to be used for hot drinks.
Why can’t it be used for ordinary drinking? the girl says.
Anyway, the bar is closed, Gemma says.
The girl looks at Gemma as if she hasn’t heard properly what she said. The bar is what? she says.
The bar has to close for the hour while the boat is empty, Gemma says. It’s mandatory.
The girl snorts.
It’s for licensing laws, Gemma says.
You just said I could buy something off the Drinks List, the girl says. Were you open then, ten seconds ago, and now you’re shut?
I’m awful sorry, Gemma says.
The girl leans forward, still looking her square in the eyes. Her skin is definitely dark this close up though she still sounds really Glasgow. Gemma takes a step back.
Listen, you, the girl says. Do you know what dehydration actually does to someone?
While she is talking about blood and dizziness and seizures and hospitals, Gemma looks her back in the eye, maintains her polite face and thinks the word over and over in her head. Fucker fucker fucker fucker fucker. What are they like, the fuckers, coming here and thinking just because they’ve bought their ticket they can be telling people what to do? Coming here and then not even wanting to see how beautiful the sights are. Not even interested. Reading a book in a weirdo language instead. Thinking the world owes them a living. Gemma almost smirks, manages not to, nods politely as if she’s listening. When the girl has finished, she smiles her most friendly smile at her, reaches up above her head, pulls down the metal blind that shuts the bar off from the rest of the room and locks it in place with the padlock.
She can hear the girl’s disbelief on the other side of the blind. She jumps when the blind rattles, when the girl hits at it a couple of times. She is full of sudden excited glee; it is like a different person is in her, pushing against her own skin to get out of her. She puts her arms around herself. Her heart is beating like mad. The foreign girl can complain if she likes. She is out of here in ten weeks and away.
The floor is covered in the ripped-up cardboard and discarded plastic of a busy morning. The rubbish bin is overflowing at the back. Whose idea was it to call them fuckers? She doesn’t know; it is what everyone calls them on the boat and in the boat office. Every morning the queue of them waiting to get on the boat reaches all the way to the main road. They wear bright colours and sunglasses, they carry all manner of useless stuff around with them. They’re so hopeful, like dogs waiting for their time for a walk.
There isn’t much light in here with the blind down. The only window is small and blocked by the fridge; through the crack of daylight visible she can see the castle outside falling and lifting. There isn’t much room to move, and there is nothing left to drink except the coffee and tea water, and she can’t drink that, she’ll need it all the way back.
That German woman might die.
She wonders what the girl is doing. If it was her out there, and it was an emergency, she’d go round the boat collecting the dregs from other people’s glasses and cans and bottles and give her that. She wonders if that’s what that girl is doing now. She puts her head close to the blind but she can’t hear anything. The astonishing thing about that girl is how smooth her skin was. When she brought her face close to Gemma’s across the bar Gemma had seen its surface, and how her eyes were, they were
She sinks on to the bar stool. The eyes were beautiful. The beautifulness of them has sliced so deep into her without her even knowing that’s what it was doing that she stares at the blind straight ahead of her because if she looks down she might see herself peeled back, opened at the skin; she doesn’t dare look down in case she is actually bleeding. She remembers the wounded look on the face of the old Canadian lady as she stood on the deck and stared out at the summer land. She fingers the twenty pound note in her
Why can’t it be used for ordinary drinking? the girl says.
Anyway, the bar is closed, Gemma says.
The girl looks at Gemma as if she hasn’t heard properly what she said. The bar is what? she says.
The bar has to close for the hour while the boat is empty, Gemma says. It’s mandatory.
The girl snorts.
It’s for licensing laws, Gemma says.
You just said I could buy something off the Drinks List, the girl says. Were you open then, ten seconds ago, and now you’re shut?
I’m awful sorry, Gemma says.
The girl leans forward, still looking her square in the eyes. Her skin is definitely dark this close up though she still sounds really Glasgow. Gemma takes a step back.
Listen, you, the girl says. Do you know what dehydration actually does to someone?
While she is talking about blood and dizziness and seizures and hospitals, Gemma looks her back in the eye, maintains her polite face and thinks the word over and over in her head. Fucker fucker fucker fucker fucker. What are they like, the fuckers, coming here and thinking just because they’ve bought their ticket they can be telling people what to do? Coming here and then not even wanting to see how beautiful the sights are. Not even interested. Reading a book in a weirdo language instead. Thinking the world owes them a living. Gemma almost smirks, manages not to, nods politely as if she’s listening. When the girl has finished, she smiles her most friendly smile at her, reaches up above her head, pulls down the metal blind that shuts the bar off from the rest of the room and locks it in place with the padlock.
She can hear the girl’s disbelief on the other side of the blind. She jumps when the blind rattles, when the girl hits at it a couple of times. She is full of sudden excited glee; it is like a different person is in her, pushing against her own skin to get out of her. She puts her arms around herself. Her heart is beating like mad. The foreign girl can complain if she likes. She is out of here in ten weeks and away.
The floor is covered in the ripped-up cardboard and discarded plastic of a busy morning. The rubbish bin is overflowing at the back. Whose idea was it to call them fuckers? She doesn’t know; it is what everyone calls them on the boat and in the boat office. Every morning the queue of them waiting to get on the boat reaches all the way to the main road. They wear bright colours and sunglasses, they carry all manner of useless stuff around with them. They’re so hopeful, like dogs waiting for their time for a walk.
There isn’t much light in here with the blind down. The only window is small and blocked by the fridge; through the crack of daylight visible she can see the castle outside falling and lifting. There isn’t much room to move, and there is nothing left to drink except the coffee and tea water, and she can’t drink that, she’ll need it all the way back.
That German woman might die.
She wonders what the girl is doing. If it was her out there, and it was an emergency, she’d go round the boat collecting the dregs from other people’s glasses and cans and bottles and give her that. She wonders if that’s what that girl is doing now. She puts her head close to the blind but she can’t hear anything. The astonishing thing about that girl is how smooth her skin was. When she brought her face close to Gemma’s across the bar Gemma had seen its surface, and how her eyes were, they were
She sinks on to the bar stool. The eyes were beautiful. The beautifulness of them has sliced so deep into her without her even knowing that’s what it was doing that she stares at the blind straight ahead of her because if she looks down she might see herself peeled back, opened at the skin; she doesn’t dare look down in case she is actually bleeding. She remembers the wounded look on the face of the old Canadian lady as she stood on the deck and stared out at the summer land. She fingers the twenty pound note in her
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