A New Short Story

A few weeks ago, before the coronavirus hit, I wrote this short story. I sent it off to a Writer's Magazine short story competition. The same one that, A Twist of Fate, had been short-listed in previously. I wasn't as successful this time, but as it's the first story, or even anything, I've written apart from assignments, in over two years, I guess it's not really surprising. The story is based on a strange encounter I had on a cruise. But the characters are completely fictional.

But I thought I'd share it here anyway. The feed back I got was positive. I'd made a few grammatical errors, but she said the dialogue was, 'well crafted', the opening had a hook that made you want to read on, that she enjoyed reading the story. She concluded that, 'it needed work, but had potential.' I'll take that. So her it is. Grab a tea or coffee, sit back and I hope you enjoy it.

The Promise.

Harriet sat huddled in a deck chair, a light breeze ruffled her short, auburn hair and her hazel eyes stared towards the horizon. The early morning sun warmed her pale cheeks, bringing the promise of another glorious day. Lost in thought, she was oblivious to the beauty of the Mediterranean Sea, calm now after the previous night’s storm; the haunting cry of the shearwaters following the ship the only sound breaking the silence. Harriet knew the peace wouldn’t last for long, but she was making the most of this moment of solitude. She was slowly getting used to being on her own, but the feeling of emptiness deep in the pit of her stomach seemed just as strong.

‘Good morning. Another glorious day and the air feels so fresh after last night’s horrendous storm.’

Startled, Harriet looked up. Standing in front of her was a woman of about sixty years old, the beaming smile on her round face matching the twinkle in her blue eyes. Her white hair was cut in a short pixy style. She was dressed in a white t-shirt, emblazoned with the face of a black cat which stretched over her ample bosom, white Bermuda shorts and matching white trainers.

‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ she replied, turning her gaze to look up at the cloudless sky.

‘I’ve never seen anything like it; both sheet and fork lightning at the same

time. It was like a grotesque theatrical show where Zeus and Poseidon were fighting for dominance of the sea. It was quite breath-taking. Oh listen to me prattling on. My husband tells me off for boring complete strangers. I’m Jean by the way.’

‘I’m Harriet,’ pleased to meet you.’

‘Well I’d better be getting on. I’m trying to do several circuits of the jogging

track before the serious runners appear. Lovely to meet you, Harriet. We’ll probably keep bumping into each other now,’ laughed Jean, as she started to jog on the spot, before setting off towards the stern of the ship.

‘Bye,’ called Harriet, as she watched Jean begin to power walk, her plump

arms jiggling as she swung them backwards and forwards. Harriet couldn’t help smiling.

Later that evening Harriet walked into the piano bar. She loved the smell of the polished wood of the bar. The walls, with their round, bottle-bottom shaped glass pretend portholes, made her feel as if she was on an old fashioned clipper instead of a modern cruise ship. She ordered a gin and tonic and made her way to one of the small round tables set back against the wall. The evening quiz was about to begin, but Harriet was quite content to just observe.

            ‘Coo-ee, Harriet. Don’t sit there on your own. Come and join us.’

            Harriet’s heart sank at the sound of the shrill voice of Bronwyn, one of the guests at her dinner table. She was one of those people who complained about everything and Harriet just wasn’t in the mood to have to listen to it. She thought about making some excuse and leaving, but struggled to come up with anything plausible.

            ‘Oh there you are, Harriet. Sorry I’m late. I had a bit of a wardrobe malfunction.’

            Startled, Harriet looked up into the smiling face of Jean. ‘N-no problem, I’ve just got here myself. What can I get you to drink?’ she replied, shooting Jean a smile of gratitude.

            ‘I’ll have what you’re having.’

            ‘Gin and tonic?’

            ‘Perfect, with a slice of lime please.’

            Harriet stood up and glanced over to where Bronwyn was sitting, her dyed black hair, shaking as she talked to the lady on her right. Harriet smiled in sympathy at the glazed expression on the woman’s face. She had intended to apologise, but Bronwyn had clearly moved on.

