Fatal Choices

by Anne Morgellyn

  ‘I’ve had a brilliant idea,’ Androssoff announced. ‘We’re going on the ship to Spain.’

  ‘Spain?’ I gasped. ‘We’re meant to be staying with your sister.’

  ‘I want to go on the ship. Mummy, we’re going on a ship.’

  ‘OK then, here’s the plan. Sit down, Louise. I’m giving out the plan.’

  We sat together on the unmade sofa bed. The flat needed a thorough cleaning, but I hadn’t come on holiday to clean Androssoff’s holiday home. He put one arm around my shoulders, the other round Nicky. He looked royally pleased with himself.

  ‘I’ve just booked tickets for a mini-cruise to Santander. We sail this afternoon from Plymouth. We get two nights on board, there and back, and we’ve got a few hours ashore in the port. It’s a very nice city – I’ve been before, with the bike. I hope you’ve got your passport, Louise. I’ve got mine and Nicky’s.’

  I always kept mine in my handbag, a habit that came from living abroad.

  ‘What about Stasia?’

  ‘She’s got her guests.’

  ‘But you haven’t talked to her yet. You can come to breakfast with us. She’ll have finished the guests’ breakfasts now.’

  ‘I’m not eating left-over porridge. We’ll get something in Plymouth. There’s still some flapjacks in the car.’

  Nicky was wild with anticipation. ‘I want to go on the ship now. We won’t miss the ship, will we, Dad?’

  ‘It leaves at three o’clock.’ Androssoff showed him his watch. ‘It’ll be time to sail when the little hand is on three and the big one is on twelve. What time is it now?’

  ‘The little hand is on ten.’

  ‘Very good, and the big hand is on twenty five, which means it’s ten twenty five. He learns fast.’

  ‘Well done, sweetheart.’ I had tried to teach Nicky how to tell the time, but it was too early and he got bored with it.

  ‘Come on then. Get your backsides in gear. I’ll go and demolish that tent.’

  It was a forty minute drive to Plymouth, but Nicky didn’t complain of sickness once. I was hoping he wouldn’t be sick on the ferry to Santander. He was getting more and more excited as Androssoff told us about its flagship credentials: a helicopter deck, a cinema, a swimming pool, three restaurants, a bar and a row of shops.

  ‘Sit still, Nicky,’ I said. ‘You’ll burst that booster seat, and it doesn’t belong to us.

  ‘I can’t see out of the mirror when you jump up, Nick.’

  ‘When will we get there? I want to go on the ship.’

  We had an hour to kill before we needed to check in as foot passengers so we drove up to the Hoe to show him the old lighthouse, Smeaton’s Tower. Androssoff took him up to the top while I sat on a bench outside, looking across at the burnt-out hotel where Chas and I – he was Chas to me then – had first made love. I had been dead to my feelings for years, but on that day he made me come alive. It was glorious, the sea a sequence of blue and turquoise, just like it was today, although we’d drawn the hotel curtains on it back then. I would have given anything to have that time again. I would even have moved back to London if I knew I could regain that moment there. But I was blocked. I’d been blocked ever since I had Nicky and was stuck in Wellington with him on my own. I was starting to unblock a bit when we moved to Geneva, but then Naomi came along to stop me up for good. I tried to focus on the present hour. This holiday, with the three of us together, was going much better than I’d expected, but I was keeping my expectations very low.

  As we were waiting to board the ship, Nicky pointed out a long line of motorbikes inching up the ramp into the hold.

  ‘It’s the Hogs,’ Androssoff said. He meant the Harley-D Owners’ Group. ‘They’ll be on the summer run to Barcelona. Lucky buggers.’

  ‘Maybe they don’t have young families,’ I said. ‘No responsibilities. Some of them look like granddads.’

  ‘When you’re a bit older, Nick, I’ll take you for a ride-out.’

  I hoped that time would never come.

