Day Four (14 page)

‘Yes. They needed to talk to Trining. It must have been a shock. You are fine to work today?’

Althea considered saying that no, she was not fine to work, but what else was she going to do? The only other option was to sit in her cabin or the mess canteen and obsess about the boy while they waited for the engineers to fix the problem or for Foveros to send a rescue boat. She felt a twinge in her lower belly. A swift, sharp pain. A reminder of what else she had to worry about. ‘I can work.’

‘Good.’ A small smile. It struck Althea that she had never seen Maria smiling before. ‘You are the best I have on my team.’

Althea blinked, surprised at the thrill of pride she felt at this unexpected compliment. ‘Thank you, Maria.’

‘You should know. Trining will have to go. She will be taken straight to the airport when we return to port.’

‘But . . . she is a good worker,’ Althea said, as she knew was expected of her, although she couldn’t care less if Trining was fired. That stupid
puta
should have been the one to find the girl, not Althea. Sure, she would miss the extra cash Trining paid her for picking up her slack, but there were plenty of ways to make extra money – Althea wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. ‘You have told her?’

‘No. But soon. And there is something else. Several of the vacuum pumps that work the sanitary system are malfunctioning.’

‘Which areas?’

‘Issues have been reported in most of the public restrooms and the staterooms mid and aft of the ship.’

‘Not the VIP section?’

‘Not as far as I know. But your guests will have to be informed. There will be an announcement shortly. I have already briefed the others. You know the procedure.’

Althea did. She and the other stewards would be sent to hand out waste bags to the passengers, which would add another layer of misery to her day. She’d dealt with a situation like this a month into her last contract, when a propulsion issue disabled the sanitation system and resulted in the stranding of the ship in Cozumel for several days. But in that instance there were no passengers to deal with; they were all disembarked while the problem was addressed. Althea toyed with telling Maria that she couldn’t work, after all. Then again if she proved herself to be reliable, the chances of getting that promotion might increase.
You are the best I have on my team
. ‘Maria . . . do you know when help will arrive?’

‘No. I have not been informed.’

Althea was certain Maria knew more than she was letting on. Paulo, one of the crew stewards, had told her he’d seen Maria slipping into the second officer’s cabin on more than one occasion. ‘The passengers will want to know.’

‘Tell them that there will be an announcement as soon as we know more.’

Althea doubted that would cut it. It was nearly midday, four hours past the time they were due to dock in Miami. ‘Should I go to Security first?’ Althea wasn’t sure which was less appealing: being interrogated by the Indian mafia or facing the wrath of the passengers when they learned they would have to do their business in plastic bags.

‘No. Make sure your guests are comfortable first before you go to Security. I will tell them that you will go there when you have finished your shift.’

‘Thank you, Maria. May I please go to the mess hall first and have something to eat?’ Althea wasn’t hungry – the twinge she felt in her belly wasn’t from lack of food – but she wanted to regroup before she faced the day.

‘Yes. But hurry. And Althea . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘If . . . if things get worse, I can count on you, can’t I?’

Who was this new Maria? Althea struggled to imagine how things could get worse. Surely it wouldn’t be long before Foveros swung into action and sent a support crew. ‘Of course.’

She left the housekeeping office, narrowly avoiding colliding with a couple of crew members hefting bales of the red plastic waste bags out of the storeroom. Mirasol was helping to unpack them, and she flinched when she caught sight of Althea. ‘I am so sorry, Althea,’ she said in a rush. ‘I tried to wake you this morning, but you would not get out of bed.’

‘I know. I’m not angry.’

Althea noted Mirasol’s sigh of relief with amusement.

‘Althea . . . is it true that a guest on Trining’s station is dead?’

‘Who told you that?’

‘Angelo.’

Of course. Angelo, one of the assistant waiters, and an old gambling buddy of Joshua’s, could sniff out gossip like a rat detecting rotting meat. ‘Don’t listen to everything Angelo says. And stay away from him, Mirasol.’

‘Why?’

So that you don’t end up like me
. ‘He likes to take advantage.’ The girl was too naïve, had only been with the ship a month. Althea had meant to take her under her wing, but hadn’t yet found the time. She remembered how bewildered she’d felt when she’d started on the ships, which was part of the reason why she’d accepted Joshua’s attentions. She’d been lured in by his confidence. Stupid. No. She must keep a close eye on Mirasol, especially with everything that was happening now.

And it never hurt to have people owing you favours.

‘He heard it from Paulo, Althea. One of the security men was asking about the “don’t disturb” sign on the guest’s door. They were angry at Paulo because he said he put it with the others in Trining’s station. Why would they do that?’

Because they think whoever killed her touched it
. ‘I am sure they have their reasons.’

‘Angelo said that Paulo might get in trouble because he didn’t check the rooms properly before he—’

‘Angelo shouldn’t talk so much.’

‘Did Maria put you on a warning for being late, Althea?’

‘No. It’s fine.’

‘Maria says I must do Trining’s station after I have finished mine. I don’t like it down there. The passenger who died . . . is it true that she was murdered?’

Fuck-darned Angelo
. ‘We don’t know how she died.’

‘Althea . . . what if her spirit is still trapped down there? Also, Angelo said that one of the maintenance-crew men had seen the Lady in White when he was—’

‘That is crazy talk.’ But who was the one who was really going crazy? After all, Althea was the one who was seeing imaginary boys – or the ghosts of imaginary boys. No child had ever died on any cruise ship she’d worked on – that was for the elderly and the suicides. An assistant waiter had thrown himself overboard on her first ship after a fight with another crew member, but as Foveros ran shorter routes, there were usually very few deaths. But, she thought, that didn’t stop superstition taking hold, and the Lady in White was the most popular ghost story amongst the staff. The Lady, the vengeful spirit of a deceased passenger who dressed, for some unaccountable reason, as the majority of Foveros’s ships had been built in the eighties, in a Victorian gown, had been present on all of the ships she’d worked on. A very busy spirit, that one. She’d had enough of this talk. ‘You know what to do with the bags, Mirasol?’

