Day Four (22 page)

A nudge at his shoulder. He opened his eyes. Had he slept? He couldn’t tell, but his head didn’t feel quite so cumbersome anymore.

His neighbour moaned and muttered something in a language Gary didn’t understand.

Gary blinked and looked around the room again. The white walls. Of course. Now he understood. The huge man in the dungarees was closer now. Gary still couldn’t see his eyes. ‘Am I in hospital? Did I fall?’

‘Shhhhhhhh.’

And then the man was over by the door, finger to his lips, beckoning for Gary to join him.

‘Time to go?’

The man didn’t answer.

Up, up. Get up. He kicked away the sheets, which tangled in his legs. He was about to ask the man to help him, but he was no longer there. The blood was drying on the inside of his arm. Rusty flakes. He wiped it with the sheet. Slowly, slowly does it. Ooh. The floor beneath his feet was spongey. He tripped over a bag half-hidden beneath the bed. Clothes. And his glasses. Where were his glasses? Never mind. He wasn’t blind without them, just got headaches.

‘Going now,’ he said to the man with the bandaged arm, who was now curled up like a child. ‘Bye, bye.’ His mouth tasted funny, as if he’d been sucking on chalk. How did he get here? Maybe he’d fallen. Had a little accident. Oops.

He shuffled to the door, drifted through it and floated past a desk and on towards another door. This one was heavy and it took him several tries to get his hand to turn the handle. Out into a hallway.

Two people came blurring towards him. A man and a woman. Black and white, ebony and ivory. He liked the look of the woman, she was—

No.

The man had a bloodied face.

‘Is the doctor in there?’ the woman asked him.

Gary couldn’t speak, and he had to move on. The man in the dungarees was waiting for him at the foot of the stairwell. He crooked a finger and Gary followed. Up the stairs, the floor moving again. He walked on in his floaty way. It wasn’t unpleasant. His friend was beckoning him on. He didn’t want to lose sight of him. He had the feeling he knew the man. From where? A gap in his memory.

Marilyn. He should find her. Which way?

He turned a corner, passing a woman who was rubbing at the carpet. Pukey smell. ‘Are you okay, sir?’

‘Yes. Need to find Marilyn.’

There were two women ahead of him, talking excitedly and blocking his view of his friend. One of them turned to look at him. The skin on her face was like a cracked vase – so many lines on it! ‘Help you?’ she said.

‘Going up,’ Gary giggled. His friend was bouncing up the stairs in front of the couple. Gary pushed past them to catch up to him.

‘Hey!’ they called after him.

He rounded another corner, but the man was gone. Where now? He had a cabin, maybe Marilyn would be in the cabin, but he couldn’t go down there. He couldn’t bear the thought of that. Something had happened down there, but all that came to him was the memory of a nasty smell. He went up and up until he reached the atrium. He remembered this area. He tickled his fingers against the Christmas decorations that were woven through the railings. Mmmm. Pretty. He’d never really stopped to look at them before. Christmas, he liked Christmas.

Then he made his way outside, pushing against the greasy glass. Sea – he loved the sea. He drifted over to the railing, tripping over a pair of outstretched legs.

‘Watch it, mate!’ a grumpy voice sniped in his direction. Gary ignored it. How would he ever find Marilyn in this crowd? His chest tightened. He needed his friend to guide him.

He stood as still as he could, looking down at the waves. There was something floating in the water. Bobbing and drifting like him. Something red and shiny. The sun beat down on his head. He lifted his face and closed his eyes. Mmmm.

‘Gary!’

‘He belong to you, love?’

‘Gary! Is that you?’

He opened his eyes and turned around. He was now standing next to a line of people. How did he get here? Marilyn. There she was. His wife. God, he loathed her. Things were woolly, but he could remember that. Sunburned face, mouth like a scar, her lips too thin. Not like . . .

No.

‘Gary. You’ve been out for over twenty-four hours. Honey. I’ve been so worried.’

He squeezed the words out. They sounded distant, as if he were hearing them through a tube. ‘What happened to me? I fall?’

