Fatal Choices

by Anne Morgellyn

  ‘You must never go where mummy and daddy can’t see you. You must never speak to strangers.’

  ‘I want my balloon.’

  I squinted at the promenade – I had left my sunglasses on the bench. There was no sign of the pirate balloon, it must have drifted into the dock.

  ‘I want my Game. I want my balloon.’

  ‘Shhh,’ I said. ‘We’ll get you another balloon. Big hug.’ He looked very hot, extenuated. I pressed him tight to my breast, never, never to let him go.

  ‘We’d best look for somewhere to stay for a couple of nights,’ Androssoff said. ‘There’s a hotel across the main road there, but it looks as though it might be noisy.’

  We went back into the boat terminal to ask for information. The desk was now closed, but the man on the door said that most of the hotels were in Sardiniero.

  ‘We could fly home,’ I said. ‘I think that’s the best thing.’

  ‘Nick needs to rest, and so do you, Louise. We can’t be hanging around at the airport. There might not even be a fucking airport. Let’s get something to drink.’

  ‘I want an ice-cream,’ Nicky said.

  ‘You’ve got to have a drink first.’

  I had left the bottles of water at the bench, with my scarf and sunglasses. My head was starting to ache.

  ‘Are you cross with me, Daddy?’ Nicky’s lip was trembling again.

  ‘You bet I’m cross.’

  ‘Chas, not now.’

  He carried Nicky across the road. The cafe was at the junction with the lights, its terrace shielded from the heavy traffic by a Perspex partition like the one on the ship. I thought of Joan and Jack informing the reception, the steward going into the commodore’s cabin and clearing out our things. The ship was going on to Cork tomorrow before it sailed back to Plymouth and out again to Santander.

  ‘Did you give him money for a balloon?’ I asked Androssoff.

  ‘I didn’t give him any money. He went to ask you to get him an ice-cream.’

  ‘The balloon man gave me a balloon,’ Nicky said.

  ‘Did he want you to go with him?’

  ‘It looked as though he was bringing him back to the ship.’ Androssoff said. ‘He was just some old guy.’

  ‘So why didn’t he come up to us and explain? He just disappeared.’

  ‘Is the balloon man in trouble, Daddy?’

  ‘You’re the one in trouble, mister. You are in deep shit for going off like that. You scared your mother.’

  ‘Chas, stop it,’ I said. I turned to Nicky, using my scold’s voice to show him I meant business. ‘Don’t you ever, ever go off with anyone again. I want you to promise me, and I want you to mean it. You must stay with me and daddy.’

  ‘Daddy said I could go and ask you for an ice-cream.’

  ‘Daddy should have come with you.’

  ‘Yes, I should,’ Androssoff conceded. ‘We’ll have to get him some reins.’

  The waiter came over. We ordered two beers and a large bottle of mineral water.’

  ‘I want lemonade,’ Nicky said.

  ‘You must drink some water.’

  ‘I’ll go in and see if they’ve got any chocolate and snacks.’

  The cafe offered only leathery-looking sliced tortillas and curled-up ham rolls. The restaurants would be shut now until evening. I knew that people ate very late in Spain.

  ‘Where are we going to sleep?’ Nicky asked. ‘When will the ship come back?’

  ‘Not until Thursday.’

  ‘I want my Game.’

  ‘It’ll be safe on the ship. You’ll get it back.’

  ‘Can we sleep in a tent tonight, daddy?’

  ‘I don’t think so, Nick. Your mother’s had a shock. Her idea of camping is a three-star hotel.’

  19

  We ended up in a five-star, a stone’s throw from the summer palace. It was the only place with vacancies, according to the woman in the central tourist office, unless we were prepared to look for a ‘no-stars’ by ourselves, and we were too exhausted to do that. We told her to make the reservation and she called a taxi to take us to the hotel.

  It was an opulent nineteenth century pile surrounded by gardens and palm trees. While Androssoff completed the formalities, Nicky and I sat in the lobby on a couple of large gilt armchairs with lions’ feet. They reminded me of Rodolfo’s salon in Geneva. I felt sweaty and dirty and out of place. An enlarged photograph behind the desk boasted of a recent illustrious guest, the Prince of the Asturias, heir to the Spanish throne, who had stayed for some sporting occasion. The concierge raised an eyebrow when Androssoff said we had no luggage.

