“Lead the way.”
I’m ninety percent of the way through the interview when I hear Cheddar’s laughter. I spot her, Kit, and River walking in and over to the counter. As much as I wouldlove to join them, I’m still in reporter mode, so I stay put listening to Tasha.
She’s an accomplished woman with enviable life stories. Her father, grandfather and great-grandfather were all pilots. It’s a family tradition she is proud to continue, and the love she exudes towards the military is clearly deep-rooted. Through our chat, I’ve discovered she is queer, which isn’t a surprise. I think she mentions her exes just to make it obvious to me, so I’m expecting a little more flirting once the interview is over.
As she continues to speak, my eyes flick over to River and her friends. Kit and Cheddar are laughing together, but River is looking right at me with furrowed brows. I want to ask her what’s wrong, but I’m still interviewing Tasha. We continue for a few more minutes and I’m able to actually listen to what she says and make some more notes without getting distracted.
I laugh along as she tells me stories of her time on board. Like every other person I’ve interviewed, her sense of love and loyalty to her crewmates is impressive. She’s a very tactile woman, which I don’t mind because it means she’s comfortable with me and that’s the best way to get an honest and intimate interview.
We finally wrap up and, as predicted, Tasha slips on a cheeky smile before leaning a little closer and laying her hand on my forearm. “Fancy getting a drink together when we dock back in Portsmouth?”
“We’ve still got a few weeks before that happens.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “That wasn’t a no.”
Chuckling, I slip my notebook off the table and sling the camera strap around my neck. “It wasn’t a yes either.”
I want to say no, because as lovely as Tasha is as a person, my interest lies with only one sailor aboard this ship. However, I’m reluctant to decline outright because I don’t want her enquiring into my personal life. I need to keep this strictly business with at least one fucking person on this tub! Lord knows I’ve failed miserably with River…and her friends.
“I’ll take it as a maybe then.” She smiles. “It was lovely talking to you, Cleo.”
We shake hands, and she leaves. I turn towards River, but she’s not there. Shame really, I could have done with a little Romeo time.
23
River
Apparently, I don’t enjoyseeing Cleo talking to other lesbians. I’ve never been a person who gets jealous…about anything. It’s not an emotion I’m familiar with, or I wasn’t until yesterday.
Tasha Alcott is a charming pilot, who has no problems getting women. We’ve never hung out or anything, but the gay scene isn’t very big so inevitably we’ve bumped into each other from time to time on a night out. She’s never interested me as a bed partner because I think we’re too alike. I think Kit might have given it a go once or twice, but I’m not one hundred percent sure.
Whatever, that doesn’t matter. What matters is Tasha Alcott was sitting with Cleo in the coffee lounge yesterday afternoon, being her usual charming and tactile self, and I disliked it a lot. Even more so when it seemed Cleo enjoyedthe attention. I watched Tasha lean in, watched her touch Cleo’s arm, watched Cleo laugh at something she said. And I hated it. I hated that Tasha was making Cleo laugh. I hated that Cleo looked comfortable and engaged. I hated that I couldn’t be the one sitting across from her.
And I hated that I had no right to feel that way. We’ve been on one date. One. I don’t own her. I have no claim on her.
But God, I wanted to.
It didn’t help that we couldn’t meet up last night. Cleo still had an interview to conduct and notes to write up, and I had jobs to finish in the bunk, which would get me one step closer to making up for my past behaviour to my friends.
I think I did a pretty good job of keeping the green-eyed monster at bay…well, in front of other people. When it was just me in my bed, I admit I scowled at the ceiling for a few hours like a petulant kid. Hey, I’m a work in progress.
Today is a new day, though, and I have a date to prepare. In reality I just need to make sure the picnic is still a go, and that my friends are still okay with being on Benson Watch.
The weather is predicted to be sunny all day and cloudless this evening. We’ll still have the wind to contend with, but not having pissing down rain is as good as it gets. I figured out where we can have our picnic, and it’s quite a genius move, even if I do say so myself.
On the starboard side of the ship is a lookout balcony below the main deck, off the main hangar. We use it to transfer supplies when at sea. It’s hidden from the bridge and the flight deck, unless someone is purposefully looking over the rail. I can’t even begin to explain the favours I’ve had to shell out to make it happen, but it means Cleo and I can have some privacy for once, which I’m hoping means a few stolen kisses. And for that, I’d do a lot more than give favours. Cleo’s mouth is addictive, and I’ve gone far too long without touching her lips.
My day, however, is rudely turned upside down when I interrupt something I can never un-see or un-hear. So, the thing I was mulling over yesterday about Grey and Benson seems to have been right on the mark, and I couldn’t be less happy to be right for once.
As you can imagine, on a ship the size of the Queen Elizabeth, there are plenty of storage areas and closets filled with shit. Cleaning supplies, uniforms, etc. Those storage areas are spread all over the ship, so why, oh why, did Ihappen to open the one which housed a very sweaty and grunting Benson taking Grey from behind over a crate of fabric softener?
Did I manifest it? I mean, what are the fucking odds? Why me?
For a horrifying few seconds, my eyeballs are locked on to Grey’s as she looks behind her. Her eyes go wide, her mouth falls open, and I can see the exact moment she realises what’s happening. That I’ve seen them. That I know.
My stomach lurches. My heart pounds. My hands go numb.
Benson is so far none the wiser as he rails into her.