  The only cabin left for such a late booking was a commodore’s cabin – the company’s name for a first class berth. It was up on deck 9, the highest of the passenger decks, well away from the rollers beneath and the bar and nightclub at the opposite end of the ship. There was a large window, opening onto a small balcony, fenced off, I was relieved to see, by a tough transparent panel. There were two large single beds, a table and two lounge chairs, and a seat that would convert into a bunk for Nicky. There was also a flat-screen television and plenty of space for him to spread out his things. I was grateful for that because I had feared he would soon get bored on the eighteen hour crossing, although we’d be in bed for half of it. In the meantime, there were plenty of places to explore on board. Androssoff said he would take Nicky up to see the helicopter pad while I joined the queue for the silver service restaurant on the deck below ours, which started taking reservations as soon as the ship left the dock.

  ‘It’s best you do it,’ he told me. ‘You can speak to them in French. Try to get a table right in the stern. There’s a panoramic window.’

  ‘Wouldn’t Nicky be better in the self-service?’

  ‘I don’t want chips and stuff. The buffet is much better in the restaurant. If you get a table by the window, he can look out for dolphins. We might even pass the tall ships while we’re eating.’

  ‘What are the tall ships, Dad? Why are they tall?’

  ‘You’ll see for yourself when we’re out at sea. By the window, in the stern, Louise.’

  I waited in the line for over twenty minutes while they were off exploring. I thought of coming back later, but the queue behind me just got bigger and bigger. People in front of me came away triumphant, clutching their reservation slips. I doubted the restaurant could be that good, so it must have been the price – eighteen euros for a buffet gastronomique with several courses, that pulled in all these gourmands. At last I reached the desk, spoke French, as per instructions, and got a window table in the stern for seven o’clock. Back in the luxury cabin, I hung my summer jacket in the closet and made myself a cup of tea. There was a china teapot with the ship’s name on it and a packet of complementary short-breads.

  I could get used to this, I thought, as I sat in one of the armchairs and looked out to sea. The window revealed a flotilla of sailing yachts, but no tall ships. We were heading out to the Bay of Biscay where there would be cross-currents. I wondered if I should go and buy Nicky some anti-sickness bands. Androssoff could go and look for those.

  A steward came by to take our order for breakfast. He would bring it to the cabin an hour before we docked. I chose the breakfast anglais for Androssoff and me. Nicky would probably have some cereal, toast and a piece of my bacon – he didn’t like eggs in any fashion. I ordered poached for me and scrambled for Androssoff. It would set us up for the trip ashore.

  They came back an hour later with a Game-Boy for Nicky and a gift for me, wrapped up in tissue paper with a blue and white striped ribbon and a little seal.

  ‘I liked the green one but Dad said you’d like this one,’ Nicky said.

  It was a necklace of lapis lazuli beads on a sterling silver chain. It looked chic and expensive. ‘I love it,’ I told Androssoff. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Did you get the table?’

  ‘Yes.’

  There was a splendid buffet of hors-d’oeuvres: salads, charcuterie, and sea-food, all of which looked very tempting. A waiter came over to take orders for the main course, handing Nicky a children’s menu offering goujons de poulet, pizza, hamburger, frites, all illustrated in bright colour photos. I couldn’t stand this sort of food apartheid, conditioning children to eat junk food. I was surprised to see it action in a silver service restaurant on a French ship.

  ‘Il mangera comme nous,’ I told the waiter. ‘Nous partageons.’

  ‘Ca ne marche pas comme ca, madame. Vous avez le choix – trois buffets, ou bien deux buffets et un menu-enfants.’

  ‘Vous ne pouvez p
as nous apporter une assistette de plus?’

  ‘Mais ca ne marche pas comme ca, je vous dis ...’

  ‘Mon fils a cinq ans, il mange tres peu.’

  At last he agreed to bring an extra plate for Nicky, but warned that he would be watching us.

  ‘You stood your ground there, Louise,’ Androssoff said. ‘I’m proud of you.’ He pointed to the ocean. ‘Look Nick. Tall ships.’

  Nicky got down from his chair to have a closer look. A voile curtain covered the panoramic window and he dived underneath it. I got up, but Androssoff told me to leave him.

  ‘He isn’t doing any harm. He’s enjoying himself.’

  ‘You watch him, then. I’m going to the buffet.’