Marilyn had been joined by a man with dull blue eyes. Gary dredged up his name: Mason. ‘They let you out, then, Gary?’

Gary nodded. Had they?

‘What happened to me?’ His distant voice sounded tearful, but he didn’t feel like crying.

‘You don’t remember?’ Marilyn asked.

‘No.’

Marilyn glanced at Mason.

The itch of a memory at the back of his head.
Fingers.

‘Honey . . . you’d . . . I don’t like to say it. You were passed out in the cabin, and when they tried to move you, you started screaming. They gave you some kind of tranquilliser.’

Nudging in the back of his head. Fingers. Fingers and—

No
.

‘I was so worried. I came to see you, you remember that? Brought you some clean clothes last night. Hon, Mason’s been so good to me. He came down to the cabin with me to get the rest of my things.’

‘Stinks down there,’ Mason growled. ‘You’re not going to freak out on us again, are you?’

‘What happened, Gary? Did someone attack you? Did someone spike your drink with some dangerous drug or something? We can sue.’

‘Yeah. Safety is an issue on these goddamned things. They need to do more. There was that girl as well.’

‘Girl?’ Marilyn asked.

His girl. They were talking about his girl, but she was—

‘Found dead in her cabin. Sam heard it from one of the girl’s group when she was in the line for hotdogs this morning.’

Marilyn touched her throat. ‘Oh my Lord. What if whoever did that came after you, Gary?’

‘Hey, what are you wearing, bud? Going for the
Miami Vice
look?’

Gary looked down at himself. He didn’t remember getting dressed. The fly on his shorts was open, a whorl of pubic hair poking through the zip’s mouth. His shirt was unbuttoned. ‘I . . .’

Mason slapped him on the shoulder. ‘You come with us. We’re getting ourselves organised. We have a safe place.’

Marilyn took his arm and led him towards a metal staircase. His friend – where was his friend? He looked around for him, but he was gone.

‘We’re using the Tranquillity deck, hon,’ Marilyn said. ‘Mason’s making sure it doesn’t get too crowded.’

Mason grunted. Mason had a wife, Gary remembered that. A plastic woman, like a doll.

‘We have to poop in bags. Isn’t it awful? Mason keeps trying to speak to the captain, but they keep fobbing him off.’

‘I’ll get there. They got no right to keep us in the dark like this. And they’re lying to us. Guy in our group is a cellphone technician. Came equipped with state-of-the-art tech. Can’t get it to work. Says the whole lot is down.’

‘We’re just drifting, honey. We can’t go back to the cabins, so most of us are up on the deck . . .’

Gary let the talk wash over him. The sun was flashing into his eyes.

‘. . . we think we’re going to have to go up to the bridge through the crew bar. There are staircases that will lead us up there.’

Someone shouted: ‘Look!’

A beep and then: ‘G’day, ladies and gentlemen. Damien here, your cruise director. I’m sure you’re really grateful to all your wonderful crew members . . .’ Gary fought to concentrate on the words, but it was hard. ‘. . . thank you for your patience. The captain of the ship, Guiseppe Leonidas will be speaking to you shortly. As you will have noticed, one of our tender boats is about to drop over the side.’ A long pause, a crackle and then a heavily accented voice: ‘Ladies and gentlemens, I am sorry not have been speaking to you sooner. We have been working very hard on trying to fix the problem. In short, what it is is an issue with the generator. A small fire which caused a break in the connection. Until this is fixed we do not have power to move. We have also attempted many times to call to our control for help, but there has been no answer. We have tried in many ways. We are sure that . . .’

Gary’s vision wavered. He wanted to lie down, go back to sleep.

Marilyn’s voice drifted in and out. ‘. . . mean, Mason? . . . a good sign?’

‘At least they’re doing something . . . hey . . . so good . . . down here if he’s got the . . .’

The sound of a cheer. ‘There’s a boat!’ People shoved past Gary to get closer to the railings, their skin rasping against his. He was left alone next to the Jacuzzi. He stared at their bodies, all lined up. His friend wasn’t with them, but . . .