            A few minutes later, Harriet placed Jean’s drink on the table and sat down opposite her.

‘I hope you don’t mind me joining you. But I had a feeling that you might need

rescuing,’ whispered Jean. ‘I’ve come across Bronwyn before.’

            Harriet laughed. ‘I don’t mind in the least. In fact, I’m very grateful.’

            ‘Well don’t be too grateful yet. You don’t know what kind of company I’m going to be. It might be a case of, “frying pan and fire”,’ laughed Jean.

            ‘Somehow I don’t think so. I think we’re going to get along just fine.’

Harriet and Jean fell into the habit of meeting each night for a drink before dinner. Jean proved to be very entertaining company. They discovered a shared passion for mythology and Downton Abbey. Jean made Harriet laugh with her tales of some of the people she’d met on previous cruises.

            ‘The worst ones are the frequent cruisers, the ones who’ve “been everywhere and seen everything“, and don’t mind telling you all about it,’ explained Jean. ‘My Fred and I made a promise to each other that we wouldn’t allow ourselves to become like that.’

            ‘And have you? Managed it I mean?’ teased Harriet.

            ‘You tell me. Have I bored you with my tales?’

            ‘Not at all, I’m really enjoying your company,’ smiled Harriet. ‘And you did save me from Bronwyn, so I owe you one.’

            ‘Fred and I became very adept at avoiding the Bronwyns of this cruise world,’ chuckled Jean. ‘Stick with me and you’ll learn a trick or two.’

            Harriet picked up her drink and took a sip. She’d been wondering about Jean’s husband. He never joined them for a drink and she hadn’t seen them together on the ship. She didn’t even mention him when telling Harriet about the shore excursions she’d been on. ‘Perhaps Jean’s just being thoughtful as she knows I’m on my own?’ she thought. One thing she’d learned was that Jean had a heart of gold. Besides, he was probably one of those guys who preferred a pint in the sports bar watching the football, rather than a gin and tonic, and she wasn’t one to pry.

The next day was a sea day. After a light lunch of soup and salad, Harriet decided to sit outside and read her book. All the loungers around the pool were taken. But it didn’t matter as Harriet preferred to be somewhere quiet. She’d discovered a spot to the front of the ship, looking down onto the helicopter landing pad. It was in the shade, but she didn’t mind as with her fair skin she preferred to keep out of the sun. There was a small pool alongside the pad which was reserved for the crew, and a lone swimmer was steadily ploughing his way from one edge to the other. Harriet began to feel drowsy. But just as she began to drift off to sleep, she became aware of some new activity down below. The captain and several of his officers, their white uniforms gleaming in the bright Mediterranean sunshine, were making their way to the bow of the ship and in among them she could see the short, white spiky hair of her new friend, Jean. She was carrying something, but Harriet couldn’t make out what it was. The captain stopped in front of the bow and he and his colleagues removed their caps and bowed their heads. Harriet watched as a few minutes later Jean stepped up to the bow and, after a short pause, threw the object she’d been carrying over the side, followed by a red and white floral wreath. The object bobbed on the surface for a moment before disappearing in the churning white foam. Harriet clasped her hands to her mouth, tears pooling in her eyes as she realised what was happening. Now she knew why she’d never seen Jean’s husband.

That evening Harriet felt apprehensive as she made her way to the piano bar. The night before Jean had said that she would be there as usual, but Harriet wasn’t sure what she should do. Should she say what she’d seen, or should she wait for Jean to mention it? ‘I guess I’ll leave it up to Jean to tell me if she wants to. After all it’s not really any of my business,’ she decided.

            Jean was already at the table, a bottle of champagne sat in an ice bucket, with two flutes on one side. Jean smiled at Harriet as she sat down. But she looked pale and her eyes lacked their usual twinkle.

            ‘Are we celebrating something?’ asked Harriet lightly, determined not to let on what she’d witnessed that afternoon.

