‘Again, sorry,’ I spluttered, getting to my knees. ‘That man said to run and I know it was a reckless thing to do but the ticket office was closed. I seriously thought this was the last boat and I had to speak to my parents before their honeymoon officially began. I mean what was I supposed to do? Anya isn’t talking to me. My sisters are all otherwise engaged and I just needed a bit of advice. And before you ask for a ticket, I can pay. I’m not a stowaway or anything like that. And thank you for saving my life, by the way. I mean at least I landed in
the boat and you didn’t have to jump in after me like Wilson in Cast Away. I cried all the way through that film. You know the one? You see, Captain – are you the captain? – all I need right now is a Wilson, someone to talk to. Mother and Father are my Wilson. You know? So … so I think I should shut up and let you get back to work?’

  He said nothing, just got to his feet and walked through the crowd of passengers who had gathered around us in a circle at the back of the boat. The crew tried to get the people to move forwards because there was every possibility we could capsize. Instead, they stood staring at me and the contents of my bag, which had scattered all across the deck.

  On my knees, I scrabbled about for my comb, make-up bag, change of clothes, including a very scanty pair of knickers that were lying across the flip-flopped foot of a woman in a large sun hat.

  ‘It does no good to drink so much in this climate,’ she told me. ‘You begin to hallucinate. Take it from one who knows.’ She left to find a seat and one by one the gathering crowd dispersed.

  Acting as nonchalantly as possible, I stuffed the last of my possessions into my bag, ignoring the stares of the passengers and crew who couldn’t take their eyes off me.

  I was the first person off the boat, running along the deck like a fugitive. In fact, I practically was one. I hadn’t paid to take the boat trip but the staff were probably too afraid to approach me – a wild-haired woman with yellow panties in her bag, blathering on about Wilson.

  The little island of Marie-Galante was easy to navigate despite the fact it had turned dark. I found my parents’ hotel and went to check in. Luckily there was a room and luckily, according to the receptionist, my parents were still in theirs. I knocked on the door.

  ‘We didn’t order room service,’ Father called after a few moments and pulled open the door. He was wearing a bathrobe, which he was holding together with one hand. Behind him, Mother was sitting up on the king-size bed in front of the open patio windows. I pecked Father on the cheek and dive-bombed into the centre of the bed next to Mother. I kissed her too.

  ‘Magenta? What are you doing here?’ she said.

  ‘I booked in down the corridor from you.’ I grinned at her, assuming she’d be pleased to see me.

  Father flopped into the large wicker chair by the table in the middle of the room.

  ‘But why?’ asked Mother, frowning and looking at Father. She had the covers pulled up over her chest; her bare shoulders had caught the sun.

  ‘I know, I know,’ I said putting my hands up. ‘But you said any time, anywhere and I couldn’t go another night without talking about Anthony. Remember? You said to talk to you and I was sort of desperate to tell you what happened because I need to know if I’ve done the right thing or not.’

  ‘Could we do this in the morning, darling?’ asked Mother, looking over my shoulder at Father who wasn’t saying anything at all.

  ‘I wish I could, Mother. But you know what I’m like when I get an idea in my head.’

  ‘Only too well. Go on then, Magenta. Tell me. I’ll do what I can to help. Won’t we, Carl?’ She looked over at Father again. He raised both his hands.

  ‘Of-of course,’ he said and came to sit on the other side of me on the bed.

  I took a deep breath. It was a long story. A very long one. Once I’d finished, Mother and I were both crying and Father was handing out tissues.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me about the baby?’ Mother asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I sniffed. ‘The longer I left it, the harder it became. I knew everyone was excited about the wedding – all of us being away on holiday for the first time in years. We hadn’t done that since we were teenagers. I suppose I thought I’d make everyone sad. I was trying not to be. We both were.’

  ‘Magenta,’ said Father. ‘Don’t you see? You and Anthony have been through a very stressful situation. You can’t expect to make good decisions, either of you, when your life has been turned upside down like that.’

  ‘Take me and your father, the divorce and everything,’ said Mother. ‘I swear it was all down to the stress your father and I were under with our work. We treated each other badly instead of stopping, taking stock of the situation, and really talking to each other.’

  ‘Don’t let time go by and not confront this,’ said Father. ‘Don’t be too proud to beg to get him back if you think you were wrong.’ Father reached to hold Mother’s hand.

  ‘But, Magenta,’ said Mother. ‘You have to be sure that getting back together is right. You thought Anthony was cheating on you with that girl. Trust is so, so important. No matter how much your father and I argued I never suspected him of cheating on me. I know I accused him of all sorts at the time. But if I really thought he’d been unfaithful, we wouldn’t be here today. It would have stayed over between us.’

