Page 131 of Villa of Secrets

Naomi’s heart hammered, and Bubba jumped from her sleep too.

‘What? What’s the matter? I’m in here!’ Naomi sensed an emergency. She turned to her startled grandmother. ‘Go back to sleep, Bubba. It’s a big day tomorrow, with the court case and everything.’

She slipped into the kitchen. Angelos hooked the air and nodded to the door. ‘Come outside, Mama. We don’t want to wake Bubba.’

‘A bit late for that with your racket. What on earth’s going on?’

She stepped onto the patio and saw Rebecca and Heleny rushing down the street towards her. Papas Yiannis, Marina, and her boyfriend, were already halfway across their patio. Everyone wore a horrified expression and foreboding gathered in the pit of Naomi’s stomach. She looked from one to the other, waiting for an explanation.

‘Will somebody tell me what’s happening?!’

‘Dad’s ship’s sinking!’ Konstantinos cried.

‘What? Costa!’

Angelos nodded. ‘A newsflash in the bar five minutes ago. They think the cruiser struck an uncharted rock as it entered the Santorini caldera, but nobody’s sure. We came straight home.’

Chapter 54

Naomi watched TV through the night, jerking herself out of sleep whenever she realised she had nodded off, afraid of missing something. They were reporting live, covering the demise of The Royal Sapphire. When they had nothing new, the same footage played on a loop. She had vague recollections of various family members taking it in turns to sit with her through the night, but now she was alone, and glad of it. She could concentrate on the screen, and not miss anything.

Be safe, Costa!

A helicopter hovering over the scene offered a fresh perspective. Naomi dragged the chair closer and sat on the edge of the seat. People were sliding down yellow inflated chutes into orange lifeboats metres below. Passengers at lifeboat stations clutched the rails and peered into the churning sea far below. Everything seemed organised with no sign of panic from the guests.

But where was Costa, and why hadn’t he called? She had phoned him, but the number was unavailable.

A cascade of water, pumped from the stern, shot out like an enormous waterfall, plunging thirty metres down into the sea. Presumably, it came from lower decks, already flooded. The dining rooms and kitchens were down there. Watertight doors would be closed, sealed.

Oh Costa!

Black smoke billowed from the funnel. Naomi wondered if there was a fire, or had there been an explosion?

The Royal Sapphire listed to port. Helicopters circled, their distant shadows flitting like water nymphs over the sea. Queues of small vessels, water taxis and trip boats waited their turn to transport passengers in a mass evacuation. Pale-faced people in fluorescent life jackets were helped onto excursion boats. The TV showed new footage garnered from tourists’ phones. Naomi scoured the faces for Costa.

The news returned to the studio. The anchor man asked the Greek correspondent, ‘Can we confirm that the lower decks were cleared of travellers and staff before they were sealed?’ Naomi held her breath. The reporter stood on the deck of a trip boat that was taking on cruise passengers. He shook his head, his voice drowned by the thrum of a nearby helicopter.

Back in the studio, the anchor man said, ‘In a statement from Royal Cruises, we read that at this moment they can’t confirm there’ve been no injuries or that everyone is accounted for, but the safety of the passengers continues to be paramount. Concerned family and friends will find more information on the Royal Cruises website.’

With an acute feeling of helplessness, Naomi broke down. She grabbed her phone and found the website, but there was no news that she didn’t know already. She peered at the kitchen clock: 4 a.m. She then turned back to the screen, unable to think of a reason why Costa wouldn’t call her.

The loop played through again. High on the cliffs of Santorini, she saw picturesque whitewashed buildings with azure water sparkling from infinity pools with underwater lighting, Softly-lit blue-domed churches with arched bell towers seemed to add to the drama. Despite the unearthly hour, rows of tourists continued to stand on rooftops and balconies. Everyone stared down at the tragedy. Naomi wanted time to stand still, but the news–loop started again with yesterday evening. On the TV dusk descended, fairy lights winked and glinted from the scene. TV cameras zoomed in on the holidaymakers: it wasn’t a vigil. They were staring at their phones held at arm’s length, recording the disaster.

Back to the live streaming, searchlights played over empty decks and doorways, the pristine paintwork turning yellow in artificial light. Was anyone still inside? The vessel, almost a hundred thousand tonnes, as Costa had often told her, turned slowly onto its side.

Costa, please don’t be in there!

The sea spat out luminous lifeboats that bobbed on the surface in a bed of foam.

The numbers ran through her head. Over three thousand passengers, two thousand crew, one husband.

When the camera pulled back, taking in the whole scene, it was clear the ship had listed into a critical position.

The Royal Sapphire turned as slowly and definitely as the arms of the kitchen clock. A vessel destined to turn into turtle. A thought Naomi did not want to contemplate.

Suddenly she realised that everything had changed up a gear. Blurred images from someone’s Go-Pro showed desperate people crawling along a corridor floor, the angle making walking impossible. Furniture skidded over the carpet at bone-breaking speed, bowing to gravity, a chandelier shattered, a piano waltzed across a dance floor, men and women teetering drunkenly. Passengers scrambled, sliding, rushing, frantic now. At the escape slides, holidaymakers in fluorescent life jackets clung to railings. The waterfall pumped from the stern ceased. What did that mean? Had they given up? Naomi’s stomach rolled. She didn’t want to watch, yet couldn’t tear her eyes away.

There were still people at the rails! People inside! Where were the crew? Were they forbidden to leave until all passengers had reached safety? Where was Costa?!