            ‘Yes, life, we’re celebrating life’ replied Jean, as she lifted her hand and gave a little wave to one of the waiters, who hurried over and opened the bottle.

Harriet watched as he poured expertly, just stopping before the bubbles spilled over the top of the glass.

            Jean picked up both glasses and handed one to Harriet. ‘To life,’ said Jean clinking her glass against Harriet’s. ‘Life in all its glory; good and bad.’

            Harriet sipped her drink, the bubbles tickling her nose. She didn’t really know what to say. But Jean seemed lost in her own thoughts anyway.

            For a few moments they drank in companionable silence. Then, Jean placed her glass on the table and looked directly at Harriet. ‘I haven’t been completely straight with you,’ she began. ‘I’m not just on holiday. I came on the cruise to scatter my husband’s ashes and I did so this afternoon.’

            Harriet leaned forward and gently took hold of both of Jean’s hands. ‘I know,’ she murmured. ‘I have a favourite spot just above the helicopter pad and I saw everything. I’m so sorry. I’d have come with you if you’d told me. I buried my own husband a few months ago. I know what it’s like.’

            ‘Oh my poor girl, I didn’t realise. I just thought that you were one of those modern, independent, young women, who liked to travel on their own. Although I must admit I sensed sadness in you, but I put it down to a touch of loneliness.’

            Harriet shook her head. ‘Not sadness, just regret. This was meant to be our second honeymoon. Dominic, my husband, had a brain tumour. They said that it was operable. So we booked the cruise to have something to look forward to after the operation. But there were complications and he died on the table.’

            Jean moved to the seat next to Harriet and put her arms around her shoulders and pulled her into a hug. ‘I don’t know what to say. At least Fred and I had forty years together.’

            ‘We had ten,’ sobbed Harriet, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. ‘Dominic was so positive that everything would be ok. But he promised that whatever happened; he’d never leave me. But I don’t believe in life after death.’

            ‘Fred said the same thing,’ smiled Jean. ‘We agreed on a sign. He said that, whenever I saw a white feather, it would mean that he was near, looking out for me. But apart from the ones on the birds that have been following the ship, I haven’t seen one yet.’

            Harriet wiped her eyes and a tremulous smile hovered around her lips. ‘Perhaps he hadn’t really left you until today, when you scattered his ashes?’

            ‘I never thought of that. You could be right. Let’s have a toast to Fred and Dominic. May they sail the seas together.’

            ‘I’ll drink to that. May Poseidon grant them a safe passage,’ replied Harriet.

            ‘That’s why I scattered Fred’s ashes here you know,’ Jean continued. ‘He wanted to spend eternity "cruising" the Mediterranean, and when it’s my turn, I want to join him.’

            Unsure how to respond to what Jean had just said, Harriet lifted her glass to her lips and drank deeply. ‘I wish I had that kind of certainty, that one day we’d be reunited’, she thought. But she wasn’t going to put her disbelief on Jean.

The last night of the cruise came all too quickly. Jean and Harriet had met for their usual pre-dinner drink, but they agreed to meet again later for one last time.

            ‘I thought I’d treat us to a cocktail as it’s our last night,’ said Harriet, as she placed two boat-shaped glasses on the table. ‘I hope you like Manhattans?’

            ‘I’ve never had one, but I’ll try anything once,’ said Jean as she reached for her drink. ‘Mm, nice. Not too sweet, but with a bit of a kick. Then, placing her glass on the table, she reached into her small evening purse and handed Harriet a card. ‘Here’s my mobile number and email. I won’t give you my address. I’m planning on selling up and moving to be near my daughter in Scotland.’

            ‘How exciting. Do you have any grandchildren?’ asked Harriet.

            ‘Yes, two. David’s three and Emily is a very precocious six-year-old. Heaven knows what she’ll be like as a teenager,’ laughed Jean. ‘I have a photograph here.’

            Harriet grinned at the sight of the two dark haired, cheeky faces.’

‘I have one of Fred too. Would you like to see it?’

