Chapter 6 #3
This must be some weird rebound urge and my poor distressed mind hasn’t got the memo that weird rebound urges are always best avoided.
Even thinking lusty thoughts is a betrayal to what I believed I had with Miles, and so soon in the piece!
Yeah sure, Miles doesn’t deserve my consideration, but the sanctity of what we had should mean I cannot move on this quickly.
Isn’t that so? And there I have my answer.
This isn’t real – this is simply the broken part of me, the abandoned bride, looking for some kind of validation that I’m still worthy of love, and Jasper happened along vibrating with rebound-candidate energy. It’s best if I avoid him at all costs.
I go to pivot just as there’s a shove in my back that propels me directly into Jasper’s arms. I turn my head to catch the culprit, but there’s no one there. Gah, will he think I’m a stage-four clinger, catapulting towards him like some kind of desperado?
‘God, sorry. I’m sure someone pushed me…’ My hands find their way to his chest, I can feel the thrum of his heart through the fabric of his jumper. It beats staccato like mine. Probably because out of nowhere I flew at him like some lovestruck idiot.
Katya gives me a cat-that-got-the-cream smile.
So here we have our culprit. I glare at her for good measure and step out from the warmth of his arms. He really does give good hugs – is there anything the man lacks?
Even his ego seems to be within the normal range, and shouldn’t it be bigger?
Next minute he’s going to tell me he donates to dog rescue centres and helps little old ladies cross the road.
‘Sorry!’ I trill. ‘I have to go now. Arrivederci.’ Arrivederci. Far out.
In front of the Christmas tree, Katya strikes a pose as Igor ogles her like she’s all his dreams come true, while I rush away.
My poor bruised heart is clearly searching for a distraction.
For a safe harbour. It’s only natural that my subconscious has scanned the crowd and landed on hot guy Jasper.
That makes sense. I just need to switch off the old brain for a bit.
Pretend I am a happy-go-lucky holidaymaker with no emotional baggage.
Wine, I need wine.
The bloody Christmas tree is not the only thing getting lit this year – where is that bar? I find it in the next carriage along. And hallelujah, there are plenty of empty seats. I’m not a big drinker but a little numbing is exactly what the doctor ordered.
Gingerbread Sabrina is here, showing a passenger the same photos of her boyfriend on the beach that she showed me. I guess the no phone rule for staff is a just a suggestion, as Sabrina doesn’t seem too bothered.
She catches sight of me. ‘Oh, Aubrey, this is George!’ She points to a tall twentysomething dressed up as the Grinch, and yet somehow, he pulls it off. ‘If you can’t find me to assist, George is the next point of call.’
‘Hi, Aubrey,’ George says with a nervous chuckle. ‘Can I get you anything?’
I’m still rather flustered about the whole flying into Jasper’s arms thing and the way my body is reacting to the damn man.
I have half a mind to call Rox and ask her if she orchestrated this Jasper meet-cute disaster.
I wouldn’t put it past my shifty sister to find the passenger manifest, do a deep dive on socials and then intimidate the hottest guy on board into being nice to me.
She’s wily like that, especially when I’ve been hurt.
Would my sister really go that far? What am I even saying?
! I scrape my fingers through my hair. I’m in a bit of a right old state here.
So this is what it feels like to lose your marbles.
‘Thanks, Sabrina, nice to meet you, George. I’ll, uh – just head to the bar.
A drink is in order.’ They give me a wave, yet I catch the fleeting look of confusion in their eyes, as if I’m acting strangely – I do feel rather…
scattered. To be expected; I’m running on fumes as it were.
It’s been a helluva time and really, I should be commended for not having a monumental breakdown of epic proportions.
Wine will take the edge off. Give me some much-needed clarity. It can’t hurt, can it?
Propping up one end of the bar is a fashionably dressed mid-fifties woman with an immaculately made-up face, who slugs back a candy cane shooter in a way that contradicts my first impression of her that she’s almost regal by the way she holds herself.
She glances my way and surveys me before saying, ‘Hello, stranger. Tell me – what’s got your tinsel in a tangle?’ She pulls a silly face that is contrary to her impeccable style and poise. Ah, is she the Miss Moneybags who Sabrina told me about?
‘My – my tinsel is fine. And you? Looks like that candy cane shooter went down well.’ I flash a grin and order a glass of white wine from the bartender, who is dressed like Buddy the Elf. Really, I wish I were in more a Christmassy mood to enjoy all this festive schtick.