His girl. His girl was there.

No nonononononononono
.

Blonde. His girl was blonde. Overweight. She was standing there, her back to him. Teasing him. He stalked up to her. She was alive after all. He knew it.

He grabbed her arm. She squealed and turned around. Not his girl. It wasn’t her. ‘What the fuck you doin’?’ she yelled.

‘Sorry. Sorry.’ He backed up, got his legs tangled in a chair behind him. He felt himself falling in slow motion, crumping on his tailbone. He looked up, the sun turning the people staring down at him into ghosts. He could see their faces, but none of them had any eyes.

Marilyn said: ‘Oh
Gary
.’

And then a hole inside his head opened up, and dragged him under.

The Devil’s Handmaiden

The laundry room, usually a hive of activity, of sudsy smells and voices and the whir of the giant machines, was deserted and dark and reeked of mildew. Althea hefted the bags containing the filthy sheets and towels and dumped them in the corner.
Somebody else’s problem now
. Most of them belonged to the Linemans. Mrs Lineman hadn’t lifted a finger to help her, and didn’t seem at all embarrassed that her stateroom was a slovenly mess of soiled towels, sheets and body fluids. It had taken her over an hour to put it straight. Still, the thought of that stupid
bastardo
being forced to void his bowels in a bag almost made up for all the extra work. In contrast, Helen had insisted on changing the sheets herself, and had respectfully asked Althea if she could bring her a bucket, chlorine spray and rags so that she could clean up after Elise should the need arise. She must go and check on Elise and Helen again later, ensure that they had everything they needed.

She was surprised the ship hadn’t gone into red alert; she’d been through two norovirus outbreaks over the years and it was standard procedure. Althea had no intention of getting it. It was simple: wash and disinfect your hands; don’t touch any surfaces without wearing gloves and be liberal with the chlorine bleach spray. There were two more sick passengers on the starboard side – Electra hadn’t shown up to service her station – and Althea had made sure the guests wanted for nothing. When the ship eventually limped home to shore, the fact that they’d been stranded for so long would be a big story. And when it was all over, it would be Althea the guests would remember. She hadn’t abandoned her station once. But it was taking its toll. The exhaustion felt like a slow acid crawling up her legs. She hadn’t slept well. How could she? The boy had come to her last night in her dreams (at least she hoped it was in her dreams). He’d curled up at the foot of her bed, and she’d barely dared to breathe for fear of disturbing him.

Then Mirasol had returned from the bathroom, slamming the door, and the boy . . . the boy was gone. Perhaps the boy she was seeing was hers. The child in her belly. The baby she was going to have. Telling her that she must accept her fate. She shook her head. Loco. There was no madness in her family, although her sister was of a nervous disposition and had become moody, irrational and withdrawn after she’d had her third child. But that was normal. Althea had seen it many times. No. It was just the stress. This situation was frightening. Even the old hands who had been on the ships for years were spooked. The Internet was still down, and Angelo said it wouldn’t be long before the emergency generators ran out of juice. Paulo had a short-wave radio in his cabin and even he couldn’t get a signal. Many of the crew were choosing to sleep out on the crew deck or the airier loading decks, the smell of unfiltered sewage and the fear of the unknown driving them out of their cabins. The stories were raging around the crew decks: the ship was haunted, the dead girl in the morgue had come to life and was lying in wait to scare the foolhardy to death. The water was still running, so it was possible to have a shower, but that was it. She was relieved it was not up to her to clean the communal staff bathrooms.

She forced herself to move, and made her way down to Maria’s office. The door was open and raised voices came from within. She hesitated, planning to hang back and eavesdrop, but Maria spotted her before she could slip out of sight. ‘Come in, Althea.’

Mirasol, who had clearly been crying, smiled with relief when she saw her. There was only the faintest bruise below her left eye from yesterday’s attack.

Maria folded her hands on the desk in front of her. ‘If you won’t do your work then I will have no choice but to let you go.’