7
Later that afternoon, we dropped anchor just outside Montego Bay and welcomed aboard three of Jack’s acquaintances whom he had sent for, taxied from the harbourside in the ship’s rowboat: Pierre the dressmaker (who dressed even more elaborate than Jack in frilly-edged shirts and a pink coat), Matthew the barber, and another tall, smart gentleman named Alasdair whom I had not met before. Pierre and Matthew took those of the crew who required servicing and smartening up in captain’s quarters, including Jack himself. Mary declined the offer, of course, flashing a conspiratorial smile in my direction.
After a slap-up meal below decks of chicken and bean stew, accompanied by enough rum and mead to sink a galleon, the party spilled up onto the deck and we danced the day away. The crew sang their usual work shanties, swaying backwards and forwards, arms wrapped around each other, bottles sloshing:
Come all ye young fellows that follows the sea,
Way hey, blow the man down,
Now please pay attention and listen to me,
Oh, give us some time to blow the man down.
Even though they were all blind drunk, the crew could still carry a tune.
By sundown, the whole ship was sluiced except for Mary and me. I was so distracted by her whereabouts all day that I had taken in a mere fraction of my normal booze consumption. Mary had pretended to muster up as much enthusiasm as the rest of the crew in their merriment, but her eyes had met mine so often – clear, intense and gunpowder-sharp – that I knew she too had been afflicted with the same malady.
At one point, Jack staggered over to me and threw an arm around my shoulders. He brought his mouth close to my ear, meaning to whisper but failing miserably in his drunken stupor.
“Anne! Come to quarters for a wee while, will yer? I needs to show yer somethin’.”
His breath was ripe with the stench of chewing tobacco and alcohol, and the gold-toothed grin I used to find quite charming now felt overpowering and repellent. I dipped my head to sneak a sideways glance at Mary. She was staring cold-bloody-murder at Jack. For some reason this made me ridiculously pleased.
“Ahh, not tonight, Jack,” I said lightly. “There’s a party we’ll be missin’ out on.”
Unperturbed, Jack threw his other arm around Pierre, the next man in line, so we were all part of one long conjoined set. He took a long swig from the bottle of rum dangling from the hand draped over my chest and slurred out his favourite self-penned shanty, singing at the top of his lungs:
Oh, give me a kiss Bonny-Anne!
Oh, send me one fast as ye can.
All the sailors at sea, are conch-struck by thee!
So, give me a kiss Bonny-Anne!
He grabbed my face and kissed me roughly. Mildly annoyed, I shoved him away and the entire line of men collapsed in a heap of drunken laughter. They rolled around on the deck, embracing one another, singing another verse of my song and clinking their bottles together.
Eventually, the ship began to quieten down. The men sat huddled in groups against the ship’s hull, chatting and chuckling quietly or snoring with their mouths wide open.
I positioned myself directly opposite Mary, who sat with her back against the mainmast, her guitar cradled in her lap.
“Come now, Mark,” said Pierre, resting his head on Jack’s shoulder. “Are yer goin’ta sing us a shanty with that there thing? The party’s dyin’, man.”
I did not think Mary would comply, but she offered a quick smile and began to play. Her graceful fingers moved up and down the neck of the guitar, plucking out a sweet, melancholy tune.
A hush descended on the ship as those left awake turned to listen to the beautiful music under the lantern light. Then, as clear and strong as a church bell, Mary began to sing:
I once saw an angel at sea,
Her wings unfurled only for me,
She swooped o’er the isles, and I watched her, beguiled,
As she showed me the meaning of free.
My sea angel guides me through storms,
She leads me from cold seas to warm,
When my angel is near, I’ve no place for fear,
Sure as after the night comes the dawn.
She was so beautiful I could hardly breathe.
I felt a sudden sharp stab of fear. I had never been in love before. I felt weak, exposed, full, strong. And utterly terrified.
***
One by one, the crew made their way below decks to turn in for the night. Among them were Jack and Pierre, arm in arm, laughing and whispering in their own merry world. Mary raised her eyebrows at me in surprise, and I laughed.
“I told you I wasn’t his only paramour.”
Finally, Mary and I were left alone on the deck.
Our eyes met and we rose immediately, striding towards each other, our lips meeting in a bruised, heated kiss. I tried to convey all the emotion I was feeling with that kiss. By some miracle, I felt her deliver the same love letter to me.
Hand in hand, we walked up the stairway to the quarter deck – where we knew we would be hidden from anyone returning from crew’s quarters – and settled down against the helm.
Mary wrapped me securely in her arms, my back against her chest.
We both let out deep sighs of satisfaction.
“Tell me more about yourself,” I said.
“Ask me anything.”
“Have you ever been married?”
“Yes.”
I turned sharply in her arms. “What? To whom?” I demanded. A hot, heavy rock of jealousy lodged itself deep in my chest. “Tell me his name so I can find him and kill him.”
Mary laughed quietly and pulled me closer. “His name was Marcel and he
