Dastardly Deeds (3 page)

‘If you’re going to say my daughters, then I’ll stop you right there. They are
my
daughters too, and I’ve got every right to be here with them.’

‘You could have taken them on a holiday any time. Anywhere.’

Darcy opened his mouth to retort but must have thought better of it. Instead he turned to the bartender and ordered his drinks. I started to move away.

‘At least call off Petra.’

I gave him a disdainful look but didn’t bother answering.

Uncle Jim had finally arrived back at the divan with a chair. He looked a bit confused so I filled him in as I passed. Petra had moved away with Lew and Lyn so I left her drink on a low table. Enid was using her mobile phone to take photos and was receiving advice, or perhaps criticism, from Yen. I leant against the railing and sipped my drink. It really was the most beautiful view. The setting sun cast the water with ruby-tipped diamonds. Land could still be seen in the distance but so shadowy as to be almost a mirage.

I turned, wanting to share my delight at just being here. Petra and Lyn Russo had crossed to the other side of the upper deck with Lew a little farther away, talking on his phone. Ruby was taking photos of them all with what looked like a new, and rather fancy, camera. And standing apart, with their backs to me, were Darcy and Tessa. Even as I watched, he took a half-step towards her and then brought his hand up to her neck, massaging it lightly before running a finger lightly down from her hairline to the scoop of her T-shirt. I shivered instinctively. It was a favourite move of his; I remembered it well.

I dragged my eyes away before anyone noticed me staring. I felt ill. It wasn’t as if I didn’t
know
that they were intimate. Apart from anything else, there was a baby who looked very much like Scarlet, Ruby and Quinn had at her age. But for obvious reasons, I had never given it much thought. Never comprehended that of course he was the same with her as he had been with me, that his moves were transferable. No doubt he also nibbled on her ear, finished each long kiss with a gentle tug of the bottom lip, gave her a slow, post-orgasm smile as if he had just been given the greatest gift ever.

I drained my drink and then picked up Petra’s. My gaze flicked back but they had moved apart again. I suddenly knew, without doubt, that the touch on the neck was intended to be surreptitious. They had never meant me to see; in fact, had probably agreed to avoid any touchy-feelyness when I was around. That just made everything worse. I felt hollow, nauseous and lonesome. I was surrounded by music, laughter, joyousness, but I was alone. And a tad tipsy.
Australian columnist clambers over cruise ship railing and falls to her death. Nobody notices.

Suddenly, the next ten days stretched before me like a prison sentence. I had no idea how I was going to survive with my dignity intact. Perhaps this was how April had felt. Lowering my intake of welcome cocktails might be a step in the right direction, but this didn’t seem a good time to start. I took another sip. A more achievable objective was returning to my cabin before everybody regrouped. I could recalibrate, wallow. I felt washed with a mix of bitterness and self-pity. One thing was certain: if I discovered that
they
were in the next cabin to mine, and the walls were thin, I was leaving the ship as soon as possible. Via the gangway or via the railing, whatever it took.

Unbelievably, there was a volcano to the aft of the ship. Or perhaps the starboard. I never quite worked the two out. But there it was, short and squat but most definitely a volcano, smack dab in the middle of a kidney-shaped island. I opened my mouth to tell Quinn but then thought better of it. Instead I watched, fascinated, as we sailed smoothly past. Another island came into view, this one with houses nestled into the folds of a hill. I wondered about the people who lived there, entire families I would never meet, living complete lives.

Quinn sighed heavily and broke my reverie. I turned back to my laptop. It was mid-morning and I was trying to put together a column. Thus far I had a title – ‘What I did on my holidays’ – and was feeling quite chuffed with the school-day vibe. I planned on exploring the ironies of being forced to write such essays as a child against the eventual embracing of Facebook and the like, uploading holiday statuses even while in the midst of the holiday itself. Unfortunately, I hadn’t got much further than the title and the concept, but at least it was a start.

Quinn was lying on my bed, reading. Every so often she would sigh, lower her book and stare at the wall for a minute. It was rather annoying so I wasn’t about to reward her by asking what was wrong. But I didn’t feel in a good position to be overly critical about her teenage-y behaviour after my melodramatic reaction to Darcy and Tessa the evening before. I still experienced a twinge every time I replayed his finger trickling down her neck, but desensitisation was working wonders. The more times I replayed it, the less effect it had. I was chalking the initial nausea and self-pity down to excess alcohol.

I changed the font of my title on the laptop, and then changed it back. I was already having doubts about my idea. It seemed a bit lame. For motivation I logged on to Facebook and checked out the photos that my fellow passengers had posted. There were Lew and Deb at a little cafe in Rome, Lyn Russo at the port in Civitavecchia doing a duck face and a series of photos of the scenery from the ship. There was even, already, a photo of the volcano we had just passed, courtesy of Ruby. It looked like it had been taken from the pool deck.

I shared a few on my own feed. I could also see some of Darcy’s photos, where he had tagged one of the girls. We ourselves were not Facebook friends. I mused over the wisdom of leaving a comment or two, but decided that would make me look a bit needy. Instead I scrolled through the past few days, looking for interesting updates from actual friends. I had gone past the
most
interesting before I paused, frowning, and slowly backtracked. The photo was innocuous enough – a pile of suitcases with a podgy laptop bag balanced on top – but the status was from Ashley Armistead.
At the airport now and raring to go. As promised will post lots of pics.

