Precisely as the clock's hands converged at the zenith of midnight, Oscar emerged from the townhouse's abysmal depths. He conveyed to me the regrettable circumstance of Daniel's intoxication influenced by harsh spirits, necessitating his and Keith's intervention in carrying the unconscious inebriate to bed.
And thus, I pretended to be concerned, assuring Oscar of my imminent visit to ascertain my husband's condition, though my intentions were far from such an act. My sole ascent to the upper level was motivated by the desire to exchange my formalwear for the more comfortable ensemble of a lounge set, preparatory to unwinding in the garden's tranquil serenity.
Although I had previously expressed my desire for a private encounter with Hannah, I elected to withhold my intention to prolong my solitary retreat under the starlit expanse before the arranged time. I was aware of her impending arrival, yet, in truth, I yearned for a period of undisturbed introspection, a moment of serene contemplation amidst the celestial panorama above, seeking companionship solely in the stars themselves and perhaps those distant souls gazing upon them with the same kindred sense of melancholy.
A sting of tears flooded my eyes. I am ashamed to admit that I broke down into a fit of quiet sobs, whimpering pitifully in the darkness. I found an odd comfort in the isolation that allowed me to confront my thoughts. I had a multitude of things to ponder and now seemed like the opportune moment to begin the arduous task of putting my life in order. However, it was late, and I had been drinking, so it was no surprise when my eyelids felt heavy, and I drifted off to sleep.
As the clock's chimes resonated through the stillness of the night, I was startled from my slumber by the gentle rattle of the kitchen door's mechanism as it yielded passage, followed by the muted cadence of slippered feet traversing the stone-laid patio.
Hannah had also discarded her evening gown, opting for a pair of comfortable pyjamas--a well-worn two-piece adorned with slender straps and playful red cherries. And the most adorable pair of fluffy bunny slippers, complete with floppy ears and shimmering whiskers.
"Hey," she whispered as she cautiously slid onto the sun lounger, inching closer to my side. "I had to wait for Keith to fall asleep, which took forever, thanks to Rochelle's incessant moaning in the next bedroom. That woman sounds like a cat in heat when she is orgasming."
Lovely, I now have a rather vivid and disturbing image of Rochelle and Solomon having it away in the guest bedroom. I am so glad I am out of earshot.
"It's no bother." My mind was adrift in the boundless expanse of the starry sky. "I was relaxing anyway."
Hannah's attention fell to the gin bottle I had retrieved from the forgotten corners of the kitchen cupboard. "Is some of that for me?"
I extended the bottle for her to take. "Knock yourself out."
Twisting the bottle's cap, she unleashed the gin's potent essence and poured it down her throat in a single gulp. "Oli," she croaked, but I never tore my stare away from the constellation of stars above. "Rochelle's abrupt disclosure, even if fueled by alcohol, was inconsiderate and unfair to you. But more importantly, I sincerely apologise for not being upfront with you earlier. I had no justification for keeping secrets from you, especially when it comes to your husband."
While Hannah's misguided attempt to protect me from Daniel's betrayal left me disheartened, I truly believed that she had my best interest at heart. She is a good friend, the best, not an antagonist, and her decision to keep my husband's extracurricular activities under wraps must have stemmed from the genuine belief that it was for my own good.
"Why did you withhold that information from me, though?" I asked, wanting to hear her side on the matter. "I thought we told each other everything."
"Daniel," she began, her voice a gentle caress against the hushed backdrop of the garden. "He told us about the doctor's counsel, that it was inadvisable to jog your memory forcefully. He emphasised the importance of allowing your recollections to resurface organically, thereby mitigating the potential for misinterpretations and preserving the integrity of your cognitive processes."
"Do not apologise," I murmured, a gentle undercurrent of understanding. "You are, quite literally, the best friend anyone could ask for. You were only doing what you believed to be right."
