‘How’s Alf?’ Her voice cracked with emotion.
‘He passed away, Tracy, two weeks ago.’ Tracy closed her eyes. There was a few seconds’ silence. Swallowing, she thanked him again and said her goodbyes. Feeling more determined than ever now, she put the phone down and said a prayer for Alf.
*
‘Come on, have a dip Celia. The water’s fine!’ Beatrice was sporting an aqua-blue swimsuit, matching the colour of the cruise liner’s swimming pool. It looked wonderfully cool and refreshing against the relentless heat, but Celia refused, propped up in a deck chair reading Agatha Christie in her T-shirt, Bermuda shorts and Jesus sandals. ‘It’s so revitalising, you should try it!’ called Beatrice again, wishing not for the first time that her sister would learn to let go and perk up.
‘I said I’m fine as I am, thank you,’ came the stilted reply from behind the cover ofAnd Then There Were None. If only, thought Celia, wishing, not for the first time, her sister would learn to leave her in peace and calm down.
Her thoughts turned to the first night of the cruise. Beatrice, as usual, had soaked up all the attention thrown her way, chatting and laughing with the captain, who had made such a fuss of her. Well, he would, wouldn’t he? It wasn’t every evening he’d find himself sitting next to a titled lady. Then the way that brigadier chap had latched on to her, making her giggle like a schoolgirl. Not to mention how that Johnny foreigner, Carlos whatever-his-name was, had her jiving in the middle of the dance floor, making complete fools of themselves. Celia had seen it all, sitting at the dinner table, wearing her floral forget-me-not dress and a deadpan expression.
‘She’s great fun, your sister, isn’t she?’ gushed the captain.
‘An absolute hoot,’ replied Celia drily.
Then her sister couldn’t fail but to attract attention playing deck shuffleboard, cheering others on and whooping with delight when she’d won. Typical. Beatrice always won. Celia had immersed herself in the newspaper. However, she did push the boat out one afternoon and attended an origami class, but soon found that tedious and somewhat pointless. Tonight was to be a theme night: ‘Murder and Mystery’. Beatrice had chosen to be Lady Macbeth and planned to wear a long floaty dress with a silk cape and tiara. Whereas Celia had plumped for her tweed suit, thick tights and brogues, in an attempt to resemble Miss Marple.
‘Oh, that’s better!’ Beatrice had emerged from the pool and was drying herself off. Droplets of water splashed Celia’s book. Tutting, she wiped them away. ‘Good book, dear?’
‘Everyone gets killed off, one by one,’ Celia informed her, her eyes never leaving the page.
‘It’s being so cheerful that keeps you going, Celia.’
