‘No, you’re all right. It’s getting easier. Think I might even get back out there. What’s not to love about a lanky historian with a fanatical interest in theTitanic?’
Emma wonders if this is why she has slipped so easily into Alistair’s company– their shared obsession? Sharing an interest does seem to pull people together– she thinks of the Glory Girls– and it occurs to her that maybe people with a shared connection like helping each other.
‘How about you?’ Alistair asks.
Emma is saved from answering by the reappearance of Jan, who asks them what drinks they want next.
‘We’re in your hands,’ Alistair says, draining his drink.
Next on Jan’s list is a blackberry and elderflower martini. He serves this with a small purple and pink fuchsia head hanging on the side of the glass.
‘It’s the arms,’ Emma whispers, sipping her martini, the fuchsia resting in the curls she has tucked behind her ear. She is staring down the bar, watching Jan work.
‘I only ever consider personality,’ Alistair says, then laughs at Emma’s startled look. ‘Nah, legs,’ he confesses. He tips his head sideways towards Jan. ‘He likes you,’ he declares.
‘No! No, far too young,’ Emma exclaims– but a little wistfully.
Alistair grins. ‘So?’
As they drink their martinis, Emma tells Alistair about the people who have helped her with her research: Les, with his interest in the historical society; Guy and his realisation about the photographs of theTitanic; the smiling girl who helped her in the library; Tamas finding the flower nursery; Mrs Pepperpot pulling together the photos of the Bealings; Betty and her never-ending encouragement; Clem with her insight into how much work there was for a florist on board. ‘She wasreallyhelpful,’ she concludes.
‘Bit like myself then.’ Alistair nudges her shoulder with his, and picking up the cocktail menu, says, ‘I tell you what– I’d like to try a cocktail they’d have drunk on theTitanic. We should toast your florist, or florists,’ he says, ‘whoever they are.’
Emma glances at him sideways.
‘What is it?’
Emma breathes in. She can feel the alcohol loosening her tongue, ‘You know, I thought I was here to save her.’
‘You’ve lost me there.’
‘I… My husband died a year or so ago, and … well, it’s complicated.’
Alistair reaches out and touches her arm. ‘Jeez, Em, I’m so sorry.’
She doesn’t want to talk about Will, really, not because she feels she can’t confide in Alistair, but because she is enjoying herself. And for the first time in months feeling good feels normal.
‘You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, Em.’
She thinks of the people who called her ‘love’ and ‘honey’ and now ‘Em’, and she is glad. So she tries to find the words, fleetingly wondering if Alistair speaks French or Spanish.
‘A few weeks ago, when I started wondering if there was a florist on theTitanic, I couldn’t let the idea of finding her go. It’s become an obsession, I guess– I think partly to stop me dwelling on other stuff to do with my husband.’ She looks at Alistair to see if he’s with her.
‘Go on.’
‘I got it into my head that if I could find her and prove she’d survived, I would have saved her, and that would make a difference, somehow.’ She glances at him. ‘Mad, I know, but I wasn’t exactly thinking straight.’ She smiles. ‘I’ve spent quite a lot of time lately not sleeping, not talking and in fact, not doing much of anything.’
‘Been there, would have got the T-shirt but couldn’t be arsed.’
Emma laughs. Then she tries to put into words what has just come to her. ‘I guess what I’m trying to say … not very well … is that it’s just struck me that maybe I wasn’t there to save her– I think she was there to save me. To stop me from drowning.’
Alistair turns his whole body towards Emma and half smiles. ‘Who knows? As they say Em, “stranger things happen at sea”.’
It is just what Les would say.
‘Look, I’ve been thinking, Em– I know you were disappointed when I said that thing back there about theTitanicbeing made up of different countries—’
‘No, it’s—’ she begins.
