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 ©