‘It was worth a shot.’ She guffaws at her own joke.
‘I’m Princess. It’s not just a name, it’s a way of life.
’ She lets out a witch-like cackle, and the volume is startling coming from such a diminutive woman.
I like her already and sense that Princess – who suits her name, dressed in her finery like she truly is royalty – is going to bring the fun on this trip.
‘I’m Aubrey. Nice to meet you.’
The smile falls away and her expression becomes stoic. ‘Ah, the Aubrey. Your name precedes, you, dear. Now it makes sense, you know, the tangled tinsel thing. I heard about husband numero uno and the way in which he left this mortal coil. Wild mushrooms, eh? Not suspicious in the slightest.’
She’s already heard about Miles’s unfortunate faux death? ‘Sorry, wild mushrooms?’
Princess waves me away, her fingers swathed in rings with gemstones that catch the light and sparkle.
Are they real diamonds and rubies? Yes, this chic woman is definitely a contender for the role of Miss Moneybags.
‘No need to apologise.’ She flashes me a smile.
‘No judgement here. Death caps, skullcaps, easily misidentified. You’re not to blame. ’
I double-blink as I piece the puzzle together. ‘Those are poisonous mushrooms.’
The regal Princess frowns as she glances over a shoulder, as if to make certain we’re alone. ‘I’m sure you weren’t to know, right? It’s not like you prepared the wedding feast, is it?’
Ooh! Is she implying that I poisoned Miles with death cap mushrooms at my very own wedding?
The idea is so preposterous that I burst out laughing.
I suppose he was poisoned, but not by wild mushrooms. Has word spread that my husband died and, like school kids playing the whispering game, it’s taken on a life of its own up and down the train carriage?
‘Princess, I didn’t poison him with mushrooms, wild or otherwise.
’ The bartender deposits my glass of wine in front of me and narrows his eyes suspiciously as if he’s weighing up whether I’m capable of poisoning the dearly departed, like I’m some kind of matricidal maniac.
I do my best to assuage his fears by flashing him a toothy grin – the smile of an innocent – but am confounded when he blanches and promptly dashes away. What on earth?
‘Don’t worry about him. I believe you.’ Princess winks. ‘Take your drink and let’s go.’
‘Go?’ I’m only half listening while I sit in the knowledge of my bad choices – admitting I’m a jilted bride might have been the better option when compared to being cast as a murdery murderer.
‘To the library carriage.’
‘There’s a library carriage?’ How did I not see that on the website? I’m slipping as a travel guru!
Princess clucks her tongue, as if disappointed in me. ‘You’re not going to be one of those types who repeats everything I say, are you?’
I quickly shake my head.
‘Good. We’re going to decorate Christmas baubles. And between us, it’s about as close to any balls as I’m going to get. All three of my husbands died too, so I happen to know a thing or two about how you’re feeling.’
Yikes, I can’t let her think we’re both suffering when I’m not really a widow and she truly is.
‘I’m so sorry for your loss, Princess. That’s tragic, losing three husbands.
’ How old is the glamorous woman? Her complexion is smooth, as if she’s had a little surgical help, but done sparingly to appear natural so it’s hard to pinpoint an age.
But to be married thrice, perhaps she’s older than she looks.
Truth bomb time. I suck in a breath for courage. ‘Miles, you see, he didn’t really die.’
‘Yes, yes, darling, save the whimsy, I’ve heard it all before.
He’s transitioned. He’s gone to a better place.
You don’t have to use all those platitudes with me.
Some husbands live and some die. It’s the luck of the draw.
I’ve been cursed, so I can’t love another man without fear he’ll meet his maker just like the others. ’
Cursed, as in someone put a spell on her? I itch to repeat her words back and ask for clarification, but she’s already outlawed that. ‘Can you tell me a little bit more about… that?’ I say, almost laughing at how robotic I sound.
She lets out a sigh, as if it’s a long story but pushes on nonetheless.
‘All three of my beloveds died. Can you believe that? I plucked up the courage to open my heart and take the leap into love, time and again, only to have them ripped away from me. I must be cursed; what other explanation is there? When you’re filthy rich like I am, self-made by the way, before you go thinking this is some inheritance plot, or that I rely on a man to keep me in the style I’m accustomed to.
You have to be aware there’s an extreme amount of envy out there.
Whoever is behind this took away what I value most – love. ’
I’m not sure about the science behind this. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, how did they die?’