Page 10 of Ship of Fools

“This is what I have sent him.” She starts as I whimper. Something that only makes her laugh evilly as the toilet flushes. “Hi Andreas...I should have written Dear Andreas... or maybe not. Anyway... Hi, Andreas, hope you are having a lovely Christmas.”

“And?” I say. “Please stop texting.” She’s brutal, and has no sense of decency when it comes to other people's personal possessions, and she definitely has no shame with other people’s phones. At least, not with mine.

“You had this planned all along.” I whimper.

“Yup, and he has replied. He wants to go for a walk.”

“A walk?” I shriek? “What have you told him?”

“I wrote,I have had too much Christmas food and ate a whole Christmas Semifreddo dessert almost on my own. My poor sisters barely got a teaspoon each. Since the gym is closed, I will have to go for a long walk to burn all those calories.”

“You didn’t…” I warn.

“I did, and now he wants to join you. I’ll tell him to meet you in fifteen minutes by the church. It’s midnight mass tonight, so it will be all festive and romantic down there. You know, candles and stuff.”

“You did what?”

“Too late, bro,” she giggles, as she opens the toilet door. “I guess you have a Christmas Eve date.”

“I hate you so much right now,” I spit out, as I snatch the phone from Bea’s outstretched hand.

“No, you don’t.” She says softly. “You love me, because I always fix things. That’s my speciality.”

She smiles and I raise my eyebrow in mock anger. There is some real anger in there as well, because I have never known anyone who creates as much drama as Bea. Nor have I ever known anyone who has gotten me out of as much trouble as Bea has. She even took the blame when I broke the fence, despite it being my idea to re-enact a scene from Kill Bill to impress her boyfriend at the time. In my defence I was sixteen, and stupid and fancied the boyfriend even more than Bea did. But that’s another story, and another mistake.

“What am I going to do?” I whisper, panic brewing in my veins as I read the text exchange on the screen. She’s not kidding, she has actually texted him, and he is still responding, with little Santas and snowflakes, and three little dots jumping around in the corner. He’s writing something and my heart is beating out of my chest.

“I’m NOT going.” I say defiantly, yet my feet are stepping into my trainers.

“You are an idiot if you don’t. You will be snogging like teenagers and it will be like, wildly romantic. Just think, in half an hour he could be naked in your bed.”

“BEA!” I howl. “Shut the fuck... up!!”I don’t want to risk my parents walking in on me cussing my pregnant sister, but right now? She may have just overstepped the line.

“You are going to go for a walk.” She says calmly, crossing her arms over her chest. “Don’t bring him back here, just take him home and have fantastic Christmas sex, and then you can just love him forever.”

“It doesn’t work like that.” I say, as Andreas’ text comes through. “Leaving now, I should be at the church in ten minutes. It’s raining, bring an umbrella.”

“I hate you.” I say to Bea. “I hate you so much.”

“You don’t. Go for a walk. Talk to the guy, he has promised me he is stone-cold sober.”

“What? What the hell did you say to him?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out, as you walk. Now go.”

“I’m not going nowhere, and anyway... no. Just no.” I try to take my shoes off, then I put them on again.

“I saved his number on your phone, like a normal person would. I can’t believe you didn’t even have his number in there.”

“He’s a business contact, not someone I would need to randomly text.”

“Put Dad’s raincoat on, it’s bloody belting down outside.”

“He’ll need it for later when they go to Midnight Mass.”I’m grasping at straws here, trying to avoid a meltdown and a disaster of epic proportions. I can’t go meet Andreas Mitchell. It’s Christmas Eve. It’s… it’s going to go so, so, badly. What was I thinking? What was Bea thinking?

“Mum and Dad will drive to Mass. Take the coat. Go!”

I go. The rain is already leaking into my trainers, as I pull the hood over my head, and my heart is beating in my throat. It’s cold and I am not dressed for some long late-night walk. I should be wearing knitted festive jumpers and hats and gloves, not an oil-stained raincoat and soaking trainers. It’s barely ten at night anyway, and I have no clue what to say once I get there. Once I see him? I’ll panic and hide and run back home and kill Bea with a spoon. Not really, but fuck. Fuck, fuck,FUCK!

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