  ‘We left it on the ship. There was an emergency.’

  There was a nervous pause while the Amex card was authorised.

  ‘I can send someone into the city if you need anything, Doctor Androssoff. Your room will be ready soon. The maid will make the bed up for the niño.’

  ‘Can we get something to eat now?’

  ‘Certainly, señor. You can get a snack at the bar. The restaurant opens at nine o’clock.’ He snapped his fingers. A porter appeared mysteriously, as porters do in grand hotels. ‘Please follow my colleague.’

  The porter led us to a wide marble terrace with cushioned wicker chairs and sofas. We sat by the balustrade, overlooking a rose garden. The bay was beyond in the distance, glimpsed through the palm trees. Our ship would be out in the Atlantic now. Maybe someone else was in the commodore’s cabin, making themselves a cup of tea, as I had done yesterday afternoon, and allowing themselves to slide into a carefree holiday mood. What a difference a day makes – whoever said that had known about twists of fate.

  We were very hungry and soon worked our way through the club sandwiches which the barman brought out to us. Androssoff had another beer but Nicky and I stuck to mineral water. The terrace was partitioned off for a wedding reception, the guests drinking champagne and eating slices of an enormous ham, carved off the bone by waiters in long, starched aprons. I was ashamed of how we must look to these elegant people.

  ‘You should call Stasia to let her know what’s happened.’ I told Androssoff.

  ‘I’ll call her in the morning. She’s not expecting us till then. Look at him, he’s enjoying that.’

  We gazed at Nicky, still picking at the crisps and salad that had come with his sandwich. No menu-enfants here.

  ‘I never want to go through that again,’ I said.

  ‘He’s fine, Louise. Wait till he’s fifteen.’

  The porter came back and told us our room was ready. We rode the lift with him to the fourth floor. The room was spacious, although it faced the front drive and had no balcony. The furniture was antique and the huge bathroom was reached across a small vestibule with a parquet floor. The fittings were in rose marble and there was a telephone next to the loo, Nicky picked up the receiver.

  ‘Put that down or the concierge will come,’ I said.

  ‘Who’s the conchurge?’

  ‘A very important person. Come on, let’s use some of this nice bubble bath. It’s nearly bedtime. Why don’t you go and have another drink?’ I said to Androssoff.

  ‘That’s not a bad idea. You’re sure you don’t mind?’

  ‘No, you go ahead. Go and eat if dinner if you want to. It won’t be long till they open the restaurant. I don’t want anything else tonight.’

  I was in bed when he came back. He switched the television on.

  ‘Turn that down – can’t you see Nicky’s asleep?’

  ‘He’s spark-out.’ He sprawled on the bed beside me, switching from the Spanish channels to a German one, then a French one, then an Italian; when he hit Sky, he switched off. ‘It’s all bad news about the economy anyway. There are cuts in the pipeline at the hospital, big cuts.’

  ‘You’re all right though, aren’t you?’

  ‘Oh I’m all right. I’ve got Lord Stockyard looking out for me.’

  ‘Lord Stockyard?’

  ‘Yes, he got a peerage. Services to British b
usiness.’

  ‘Services rendered, you mean. Services to the Right.’

  ‘He does his bit for charity too. More than a bit.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to take a shower?’ I asked.

  ‘I think I’ll take a bath. You could keep me company if you like.’

  ‘Are you serious, after the day we’ve just had?’

  ‘I would have thought a nice relaxing bath would help your nerves. But you don’t think that way, do you, Louise? You’re always looking for another cross to bear. Be thankful that it all turned out OK. Rejoice.’

  I knew I wouldn’t sleep. The day’s events had pumped me full of adrenaline.

  I pushed the heavy bathroom door, blinking in the light reflected off the mirrors. Androssoff lay in the bath, covered in bubbles. He had folded a towel under his head and closed his eyes; but he wasn’t asleep.

  ‘Come on in, Louise, the water’s lovely. You must be steaming in that robe.’

