I finally stop sobbing and turn off the water. After drying myself, I pull on my soft old T-shirt and cotton shorts I love to sleep in and look in the mirror. No trace remains of my crying, and I’m glad about that, as I don’t want Sheryl to notice. I come out of the bathroom and hop into bed. Reading my book helps me to become drowsy, and finally I slip away into oblivion. I wake in the night after a nightmare about Mum and Rosa struggling in the wake behind the boat, calling out to me, hands waving in the air, heads bobbing up and down in the water, almost drowning. That’s it for sleep for me for the remainder of the night. The purr of Sheryl’s sleep machine keeps me company as I stare into the dark.
Chapter Four: Day Three Ship
IN THE middle of the night I wake up. Something is different. After lying there for a while, I realize what it is. The ship has stopped moving! We’ve been constantly on the move since we set off from Fiji, but now there’s no motion, and no sounds of the ship’s deep inner creaks and groans. All is silent and still, and my ears are roaring with the quiet. Not being able to look out is so frustrating. I wonder whether we’ve just stopped in the middle of the ocean, or whether we’ve actually called into a port.
Sheryl rolls and mumbles in her sleep, then starts to wake up. She pulls her mask off her face, and with an annoyed grunt, throws it aside and levers herself upright in bed. I guess she’s getting up to go to the toilet.
I say, “Do you think that we’ve stopped?”
Sheryl sits and ponders for a moment.
“I think you’re right. It’s very eerie.”
“I wonder if they’re going to let us get off. If we’re in a port, that is.”
“That would be a dream come true. But I’m sure they would have told us to pack before we went to bed if that were the case. I wouldn’t get my hopes up.”
Sheryl staggers off to the toilet. When she comes out she says, “It’s funny walking without the ship’s movement under your feet. You almost feel like you’re still moving.”
“I’ve heard that when people get off after a long time at sea, they walk in a funny way, as if they’re still trying to get their balance.”
We chat for a while, and every now and again we wonder whether we hear a distant metallic clang or whether it’s just our imagination. It’s so frustrating being in our enclosed cell. After a long while we drift off to sleep once more. When we wake, the ship is moving again, the now familiar rise and fall of the bed underneath me almost comforting. We speculate whether the stillness was merely an illusion. But I’m positive we had stopped somewhere.
I wonder why.
It’s so strange spending my last day as a fifteen-year-old with a woman I didn’t know existed a week ago. But Sheryl is a comfort to me. She tells me stories of her long-ago youth to help pass the time. She remembers her and her twin sister’s sixteenth birthday and says they were given a pair of stockings each, with a seam up the back, which was the latest thing at that time. She tells me about how they used to have to hold stockings up with underwear things called suspender belts that had clips on them to secure the nylon—it all sounds so archaic and uncomfortable. I’m so glad we have tights—not that I often have to wear them. And I don’t really like the scratchy feel of them anyway.
Our only real relief during the long day is breakfast and lunch. As usual. It’s just so monotonous as the day drags on with no action, and not knowing what’s happening.
Finally the day draws to a close. Over dinner, there is some muttered, agitated talk among some of the men about trying to overcome our captors, but we don’t know whether they have guns or knives secreted somewhere, although we haven’t seen any. We know, though, that whatever we do, we’ll be outnumbered and could be overpowered, so it would be just dangerous and pointless, achieving nothing. We may even be put in a worse situation if we try anything. They’ve said they won’t harm us if we stay calm, and so far that’s proving to be true. It’s decided it’s best to be compliant for the time being, at least until we have more of an idea what on earth is going on. We don’t want to tip the balance over into the possibly perilous unknown.
I notice the apple girl looking at me from the other table, and I smile and look away again quickly. It feels strange holding her eyes for too long. They’re an amazing green, like sparkling dark emeralds. I’ve never felt strange looking at girls before….
I wonder whether she’ll go on the promenade walk tonight. I hope so.
