more out for each of them.
‘Shazza, you’re our best player. You pair up with the new girl,’ says John.
‘Ok. But no table talk. You guys are notorious.’
Shazza pulls a flask from her uniform top pocket. ‘How about we fire up the coffee a little?’ I catch a flash of the bottle’s title, ‘Whiskey – Irish’. It burns my throat, warms the cockles of my heart and tingles my toes.
The night gets very late and the laughter gets raucous. At some point I can sense a change. Exchanged glances, watch checking, raised eyebrows.
Brian and John bid 8 No Trumps. They win the hand and the game with 9 tricks.
Shazza gets up first. We all follow suit.
John and Brian shake hands with me again and say goodbye.
‘Why me?’ I ask. ‘You know who I am and what I’ve done? You should hate me.’
John answers for all of them. ‘Barro, your cousin. He helped us, got us out of a tight spot. He told us to look out for you.
Shazza leads me out of the room. I follow her, retracing my steps. As we move up and down corridors, past galley, engine room and sleeping quarters I notice something. The ship. There is no hum. There is no vibration. My feet start to slow. Are we there yet?
We keep walking. We arrive outside the capsule room. The dark glass is impenetrable.
It dawns on me. ‘There is no Option 1 is there?’ I ask. ‘We haven’t even left the ground.’
Shazza’s hand flies to her mouth. ‘Oh God, Brian forgot to put the simulator back on. I’m sorry Linda, efficiencies, the economy, public sentiment … ‘
‘It’s ok. I know how it is. Thank Barro for me please?’
Her grin, wide as the moon, is the last thing I see.
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