Departures Read Free

that. It wasn’t her sister’s fault they had to share a bedroom; she and Bill had no privacy either, afterall. Jean smiled. Maybe she would write it. Knowing Sandra, she probably felt the same way.
    She gathered the cards and went back inside. From the bathroom came the tap of metal on porcelain and a sudden, forceful gush of water, the sounds of Martin completing his shave. She went in and stood behind him, tracing the changing curve of shadow from his throat to his shoulder as he toweled himself dry, delighting in the smell of him, the feel of her fingers against his skin, their unaccustomed proximity to each other during rituals which they had, until then, always performed alone. In their two years together, Jean reflected, they had never shared a shower until that evening, never been able to sleep through till morning and find the other beside them, still there.
    â€œReady?” he asked.
    â€œMhm. You hungry?”
    â€œFamished. What about you?”
    She nodded absently as he tucked in his shirt, checking that the room was presentable in their absence, that all the lights were switched off and the towels in the bathroom were hung up properly to dry. Martin sighed.
    â€œJean, they pay a maid to do all that. You’re free! You’re on holiday!” He squeezed her playfully and she laughed.
    â€œAlright,” she said, “come on. Let’s eat.”
    Faint strains of music from the courtyard near the swimming pool drew them outside when they reached the lobby. There were people dancing in the garden of the hotel opposite, the couples circling slowly among heavy earthen pots of hibiscus and bougainvillea, their faces lit by the small, coloured lanterns which swung from the surrounding trees. This was the way she’d imagined the evenings, standing on a promenade above the village, watching the lights come on in the shops and restaurants whichlined the marina below. That morning had been as she’d imagined it, too, the air full of fragrance and the sound of conversation from people taking coffee on the patio by the pool. It had made her ashamed of her initial disappointment, the sinking feeling she’d experienced on the coach ride from the airport the day before. For more than an hour they’d driven by houses with their shutters drawn, past deserted streets and empty marketplaces—because of the heat, the rep explained finally. Everyone’s inside from noon till four. A woman in the seat in front of them had snorted indignantly, and said if she’d wanted siestas she would have gone to Spain.
    The dining room was empty apart from a handful of people seated at tables beside the windows. Jean recognised some of the faces from the airport—two single ladies traveling together, a pair of middle-aged couples from the Midlands, a sizable party of athletic-looking Germans who had arrived on a separate flight but had taken the same coach to the hotel.
    â€œLooks like we’re late,” Martin said as a waitress passed with several small plates of salad and a few egg mayonnaise. He glanced around the room, assessing their options. “How about that table by the back wall?”
    Behind them the glass doors to the lobby opened inwards, and Jean stepped aside to let the new arrival pass. “We can’t,” she said, smiling politely as the man edged past her, “it’s all prearranged. We’re supposed to look for our room number.”
    The man ahead of them hesitated.
    â€œAh,” he said, turning to Martin, “I think you’re with us. You’re Room 27, aren’t you? There’s been two places set at our table since the first meal. I’ll lead the way; we’re just over there.”
    It took a moment to sink in. The prospect of havingcompany did not appeal to Jean; she’d been looking forward to enjoying the evening on their own. She looked at Martin helplessly, but he only shrugged and grinned. Very little bothers