A single tear rolled down her cheek, but she quickly turned away, trying to hide that brief, unfiltered emotion from me.
"Do not be upset. I am not mad at you." Reaching for her hand, interlacing our fingers, I gave her a reassuring squeeze. "But from now on, if there is anything else you think I should know, you must tell me, okay? I will never be angry or upset if you are honest."
"That is precisely the issue, Oli. My knowledge of your personal life is severely limited due to your inherent reserve," she remarked, her gaze fixed on me. "However, I do recall a conversation we had regarding Daniel's involvement with another woman, an occurrence that stood out due to your customary discretion in matters of his romantic pursuits."
And there was that plural again.
Pursuits.
Not one female.
Multiple.
"But for some reason," Hannah's voice gained a hint of urgency, "that last one really got to you."
My eyes watered involuntarily.
"It hurt you." Her gaze pierced through me, her expression reflecting a deep-seated understanding of my vulnerabilities. "And you were not dealing with it so well."
My friend's words incised through the layers of my carefully constructed façade, reaching the raw, vulnerable core of my being like a searchlight illuminating the depths of my soul, unveiling the hidden corners of my pain and sorrow. I nodded in silent admission, unable to find the words to describe the storm that had raged within me.
"So, yeah." Her throat worked on a tight swallow, her sentence catching in the well of emotion that threatened to overflow. "You talked to us. And we advised you to—"
"Turn a blind eye," I repeated, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "I suppose self-preservation is a necessary step towards self-actualisation."
Hannah nodded, her speechlessness tacitly acknowledging the moral compromise we were contemplating.
"For the sake of money and diamonds?" The thought of prioritising material possessions over the sanctity of my marriage, of sacrificing my integrity for fleeting luxuries, sent a wave of shame crashing over me. "Jesus, Hannah. This is embarrassing." My head pounded in sync with the rhythm of my racing heart. "What have we succumbed to? Is this what it means to be happy? Really? Cheating husbands for unlimited credit cards."
She looked away, her shoulders slumping in a sigh.
"I just..." I trailed off, my words failing to capture the severity of my disillusionment. "I meant what I said earlier," I finally articulated a coherent sentence. "I am not okay with this so-called arrangement."
"I concur." A ghost of a smile lingered on her lips. "The situation is deplorable, but we must confront the consequences of our volition. We have made our choices. Now, we have to face the repercussions of those decisions."
The Olivia of the past might have been willing to overlook her husband's unfaithfulness for the sake of material possessions, but the Olivia liberated from the fog of amnesia, reborn from the ashes of sadness and betrayal, refused to compromise her self-respect or honour for such superficial gratification. She recognised her innate value, far transcending the charm of diamonds and wealth. She demanded a love that was unadulterated, unwavering, and solely hers.
In the depths of her heart, she yearned for a man whose adoration was palpable, whose eyes were solely focused on her, and whose devotion was unwavering. She understood that true fulfilment lies not in the accumulation of material wealth but in the embrace of genuine affection and mutual respect. She was willing to shed the trappings of luxury, the gleaming cars, the extravagant houses, and the vast sums of money if it meant experiencing the warmth of a love that transcended all worldly possessions.
For the new Olivia, the pursuit of true love, a love that ignited her soul and set her spirit ablaze, far outweighed the desirability of Daniel's piss-poor effort of prioritising his wife.
"Is there anything else I should know?" I pressed, but she avoided eye contact. "Come on, Hannah. If our situations were reversed, I would be honest with you."
"I know," she replied, grappling mentally with the entire conversation. "But Olivia, I cannot overemphasise how little you confided in me. You always wore a smile, even when you were sad. You never opened up about anything, not even during your lowest moments. You just carried on." Her next exhale came out choppy. "Well, except for that one time before the accident. You were not in a good place then."
The puzzle pieces are falling into place, revealing the reasons for my husband's constant absence and infidelity. While I sequestered in the home, preserved and nurtured to embody the quintessential trophy wife, he satiated his self-centred cravings, unencumbered by the responsibilities of domesticity.
