Natasha Moore—Mid-November (two months before disappearance)
Natasha walked down the gangway, enjoying the breeze of the cool afternoon wind as a weak sun shone down through the clouds. It felt great to be in another port, God knows the last one had sucked, with Gary keeping her at work late on two out of the three nights.
She’d managed to catch up with the ship’s company one night, but, by the time Gary had let her go, they were so far gone with the drink that she’d just walked back, bumping into Gary, who’d pretty much frog-marched her into a quiet bar for a drink with him. On the only night she’d actually made it out with everyone, Sarah Cox had ruined it—it was like they were working as a bloody tag team.
On that night, Cox had been at the gangway, waiting.
Natasha remembered vaguely saying in passing that they might walk into town together, it was nothing firm, but Cox had been there and then had just refused to leave Natasha alone.
She was grabbing Natasha’s hand and pulling her onto the dance floor. Then she’d be taking selfies and pictures. Once, she practically dragged Natasha into the toilet with her and God forbid Natasha tried to go to the loo, talk to someone else, dance with Mark, anything without her shadow looming over her shoulder. Cox was a bit pissed, and Natasha knew that officers were allowed to cut loose and relax, too, and there were no other female officers on board to be friends, but come on …
Basically, because of her, no one came anywhere near Natasha the whole night.
Cox was literally close enough to reach out and grab Natasha at almost every second, and even when they got back to the ship she wanted to sneak some wine into her cabin, but Natasha had had way more than enough by then.
Sam had taken the Mickey out of Natasha for weeks afterward, with Bev laughing on cue, whether she thought it was funny or not. The port stop had been awful—but this one wouldn’t be, Natasha was going to make damn sure of that.
* * *
THE DOCKSIDE WAS fairly clear and not many of the crew were around. Many sailors had already left to meet their loved ones. Defiance was down to a small skeleton crew of essential personnel, and there was minimal activity.
Natasha wandered along the jetty.
Jason had calmed down a bit once she’d gone back to sea. They’d decided not to fly him out to this stop, so they could save some money. Besides, it was her first deployment; she hadn’t been away much before now.
Defiance might be stopping in Rio before Christmas, and he was going to save up and fly out then.
Natasha had seen some of the sailors with their other halves and children. It’d made her tummy flip to think about how fun it would be if Jason had flown out after all, even just to surprise her.
Her phone had a signal and a few hours left on her international roaming package. She found a low concrete wall at the harbor’s edge and sat in the fresh air with her back to the water and dialed home.
Jason answered immediately.
“Hey, babe,” she said. “You okay?”
“Hey,” he said, his voice low and dull.
Natasha remembered how he’d acted the last time she was in port and about to enjoy a night out. She assumed this was more of the same. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and decided the only thing to do was to push on through, there was no way he was going to ruin tonight, she needed a release.
“I’m really missing you. Did you get my e-mail about my boss? He’s really starting to bother me; what do you think I should do?”
He was silent, and at first Natasha thought the line had been lost, then she heard a rustling at the end of the phone and another noise.
“Jason?”
There was more rustling and then he was back.
“You got some signal on the phone?” he asked. “Decent signal, enough to pick up an e-mail?”
She frowned.
“Not really, babe. If I turn on my e-mails, they’ll all download. I was going to do that at a café or something later, when I have Wi-Fi.”
More silence.
“What about a picture message? Could you get one of those?”
“Jason, what difference does it make? I just want to talk to you. I can get whatever it is later, or just tell me about it.”
“Look. Just turn on your data, I want to send you something; it’s important. When you get it, call me straight back.”
Natasha shook her head and looked at the clock on her phone. She was okay, had some time until she was due to meet Mark for a workout before they headed into town with the others.
“Okay,” she said, resigned. “Send it by picture message now, then. I’ll wait. Love you.”
“’Bye,” he said, and the line went dead.
Natasha sat and waited, flicking on her data and ensuring that only her messages were able to use it. She waited for what seemed like an age, her gaze drifting over the water and the large American aircraft carrier that was berthed at the other side of the dockyard. She was about to dial again when the first message arrived. She opened it and felt as though she’d been punched in the stomach. Another text message accompanied the image.
Call me if you want. Don’t bother if you don’t.