  I chose a selection of ham and salads which I knew would appeal to Nicky, then returned to get some seafood for myself. There were langoustines and crabs and shrimps and an enormous poached salmon, which couldn’t have come from the sea but made up the numbers all the same. The wine had arrived when I got back to the table and I was really starting to enjoy myself. In fact, I was feeling so relaxed, I didn’t feel like making the slightest objection when Androssoff said he thought he’d go and have a pint at the bar while I put Nicky to bed. We had all eaten well and since we were not charged for the extra cover, I left a tip of ten euros. Before I took Nicky back to the cabin, we walked for a little on deck and saw the full moon rising above the ocean. There was no swell. The night was clear and starry. We climbed up as far as we could go to watch the dog-owners take their pets back to the kennels, which were in a row below the bridge. Nicky asked if we could get a dog. I breathed the sea air and fingered my new necklace, colour of the darkening sky. On a night like this, I could refuse him nothing. He had forgotten the guinea pigs, Boo and Poo. Wellington had receded for me too. My abiding memory of New Zealand was Buz in the garden, searching the acacia bushes for lost balls.

  18

  The ship was due to dock at eight-thirty the following morning. We ate up our breakfast and went to join the queue for disembarking foot passengers. Since we were returning on the afternoon sailing, we left our things in the cabin. We stood by the rail and had a close view of the city before we berthed. Nicky was thrilled to have his passport stamped by Spanish border officers.

  At the doors of the immigration hall, clusters of hawkers thrust flyers at us, advertising discount tobacco and wine shops. Androssoff batted them away like flies. It promised to be a very hot day, but since the port was in the centre of the city and I wanted to see the markets, we went there first. Nicky was enthralled by all the different produce on offer, especially the spider crabs and glistening sea urchins. We needed to be back at the dock by one o’clock – the ship sailed at two – so Androssoff suggested we stroll along the corniche towards the resort quarter of Sardiniero where there was a royal palace and a sea park with marine mammals. We would pass the aquarium and the museum of prehistory on the way, and there were plenty of buses if we got tired.

  ‘Did you plan all this?’ I asked.

  ‘I told you, I’ve been along here before with the HOGs. I caught up with a couple of them in the bar last night.’

  ‘I should have guessed.’ I glanced at Nicky’s happy face. He was taking it all in.

  ‘It’s a good plan anyway,’ I said. ‘It was a really nice surprise.’

  At the sea park, I left Nicky with Androssoff while I went to get some bottled water from a nearby kiosk. When I got back, Nicky wasn’t with his father on the bench. Androssoff said he had run over to me to ask for an ice-cream.

  ‘He isn’t with me,’ I said obviously. ‘I didn’t see him.’

  ‘Maybe he crossed you on the way and didn’t notice you. I bet he’s gone to look at the sea lions. I’ll go and get him.’

  Dazed, but not yet alarmed, I sat on the bench, squinting over at the craggy ridges of the enclosure. The sun was very hot. I hoped that Nicky had kept his hat on.

  Androssoff was gone about ten minutes; he came back alone.

  ‘There’s no sign of him over there,’ he said. ‘I went to the kiosk as well, but they weren’t helpful.’

  My stomach churned. ‘Where is he? Where can he have gone?’

  ‘Don’t start panicking, Louise. He won’t be far away.’

  ‘But where is he? You were supposed to be watching him.’

  ‘I sent him over to you.’

  ‘You should have watched him. You shouldn’t have taken your eyes off him.’

  ‘He might have gone down to the beach. He wanted to. There are steps beyond the sea lion pit. Stay here in case he comes back.’

  ‘What if he’s gone back to the road?’

  ‘I don’t think he’d do that. He knows he shouldn’t cross roads on his own.’

  ‘He’s five years old, he has no sense of orientation. You should have been watching.’

  ‘I was watching. I watched him run towards the kiosk.’

  ‘You can’t have been. What happened? Did some slapper in a mini skirt pass by and you checked her out instead of watching your son?’

  ‘I’ll look for him now if you let me.’

  ‘I’ll look too.’

  I got up and shouted, “Nicky, Nicky!” I went to the kiosk and shouted. I looked all around the marine park, shouting his name as I went. People looked curiously at me. A British couple stopped and asked if I was OK.

