‘Was I?’ she’d say incredulously. ‘D’you know, I have absolutely no recollection of that, chick!’ And she would laugh it off, promising herself once more that she must, must, must switch off her phone before allowing a single fluid ounce of alcohol to pass her lips. Because she talked such bollocks when she was pissed. She wasn’t lonely, for God’s sake! She was a highly successful singer and performer who travelled the world on the most glamorous and high-class cruise liners! Her life wasn’t meaningless! Honestly. What a drama queen!

Lana glanced anxiously around her cabin, looking for clues that would help piece together last night. Nothing stood out – the red sequined dress she’d worn for the Celine Dion medley lay abandoned on the floor by the en suite and she could see a silver stiletto jutting out of a sleeve. How did that get there? Obviously at some point she and Michel had brought the party back to her cabin – she must have got the wine from somewhere – but she had no memory of any discourse with him other than chatting after the show whilst he mixed her a few negronis.

Admittedly she was a tad surprised Michel had wanted to sleep with her – she’d assumed he preferred guys. But hey ho – her gaydar had always been a bit wonky.

Something was digging into the back of her neck – she reached up and dislodged the offending hair-grip, realizing in the same instant that she wasn’t wearing her wig. Bollocks. Over at her dressing table she noted with horror that it lay abandoned like a small sick mammal, black, furry and frightened. She must’ve got too hot last night and pulled it off, hurling it across the room in frustration. But was that before or after? Was she wearing the wig when she and Michel had sex? Or is this how she had looked to him – her real hair matted and pinned, flattened and lank and clinging to her scalp. Hmm, attractive!

The Malaysian Queen had been docked for two hours and Lana offered up silent thanks for this: no choppy waters to aggravate the nausea building up inside her; but more than that, today marked the first day of her four-week leave.

As soon as she could get it together and climb out of bed, she would shower, dress, pack and get the hell off the ship. She’d been at sea for three months now and a home visit was long overdue. Usually a trip back to her new-build apartment in Cardiff Bay would comprise opening a ton of post and gossiping with Malcolm her lodger. But this homecoming was going to be different. Maybe that’s why she’d got so drunk last night – to lift the cloud of foreboding that had been hanging over her head ever since she’d received Catrin’s email invitation, sent six weeks ago to both herself and Judith.

CATRIN AND SOLOMON BLYTHE

invite you for an early celebration of their

30^th Wedding Anniversary

on

Saturday 2nd June, 2017

at

Montgomery Hall, Coed Celyn

7pm till late

rsvp [email protected]