Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Navigating narrow staircases in precarious heels on a boat should be an Olympic event.
The wind has picked up as we get further away from the land, and I already wish I’d tied my hair back as it whips around me and covers my face.
For a moment, I know how Clara must have felt falling head first off the ship.
My stomach lurches as the sole of my shoe slides along the step, but there’s a handrail for me to grip, and I tell myself that this brief panic will soon be forgotten.
I hear voices above me as I reach the main deck. There’s a soft glow reflecting off the ceiling two levels above me. I feel myself flowing towards it like the silk I wear, spiralling up the last two staircases to meet the others.
I suppose it’s not a bad entrance. I’m the last to arrive, and I stand with the wind whipping my dress about and my hair whirling like the snakes on Medusa’s head as air rushes up the stairs behind me. I didn’t mean to be so dramatic, but everyone turns to look.
They cheer for some reason, and it takes me a moment to realise why.
“Our hero!” Ade says, pouring out glasses of something that looks like wine as if he didn’t normally pay someone to do that for him.
Even Clara joins in with the applause. She lifts her hands above her head as I take the closest seat.
“You little star,” Jake says, so I guess he hasn’t given up on charming me just yet.
Sasha goes a step further than the others; she always has. “What would we have done without you?” She rushes up to my chair and puts her hands on my shoulders.
She’s dressed in a long white skirt with a stripy top that fits the maritime feel of the place. I would say that I’d out-dressed her for once, but it won’t surprise me if she excuses herself after the starter to break out a new look.
With drinks served, and one shoved in my hand by Ryan in the seat next to mine, we fall quiet to listen to our host.
“I don’t want to be too serious or anything, but I have to tell you how glad I am that disaster was averted. If it hadn’t been for you, Bridget—”
I have to interrupt him, and it’s not just because my built-in British modesty forbids any praise that lasts longer than six seconds. “You mean me and Ryan,” I remind him, tipping my glass to the sullen figure at my side.
Ade’s expression changes. It seems for a second that he’s reluctant to amend his toast, but he eventually gives in. “Right. If it hadn’t been for you and Ryan, this dinner would have been a bit of a downer.”
Clara puts her hand to her mouth to cover a laugh, and Jake punches Ade on the arm for the understatement.
“I’m joking, I’m joking.” He turns to Clara with his glass still raised. “I would be heartbroken if anything had happened to you. I’ve only just found you again.”
His words linger a little too long, and it forces Sasha to lift her glass above everyone else’s and say, “To Bridget and Ryan, for being superhuman rescuers.”
“To Bridget and Ryan,” everyone echoes and, because it seems rude not to, I find myself toasting my own bravery.
There is one person who did not cheer quite so enthusiastically. Tom is sprawled in his seat, glancing around the candlelit table as though he has a bone to pick with each and every last one of us.
Rather than worry about that bubbling volcano, I take in the space around me.
The floor, table and chairs are all made of teak, which reminds me that there is no sign of Mick.
Half of the sky is covered by the overhanging roof, but I have a clear view of the moon, and the stars are brighter than I’ve ever seen them in England.
I suppose we’re far enough away from any islands now to escape the light pollution.
The beauty of a clear night is just the kind of thing that makes me cry, so I’m glad that I manage to keep my feelings in check.
Discussion bounces across the table at diagonals as Sasha and Ryan gossip about one of their old lecturers who got a part on a TV soap.
Clara laughs at Jake’s jokes, and I notice that he’s the only one not drinking the wine.
Phoebe and a guy I haven’t seen before arrive to transport trays from a dumb waiter that is hidden behind a retracting picture frame.
“How many people work on this boat?” I shout to Ade at the other end of the table.
“Normally about thirty, but I’ve come out with a skeleton crew of twenty this time.” He probably realises that this sounds crazy but adds, “I wanted a more intimate experience.”
It’s at this moment that Tom decides he’s had enough. He grabs the empty wine bottle from the waiter as it’s about to be taken away and stares at the label.
“Why are we here?” His voice is louder than anyone else’s, and it silences the table. “Why did you invite us when we haven’t so much as exchanged postcards in years?”
These are the questions we’ve all wanted to ask but didn’t have the nerve – or perhaps no one wanted to wake up from our pleasant dream.
Of course, there’s something Tom wants to know even more than this and it absolutely roars out of him. “And why would you only serve non-alcoholic drinks?”
As we’re not the type to make a scene, the rest of us mumble half-hearted messages of disapproval.
“That’s a bit rude,” Jake says, though he presumably still hopes to discover the answer and looks at Ade expectantly.
Even Sasha’s rebuke is comparatively mild. “Come on now, Tom. Why spoil this nice evening?”
Because he is a showman, Ade rises from the table. The dancing light from a line of candles shines on him. It banishes the shadows and somehow turns his skin even darker.
“I always planned to tell you tonight,” he says in a voice that isn’t quite his own. He must have noticed, as he clears his throat before trying again. “I was waiting for the right moment, but I guess the time has come.”
