Harm's Way by Celia Walden

Johnny.’
    â€˜Yes, she told me about him.’ I was determined to let Ruth know that I knew all about Beth’s past. ‘Sounds like it was a good thing that they didn’t go ahead and get married.’
    â€˜It probably was. He was a great local lad,’ she added disparagingly, ‘but as it turned out, he hadn’t quite got all that fun out of his system.’
    Unwilling to show up any gaps in my knowledge, I turned towards Stephen, and was surprised to find him engrossed in conversation with Isabelle, who had taken her glasses off and put them beside her plate.
    Having nothing else to do but act out my role for Ruth as the immature little girl of her expectations, I turned the conversation to trivial matters, refilling my glass so often that, when Ruth went to the toilet, Beth laid a hand on my wrist and whispered, ‘Steady: there’s no rush.’ There was nothing lyrical about Ruth’s Irish accent: her questions were statements, her small talk openly judgemental. After Christian’s fourth cigarette downstairs (despite being in the open air Ruth had made her feelings on smoking quite clear), it became obvious that he, too, had taken a dislike to her.
    â€˜So you’ve been managing this place for nearly three years now? And is that how you two met: Beth came to your restaurant?’ she’d asked with the smile one reserves for elderly relatives.
    Under the guise of politeness, her tone towards both of us had been consistently derogatory. She would know full well the circumstances of their first meeting, and be using this to make some kind of a point to Beth. I had little life experience but enough imagination to see that Christian would hardly conform to Ruth’s ideals for her best friend. As a result, I had temporarily absented myself to join in a toast to the birthday boy on the opposite table, and Christian’s seat was once again empty.
    â€˜Well he’s certainly a looker Beth, there’s no doubt about that.’
    Beth shifted in her chair. ‘Yes, he is, but, Ruth,’ she had to stop her saying something irreparable, ‘it’s more than that. He’s snapped me out of a mood I feel like I’ve been in for a long time. Everything about him is just so fresh, if that makes any sense.’
    Beth was scared of her: it was pathetic to watch.
    â€˜I’m off to get us another bottle of wine.’
    â€˜Anna, wait, I’m not sure we really need one. Ruth, will you be drinking any …’
    It was too late, I was already squeezing past the handful of people cluttering up the narrow wooden staircase which curved down from beside our table into the underbelly of the ship. Downstairs, bordering a tiny dance floor, was a larger bar than the one on the top deck, and one without a queue. Christian was nowhere to be seen. I had felt myself losing sync with the others, the grown-ups, an hour ago, but was powerless to stop it. It was on my way back up the stairs that I heard a deeply familiar voice, cutting across the discord of a hundred others.
    â€˜You’re quite wrong, Ruth. She’s a sweet girl.’
    Despite the Gypsy Kings from above curdling with some French rap from the deck below, despite a second rendition (French this time) of ‘Happy Birthday’ and snatches of five different conversations, all I could hear was Beth.
    â€˜Headstrong is the word I would use.’
    â€˜Yes she is. She’s a stubborn little thing and I think it’s great – I’d want any girl of mine to be just like her. Plus,’ there was a pause and I could hear her smile, ‘Anna’s just so bloody excited about everything – it’s wonderful. And I’ll tell you another thing: it’s catching.’
    I had known they were discussing me, of course, but hearing my name made me start.
    â€˜Excuse me. You going up?’
    A waiter pushed past me, and I flattened myself further against the banister,