Chapter 10
TEN
I’m woken by the sound of Clara moving so softly around her room that it almost sends me back to sleep again.
I lie in a kind of trance and either forget to tell my limbs to move or the signal doesn’t reach its destination.
It’s only when I hear a soft bong from a hidden speaker that I fully regain consciousness.
I get the impression that Clara has not been as lazy as me.
There’s no sign of her bag anymore. She’s changed her clothes too, and I’m fairly certain that the noise that woke me was the door to the room opening and closing.
Perhaps she’s been out to see the others.
I have a brief feeling of FOMO before doing my usual positive-thinking routine and shaking it off.
“Clara, I should have already told you something. You see, I stopped writing years ago.” These are the first words out of my mouth after I come back to the world.
“I really have no excuse. Sometimes I have good ideas, but there is always this invisible obstacle. It isn’t just that I find other things to do; I feel completely blocked up.
Real writers can get through that. If I could just set a few hundred words down every day, by the end of the year, I’d have a novel. ”
For the length of time that it takes me to spew this out, she stands frozen before her wardrobe door.
When I finally stop, she shrugs but knows just what to say. “It’s like you said, Bridge. No one thinks badly of you because you’re not a famous writer.”
And then she goes back to her tidying.
I sit with my back against the fifty or so pillows that separate me from the headboard, and I realise that every thought I just expressed was formed in my sleep.
I have no concept of how long I slept, but I’m certain that our conversation continued to play out in my brain.
Something about this excites me. Perhaps I’ve been constructing stories in my head all this time.
Perhaps there are whole books up there, just waiting to be transcribed.
There’s another soft bong on the speaker system, and this time it comes with a message.
“Hello, shipmates, this is Captain Sasha speaking. We will be convening for dinner in the dining area on the upper deck in fifteen minutes. Please dress for the occasion. Bing bong.” She makes these last two sounds herself, then a cackling laugh cuts into the room before her microphone switches off.
I can just see her up at the helm of the ship, flirting with the captain and trying on his hat.
“How are you feeling?” I ask Clara when the drama of the afternoon comes back to me. “How’s your head?”
She puts her hand to the wound self-consciously. “It hurts, but I think I was lucky to hit the side when I did and bounce away from the boat. If I’d smashed against it lower down, I’d be dead.”
“Well… let’s not think about that. When I found you under the water, you weren’t unconscious for long.”
She walks over and wraps her arms around me. In the almost two years I lived with her, I don’t think she ever initiated physical contact, so it comes as something of a surprise.
“Thank you so much, Bridget. I’m trying my best not to think about what happened, but I’m pretty sure you saved my life.”
She’s so petite that she barely has to bend down even though I’m sitting on the bed and she’s standing up. When she pulls away, I find that I’m the shy one.
“I really didn’t do anything special. I’m just glad I was there.” Before the emotion hits home, I make an excuse to leave. “I’d better get changed for dinner. I’ll see you up there.”
She nods in her typically cautious way, and I slip from the room. I must still be tired as the sliding metal door feels heavier than when I went inside. Jake is lurking out in the corridor for some reason. He’s leaning against the wall between his room and mine.
“All right, old friend?” he says, as if it’s perfectly natural for him to be there. “Are you joining me for dinner?”
I can’t help laughing at him. He sounds so silly, and I remember when we were first going out and I thought he was charming. “Are you looking for a date?”
He glances along the corridor with a cheeky grin. “If the answer is yes.”
I stare at him from three feet away. “What are you doing, Jake?”
“Me?” He points to the creaseless white shirt he’s wearing, and I can tell that he’s made an effort. I can smell that he’s made an effort too. A deep, musky scent fills the space between us. “I’m just asking a pretty girl out to dinner.”
“Uh-uh,” I say to cut him off, but this response is too vague, and he keeps trying.
“You do look very pretty, Bridge.”
“Did you forget?” I find myself encouraging him.
“Not for a second. So shall we meet back here in ten?”
“Or we could learn the lessons of the past.” The silence that follows seems too cruel. Reviving our adolescent affair wasn’t high on my list of priorities, but I can’t deny that there’s a moment of static between us that I haven’t felt in a long time.
He moves closer and is about to say something funny or flirtatious or both, when a door opens behind him and Ryan comes out. He’s looked uncomfortable all day long and instantly blushes when he sees us.
“Sorry to interrupt.” He immediately turns towards the stairs.
“You’re not interrupting,” I manage to reply before poking Jake in the ribs to suggest that the whole thing was just a joke. “This one was being a prat for old times’ sake.”
Jake tips his head back and shows that mischievous smile again. There’s no fazing a guy like him. He walks away with Ryan as if nothing significant happened.
I go into my cabin to get changed. I brought a grand total of two fancy outfits, so it will be no great challenge to decide what to wear. I even struggle with my dried-up mascara and a slightly scuzzy stick of lipstick to make myself presentable.
When I finish, I stand in front of the mirror and wonder how I look. I am thirty-two years old, but people often think I’m younger. My eyes are the same dark brown as my hair. I may be pretty, but it’s not a question that’s ever plagued me the way it does some people; I am who I am.
And as I stand there, I feel pretty good about myself.
My floor-length silk dress with red roses stamped all over it makes me think of the elegant curtains I once saw in a French palace (on a TV drama).
The red heels I wear underneath it are just tall enough to make people notice the difference and, as I turn to leave my cabin, the skirt trails behind me like I’m off to get married.
I admit that I dip my hand into my suitcase before leaving to grab the bottle of vodka I brought with me for Dutch courage – for moments just like this one. I take a long slug, and now I’m ready to go.