He stands before us in his artfully crumpled linen shirt and trousers, with his arms out like a wannabe prophet. I feel that he planned our whole visit for this very moment, but his voice still lets him down.
“The thing is…” It’s too quiet, and he comes to a sudden halt. I remember that there was a time when he wasn’t as confident as he wanted everyone to believe. There was a time – right back when I first knew him – when he only dreamed of being immortal; he didn’t yet believe that he was.
“The thing is…” As he hesitates once more, I can see that he needs us just as much as we need him. He peers up at the natural spotlight shining down on him. “I asked you all here because I’m trying to be better.”
Tom slams his fist down on the table and his knife shudders away. “What does that mean? What does anything that comes out of your mouth even mean?”
The two waiters appear with the first course before melting away into the shadows, like children who don’t want to get involved in their parents’ argument.
No one is scared of Tom. He’s a dragon without claws, fangs, or fire. It’s Ade we want to hear.
“I have made a lot of mistakes in my life. I’ve hurt everyone around this table, and I…” As he speaks so cautiously, it’s hard to imagine him singing to a crowd of eighty thousand. “I brought you here to make amends.”
“What you mean is that you got us out to the middle of the ocean because there’s nothing you like better than a captive audience.
” Tom crushes his pristine white napkin into a ball and then relents and flattens it again.
This is in no way a metaphor for his feelings towards Ade.
“You knew we’d tell you where to stick your apology if you came to us in Britain, so you thought you’d wow us with your big, fancy boat. ”
I decide not to point out that he was the most impressed of the lot of us when we arrived, and I wonder what’s changed.
When no one else says anything, Jake does. “What were you expecting? Did you think that Ade was bringing you here for financial advice?”
I remember Ade and Tom walking off together after we went swimming, and I think he might be right. Did Tom offer his services only to be knocked back? For a moment, he looks as though he might shout or cry, but nothing more comes.
“Why are you so angry?” Clara asks from across the table. Her voice is as small as it ever was, but something in her tone shows her strength.
“I’m not angry.” Tom sits up straighter in his chair as if to suggest that he is the reasonable one. “I just don’t appreciate being brought here under false pretences. It’s not as if we can hop off the ship and head back to land, is it?”
The anger that he just denied is visible as he clenches his jaw and taps his finger over and over in the same nervous pattern.
“We’ve gone too far to turn back,” comes Ade’s response. “Perhaps the helicopter could fly out to us if you are desperate, but it was rented, so I’m not sure if it’s available.”
“Ha! It isn’t even his helicopter!” Tom points to Ade and laughs as he looks from face to face.
To celebrate this small victory, he reaches for his glass before remembering that there is no alcohol in it and becoming frustrated again.
“He made that whole big scene, and it’s not even his helicopter! ”
He’s like a malfunctioning robot who, now that his battery is almost dead, can only stare at the substance that will do nothing to power him back up.
It’s time for me to feel sorry for Sasha again. She looks down at her lap, and I realise that this is nothing new. Her resigned expression tells me that her husband’s public outbursts are a regular occurrence and not something she knows how to handle.
Was it really only a few minutes ago I showed up here looking insanely cool with my hair blowing in the breeze and everyone shouting my name?
Ade’s announcement has been hijacked and then stabbed to death.
Sadly for him, it’s easier to maintain control of a multitude of baying fans than a small group of friends.
The waiters sense calm and make a quick dash to present their cloche-covered dishes at the table.
It’s supposed to look fancy, as the steam wafts out from under the silver covers, but it reminds me of the breakfasts we had in the old-fashioned seaside hotel I used to stay in on holiday with my family.
Of course, no one is looking at the gourmet food, which is a shame as, back home, I survive on a diet of beans on toast and freeze-dried noodles.
Ade is doing his best to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary has happened, but we’re still looking at him like he’s about to do a magic trick.
“The plan is to sail all the way to the Maldives,” he says, to change to a safer topic.
“From there, you can fly back to Mauritius or home to England. It’s entirely up to you, and—”
Tom can take it no more. He lurches to his feet and grabs the glass of de-alcoholised grape drink that has been taunting him for so long. He casually launches it over his shoulder, and it goes spinning down to the deck two floors below.
My body braces for the inevitable sound of glass smashing on metal. It’s almost a relief when no one cries out in pain.
Ade realises he made a mistake and returns to his previous announcement.
“I’m trying to say sorry for being a bad friend.
Through the first two years of uni, we were inseparable.
I loved you guys like family, and then Clara left, and Dawn stopped talking to me for a long time, Jake and Bridget split up, and we all fell apart.
Or at least, that was the story I told myself, but the truth is that I was to blame as much as anyone. I should have been more—”
Tom has heard enough and backs away from the table. “This isn’t the dream holiday I was promised,” he moans, like a man about to turn into a werewolf. “It’s a nightmare, and I’m already sick of it.”