"I am similar." Hannah miraculously pulled out a packet of cigarettes from her bra, a sneaky lighter and a mischievous grin. "I put up with a lot of shit that I do not tell you guys. It is what it is."
"Like what?" I asked, reclaiming the bottle of gin. "Keith's characterisation of control and manipulation?"
Hannah's eyes, wide with surprise, swivelled to meet mine. "Why is your perception of Keith consistently skewed towards an assumption of control?"
"Surely, Hannah, your powers of observation cannot be so limited as to overlook the evident patterns of control in your relationship. Keith's incessant inquiries about your whereabouts, his intrusive monitoring of your social interactions, and his imposition of curfews are all hallmarks of a controlling husband." My posture slumped in despair. "Even a blind man could see what is going on between you both."
"Fine. Keith can be a bit of a control freak," she confessed, a wry smile curling the edges of her lips. "But sweetheart, I don't give two dimes about that man." Her last sentence was barely audible, a whisper lost in the air, yet her eyes flickered towards the third-floor windows, where Keith lay slumbering, oblivious to the conversation unfolding beneath him. "I'm in it for the money, just like everyone else."
"Material wealth cannot justify the infliction of emotional or physical harm," I asserted passionately, causing her brow to furrow in displeasure. "We are not mere receptacles for violence, Hannah."
"What?" she scoffed, a disbelieving chuckle flying out of her mouth. "Olivia, you have got it all wrong. Keith is a flawed man, no doubt, but he has never resorted to physical violence. Never."
"But I thought..." And I suppose that nasty little shiner she sported the other month resulted from too much alcohol, huh? "Drew told me that Kieth was violent, that he once gave you a black eye."
"Why would my brother say that? Olivia, that is not true. My husband has never laid a finger on me. Has he called me from my hole to my pole? Yes. But never violence. Oh, shit. No wonder you have been giving him the stink eye. You think he is hurting me.
The clarity of my thoughts dimmed as my mind drifted back to that bizarre morning in Drew's bedroom when he pleaded with me to divulge Kieth's unacceptable behaviour. I readily believed his impassioned pleas, just as I had accepted his initial claim that we were mere acquaintances. However, the illusion of normalcy has, once again, fractured, revealing a web of deceit woven by that lying toe-rag. I had been blinded by his artful deception, failing to recognise the glaring inconsistencies in his colourful spread of narratives.
The perplexity surrounding Hannah's collaboration in this masquerade further beguiled the conundrum. Drew's invention that Kieth's proclivity towards violence appeared devoid of any discernible motivation, proffering no tangible recompense to substantiate his intricate subterfuge, and the underlying rationale behind his feigned obliviousness to our prior encounter remained equally shrouded in obscurity, adding yet another stratum of mystery to this inscrutable puzzle that is my existence.
"Oh." My poor brain was running on empty. "Maybe I got it wrong."
Hannah wore a melancholic look as she observed me.
I revisited a question I had previously raised during an earlier discussion. "Does your brother ever call you?"
"Not quite," she replied, her face marred with bewilderment as to why I would continue to delve into this subject. "I have already told you. Drew is readily available whenever Keith touches base, but for the most part, he excludes me from everything and anything."
My gullibility had led me to unquestioningly accept Drew's assertions over Hannah's, oblivious that he had been perpetrating a deception through his silence since our initial encounter at the bar. The mere thought of facing him again set my blood ablaze with fury.
"Drew claims that he always calls, but he can never reach you," I stated, my thoughts running at a rapid pace. "He implied that it was because of Keith, as if he has control over you, that your brother must go through him just to check on your well-being."
Hannah was visibly enraged. "He is fabricating tales," she declared assertively. "That is not the case, Oli. I call him all the time. He ignores me, not the other way around."
