The Women Who Ran Away - Sheila O'Flanagan Page 0,9

was how it had felt. Now her world had shifted on its axis. And – whether she meant to show it or not – Gill was quietly smug about it all.

Deira stayed sitting for a moment, her eyes closed, trying hard not to cry. Then she stood up straight, ran the brush through her hair again and stepped out of the cabin.

She hadn’t come away to think about how things had been. She was here to think about how they were going to be. Even though, right now, there was nothing in her future to look forward to.

Chapter 4

Ringaskiddy to Roscoff: 580.2 km

When she arrived at the restaurant, Deira was led to a table for two near one of the large windows at the stern of the ship. The restaurant was nearly full, and most of the diners seemed to be excited Irish passengers on the outward leg of their holiday. Deira, accustomed to taking flights to wherever she wanted to go, hadn’t realised that so many people did it differently, even though she and Gavin had joked about reducing their carbon footprint when they’d first booked the trip. Now, as she took the menu the waiter offered her, she thought that perhaps she might travel this way more often.

The choices on the menu were appetising, although she couldn’t remember the last time she’d either eaten out or felt hungry. Which should, at least, have led to the upside of dramatic weight loss, except that avoiding food didn’t include avoiding two glasses of wine and a few squares of chocolate every night. Comfort eating. And drinking. And she didn’t care.

She decided to start with a salad from the buffet, followed by some seared tuna from the menu. The buffet itself was so extensive that some people seemed unable to limit their choices to one or two selections and had piled their plates with an assortment of meat, shellfish, salads, cheese and crusty bread. Deira could almost hear Gavin beside her, murmuring that a buffet always brought out the inherent savage in people. ‘Clustering around as though they’re never going to see food again,’ he would have said. Because that was what he always said when they were away together and facing a breakfast buffet. ‘It makes you lose all faith in humanity.’

She always agreed with him when he said that. She agreed with him on most things. It was why people said they were a great couple.

She put a little pot of prawns along with a small salad of green leaves on her plate. She brought it back to her table, then took her iPad from her bag. But although she opened it, she didn’t click on any of her favourite apps; instead she simply ate her food and stared into the distance.

It took her a moment or two to register that the waiter was walking towards her again, and for a brief moment she wondered, irrationally, if she’d taken too much from the buffet. And then she saw that there was a woman with him – tall and graceful, clearly older than Deira herself but with fine features that gave her an almost ageless appearance. Her silver-grey hair was cut in a fashionable mid-length style, and she was wearing what Deira had realised was almost the uniform of many of the older women on the ferry – a navy and white striped T-shirt, white chinos and espadrilles. A necklace of turquoise agates hung around her neck. She looked so stylish that Deira immediately assumed she was French.

‘This table,’ said the waiter.

‘Um – I booked a table for one,’ said Deira.

‘I’m afraid we don’t reserve tables for one person,’ said the waiter. ‘You’ll have to share.’

‘If I’m disturbing you . . .’ The woman’s voice was clear and measured, her accent Irish.

‘I . . . well . . . no . . .’ Deira moved her iPad out of the way.

‘Thank you.’ The woman sat down, and the waiter took her order for a glass of Chablis, then left them alone.

‘I apologise if I’m disturbing you,’ the woman said to Deira. ‘But it’s always the case on the ferry that they plonk people down beside you. Everyone wants to eat at the same time, you see.’

‘It’s fine,’ said Deira, who was saved from further conversation by the arrival of both the other woman’s glass of wine and her own main course.

She busied herself with her food and her iPad, opening the book she’d been reading for the past month. Normally