  I had rinsed out my bra and pants and Nicky’s T-shirt and draped them over the heated towel rail. Androssoff’s boxer shorts were on the floor. If I rinsed them out too, he would have nothing to wear in bed. I sat on the stool and looked at him.

  ‘Chas,’ I said. ‘You remember Drew Joffey, the concert at Montreux?’

  The water rippled. His eyes were still shut.

  ‘You know. Our car, the concert in Montreux. I saw him the day before I came to London. I gave him some money.’

  He sat up then, his blue eyes celestial in the lights. ‘You gave him money?’

  ‘Five hundred euros. It was my money, from the Women’s Project.’

  ‘Why the hell did you do that?’

  ‘He came to the villa. He was on his way to Paris, looking for work. He needed something to tide him over.’ At least I had made a clean breast of it. I had forestalled Rodolfo.

  He climbed out of the bath and tore the plastic cover from the other bathrobe. ‘He came to the apartment?’

  ‘Nicky wasn’t there. He was with you.’

  ‘Is something going on with you and this guy?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘I mean revenge tactics, paying me back for Naomi.’

  ‘No. I was interested in his experience with the clinic. You know I’m following the enquiry.’

  ‘I don’t see what that has to do with entertaining him in our apartment, giving him money. He’ll probably be back for more.’

  ‘I don’t think so. I don’t know.’ He was standing there in the white robe like some avenging angel. ‘Chas,’ I said. ‘Where do we go from here?

  He put the toilet lid down and parked himself. I had a sudden urge to laugh, but contained myself. It was such an absurd position from which to address our problems.

  ‘I’ve been thinking too, you know,’ he said. ‘I know you’ve got your little job and those dyke friends and Rodolfo, but you’d both be better off with me in London. Nick likes Primrose Hill and there are good schools in the area, right on the doorstep.’

  ‘It’s not about where we live, is it? It’s you and me. We’re not going anywhere.’

  ‘If this is about Naomi, I think I’ve said all I can say about that singular aberration. I can’t even remember what she looks like now. In our very brief and very regrettable encounter, I was thinking about you. All the time. About you, Louise.’

  ‘Am I supposed to be flattered by that? We’ve been going down the pan for years.’ At that involuntary slip, I burst out laughing.

  ‘What’s funny?’

  ‘It’s you,’ I spluttered. ‘You look so solemn sitting there. El penseroso ...’ I doubled up.

  ‘You’re hysterical.’ He sat there, looking at me. When I stopped, he said: ‘I think you should get out of Geneva and come to live in London.’

  ‘Does that address the question about where we’re going?’

  ‘I could say you’ve not had time for me. Having a baby doesn’t mean you have to put on a chastity belt.’

  ‘You certainly didn’t. I’m sorry, it’s you, in that robe, on ...’ I doubled up.

  He rose from his seat, looming over me as I sat on the stool, my arms clutching my stomach.

  ‘I should never have let it get this far. You’re right, I saw how it was going. We should have talked about it before, like grownups.’

  ‘You were never there to talk. I so miss Buz.’ The thought of him wiped the smile from my face. And Drew, busking in the Paris metro to put a roof over his head.

  ‘This is why we should all live together in London.’

  ‘Buz left Nicky a legacy to study in Switzerland.’

  ‘Forget Buz. That’s just bullshit. You can’t dictate from beyond the grave how a five year old kid should lead his life. If you feel bad about the legacy, give it up. Give it to the trafficked women’s project. You’re not settled in Geneva. You’re getting obsessive again, that fucking clinic, this Drew. He must have taken one look at you and thought, she’s easy pickings. She’s a plumb sucker for a sob story ...’

  ‘Shhh – I think Nicky’s awake.’

  ‘Daddy, Mummy.’

  Androssoff pulled me to my feet. ‘I think that tells you all you need to know.’

  20

  The breakfast was everything we could have expected from a grand hotel frequented by Spanish royalty. As well as the usual fruit and cereal, croissants and churros, there were freshly cooked tortillas and slices of prime Serrano ham, a speciality of the region. Androssoff ate an embarrassing amount but I was pleased when Nicky asked if he could go and get himself another banana and yoghurt. The breakfast room doors opened directly onto the rose garden. We strolled about there after we had eaten and I noticed a low-roofed building beyond the garden wall.