Leaning forward and retching as her breathing accelerated and her heart thumped, Natasha flicked back to the picture. She was in it, central, smiling, in a small white tank top with thin straps, and behind her, his hands resting on her tanned shoulders and his lips planted firmly against her neck, was Mark.
He was shirtless, standing really close, and the rest of the ship’s company partying and drinking around them had been cropped out, so that they looked like a young couple having fun in the sun.
“No!” said Natasha.
She didn’t even remember him kissing her like that. It’d been a flight deck barbecue, everyone was having fun, playing deck hockey, drinking beer, enjoying burgers. He’d jumped on her back, she remembered that, but did he really kiss her? She certainly wouldn’t have reciprocated. Even in the picture she wasn’t kissing him back.
Her hands were shaking and she dropped the phone on the broken edge of the dark tarmac as she tried to dial Jason’s number. Eventually she managed to hold it steady, waiting while the phone rang again and again, finally switching her through to voice mail. She dialed back immediately and waited while the same thing happened again. Then she typed in a text.
Answer the phone!!! Please!!!
She sent it immediately, gave it a few seconds, then dialed him again.
“What?” he said as he answered the phone, and though she hated herself for doing it, her breathing barely under control, Natasha started to cry.
“It’s not what you think,” she said, and realized how much of a cliché that was, how ridiculous she must sound. “I didn’t kiss him. He’s just a friend. I wouldn’t have kissed him. If I’d known he’d kissed me—even on the cheek, let alone the neck—I’d have told him to get off.”
The words were tumbling out, short sentences, between clipped breaths.
“I love you. I haven’t done the dirty on you and I never would,” she said.
“Really,” he said, and the silence drew out between them.
“After all we’ve been through, you don’t believe me?” Natasha said. “I love you, I really do.”
“I believe one thing,” he said, and his voice was so cold that it chilled Natasha even as the sun disappeared and the wind began to do the same. “I believe you’re just like your slut mum. A cheat. Making me wait, but putting out to anyone else who’s nice to you. I’ve always backed you. Everyone said I was too old, you were too young, I wasn’t good enough for you, not handsome enough, too much of a loser, but we said ‘fuck them,’ because we were happy and you knew you’d be able to do all the things you wanted to do while I was behind you. Now this…”
The silence on the line was unbearable, and Natasha realized she was holding her breath.
“Don’t call again,” he said. “I’ll be gone when you get back.”
“No!” Natasha shouted so loud that she surprised herself. “No, don’t go! Please don’t. It really isn’t what you think. I promise. Fly out today. Take the money from my savings and fly out on the first flight you can get.”
He snorted at her.
“What? Fancy a threesome?”
“What?” she said. “What does that even mean?”
“It means that your new boyfriend e-mailed me the picture and laid it out for me. Asked me not to tell you what he’d sent, but told me that apparently you quite like the jolly old thing, eh? We’re saving it until we get married, but for him you’ll take it any way you can?”
“I don’t know what you mean. I haven’t slept with anyone.”
“Yeah, well, you tell Mark he can keep you. You’re a proper Moore now, a chip off the old block, a dirty, slutty little whore—your mum’d be really proud of you. Don’t call back.”
“Wait!” Natasha cried again, sensing he was going to hang up the phone, but she didn’t know what to say.
“Tell the little slag to do one,” said a girl’s voice from Jason’s end of the line.
Natasha heard Jason say something, try to shush the other voice, and then she heard the line go dead. She retched again. Only bile came up, there was nothing else in her belly, and she spat it out onto the ground and wiped her mouth, her head spinning.
She heard footsteps but couldn’t look up as someone approached.
“Hey, T-t-t-t-tashaaaaaaaaa.”
She heard the words, the greeting that only Mark used, clicking out the start of her name as though he was stuttering and then singing the long aaaah for as long as his breath could keep it going.
“You ready to run? And then we need to get ready to P-A-R-T-Y?” He spelled the word out, prolonging the last letter as though it were a question. “Because we have to.”
She saw his feet. He was dancing a little jig to imaginary music while he waited for her to answer. She looked at her phone; now that the call was gone, the screen had switched back to the picture of them together, Mark planting a kiss on her neck. She heard Jason’s words again: “Your new boyfriend laid it out for me,” he’d said. “Apparently you quite like the jolly old thing.”
