Page 45 of Companion Required
“Which is why he needs someone like you.”
* * * *
Kennedy passed only a handful of fellow passengers on his way back to the cabin, everyone else undoubtedly getting dressed up for the captain’s dinner that evening. When he reached the double doors, he took a deep breath before swiping his key card. Things had needed to be said—damage limitation—and he had let sleeping dogs lie with Patrick for far too long. Neither of them liked to apologise. Even so, trepidation unsettled his stomach now. He had meant what he’d said to Patrick, about Kieran being a decent guy. But Kennedy had forced that kiss on him and overstepped the boundaries he had set. If Kieran was pissed off at him, he had every right to be.
Inside the room, lights blazed but nobody appeared to be there. When he walked into the bedroom, Kieran’s case sat open on top of the bed. Why was he packing? They weren’t due in Hong Kong for four days. Had Kennedy succeeded in scaring him away?
“Kieran?” he called out.
No answer.
For the next thirty minutes, after checking with his friends, he searched all the places on the boat Kieran liked to hang out—the coffee shop, the bowling alley, the cinema. Eventually, he headed up onto the rain-glistening deck, where the bad weather had finally cleared, to the relaxing spot along the sea rail with the row of chairs and sun loungers.
“Kieran?”
The familiar figure pressed up against the deck railing made no sign of acknowledgment. Perhaps a slight movement of the head or a stiffening of the body, hard to tell in the dimness of twilight. There was most definitely an exhalation of smoke from a cigarette Kieran had been nursing. Just as Kennedy thought, the damage had been done, maybe too late to salvage anything—but he had to try. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward and joined the ‘Hate Kennedy’ party.
Standing there companionably for a while, following Kieran’s gaze out to sea, he gathered the right words to say. On the horizon, the last vestiges of the day’s light tinted the sky, shimmering an orange and purple mélange across the tips of the waves. A couple of times Kennedy chanced a sidelong look, but Kieran kept his gaze trained on the ocean, taking an occasional puff from the cigarette.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” said Kennedy. “Did you know that twilight has three phases? Civil twilight is what we’re seeing now. Starts right after sunset, once the sun’s lost from view and drops to around six degrees below the horizon. The second is called nautical twilight, between six and twelve degrees, and the third is astronomical twilight, between twelve and eighteen. On a good day, like today, twilight is accompanied by a spectacular light show.”
“So what’s dusk?”
“Officially, dusk is the transition from the darkest phase of twilight, just before night kicks in.”
“What is it about the human race that we have to categorise something as lovely and natural as sunset?” asked Kieran, still observing the horizon.
“Twilight.”
“Sunset. Twilight. What-the-fuck-ever.”
“Back before television and the Internet,” explained Kennedy, “people had a lot of time to kill. Man had to do something with all those spare hours. Apart from reading, writing and masturbation.”
A snort of laughter next to him gave Kennedy a tiny ray of hope.
“What I asked of you earlier, in the club, was wrong. I panicked and I’m— I regret that. What I should have done was to grow some balls and deal with the situation on my own. A few years ago, actually. The way I’ve had to all my life. If I made you uncomfortable, that was unintentional.”
“Are you apologising?”
“I don’t apologise, remember? Look, Kieran, we have another four days on the boat. I can’t do anything about that. But if you want, I can rearrange your flight so that you can fly back home from Hong Kong. I’ll still honour the deal. Make sure you get the full amount plus the additional money for the—umm—extra service I asked you to perform. You’ve been a trooper—I truly mean that—and you’ve put up with more shit than anyone else in your place would have done. More than I ever would have. And I respect you for that.”
Kennedy fell silent then, hoping that Kieran would say something, anything.
Nothing came.
“And if you don’t want to come with me to the captain’s table dinner tonight, I’ll also understand—”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” said Kieran, turning to him and stubbing out the remains of the cigarette on the sea rail. “What kind of message would that send to the assholes you used to call friends? Fuck that, I’m coming. And I’m bringing my best game.”
“O-kay,” said Kennedy, a touch apprehensively. As a businessman, Kennedy had learned to deal with a fair amount of bravado in his time. Kieran’s fierce tone and somewhat veiled threat made him a little nervous.
“But I’ll be getting changed in Steph and Laurie’s cabin,” continued Kieran. “Even though she’s still sick, Steph’s insisting on adjusting the length of my dress suit trousers and then pressing them. And Laurie’s going to give my hair a quick trim. So I’ll be coming with Laurie and I’ll see you there.”
Kieran’s assertive tone appeared to leave no room for negotiation.
“Understood,” said Kennedy, disappointment filling his stomach like concrete. Part of his enjoyment over the evenings on the cruise had been in getting dressed for dinner together, assessing each other’s choice of evening wear. “And will you be joining us for pre-dinner drinks?”
“Might be a little late, but I’ll be there. Okay?”
“Thank you. Are we good, then?”
“We’re getting there, Kennedy. We’re getting there.”