Dinner over, I push Sheryl out to the deck for our evening walk. The group is the same as last night and the apple girl still doesn’t come with us. I wonder what’s going on with her. Doesn’t she like exercise? She looks quite fit, though. Something weird must be going on. You’d think she’d be busting to get out in the fresh air after being stuck inside all day and all night.
I look up at the moon and take comfort knowing that the same moon is floating above Mum and Rosa wherever they are, and Dad in Hobart too. The walk is over and we return to the cabin with nothing to look forward to except another long night of not knowing where we are or what’s going to happen to us. And today had been the last day Rosa and I would ever be fifteen, and I’d had to spend it without her….
Chapter Five: Day Four Ship
I WAKE up this morning to a very strange sensation. It’s my sixteenth birthday, so I’m supposed to be super-excited. Uber-excited even! This is the day we’d been planning toward when we booked our cruise. We were supposed to be spending today at the beach on another Fijian island. Mum told us she’d bought new bikinis for us to wear today. She’d said that it would be the one day when she wouldn’t harp about wearing our rashies to protect us from the sun, but she hoped we’d be sensible and smother ourselves in sunscreen (and reapply regularly, as she kept repeating, like she was stuck on a loop).
I lie in bed for a while, thinking. This is the first birthday I’ve ever spent without Rosa, and it almost physically hurts she isn’t here. I’ve never had a birthday without Mum either, and even Dad, as he always makes sure he sees us on our one special day of the year. Mum reckons Dad is always overgenerous with his gifts, implying that he’s trying to make up for not being around. But we know that it was Mum who asked Dad to leave, not the other way around, so he has nothing really to make up for. That’s the way I see it, anyway.
This year they’re both being extremely generous, giving us this trip. Dad told us he’d given Mum a “little extra something” to give us to open on the actual day. Now I am really intrigued. What had he got us? I know we would each get the same thing; he’s always like that—treating us equally.
I decide I’ll have to try and have as good a day as possible under the circumstances. It’s not every day that you turn sixteen, after all. I hop out of bed and select one of my favorite dresses to wear. It’s dark pink and floaty. I have my shower, wash and dry my hair, tug on underwear, and slip the dress on over my head. I’m still a bit shy in front of Sheryl and like to get dressed in the bathroom. She doesn’t care, though, and always changes in the main part of the cabin.
“You look nice,” says Sheryl when she sees me emerge from the tiny bathroom.
I twirl around to show off my dress. It feels soft and silky. A special dress to mark my special day. I’m planning to wear it to the party we have with our boyfriends and other friends when we get home too—but now of course I’m worried more about if than when. I grab up Rosa’s shell charm necklace I took from our cabin, put it around my neck, and tie up my hair with Mum’s scarf. At least I feel a bit of a connection to both of them now, even though I’m not with them. I wonder what Mum and Rosa could be doing today. Will they celebrate our birthday without me? It’s inconceivable to imagine.
While Sheryl is taking her shower, I remember our key that Lily let me keep. I’ve hidden it in my bedside table, in some tourist literature I found by the television. I get it out and finger it then, on a whim, tuck it into my bra. I’ve never told Sheryl about the key, as I don’t want her to be aware of something she’s probably better
off not knowing about. I’m wondering whether there’s the slightest chance of sneaking into our suite, as I really want to see my birthday presents. They’re probably in Mum’s suitcase, hidden in one of the pockets.
Sheryl knows it’s my birthday, and after we’ve had our breakfast, she tries to make the time pass for me. She’d been to a towel-folding demonstration earlier in the cruise and bought a book that shows you how to do it. Before the ship had been taken over, Lily always folded one of our bath or beach towels into an animal shape and put it in the center of the main bed for us to admire when we returned after a day out or after dinner. One day there was even a large monkey-shaped one she’d made out of two towels hanging from the rail in front of the shelf that protected the glasses from sliding off in heavy seas. She’d stuck large paper eyes on the shapes, which gave them character. I’d thought it was a bit silly, but quirky in a way too. I miss those little touches of Lily’s.