“You okay, Tash?” asked Mark. “Is something wrong?”
She turned to him, tears streaming down her face.
He recoiled at first, then his mouth opened and he rushed toward her, his arms outstretched.
“Tash,” he said. “What’s going on?”
He got close to her and without thinking, she swung a punch at him. It was wild, she didn’t like fighting, but where she grew up, and with her mum and dad to learn from, she knew how. She connected with his eye and felt her teeth clench as the pain shot through her hand, but she swung at him again with her other hand.
“What the—!”
He stepped back, stumbling, his legs crossing, and fell onto his backside.
Natasha didn’t follow him; she knew better than to go to ground if she could help it. She waited until he went down and then swung a kick at him.
He rolled away from her, getting back to his feet quickly and holding his hands in front of him in a defensive posture.
“What’s going on?” he said, sounding a little less frightened now, still worried, but he’d overcome his initial shock and some anger was creeping into his voice.
“You’re what’s wrong,” she said, and feinted a punch to his head, watching as his hands and eyes moved to protect it, and then swinging a hard kick at his groin.
Her foot missed, glancing off his thigh, and she lost her balance, turning a bit and showing her side to him.
He was on her in a flash.
Natasha flinched, her teeth clenched and bared as she anticipated the pain of a slap or a punch, but instead she was wrapped up as he threw his arms around her, gathering hers against her own body and lifting her off the ground.
She kicked and threw her head back, trying to head-butt him, but he was muscular and strong, and she had little hope.
“Stop it,” he said, his voice firm. “Pack it in. What’s wrong with you?”
She ignored him, still wriggling, even as she felt the energy start to drain out of her.
“Natasha. Stop,” he said again. “I don’t know what’s happened, but whatever it is, I know one thing for sure, I’m on your side. Okay? Whatever it is, I’m with you. I’ve got your back, whatever it takes until we get it sorted. Okay?”
Natasha heard the words and felt suddenly exhausted, the adrenaline dissipated and her limbs heavy and sore.
“You happened,” she said.
He’d grabbed her almost from behind, slightly from one side, and he was holding her tight, his head just behind hers, his cheek pressed against hers.
“What?” he said, speaking almost directly into her ear.
“You happened,” she said again. “You told Jason we’d slept together. You sent him pictures of when you jumped on me at the ship’s barbecue.”
His grip loosened, but he didn’t let go.
“What?” he said.
Natasha would have hit him again, but she’d nothing left in the tank, no energy left to do it.
“You heard me, and now he’s dumped me, because he thinks I’m sleeping with you.”
Mark released her, slowly, putting her back down on the floor and then turning her around to face him.
“Tash, whatever you think I’ve done, I can tell you now, I haven’t. I like you. I like you a lot and I feel close to you. But you know what, I want you to want me because you like me, too, not because you’ve been dumped. I’d never do that. I’d never do anything like that. I can’t believe you think I would.”
She couldn’t look at him as he spoke, but as she thought about what he’d said, she knew he wasn’t lying.
“Someone sent this picture to Jason,” she said, and picked her phone up from the floor where it had fallen, thankful that the screen was still intact. She showed him the image.
“Tash, it wasn’t me. I swear it. I haven’t even seen this one before. Who took it?”
He handed the phone back to her.
“Did he say what e-mail address it came from?”
She shook her head.
“Well, look. It’s someone on the ship, right? Because those pics are only on the ship. As far as I know, they’re all in the same folder on the shared drive.”
Natasha nodded.
He reached out and gently touched her arm.
“I wouldn’t do this to you, Tash,” he said again.
She looked at him, reached up to move his hand, but squeezed it as she let it drop.
“Ask him how he got them, what the e-mail address was, or whatever, then we’ll go to the ship’s regulator and tell him.”
Natasha sniffed and wiped her sleeve across her face. “He said they were e-mailed, that you e-mailed him and told him we were having sex.”
“I’d be more likely to, you know, high-five people than e-mail anyone,” Mark said.
Natasha looked at him and sighed, her face stern.
“Too soon,” he said, bowing his head and apologizing. “Definitely too soon. My bad. But seriously, I don’t even know your fella’s e-mail address. I don’t know his surname. I wouldn’t even know how to find him on social media or anything. I mean, who’d know what e-mail address to even send it to?”