Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty
She was in the citrus grove again, but it was night-time and the trees were laden with fluorescent fruit. Every time she set her sights on one and began to climb, the branches would get longer and longer, the grapefruit further and further away. Eventually she made a leap for it, lunging and snatching one from the cluster of leaves just before it grew out of reach. She landed on her back, staring up at the inky sky, the only light the glowing yellow orbs above her. As she peeled back the skin, she saw that the pith was black and smelled like sea water. It stung her fingers as she picked at it. When she bit into a plump segment, the fruit was rotten, even though the flesh looked perfectly fresh. When she spat it out her teeth came with it, bright white pearls amidst the frothy pulp, and her mouth was awash with the coppery taste of blood.
Sofia woke with a start, the cold sweat on her back prickling at her burn and the cut on her finger bleeding onto the white sheets. She checked the time: 5.06a.m. For a moment she longed to go up on deck and then she remembered that it was Jack’s time. She couldn’t face him in that strange dreamlike realm of dawn, not today.
She got up to find another plaster. In the bathroom she spotted the bottle of aloe vera, carefully placed inside the mirrored cabinet. He must have left it for her, she realised as she held it in her hand, popping the lid and sniffing at the gel. She shook her head, chastising herself. He had probably just forgotten it.
She put it back, even though her back itched, and wound a plaster around her finger. Cabinet closed, she looked at herself in the mirror. Half-moons of mauve had begun to nestle under her eyes, and her skin was dry. She needed to get more sleep. She needed to stop drinking again.
She knew she wasn’t going to go back to sleep, and she didn’t fancy another trip to the nightmarish citrus grove anyway. Maybe she could channel some of her restless energy into her recipe cards. She showered and changed and headed up to the main saloon. She was sure the guests wouldn’t be up for at least another couple of hours and she had the time before she needed to get breakfast ready.
She settled into a green velvet daybed, legs crossed, recipe cards fanned out and notebook in her lap. She lost herself in the food, imagining new combinations that clicked into place as she shuffled the cards around, a rotating kaleidoscope of tastes.
When she heard footsteps she panicked. There were a lot of people she didn’t want to see right now. When she spotted the mop of blonde hair coming up the stairs she sighed with relief. Stuart was not one of them.
‘Morning,’ she said. He seemed startled to find that the room was not empty.
‘Oh hi, Sofia, I wasn’t expecting anyone to be in here. I can leave you...’ He started to turn.
‘No, don’t worry, it’s fine. I’m just here with my imaginary friends,’ she joked, splaying her hand over the cards in front of her.
Stuart looked bewildered. ‘Like Tarot or...?’
Sofia laughed. She was in that giddy state of exhaustion, and she couldn’t stop for a moment. Stuart joined in with a tentative chuckle.
‘No.’ She wiped tears from her eyes. ‘Excuse me, I’m in a weird place.’ She pointed at her head. ‘Mentally,’ she explained. ‘They’re recipe cards.’
‘Oh, right.’ Stuart looked genuinely relieved, which made her laugh even more. When the giggles had died down, Stuart was still standing awkwardly, hands thrust into his pockets.
‘Take a seat,’ Sofia managed finally. She cleared the cards and Stuart sat down, at the furthest end of the sofa. ‘Why are you up so early anyway?’
Stuart huffed. ‘Well it’s hard not to be disturbed when Officer Carter is up with the early birds, and then the light is so bright.’
Sofia wasn’t following. ‘You mean in the cabin?’
Stuart cocked his head to one side, obviously calculating something. ‘I’m guessing that you didn’t know that he’s camping out in the captain’s quarters with me? There was more mould in our cabin as well. The guy should be coming to fend off the last of it today though.’ He yawned. ‘Thank goodness.’
Sofia didn’t know whether to feel grateful that he had saved them both from an unimaginably awkward night together, or hurt that he would rather sleep on the floor with Stuart than face her. Had he been that eager to get away after his ‘mistake’?
She noticed Stuart was still scrutinising her. ‘I know it’s probably not my place to say anything, but I think it’s best you two leave it alone. He’s not been himself since you came on board.’ Stuart said this matter-of-factly. Sofia knew he didn’t mean it to sound harsh, but she felt bruised.
‘When he was gunning for first officer, he was so focused, even after the thing with Petra.’ Stuart looked down at his lap, unable to hide the effect that saying her name always had on him. ‘He shut it down immediately when he realised it might jeopardise his chances. He was single-minded.’ Sofia hoped Stuart would stop. He didn’t. ‘But now, I don’t know, it’s like he’s lost his focus. He forgets things, makes mistakes.’
He looked up at Sofia again. ‘This thing between you, it’s messing with his head.’
It was Sofia’s turn to hang her head. ‘We’ve decided to be friends now, so... it’s over, whatever it was.’ Sofia’s voice was meek. For the second day in a row, she was starting her day with a scolding.