Sheryl convinces me it’s a good way to pass the time, so seeing as I’m pretty bored, I start to copy her movements. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, I try making an elephant, a monkey, a tortoise, and a dog. We make the eyes out of torn-up ship stationery, and I color in the pupils with a pen. They actually look quite cute, and we’re pleased with our handiwork. I look forward to the day I can show Mum and Rosa my new skill. But I’m starting to wonder when that will finally be.
Sheryl can see I’m feeling a bit wistful.
“You need some photos of you on your special birthday,” she says. “Have you got a camera?”
So she takes a few photos of me. Then she says something which really surprises me. “Let’s take a selfie.”
I didn’t know old people even knew what a selfie was. We huddle together holding up a couple of the towel animals. When I look at the photos later, I can’t believe how happy we look. You’d never know what uncertain circumstances we were really under at the time.
Lunch helps break up the monotony of the day. After lunch Sheryl and I lie on our beds to rest. After a while I take off my dress and hop into my pajamas. I hope the apple girl will think I look nice in my dress, and I don’t want it to get too crushed before wearing it to dinner tonight.
Sheryl drifts off. I’m not in the least bit tired, and I can feel the cabin key in my bra. I wonder if I’ll ever have a chance to use it. And today of all days—I really want my presents. The afternoon drags by. What a fizzer of a birthday.
Finally we’re called to dinner. Sheryl tells the others it’s my birthday, so they get a large slice of cake and put it in front of me. There are no candles, but one of the passengers lights a match and gets me to blow it out. Then I cut the piece of cake as they sing “Happy Birthday.” I notice the brown-haired girl staring at me. My stomach does that strange flip-flop again. I smile tentatively at her, and she grins broadly back. I notice a little gap between her front teeth.
Why am I noticing that?
But more than anything else, I really just feel like crying. I’ve never had “Happy Birthday” sung just for me. It’s always to both Rosa and me together. Everyone sings our names in a different order so the names always sound jumbled up, but that’s how we like it. Neither of us comes first.
Tonight my chance to slink into our old cabin presents itself. On our postdinner promenade deck walk—again the girl doesn’t join us—Sheryl is being pushed by one of the other passengers, Gavin, and I’m walking beside them, enjoying the break from pushing. As we’re passing a doorway to the interior, I notice the guard behind us stop to turn away and put his back to the wind so he can light a cigarette. I put my finger to my lips and mouth a shhh to Sheryl and Gavin. Their mouths drop open, but fortunately they say nothing. My face must be telling them to shut their traps. I pull at the door. It’s a heavy wooden door and the wind is buffeting against it, but I’m determined. I use two hands to yank it open, and slip through quickly, hoping the bang as it closes will be muffled by the sound of the roaring wind. I know I don’t have long, but I have my excuse ready. I’ll claim I feel seasick and am looking for a bathroom. It would be a fair enough excuse, as the seas are up and it’s pretty rough. Some of the other passengers complained they felt a bit queasy at dinner, so they were even more keen than usual to have a walk outside on the deck to get some fresh air.
I remember exactly where our old cabin is and run quickly down two flights of blue carpeted stairs to our suite level. I’m not going to hang around waiting for a lift and be sprung somewhere I’m not supposed to be. It seems only yesterday that Mum, Rosa, and I walked along this corridor, searching for our room and seeing Mum’s relief that we did indeed have a balcony. I find our cabin and, hands shaking, slip the key card into the slot. The green light pings on, I push open the door, and I’m in. I insert the key in the electricity slot and the main cabin lights come on.
Somebody’s been in our suite! Everything’s been tidied up, our bed is made, and Mum’s sofa bed is made up as if for two people. But there are also two more mattresses on the floor covered with bedding too.
Who’s sleeping in our suite?
It looks like six people are staying here now. But it’s so immaculate it looks as if no one’s been using the room at all. There are no personal items or luggage.
What’s going on?