"Why?" I wondered aloud, and she shrugged her shoulders. "He is enamoured with you. I saw it for myself the night we boarded the yacht. You mean the world to him, so why would he ignore you?"
"Drew does not like the person I have become," she answered honestly, albeit regretfully. "I am not like him, Oli. I am different. Sure, he loves me, but he does not like me. Thus, he lied to one of my best friends to cause trouble for me."
The revelation of these truths had plunged me into a profound sadness. I have been deceived in the most egregious manner, my forgetfulness and inability to recall exploited by those I hold dear. There is not a single person in my life who has not, at some point, misled me.
The question that gnawed at the very core of my mind was: why? Why had these individuals, drawn from diverse social spheres, without prior knowledge of each other, opted for the abhorrent course of deceit? It was a nonsensical decision on their part.
Surely, at some point, one of them would have felt it necessary to alleviate my anguish, to unveil the truth behind the myriad of befuddling occurrences and sketch a more straightforward portrait, a brighter panorama, to assist me in my pursuit of comprehension.
"Hannah," I said, as quiet as a mouse. "I feel trapped in another woman's body." A tear fell down my cheek. "I am a prisoner in a life that does not belong to me."
"Oh, Oli," Hannah sighed, gently placing the cigarette packet and lighter on the floor. With a soft rustle, she adjusted her satin robe and moved closer, enveloping me in a long, comforting hug. "Sometimes it is so easy to forget that you have amnesia, that you are wrestling with the fragments of your past and the complexities of the present. You have braved each challenge with such resilience, so I assumed that..." Her chin rested on my shoulder as her hand began to rub my back in soothing circles. "You have handled everything so admirably. I thought you had everything under control, you know?"
"Yes," I murmured, clinging to Hannah like a frightened child seeking refuge in their mother's arms. "But I am far from well, Han." Before I could reassert control over my emotions, tears formed and flowed down my face, seeping into the fabric of her gown." And God, I am so, so lonely. Life is crumbling around me, and I am just expected to maintain a façade of composure all the time, but it is difficult, or rather, the pretence of being okay is difficult."
"Olivia," Hannah began tentatively, letting my words sink in. "Daniel has been unfaithful again, hasn't he?" she inquired gently, and I responded with a barely noticeable affirmative nod. "Oh, Oli. Why didn't you tell me? It's okay not to be okay. You don't have to carry this burden alone."
"I only made the discovery this evening," I responded, the salty tang of tears mingling with my words. "And I assure you, I had every intention of confiding in you earlier. However, I do not trust Rochelle and Jacqueline. I fear they would inform Oscar and Solomon. You know what those pairs of rumourmongers are like. They would inform Daniel quicker than I could blink."
"Hold on," Hannah paused, gently disentangling herself from our hug. "You have not informed Daniel of your knowledge."
I shook my head in negation.
"But why?" Her brow furrowed in concern. "If this agreement is unacceptable, honesty and openness are essential. You must assert your position."
"Confronting him about it feels wrong," I confessed, perplexed by my reluctance. "Initially, I felt the urge to question him out of principle, but something is pulling me back."
Hannah's gaze held mine intently, her ears attuned to my every word. "Who is she?"
"Lilac," I replied, my knowledge of the situation woefully inadequate. "To be honest, I have no idea who she really is. I did not recognise her, but I suspect she is someone he works with."
Hannah's craving for nicotine was undeniable, signalling the need for a cigarette as the conversation deepened. She extracted one from the pack, deftly placed it between her lips, and ignited the lighter, drawing in a long, satisfying puff, exhaling a plume of smoke into the night sky. "I'm not a regular smoker," she confessed, "but sometimes, I enjoy the rebellious thrill, knowing how much Kieth despises it."
"Daniel's the same," I remarked with a tinge of resentment. "Yet, the hypocrite smokes cigars." A defiant streak ignited, bone-deep, mirroring Hannah's disobedient spirit. "I'm feeling a bit rebellious myself. Pass me one of those, please."
