Day Four (24 page)

The boy popped a thumb in his mouth and peered up at her. The woman was the devil. Althea could feel it. She could sense it. But not the devilry she’d been brought up with – a different kind. An alien kind. Mrs del Ray wasn’t evil, exactly – Althea had met evil before and this woman wasn’t it – but something was not right about her. She almost laughed –
something wasn’t right!
She was clasping the hand of a ghost boy and all she could think was that
something wasn’t right.

‘We all have to adjust our mind-set, my darling,’ Celine said. ‘It is a bit of a jump to take all of this in. We all had to go through it at one stage or another. Even me.’

‘And what do you need me to do?’

‘Oh, this and that. Nothing that’s too far out of your purview. You have three things I need, my darling. You’re clever and you’re connected.’

‘That’s two things.’

‘The third will come in time.’ Mrs del Ray ran her tongue around her lips. ‘And I can pay you. Perhaps I should have said that at the beginning?’

The boy snuggled even closer to Althea. ‘Again, I ask you, what do I have to do?’

‘Come closer and I’ll tell you.’

Moving awkwardly, the child stuck like a limpet to her side, Althea did as she was told.

‘Now listen.’

And Althea listened.

The Suicide Sisters

Helen bundled up the soiled towels she’d been using to protect Elise’s mattress and sheets, and carried them through to the shower. She squeezed the last of the shampoo on top of the pile and let the water run. The pressure was weak, but she was grateful that there was still water at all. She didn’t want to trouble Althea for yet another round of clean linen; the poor girl had looked exhausted the last time she’d seen her.

Helen’s hands shook as she ran a facecloth under the tap. Several times last night, she’d been convinced that Elise had gone. Died. Passed on, or whatever euphemism people tended to use. She’d heard them all after Graham died, along with:
I’m so sorry for your loss; the pain will pass; if there’s anything I can do . . .
Stock phrases that she’d used herself many times.
I’m sorry, you’re sorry, we’re all fucking sorry
. She gasped in a breath and clutched at the sink. There was a constant ache just below her solar plexus. If Elise died she’d be totally alone on this bloody ship. The thought of that made her feel as if she was teetering at the edge of a tall building, looking down. She had the sleeping tablets, but she knew from her research that they might not do the trick. They might not be enough. And she didn’t want to do it alone.

Better together.

She didn’t think she had it in her to do it alone.

The tears wanted to come, but they would just be tears of self-pity, and she couldn’t allow herself to slide all the way down.
That’s right. Buck up, girl
, Graham’s voice came to her.
You’re strong, you can get through this
.
You’re stronger than you think
. The pain in her chest deepened, and she was hit with a sudden, unexpected flood of homesickness.

There’s no home to go back to
.

Packing up the evidence of her and Graham’s life together had been one of the tasks she’d made herself complete the week before she left for Miami. At first she couldn’t bear to throw out anything he’d ever touched – it had taken every bit of resolve she possessed just to sort through his desk, or remove anything that could possibly retain an iota of his scent – but after she’d managed to box up his shirts for Oxfam (a task that made her weep for a whole afternoon), she turned a corner, and she’d ended up chucking things out with wild abandon. Better that than leave it up to Graham’s nephews, who would eventually inherit the house.

She smothered the emotion, washed her hands and face, and went back into the bedroom. She knew she was in real danger of infection. The nurse who had come to check on Elise this morning – a harassed, brisk redhead who smelled faintly of stale alcohol – had told her how easy it was to pass on the norovirus. Helen had been careful, but she doubted she could continue much longer without catching it. She’d insisted that Elise be taken to the medical bay where she could be monitored closely, but the nurse said that Elise was better off in the suite than down in the medical bay. At least here, with the balcony, there was the possibility of fresh air.

‘Helen,’ Elise croaked, fumbling for her hand. Her skin was hot and clammy, her nightdress damp from sweat.

‘Do you need to go to the bathroom?’

‘Nuh-uh. Thirsty.’