Not one of Mum’s or Rosa’s things is to be seen either. I go into the bathroom and it’s the same deal there. All spotless as if ready for another group of passengers. A huge pile of clean, fluffy white towels lies on one end of the basin and more hang over the rails. There are enough towels for about twenty people. Many more than we had before. Weird. Back in the main part of the suite, I yank open the wardrobe doors and discover Mum’s and Rosa’s suitcases and hand luggage are neatly stacked inside. At least they haven’t been taken away or thrown overboard.
I quickly drag out Mum’s suitcase and unzip it in one long movement. There’s a mixed bundle of Rosa’s and her toiletries that have been thrown in willy-nilly. So that’s where they’ve gone.
I pick up some of Mum’s clothes and crush them into my face, trying to feel close to her. I can smell Mum. She always smells like that rose-scented bodywash she loves to use. I feel so near to her, yet so far apart, and have to hold back a sob. But I have no time to sit and think about Mum. I feel bad rifling through her things, but this is what I’ve come for, after all. In a pocket in the lid of her suitcase, behind her underwear, are four small gift-wrapped presents. There are no tags on them to say which are for me, and which for Rosa. I know immediately from past history they’ll be the same, so take two differently shaped packages. I push them into my knickers, one over each hip bone. Luckily my dress is swirly and not close-fitting. I zip Mum’s bag closed, push it back in and jam the wardrobe door shut.
I suddenly remember the safe. I didn’t think about the safe when I was told to pack up all my stuff the other day, but now I think it might be a good idea to take our passports with me to keep them together. I remember the sequence—Mum insisted we memorize it—and the safe door swings open easily. I stuff the three passports into my knickers, and then I see Mum’s mobile phone. Phone! I can ring Dad! I try to ring Dad’s number, but then I realize I don’t know the international dialing code for Australia. Maybe Sheryl can help me out.
So I slip the phone under my knicker elastic as well. I’m starting to feel quite fat. I close the safe, securing it with our special code, as there are a few more things like plane tickets and hotel booking details in there I think should stay secure, then whip the room key from its slot. The room immediately becomes dark, and I pull the door open and gaze up and down the corridor. No one in sight, so I tear up the corridor, up the two flights of steps, and peer through the window of the promenade deck door. All clear.
Fortunately the group has just walked past on their second rotation of the deck, and the guard has gone to the front. I resume my place at the back beside Sheryl. She gazes up at me but knows better than to say anything. I know she’ll wait until the privacy of our cabin to find out wh
at I’ve been up to. Gavin, who’s still pushing her and hasn’t handed her over to someone else, has enough brains to keep his mouth shut too. I’ve done it!
Back in our cabin, I go straight into the bathroom and lift up my dress to pull out the gifts, phone, and passports held firmly by my knicker elastic. I put the passports on the vanity unit, then sit down on the closed toilet lid and put my gifts in my lap. I open the soft package first, as I know that will be the bikini from Mum. If we were all together, she would have held the two identical packages behind her back and got us to choose which hand, so chances are I could have ended up with this one as much as the other that would be Rosa’s anyway.
It’s so pretty. I hold the bra top up by the straps, then pick up the bottoms and turn them back to front and back again to get a good look at them. I even turn them inside out. They’re reversible. Ever the practical mother, giving us each two bikinis in one. Covered in brightly colored tropical flowers and birds on the outside and plain green on the inside, the bikini would have looked absolutely fabulous on the beach in Fiji. I wonder what Rosa’s is like. I know it wouldn’t look exactly the same. Mum has never bought us identical clothes, even when we were young. She said she wanted us to develop different personalities and not be clones of each other. We’ve sort of mucked that up over the years by sharing, but her intention was still there when she bought us clothing.
I put the bikini in my lap and pick up Dad’s gift. It’s hard and small. Tearing off the paper reveals a little blue box. I open it up and gaze at what’s inside. A pair of mismatched earrings.
Dad… you want Rosa and me to decide which pair we prefer….
Jilda's Ark Page 3