Hannah grinned, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "That's more like it," she encouraged, popping a cigarette between my lips and lighting it before I took an experimental puff. "About this woman. Would you like me to try and find out who she is? You can bet your arse Daniel has messaged Keith about her. I could check his phone while he's sleeping."
"Knowing her name will make a difference." It would only worsen the situation for me." Hannah, I still find it hard to believe that we have all married unfaithful men. But what is even more unbelievable is our willingness to tolerate it. Do you not crave more from a man? Because I do. I want a love so profound that it pains him to look at anyone else. I want to be so special, so indispensable, that his existence crumbles without me. I want that kind of love – the raw, boundless love that drives me wild. I want butterflies in my stomach every time he gazes at me."
"Yes, I would love that, too," Hannah confessed, her stare lost to the stars above. "But I don't believe I will ever find such love."
I know the feeling. "Did you fuck Chase?"
"Olivia!" Her eyes shot towards me, wide with surprise. "Did you just use foul language?"
I nodded.
"Well, that is certainly a novel development," she observed with a radiant smile. "I must admit, I find this newfound assertiveness quite appealing." Her shoulder nudged mine playfully. "And to address your query directly, I did not sleep with him, although I must concede that the temptation was quite strong. His physical attractiveness is undeniable, isn't it?"
Chase, the brawny, muscular Viking, is certainly a sight to behold. He also scared the living crap out of me. "He is different."
A wide grin spread across her face, the corners of her eyes crinkling with playful excitement. "In what sense?"
"Have you ever watched Travis Fimmel in Vikings?" I asked, and she stifled an excited squeal. "Chase bears an uncanny resemblance to Ragnar Lothbrok. I am unsure whether this is a positive or negative attribute because Ragnar is one scary-looking human."
Hannah chuckled, her head resting comfortably on my shoulder. "He is cute," she remarked, a sentiment I was compelled to dispute. Chase, to me, possessed a charm that transcended mere cuteness. However, personal preferences, as they say, are akin to boats floating along the vast expanse of an ocean, each charting its unique course. "He is not interested in me, though. He was only trying to distract me that night."
I frowned sharply. "Distract you from what?"
"Honestly, I'm not entirely sure." Her gaze drifted down to the crumpled cigarette packet lying forlorn on the floor, her expression clouded with uncertainty. "I just remember thinking he was acting a bit shady, and then I passed out in one of the cabins."
My brow furrowed in concern as I mentally retraced the events of that night, searching for any anomalies that might explain Hannah's apprehensiveness. "I wonder what he did to make you feel that way?" Engrossed in contemplation, I mentally traversed the yacht's corridors when the epiphany of that unexplained blackout abruptly illuminated my thoughts. "You have got to be kidding me."
Hannah straightened her posture, her shoulders squaring and her spine elongating. "What is it?"
"That sly, impertinent Viking!" I blurted out, her frown deepening with each word. "Remember how everything went dark? Royce claimed it was a blown fuse! He lied to me! Again!"
"Pump the brakes," Hannah demanded, a wisp of smoke curling from her mouth. "What are you insinuating?"
"They tricked me," I exclaimed, and her eyes widened in astonishment. "My God! Why did I not think of this before? The yacht undergoes thorough yearly maintenance, and I have never received any complications with the generators or electrical systems. It's all top-notch. Yet, on the most arbitrary night of the year, when I agreed to let those guys aboard, you all left the entertainment room for whatever reason, and suddenly, the entire vessel went down. A complete blackout."
"Right," she acknowledged, her forehead wrinkled in thought. "While I did mention Chase's odd behaviour, I have no reason to believe he would intentionally cause damage to your yacht if that is where this bizarre conversation is going."
"Think about it, Hannah. The blackout occurred after Chase left the room with the others. It's plausible that he was acting as a distraction, diverting our attention while someone else carried out their plan."