            ‘I’d love to.’ Harriet stared intently at the photograph. A man with brindled hair, who was holding a pint of beer and smiling, looked back at her. ‘He has the look of someone who knows who they are, and where they’re going,’ she smiled.

            ‘That’s my Fred. It was taken in this bar, at the table over by the lifts. It was a tradition with him to sit in the bar on the last night and listen to the pianist until he stopped playing. Mind you, I think it was his way of getting out of doing the packing. But I didn’t mind,’ laughed Jean.

            ‘Dominic was hopeless at packing. I preferred to pack for both of us. It was much easier. You must miss Fred?’

            ‘I do; every day. But somehow being on this ship makes me feel close to him, as if he’s made his home here. Hark at me. I’m getting all fanciful in my old age,’ laughed Jean. ‘So, what about you? What do you plan to do?’

            ‘I’m not sure. I’ve thought about moving too. My old school friend, Grace, has moved to Canada and she’s been asking me to go for an extended visit. But I can’t bear the thought of being away from the home I shared with Dominic for too long. Does that sound crazy?’

            ‘Not at all. You need to do things at your own pace. You’ll know when the time is right.’

            Harriet didn’t reply. She absentmindedly twisted the ring on the ring finger of her left hand as it finally dawned on her that she really would have to face the future, one without Dominic in it.

Gradually the bar began to empty and the time came for them to say goodnight.

            ‘I’m so glad we met,’ said Jean as she wrapped her arms around Harriet and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’m sure we’ll meet again and remember, you’re not alone, Dominic is with you.’

            Harriet returned Jean’s kiss. A lump had appeared in her throat and she couldn’t speak.

            ‘Everything will be ok, eventually,’ said Jean. ‘It really does just take time.’

            ‘I know. You take care of yourself, and let me know how you get on with your precocious granddaughter.’

            ‘Oh I will,’ laughed Jean. ‘I’ll be fine. After all I know that Fred will be looking out for me.’

            Harriet smiled, but said nothing.

The inspiration for the story.

Harriet made her way to the lift beside the piano bar. The ship was quiet apart from the clinking of the glasses and the cheerful chatter of the bar staff as they cleared the tables. The lights were turned down low as if the ship was putting itself to bed. Harriet glanced over to have one last look. She smiled as she thought of the many chats she’d had with Jean and thought how much she was going to miss her. They’d only known each other for a few days, but they’d become close.

            Suddenly, her jaw dropped as her eyes alighted on a man sitting at the table nearest the lift. She did a double take as she realised that he was the spitting image of the photograph of Fred she’d seen earlier that evening. A shiver ran down her spine.

            ‘Get a grip Harriet,’ she muttered. ‘You’ve obviously had too much to drink tonight.’

            At that moment, the lift arrived and as the doors closed she watched as he lifted his glass in greeting. As the lift swept her up to the tenth floor her mind raced as she thought about what had just happened. She’d never believed in the supernatural, but this encounter had really spooked her.

            When she reached her cabin, she swiped her sea pass card and opened the door. The cabin steward had left a swan towel sculpture on her bed. Smiling, she bent down to pick it up, intending to place it on the sofa. As she did so, out of the corner of her eye she saw something flutter to the ground. Curious, she bent down to have a closer look. Her heart skipped a beat as she realised it was a small white feather.

            She stooped down and gently picked it up, then carried it over to the dressing table drawer, from which she removed the small case containing her pearl necklace. A dreamy expression came over her face as she thought back to her wedding day, when Dominic had first placed the pearls around her neck. She could almost feel the warmth of his breath as he’d leaned in to kiss the back of her neck. She opened the case and gently placed the feather beside the photograph of him she kept there, her heart aching at the sight of his smiling face.

            ‘Hi Dominic,’ she whispered.’ ‘Welcome back. I’ve missed you.’ She reached down and gently touched the photograph. ‘I’m sorry I lost faith. I should’ve known that you’d find a way to keep your promise,’ she smiled. ‘You always did.’

Isabel Johnstone 2020 ©

Photos Isabel's own.