Only Helen hadn’t moved any further, I suspected. She was perfectly groomed now, her pale grey-blond hair shimmering with platinum streaks that matched the ostrich Birkin bag hanging from the crook of her arm. But she’d lost more weight. One good hug and I could snap her in two, I thought sadly.
Just then, Natalie’s young porter appeared with a basket and a pair of tongs. “Chilled towels, ladies? They’re scented with lemon verbena?” Everything the kid said ended in a question.
“Thank you, Hector,” Natalie said with a broad smile.
One by one he dealt the little towels out like cards. Mary Alice gave her arms a purposeful wipe while Helen patted her cheeks daintily. Natalie stuffed hers in her bra while I draped mine around the back of my neck with a moan of relief.
“Hot flash?” Mary Alice asked with a sympathetic look.
“Only occasionally,” I told her.
“I can’t believe you’re still not finished with that,” Natalie said, plucking the towel out of her neckline. “I haven’t had a period since 2005.”
“Natalie, please,” Mary Alice said, darting a look around to see if anyone was paying attention.
Nat shrugged. “Why do I care if anyone hears me? Periods are a perfectly natural phenomenon.”
“I know how periods work, Natalie,” Mary Alice said, setting her teeth. “I just think maybe some of the other passengers might not want to know about your gynecological endeavors.”
When we were younger, Natalie would have met a remark like that with fire, but she merely shrugged and grabbed two frosted glasses of rosé from the tray of a passing waiter. She shoved one at Mary Alice. “Here, Mary Alice. Drink this and I’ll see if I can find you a flashlight.”
Mary Alice furrowed her brow. “Flashlight?”
“To find the stick up your ass. Let me know if you need a hand getting it out,” Natalie said sweetly.
I grabbed another two glasses and thrust one at Helen, raising mine quickly. “A toast,” I said, narrowing my eyes at Mary Alice and Natalie. “To us. Forty years on, and still kicking.”
They joined in, even Helen, although she hardly seemed to have enough energy to clink glasses. By the time we watched the sun sink over the horizon as we put to sea and moved into the dining room for grilled swordfish, we’d had two more rounds. We polished off an obscene amount of coconut tiramisu and were ready to stagger off to bed when Heather Fanning, as toothy and perky as I’d feared, accosted us with a wide smile.
“I hope you had a wonderful arrival dinner!” she enthused. “I have a special treat for you!”
She beckoned us to follow her, and Mary Alice fell into step next to me. “Ten bucks says that child used to twirl a baton.”
“Flaming,” I agreed.
Heather took us up to the bridge, where she introduced us to the captain, a man who looked enough like Idris Elba that Natalie made a beeline for him as he gave us a tour of the ship. He took us up stairs and down ladders and around decks, pointing out all the luxurious features and safety measures. He was proudest of his engine room, keeping us standing for half an hour while he explained the intricacies of the NGL tanks—natural gas liquids, in case anyone ever asks you. He talked until my calves were cramping and all I wanted to do was curl up behind the nearest engine and take a nap. But we all smiled and thanked him, and when we returned to the lounge area on our deck a bottle of champagne was waiting with his compliments. It had a tag on it—happy retirement!—and four flutes. We toasted and immediately the mood turned nostalgic.
“I don’t even think I’m ready to retire,” Nat said mournfully. “I love my job.”
“Me too,” I said.
“I’m relieved,” Mary Alice commented. “It’s time to start a new chapter.”
“I would have liked to finish the old one,” Helen said, knotting her fingers around her flute. “Properly, I mean. If I’d known the job in Qatar was my last, I would have paid more attention.”
“I would have paid more attention to all of them,” I said. “It’s gone so fast.”
“I’m going to miss the adrenaline,” Nat told us, her expression wistful. “I mean, how else am I going to find anything that makes me feel that alive?”
“You could take up recreational drugs,” Mary Alice suggested.
Natalie stuck her tongue out, then turned to me. “I know you get it, Billie,” she said.
“I do. It’s like going from playing high-stakes poker to nickel slots for the rest of your life.”