Hannah's brow furrowed further, her expression a mix of contemplation and scepticism. "But Royce stayed with you."
I stared pointedly at her. "And where did your brother go, Hannah?"
As the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place, her eyes expanded in understanding, as if the severity of the situation had finally struck her. "That son of a whore!" Her face paled to a sickly grey. "He told me he was going for a cigarette break!"
"Chase deliberately diverted your attention while Royce kept me occupied. This premeditated distraction allowed Drew to move freely and execute their plan, whatever it may be. I accepted Royce's false explanation and followed him to the cockpit, oblivious to the aforementioned actions. How could I be so unsuspecting? Drew was probably stealing those Macallan bottles for Chase's personal collection. We both know he paid an interest in them."
"I highly doubt that Drew was stealing from you. Consider this: all three guys would have been involved in such a scheme, and I cannot fathom what benefits they could possibly derive from pilfering a few bottles. After all, Royce works at a bar. If they desired alcohol, they could easily obtain it from there."
Hannah's observation was indeed astute. However, while Royce's employment at Mac's Bar might have granted him access to a diverse range of alcoholic beverages, it's highly improbable that Mac stored such rare and costly bottles as the Macallan. Even a high-end establishment would likely only carry a limited selection of premium whiskies, such as the Johnnie Walker Blue Label, as I have already aptly pointed out. The Macallan, on the other hand, is a brand renowned for its exclusivity and exorbitant prices, making it more likely to be found in specialised liquor stores or private collections. "Then, what were they looking for, if not valuables or collectables?"
"I'm as clueless as you are," she stated, her fury palpable as she grappled with this newfound knowledge. "Perhaps we should venture into my brother's bedroom." Her proposal was audacious, but I loved it. "If he purloined any of your possessions, they would undoubtedly be concealed there, would they not?"
"Perhaps." My anger momentarily subsided as I contemplated the possibility. "But if all three were involved, then any of them could be concealing the stolen items—presuming they actually took something." I have no intention of jumping to conclusions without solid proof. "This investigation grows increasingly perplexing. Just when I feel I have a handle on the situation, another unexpected revelation surfaces, throwing my previous theory into disarray." I took a deep breath and decided to confide in her about recent discoveries. "Hannah, I have a lingering feeling that I knew your brother and the others before the accident."
Her nonplussed eyes settled upon me.
"I acknowledge the disorienting nature of this situation. I have been wrestling with the same confusion for weeks. But I am convinced I crossed paths with them long before the accident and that we may have even been friends." I provided her with a concise account of the hoodie incident. "Yet, they are pretending not to know me. It is infuriatingly crazy."
"So, that latest photo on your Instagram shows you wearing one of their hoodies?" she exclaimed, her incredulousness evident. "How on earth did that happen? I mean, when did this occur? And why would they act as if they have no clue who you are? It's completely nonsensical."
"I am still searching for the answers to those confounding questions," I declared, exhaling a trembling wisp of smoke. "But I will uncover them, no matter the cost. I have yet to devise a detailed plan, but when I get home, my immediate objective will be to unravel this mystery."
Hannah's eyes reflected unwavering loyalty. "Hey, if you ever need a partner in crime to unravel this mystery, I am game for another girl's night of investigation."
I smiled widely. "Really?"
"Oh, yes." She tossed the cigarette somewhere behind her, and I did not particularly care where it landed, either. "Pyjamas and watermelon ice lollies? I am sold."
There will be no watermelon ice lollies, just a very naughty trip to the beachfront to turn shit upside down.
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I will be back for typos. ❤️
Thoughts on the update?
--Olivia?
--Hannah?
--Daniel?
--Keith?
--Solomon?
--Oscar?
--Rochelle?
--Jacqueline?
--Drew?
--Chase?
--Royce?
--Connie?
--Jules/Pixie?
--Ezra?
--Any mentions I have missed?
Thank you for reading.
Please don't forget to vote.