The morning after

Out on deck – cool and damp, from an early, pearly, morning mist, and the sea calm grey, a relief to breath fresh air after the stuffy interior – Madigan tried to identify the land to the west – some part of Caithness obviously, but they were too distant, and none of the inland mountains sufficiently visible to give a further clue.   Not that she was that sure of being able to identify them anyway.   Plenty of fishing boats headed outwards though – reds and bright blues catching the morning sun, so they must be opposite a port ...   But she was stood in shadow and getting cold, so walked round to the sunny, starboard side, reminding herself of what one of her primary school teachers had told her long ago, as a way of remembering: the  three longest words together, right, green, starboard, and three shortest words, left, red, port.

Her satisfaction at her solitude – she presumed all other couples, being genuine honeymooners (with one exception, and she couldn't be sure that their relationship was entirely professional!) were otherwise occupied – was slightly dissipated as she passed the door into the ‘Whispers’ lounge.   Huddled in a corner, sat on the deck and wrapped in a blanket, looking at first glance incongruously like a street beggar, was a thin girl, her woebegone-face staring out towards the horizon.   Madigan nodded to her as she passed, as reluctant to interrupt her early morning contemplations as she was to have hers interfered with.   But the blank stare was unblinking and Madigan took only another couple of steps before realisation hit her – that disregarding stare was death, not indifference.



[Another Thinking Ten prompt kick-started this, along with ‘Wedding night’ and ‘Calm, calm’;  all plot-planning snippet, some parts of which might eventually be used for NaNoWriMo2011]