Love You Dead

56 Tuesday 3 March

‘What are you reading, my angel?’

Luxuriating on a blue-cushioned lounger on the open-air pool deck of the Organza, with her third Mimosa of the afternoon in a champagne glass beside her, Jodie Carmichael tilted up her straw hat and turned, with a smile, to her husband of just twenty-six hours, who had an art magazine folded across his plump, reddening stomach.

They were protected from the wind by tall windows all around, and there was a round Jacuzzi at the far end. A row of wheelchairs, mobility scooters and Zimmer frames were lined up beyond it.

‘I’ve just finished the Simon Toyne. I’m now reading a book on Mumbai I got from the ship’s library. I’m so excited — I’ve never been to India.’

‘Crazy place, Mumbai,’ he said. ‘I went to a cricket match there a few years ago. It’s their national game — almost their unifying religion. Ever watched a game?’

She shook her head. ‘Never really understood it. Have you played much, yourself?’

‘I was quite a useful spin bowler in my youth,’ he said, digging his fingers into a bowl of nuts beside him. Then he snapped his fingers at a passing steward and barked an order for a pink gin for himself and another Mimosa for his bride. Jodie cringed at his rude treatment of the sweet, young Filipino.

She continued reading. It was the four pages on the crocodile farm that she was focused on and studying intently. Sizing up the opportunities. There was plenty of wild terrain that visitors had to walk through, and that was good. That was exactly what she’d hoped.

Wild terrain.

The perfect home for the kind of cold-blooded creatures she was fond of, and understood.

‘Actually,’ he said, ‘there’s cricket on in Mumbai when we arrive there — they have a magnificent stadium. I think you’d find it quite something! But, of course, if you’d still prefer the crocodile farm...?’ His voice was full of hope and she didn’t want to dash that.

‘My darling, of course, if you’d rather we do that?’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it, my angel,’ he said. ‘If my beautiful bride has set her heart on the crocodile farm, that’s what we’ll do. Hell, I can see cricket any time.’

‘Are you really sure?’

He took her hand and held it. His palm felt sweaty, repulsing her. ‘Being with you is all that matters. I couldn’t possibly concentrate on a cricket match — my mind would be on far more naughty thoughts!’

‘I love your naughtiness!’

‘And I love yours. Fancy going back to the cabin — you know — get out of the sun for a bit?’

‘Haven’t you just ordered more drinks, my love?’

‘Ah — yes — ah — good point.’

She slipped her free hand across and down the front of his orange trunks, which had dollar signs all over them, and gently stroked him. ‘Now this is what I call a good point,’ she said, feeling him stiffen in her hand.

He let out a gasp of pleasure.

Then, as the steward arrived with their drinks, she hastily removed her hand and returned to her book. To the photographs of the crocodile farm.

How lucky she was, she thought, to have such a sweet, understanding husband.

How sad that it would only be for a short while longer, if all went to plan.

So sad she almost shed a crocodile tear.