Helen held the glass to Elise’s lips. She managed three small sips, which was better than nothing. She should really change Elise into another nightdress. The first time she’d done it, she’d been shocked at how much of her life Elise had kept hidden from her. Naked, the body revealed secrets. The mastectomy scar, a cruel slice of raised flesh, had shaken her. Elise had never told her about it, and Helen had never noticed – or been too self-absorbed to notice – if her friend wore a prosthesis. Yet Elise’s body was beautiful in its own way, the smooth thighs and belly, bulky, but devoid of the cellulite that had plagued Helen no matter how many hours she spent walking.

The PA system beeped, signalling another of Damien’s interminable messages. There’d been one earlier from the captain (about bloody time, she’d thought), saying that as all communication systems were still disabled, a tender boat had been dispatched to alert the coastguard of their position. It was clear they were in far more serious trouble than the crew was letting on. She tried not to listen while Damien ran through his usual excuses and platitudes, but then something else caught her attention:

‘. . . helping to keep our spirits up, our guest celebrity, the wonderful Celine del Ray, will generously be performing again in the Dare to Dream Theatre in just half an hour. All are welcome!’

Helen shuddered. Just the thought of Celine made her feel queasy. The woman was a fraud. A sick, manipulative con artist.

Someone rapped on the door – perhaps it was Maddie again, checking up on them. Celine might be a monster, but Maddie had been kind. She peered through the peephole and saw the doctor – the one who’d come to see Celine on New Year’s Eve – standing a little to the side. About time.

‘May I check on the passenger?’ he said, when she waved him in. His eyes were tinged with yellow and striated with veins, and a surgical mask hung limply around his neck. ‘I believe she was seen by a nurse yesterday?’

‘That’s right.’

‘How has she been?’ He stifled a yawn.

‘Not good.’

‘Vomiting? Diarrhoea?’

‘Yes. But not for the last hour. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?’

He made a noncommittal sound. ‘Her name? I’m sorry, I know you told me what it was last night . . . the night before. Lost track of time as well.’ He tried to smile and failed. Helen almost felt sorry for him. Almost. ‘Her name is Elise. Elise Mayberry.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Please just take a look at her, doctor.’

Helen watched anxiously as he listened to Elise’s chest and attached the cuff to her upper arm and took her blood pressure. ‘Well?’

Another noncommittal grunt.

‘Doctor, I need to know. Is it possible that . . . that she could die from this?’
Don’t leave me, Elise. Don’t leave me.

‘It’s very unlikely. Her pulse is fairly strong. I’m not too worried about her blood pressure, but you must make sure she has enough fluid intake. If she doesn’t improve then I might put her on a drip.’

‘When will all this be over?’

He sighed and stood up. ‘I wish I could tell you. This must be very hard for you. Are you getting enough rest?’

‘I’m fine.’ Not true. She’d barely slept since Elise had fallen ill. But this wasn’t about her.

She saw him out and then lay down on her bed. It would be so easy to do. The sleeping pills were in Elise’s handbag, hanging over the chair. But they couldn’t slip over the side now, even if Elise was up to it. Even if they could ensure no one would fish them out again. The water that lapped around the ship was as flat as a stagnant pond, its surface sullied with red plastic bags. If she jumped, she’d gulp down someone else’s waste. No. She had to be brave. It couldn’t be much—

There was someone – a man – on the balcony. She let out a small scream, remembering that dark figure she’d seen in Celine’s room on New Year’s Eve. She squinted her eyes to reduce the glare from the sunlight, and peered at him. He looked familiar, and then it came to her. Jaco, the musician. She hurried over to the door and slammed it shut, just as he turned and offered his hand to a tall blonde woman, who was climbing across from the metal ladder leading up to the lifeboat directly in front of the suite. It had never occurred to Helen how easy it was to access the stateroom from the deck below them.

Jaco tapped on the glass and gave her a wide grin. ‘Hey. Can we come in?’