This was the first time I had ever seen Ashley post anything at all. Lucy and Quinn had signed him on to Facebook about eighteen months ago, insisting that he had to be more connected. I could still see them sitting in my lounge room, laughing, dragging his details from him, taking a photo for his profile. They had penned his first status, something innocuous like
I’ve finally joined the twenty-first century!
, and as far as I knew, it had remained his
only
status. Until now.

‘Griffin thinks Ruby is cute,’ said Quinn.

‘That’s nice.’ I stared at the pile of suitcases. There were too many for a single person. And one of them was purple.

‘Thanks! Thanks a
lot
!’

‘What?’ I frowned at her.

‘Were you even listening to me? I said Griffin thinks Ruby is cute!’ She glared at me. ‘Oh, what
ever
. Like, you don’t care.’

I glanced at the suitcases once more, lingering on the purple one, which definitely looked feminine, before concentrating on my youngest daughter. ‘You’re upset because you think that means he fancies her.’

‘Well, duh.’

‘But
you
look like Ruby, just a few years younger. So if he
didn’t
think she was cute, then wouldn’t that be a problem?’

She considered this. ‘I suppose. But, like, how would you feel if … I don’t know, say
Dad
thought Auntie Petra was cute?’

I shrugged. ‘He does. It doesn’t mean they’re going to run off into the sunset together. Besides, your father is probably not the best example to use.’

‘Yeah.’ She grinned. Then her face fell again. ‘But he didn’t have to
say
it!’

‘You’re right. That was daft. But he’s sixteen, Quinn. Sixteen-year-old boys aren’t known for their emotional intelligence. Anyway, maybe he was admiring the woman you were going to become. Maybe it was more that he was calling
you
cute rather than Ruby.’

She stared at me, as if trying to decide whether to accept this waffle or not. Her phone pinged and then, a second later, pinged again. She looked at it and then jumped off the bed, her book sliding to the floor. ‘I’m going.’

‘Was that him?’

‘Yeah. He’s sorry.’ She flung a smile in my direction as she pulled the door open. ‘I’ll be up near the pool if you want me.’

I returned to the suitcases. There were four of them, two large, two small, and the laptop bag. The purple one had a sparkly tag shaped like a lemon. Several comments had been left beneath the posting but none that gave a clue regarding where Ashley and the suitcases were headed. A knot had formed in the pit of my stomach. Surely Lew would have told me if there was any crossover between his trip and ours. Surely that ship had sailed anyway. Literally.

Ashley Armistead and I had been an item, so to speak, for about six months. It had been a very pleasant six months, with a number of perks, including a trip to Norfolk Island, where none of the luggage had been purple. I had thought we were trundling along quite nicely, taking it slow, when Ashley suddenly decided he wanted more. The problem was that with my marriage not long dead, I simply didn’t have more to give. In the end we parted amicably. I had only seen him a few times since, mostly at Deb and Lew Taylor’s house as he was a good friend of theirs. The knot in my stomach tightened. I needed to find Lew.

Bodies were lined in deckchairs, plump flesh glistening in the mild sunlight. There was an energetic table tennis competition happening, the ball occasionally bouncing over towards the bar and being tossed back with a cheer. I could see Ruby and Quinn with a group around Ruby’s age on the upper deck but Lew was nowhere in sight. The only other people I recognised were the
Absolutely Fabulous
ensemble, ensconced in the smoking area with a tray of what looked like 
piña
 coladas.

I took the stairs down to level four and went through the casino, where a few people were glued to poker machines. Enid was one of them. Beyond was Cafe Stefano, with its deep armchairs and heady scent of coffee. I did a circuit and then headed upstairs one floor to the buffet. Lunch was in full swing, with the circular centre buffet surrounded by people carrying plates. I realised that I was feeling quite hungry. I lined up behind a large man wearing checked Bermuda shorts.

‘Nell!’ I heard someone call from behind me.

‘Deb!’ We hugged and I stood back to examine her. Her blonde hair was pulled into a messy bun and she looked tired. ‘I was so sorry to hear about your friend.’

She nodded. ‘Thanks for your message. I would have replied but …’

‘No problem. I just wanted to let you know we were thinking of you.’

‘Thanks. I mean that. Hey, are you getting lunch? Come and join us.’ She gestured over towards a section of tables. ‘You can meet my friends.’

I peered in the direction she was pointing, recalling my foray into French at the Colosseum and the spiky attitude of the slimmer man. ‘Oh no, I don’t want to intrude.’

‘You wouldn’t be. They’d love to meet you. I’m just getting cutlery and then I’ll meet you there.’

I watched her bustle off and then glanced back towards the tables. A wraparound window gave a stunning panoramic view of the sea. I couldn’t pinpoint Deb’s friends. There was a good chance that they wouldn’t recognise me anyway; it had only been a brief encounter and I had been wearing a hat. I shuffled along behind Bermuda man as I filled my plate with a varied selection.

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?’