Stuart scoffed and Sofia was surprised by how much it stung. ‘Friends? Yes, I’ve heard that one before, believe me. That won’t stop him from turning everything over and over and over in his head. If anything it just makes everything even more confusing.’
It dawned on Sofia then, that he was no longer talking about Jack, and maybe he never had been. There was too much emotion in his voice, too much involvement. ‘Is that how you feel about Petra?’ Sofia asked so quietly, it was barely a whisper. She dared to glance up at him.
He was taken aback. It amused Sofia to think about how subtle men often believed they were being.
‘Petra?’ he spluttered. Sofia nodded. ‘What, has she said something to you?’ Now she was the one with the valuable insight.
‘I mean, she’s told me that you two are... good friends,’ Sofia said coyly. Stuart blushed, and she was emboldened to say more.
‘I think she was a little...’ Sofia chose her words tactfully; she didn’t want to betray her friend’s trust, but sometimes it was important to share the facts with the relevant parties ‘...disappointed, when you were chatting with that girl all night in Gaeta.’
Sofia watched as the cogs began to whir behind Stuart’s eyes. ‘I didn’t think...’ he muttered to himself and then seemed to remember he had company.
‘If I’m correctly inferring what you’re trying to say, Sofia, then I guess I’m in trouble as well.’ His face was placid as he said this. Sofia marvelled at his ability to keep everything below the surface. No wonder it had taken Petra so long to peel back the layers.
‘There’s no room for romance on this boat.’ His voice cracked as he said ‘romance’, so he wasn’t completely immune to the force of emotion.
‘Honestly, as I get older, I wonder what I’m still doing here. If I want that kind of life for myself, a life with love and family, I need to stop clinging on to a young man’s dream.’ He sighed, sounding weary.
Sofia realised she had no idea how old Stuart was. His full head of startlingly blonde hair made his age hard to place. He could have been thirty or nearing fifty. There seemed to be nothing else to say, and so neither of them spoke. Sofia wondered what Stuart might do with the information she had passed on. She suddenly felt stressed that Petra might have to face down a declaration of love of her own. From her recent experience, she wouldn’t wish it on her worst enemy.
‘Maybe you’re right,’ Sofia said at last, ‘maybe it’s best not to complicate things.’ She hoped she might dissuade Stuart from doing anything dramatic, although he didn’t seem like the dramatic type.
‘Best not to complicate things,’ he repeated back at her, like a man committing himself to a mantra.
She checked the time. She probably didn’t need to start breakfast for another half an hour, but she was beginning to feel like she needed an out. ‘I’m going to head down to prep,’ she said brightly, to which Stuart only nodded vacantly in agreement. She left him there, the sun rising into the sky behind him, lost in his thoughts. She wished him a pleasant journey and that he might find his way back with a little clarity.
***
Back in the kitchen, she tried something new – French toast with mascarpone and a cherry compote. It took her a little longer than expected and when Patricio came in to collect the food, she was only just plating it up.
He stood with his arms folded. She could feel disdain radiating off him – it was putting her off.
‘Everything OK today, Patricio?’ she asked, carefully spooning a blob of deep crimson stewed cherry on top of the creamy cheese.
‘Perfectly OK, thank you,’ he said, his voice clipped. ‘The guests are just very hungry.’ Sofia tried to keep her cool. She wasn’t enjoying the attitude but she had no energy for a fight. She was trying to preserve it for the day ahead.
She leant back, pushing the plates across the counter. ‘All ready for you.’
‘Grazie,’ he said as the door swung shut behind him.
Sofia fought the urge to stick her tongue out, and then decided to do it anyway. Something about the release of that childish impulse calmed her. She chuckled to, and at, herself as she went about getting the crew breakfast ready, which would be left behind. Next it was onto the picnic lunch, which she immediately took up to the deck, placing it by the tender. She doubted Jack would surprise her with his forgiveness a second time around.
Back in her cabin, Petra had left a neatly ironed stewardess uniform. Sofia had hoped she might get away with just wearing casuals today, but this was a clear sign that that was not an option.
This one at least was not that awful shade of maroon; instead it was a chocolate brown, with a white trim around the bottom of the skort and around the arms. At the last minute she remembered to slip on a plain black bikini underneath, just in case she managed to muster up the courage to dive in herself. She let her hair down and thought it looked quite nice, for a day-three wash. She clipped back the front to keep it out of her eyes. Eyeing herself in the mirror she had that same thought that she looked like she was about to play in a school sports team. She was not, however, about to lump Petra with another ironing job.
She fiddled with her hair for a while, becoming aware that she was trying to stall. There was only one way to get through the day and that was to get on with it. She tried on her best ‘hello, friend and colleague’ smile. She was no great actress but it was convincing enough. She might have spent most of her life in the kitchen but she had always understood the tenets of the service industry: absolutely no one you are serving is interested in how miserable your life is. It is your job to make them forget you even have a life.