The girl nodded.

‘And be polite to the passengers. Some of them will be angry with you.’

‘I know. Maria told me. But most of them have moved out of the lower decks.’

‘To where?’

‘Outside.’ Mirasol scrunched up her nose. ‘They are saying that it stinks down there. Pah. They should be down here.’

‘I must hurry. I will help you with Trining’s station later when I am finished.’ Which would give her an opportunity to check out Deck Five again – where she’d seen the boy.

‘Thank you, Althea.’

The atmosphere in the mess was subdued, several people were lying with their heads on their arms, dozing. She slid her tray along the rack, past platters of bread, sliced cheese and olives. There was no cooked food. She dished up a bowl of yesterday’s rice, cold and glutinous, some chopped tomatoes and a sliver of dried fish. Over by the recycling bin, Angelo was gossiping with Pepe, one of the kitchen assistants. He was trying to catch her eye, and waved her over, but she pretended not to see him. She wasn’t in the mood to listen to him today. Instead, she made her way over to where Rogelio was sitting alone at a table in the corner – he was entitled to use the officers’ mess, and she liked him more for continuing to eat with his paisanos.

She greeted him, but he barely acknowledged her. ‘Are you okay, Rogelio?’

He shrugged, and wouldn’t meet her gaze, which was not like him. Rogelio was usually full of energy, smiling and upbeat even when he was off duty and could let his mask slip. He often hosted karaoke crew parties long into the early morning in his own cabin, and she rarely heard anyone bad-mouth him.

‘Do you know anything more about the situation?’ He was Damien’s right-hand man, after all.

‘They’re working on the problem.’

‘Come on, Rogelio. You know more than that.’

He shook his head.

‘We should have been in Miami several hours ago.’ When the last ship she was on ran into difficulties, it had only been a matter of hours before Ground Support flocked to help.

‘I know nothing.’

‘What does Damien say?’

Rogelio grimaced. ‘He is spending most of his time on the bridge with the captain.’

As if summoned by magic, an announcement came from Damien himself. The clattering and murmurs in the mess ceased as everyone heard the bad news. But it was Althea and the other stewards who would be in the firing line.

Rogelio pushed his plate away from him. ‘I must go. We are putting on extra activities for the guests.’

Althea automatically turned her plate as he left the table. Stupid. She was already married – she didn’t need superstition to keep the spectre of spinsterhood away. The rice sat in her gut in a hard ball.

Angelo sidled up to her the second Rogelio left the mess hall. ‘What did pretty boy say to you, Althea? He won’t talk to me.’

‘Nothing.’

‘Ah, come on.’ Without being invited, he sat opposite her and leaned over the table. ‘Pepe says that the kitchen crew were told this morning that they had to be extra careful with the supplies.’

Althea snorted. ‘What does Pepe know? He works in the side kitchens.’

‘He says it is in case we are stranded for a long time and they have to send tugs. Pepe says they’re preparing just in case it takes as much as two days to get back to port.’

‘It will not come to that.’

‘You don’t know that. It is lucky that we’re stocked for the next cruise.’

‘Mirasol says that you’ve been gossiping again.’

‘What else is there to do?’

‘She does not need to hear your ghost stories.’

‘Whatever.’ Angelo smirked. ‘Perhaps Rogelio will get more information from his boyfriend.’

‘Damien is not his boyfriend.’

Angelo pursed his lips and cocked his head on one side. ‘Believe that if it makes you happy. But someone is.’

‘I don’t have time for this, Angelo.’ She stood up, dumped the remains of her food in the recycling bin and headed back towards the service area. Unable to use the elevator, she would have to heft the bags up the stairs. She collected a pile and clunked up towards her station.

She would start with Mr Lineman, who would be the worst by far to deal with. Holding her breath, she knocked on the door. No answer – the angels were on her side this morning. She propped the door open and slapped the bags down on the couch. The suite wasn’t its usual pigsty, their belongings were packed away; their luggage piled neatly next to the closet. She straightened the bed, brushed away a stray grey pubic hair – she wouldn’t bother changing the sheets – and then wiped a cloth over the TV stand.

She heard them before she saw them: the slam of the bathroom door, followed by the liquid spatter of vomit and groaning. Mr Lineman’s wife, a woman with a dumpling face and quick little eyes, barely glanced at Althea. ‘Jonny?’ she was saying to the bathroom door. ‘Jonny, you okay in there?’

Althea shuddered. She hoped there wasn’t a virus going around. Perhaps Trining was telling the truth after all and really was sick. ‘May I do anything to help?’ she asked Mrs Lineman.

‘We were in the queue when he said he felt bad. It can’t be something he’s eaten, we didn’t even get a chance to get to the buffet.’ The lavatory whooshed. The woman eyed the bags. ‘What you got there?’

Here we go . . . Althea put on her most innocent expression and explained what they were for. While Mrs Lineman stared at her in undisguised horror, Althea briskly opened one of the bags and slid it inside the metal trashcan.

‘I will not take a . . . take a . . .
you know what
in a bag. I’m not an animal.’

‘It is just in case, Mrs Lineman. You are fortunate, the conveniences on this floor are still working.’

‘I should think so. These are the VIP staterooms. We were upgraded on account of our stateroom was smaller than advertised.’

‘Mrs Lineman, as I say, as of now your deck has not been affected—’

‘You people won’t hear the last of this.’

Althea put on her best smile. ‘Is there anything else you need?’

‘Just give us some more water and towels.’