  ‘You might have been mad as hell with each other but trust, Magenta,’ said Father. ‘You have to be able to trust the one you love.’ He squeezed Mother’s hand.

  I sat in the middle of them in the bed, watching their hands held together across me, brown and white entwined. Just like me and Anthony. Then it dawned on me. For the first time since I barged into their hotel room I noticed that Mother was naked under the sheets and Father would be if not for the bathrobe.

  ‘Er,’ I said. ‘I think I’ve interrupted something, haven’t I?’

  They grinned at me as I slid off the bed and headed for the door. I opened it and turned to them.

  ‘I do hope I haven’t killed the moment.’

  In unison, they said, ‘Get out, Magenta.’

  ‘I’m getting,’ I said, pointing to the corridor but still not having gone. ‘Okay, now I’m going. Enjoy your honeymoon, I mean, enjoy your … I mean. Well, goodnight.’

  Back in my own room, I thought about what they’d said. Love and trust. The two things had to go together. I didn’t trust Anthony – I’d told him as much – so why would I try to win him back? I was more confused than ever.

  I soaked for hours in the bath and then spent the rest of the evening lying on the bed, looking up at the ceiling fan. I did my best to try to fall asleep, juggling thoughts all night and into the next morning. And of course, there was Anya. I hadn’t talked to my parents about her but she was on my mind, too.

  By the time I’d checked out of the hotel in Marie-Galante I knew what to do about at least one of my failed relationships. I wasn’t sure when Anya was going home, which left the morning, before my flight back to London, to try to put things right with her. If she’d let me.

  Chapter 29

  The BFF

  I took the first boat leaving Marie-Galante back to Guadeloupe. I arrived without any dramas and, luckily, a different crew and set of passengers were aboard the boat. It was still early when I got to the hotel but it was already beginning to buzz with activity. The staff were flitting around but as most of the guests were from our wedding party, it wasn’t surprising that most of them were still in their rooms.

  There were two people having breakfast in the open-air restaurant and one other person sitting and looking at the menu. Anya. Why she was looking at a menu I had no idea. It was the weekend and Anya never ate at the weekend.

  ‘Anya, hi,’ I said fidgeting from one foot to the next.

  ‘Magenta, hello.’ She didn’t look up from the menu.

  ‘Joining us for breakfast, miss?’ asked a bubbly-sounding waitress nodding to the chair opposite Anya’s.

  ‘Um, thank you,’ I said and tentatively sat at Anya’s table.

  ‘It vos a lovely day yesterday,’ said Anya not looking at me. ‘You all looked so beautiful. You made a great job of your Mother’s vedding dress?’

  I smiled even though Anya wouldn’t see; she hadn’t looked up.

  ‘She looked amazing,’ she went on, trailing a finger down the breakfast menu.

  ‘Thank you, Anya. So did you. Well, as usual, I suppose. Really glamorous. You were the only one who didn’t seem to b
e bothered by the heat.’

  ‘You’d think the sun vould thaw me out vouldn’t you?’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Come off it, Madge.’ She pulled the menu from her face. ‘I know vot you think about me. You think I’m cold and heartless.’

  ‘I never said that.’ I’d raised my voice. The waitress bounced over and asked what we’d like to order. Anya grabbed her wrist.

  ‘Some of that cinnamon toast and any conserves you have.’ Anya’s eyes never left mine. The waitress turned to me.

  ‘Just coffee, please,’ I said.

  What seemed like half an hour passed by before either Anya or I uttered another word. For two people who would normally talk non-stop when they were in each other’s company, the silence was painful. The waitress placed a pot of coffee between us on the table.

  ‘Shall I pour?’ I asked. Anya nodded.

  I did so with a nervous hand, trying to summon up the right words. I put the coffee pot down and looked up at her.

  ‘Anya, I’m sorry. I’m really, just so incredibly sorry. I-I don’t know where to start. When you told me about the … the baby, I had a bit of a meltdown. It was a lot to take in.’

  ‘Vot do you mean? You act as if I am the only person in the vorld who ever had an abortion.’

  I looked over my shoulder at the neighbouring tables. ‘No, I know you’re not the only person,’ I said. ‘I just didn’t expect to hear you say it.’

  ‘Vye, Madge? I told you, there’s no room in my life for a baby. You know, you vere the only person I could tell that to and I didn’t think for one minute you’d react like that.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have done, I know.’ I put my head down. ‘It just caught me unawares. It just sounded so … I was worried you might regret it.’ I looked up at her. ‘People become pregnant by accident, sometimes and sometimes they want to keep it.’