  ‘That’s the spa,’ Androssoff said. ‘Why don’t you go and chill out in there this morning while I take Nick to the museum of pre-history?’

  ‘I haven’t got any clothes.’

  ‘You don’t need clothes in a spa.’

  ‘We need to go into the city to get some fresh things, just a couple of T-shirts for Nicky and a change for me. You could do with a shirt as well.’

  ‘We’ll be leaving tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘OK, let me put it another way: you can’t wear that T-shirt for another day. You can’t sit out on the terrace looking like that.’

  Nicky ran up. ‘What’s the matter, Mummy?’

  ‘I’m saying to your daddy that we need to buy a change of clothes. We’ll catch the bus into Santander.’

  ‘The hotel can send out for us. They can launder your dress while you go to the spa.’ He looked at Nick: ‘Want to check out some cave paintings? Not quite dinosaur time, but near enough.’

  ‘Can I trust you to hold his hand?’

  ‘If he lets go of my hand, he’s going in reins. You got that, Nick?’

  ‘Can I ride on your shoulders, Dad?’

  ‘You’re a big guy now. You’re nearly six. We’ll see how far we get.’

  ‘We’ll catch the bus together,’ I said. ‘You can get off at the museum. I’ll meet you back here at one o’clock. If you’re not here, I’ll call the police.’

  ‘Oh for Christ’s sake, Louise.’

  ‘I mean it, Chas. Watch him.’

  I bought a couple of T-shirts for Nicky, a shirt and T-shirt for Androssoff, and boxer shorts for them both. For myself, I got a strappy dress, a nightdress, knickers and a bra. I also bought a large beach bag to carry the clothes in when we returned to the ship. When Androssoff and Nicky came back, I was sitting out on the terrace in my new things.

  ‘You look nice and fresh, Louise,’ Androssoff said. ‘If I’m taking Nick to the beach, we might as well stay as we are. Let’s get another club sandwich.’

  I glanced at the men in linen jackets who had saluted me when I came out onto the terrace, then back at my son and his father.

  ‘What?’ Androssoff said. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘You two. The state of you.’ I started chuckling.

  I wen
t to the spa for an hour, although it was a bit too much about the body beautiful for my liking. My legs and armpits needed shaving and I was too embarrassed to go for a massage. There was waxing on offer, of course, including the Brazilian, but I couldn’t bear the thought of it. I took off my dress, wrapped the towel around me and went to sit in the steam room, although it must have been eighty degrees or more outdoors. There were a couple of others in there, a man and a woman, speaking English. What was the etiquette in here, I wondered? Speak up or hold your peace? I didn’t think it was peaceful. I felt uncomfortable in just my towel but since the bench was baking hot, I’d have felt even more uncomfortable without it. The woman opposite was naked. I could just make out her nipples through the steam.

  ‘By heck it’s hot.’ The man stood up. I was glad to see he was wearing trunks. ‘I’ll see you in the jacuzzi.’

  Only the British, I thought, could sit in a jacuzzi in Spain in the middle of August. I lived in Switzerland now. What was I doing here?

  I clutched the towel to my breast and went to the plunge.

  The journey back to Plymouth was a nightmare. We presented our tickets at the boat terminal but were told we had to pay again for the return passage because we had missed our booked crossing. When Androssoff complained, the check-in man responded with a shrug and told us to claim on our insurance. We were given an inside cabin above the car deck – nasty, cramped and stuffy. All the outside cabins, even the stratospherically expensive commodore class, were fully booked. The only alternative was the couchettes, those ridiculous seats that are meant for sleepers but don’t recline properly. The last time I booked a couchette, on the night ferry to Calais in the days before the Channel Tunnel, the woman next to me threw up all over my new sheepskin coat.

  Half an hour into the Bay of Biscay there was a sudden swell and Nicky was very sick. I got him some little blue pills from the ship’s reception, but his only consolation was his Game-Boy which the company had stored for him, together with our bags. He was too sick to play so he just held it tightly like Firefighter Ted, the bear he had abandoned in Geneva.