  ‘Have you seen a little boy?’ I cried. ‘He’s got a pale blue hat. He’s five years old.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Did you see him, Jack?’ The woman was a well-padded Northerner with sunburned shoulders. I thought I’d seen her on the ship, waiting in the reservations queue for the restaurant. Our last supper.

  ‘What’s his name?’ her husband asked.

  ‘Nicky.’

  ‘Nick-ee, Nick-ee,’ they shouted. We all shouted, over and over. Eventually, a couple of police officers came up to us. Neither spoke much English, but a couple of young men in surf shorts approached and offered to translate. One of the officers got out his radio.

  Androssoff came up. He looked red and worried now. He said there was no sign of Nicky on the beach.

  ‘Maybe he went in the sea. Oh God,’ I wailed. The woman put her arms around me, flabby, soft, comforting arms, smelling of sun lotion.

  The police asked to see our passports. I also had a photo of Nicky in my purse which I handed over.

  The helpful couple were checking their watches. ‘We’ll have to be getting back, Joan. The boat goes at two.’

  ‘I don’t think we’ll be catching it,’ Androssoff said.

  ‘Have you left your anything on board?’ the woman asked me.

  ‘Just night things and a hold-all. He’ll want his Game-Boy ...’

  ‘Never mind about that, Louise. I think you should sit somewhere in the shade while I carry on searching. The police are onto it now. They’ll find him.’

  The officer was still talking into his phone.

  Androssoff turned to Joan. ‘Perhaps you’d let the ship’s reception know we probably won’t be returning to Plymouth today? We’re under this name.’ He took out his wallet and gave her his card.

  ‘I hope he turns up soon, love,’ she said to me. ‘You need eyes in the back of your head with kids. I’ve got three.’

  ‘Come on, love, it’s quarter to one already and we’ve got to get through that security malarkey.’

  Androssoff was trying to conduct me to a bench under some palm trees. I pushed him away.

  ‘You should have watched him. You shouldn’t have taken your eyes off him, not even for a second.’

  ‘Stay cool, seňora.’ The boys in the shorts were still there. ‘We’ll check the play place.’ They pointed to a distant spot on the other end of the beach. Surely Nicky couldn’t have got that far. He wouldn’t have gone that far. He could see how far it was from the sea lions.

  A bright thought occurred to me, a ray of hope: ‘Perhaps he’s gone back to the ship,’ I said. ‘It’s a pretty fair way but it’s straight al
ong the promenade. He remember it I think.’

  ‘If he’s heading that way, he won’t have got far,’ Androssoff said.

  The police said they would take us in their patrol car. We drove slowly back along the corniche, but there was no sign of Nicky on the promenade. There were a lot of people walking and other obstacles, like kiosks and ice-cream stalls, obscuring the view. The officer in the front passenger seat put out another call. At last we came to the port, where cars, coaches and a different group of motorbikes were already processing into the open hold. There was no sign of Nicky in the immigration hall and the people on passport control assured us that no unaccompanied child had passed them by.

  ‘Where is he?’ I wailed. Androssoff got his arms round me this time. I was not to be consoled. I only wanted to hold my son, and he was lost. The ship’s siren gave a final blast and then the great vessel slipped anchor and shifted away from the quay. I turned away desperate and desolate, my whole being aching for my child.

  And then I saw him on the promenade. He was holding the hand of an elderly man in a pirate hat; in his other hand, he held the string of a black balloon with a skull staring up at the sky. When he saw the ship was leaving, he dropped the balloon and ran towards the quay.

  We both started running towards him. Androssoff got there first and scooped him up. I cleaved to them both. We were all in tears. I had never seen tears in Androssoff’s eyes, not even when Nicky was born.

  Our police escort touched their strange headgear and left us to it. I looked around for the man in the pirate hat, but he had gone.

  All we could get out of Nicky was that he wanted his Game-Boy.

  ‘Who was that man?’ I asked. ‘You know you shouldn’t talk to strangers.’

  ‘He gave me a balloon. I want my balloon.’ He smeared his hand across his nose and started crying again. Androssoff put him down but held him firmly by the shoulders. I crouched in front of him.