‘What . . . why are you here?’

‘It’s hell out on deck. We just need a quiet place to chill for a while. I’m Jaco and this is Lulia. Lulia’s one of the dancers.’

‘Hello. Pleased to meet you,’ Lulia said. Long bleached hair and full make-up. The woman had what Graham would have called ‘shifty eyes’. He was always judging people on their appearance and to her knowledge he’d never been wrong.

‘You shouldn’t be up here. My friend is sick. She needs to rest.’

The woman recoiled slightly, but Jaco clung to her wrist. ‘We were wondering if we could sit on your balcony for a while. Maybe get something to drink.’

‘Like I say, my friend is very unwell.’

‘We won’t stay long.’

‘Please,’ Lulia said. ‘People are getting sick everywhere. We just want somewhere quiet to sit while we wait for it to be over.’

‘There must be somewhere else you can go.’

‘No. The crew area is bad. The air is bad.’

Helen’s gut told her to get rid of them, but what kind of person would she be if she didn’t at least offer them a drink? Reluctantly, she unlocked the door. ‘Come in. But only for a minute.’

‘Thanks,’ Jaco grinned at her. ‘I really appreciate it.’

‘It stinks,’ Lulia said, flapping a hand in front of her face. ‘We should have tried to get into the owner’s suite.’

‘I told you my friend was sick. She’s contagious.’

‘We’ll be careful,’ Jaco said.

‘What is your name?’ Lulia asked.

‘Helen.’

Lulia sat down on the couch and crossed her legs, which were spray-tanned and riddled with stubble. She was barefoot, her toes almost freakishly long. ‘You have seen the shows?’

‘Yes.’ A lie. She loathed cabaret with a passion. Elise had gone to see the ‘Daydream Fantastique Extravaganza’ or whatever its ghastly name was on the first night, and had said it was ‘interesting’, which was about as critical as Elise ever got.

‘We have to sing
and
to dance.’

‘You were very good.’

‘Thank you. Your friend, she is your lover?’

‘No. We’re just friends.’

‘Why you on this cruise? It is for young people.’

‘Enough questions,’ Jaco laughed. ‘Again, really appreciate this, Helen. People are freaking out all over the place. Seeing ghosts.’

Helen blanched. ‘Ghosts?’

‘Yeah. Lots of superstitious people on ships.’

‘And it stinks so bad,’ Lulia said. ‘People poop everywhere. They are dirty, like pigs.’

Jaco waved at the mini-bar. ‘You mind if we grab some water? I’ll go out and get you some more.’

‘Go ahead.’

He dropped to his haunches and peered inside it. ‘Champagne. Never got to drink it on New Year’s Eve, huh?’

‘No.’

‘Tell you what. You help us, we’ll help you. Sound like a plan?’

‘I’m not sure that’s really a good idea.’

He turned his head and grinned at her. ‘Hey. You can trust me. I’m a musician.’

The Angel of Mercy

Martha was waiting for him when he slogged back to the medical bay after doing his rounds. Her hair was tied back in a messy bun, and she was picking at a flake of dried skin on her lower lip.

‘What now?’ He wasn’t sure he could cope with any new developments. On top of the noro cases there were two fairly serious cases of heatstroke and a suspected broken toe. He needed a caffeine injection. He needed a shower. He needed to sleep for more than two fucking hours.

‘Ah, Jesse. We have a bit of an issue. It’s the new patient. The fella that came in yesterday.’

‘What about him?’

‘He’s gone, Jesse.’

He was struggling to take in what she was saying. ‘You discharged him?’

‘No. I came back after getting something to eat, you know? I wasn’t gone long. And he wasn’t in his bed.’

‘But he was doped up to the eyeballs.’ Jesse had made the decision to increase the midazolam dosage last night, after the man had woken and started acting erratically. Other than locking him in his cabin, where he could easily cause harm to himself, Jesse didn’t know how else to restrain him. It was a ship, not a bloody mental ward.