Out of the Blue

by Belinda Jones

  ‘It’s not just a job,’ the husband told me. ‘It’s a radical change in lifestyle.’

  While I was aboard the ship I wouldn’t have to cook or clean or commute. I wouldn’t have to do laundry or be responsible for anyone else’s stomach – if a man wanted his tea on the table at six he’d go to the canteen. It seemed too good to be true – no peeling spuds at the sink watching the rain drizzle down the window pane. No standing at bus stops with plastic carrier bags slicing into careworn hands. No torturing myself with posters for exotic destinations – I would be sipping Caribbean coconut water under that palm tree, touring those Mayan ruins, promoting that Polynesian snorkelling trip.

  It sounded a lot better than being buried alive with a mean-mouthed couch potato. As I filled in my application, I vowed I would never again settle to the point of stagnation. I even decided I would never marry, just to be extra sure I would forever repel the label housewife. Instead my life would be one long honeymoon cruise. Albeit solo.

  I remember my first day. I was so daunted. Instead of telling myself to just get through the next eight hours so I could go home and collapse, it felt like I had an eight-month-long day ahead of me. The commitment was huge but every time I thought of bailing, I would think about what I’d be going back to. And then, of course, when I did get to go back to England on my break, I was antsy within a fortnight. It was like I’d been given a ticket to a magical new world and I couldn’t wait to see where it would take me next.

  Most of my friends were excited for me but then I remember at a Christmas party a few years back we were picking songs for each other to karaoke to death and someone handed me Charlene’s ‘I’ve Never Been to Me’ . . . I wasn’t quite sure how to take that. At the time I couldn’t empathise with the regretful singer. What was she complaining about – if you’ve been to Nice and the ‘isle’ of Greece and sipped champagne on a yacht, that’s not a bad life. In fact she’s probably quite similar to Joanna Lumley’s character in Shirley Valentine – remember classmate Marjorie Majors who went on to become the jet-set high-class hooker? Well I’ve been to Georgia and California without having to resort to prostitution. I may not have been undressed by kings but I have had my share of international flings and though none of them have worked out at least it’s been culturally educational.

  Anyway, what Charlene seems to be saying is that she’d swap her misleadingly glamorous and ultimately lonely life for the day-to-day reality of a husband and baby. And what makes me wonder if this choice of song was somewhat barbed, is that the friend who handed me the lyrics was a mother of two.

  I’ve been pondering the differences between us a lot lately. (It’s amazing how that song catches me unawares in the strangest places – a supermarket in Barbados, a disco in Anchorage.) But I’m still not convinced about the trade-off. Whoever you are, you always feel something is missing, don’t you? Isn’t that just part of the human condition? And unlike Charlene, I have been to me. I know who I am. More or less. My only concern is that I’m running out of world to see because that’s what keeps me going – the thrill of discovering something new.

  At least that’s what I’ve always felt. As someone with ‘Keep moving!’ as their mantra, I keep doubting my decision to return to the same ship – I just hope it’s not a slippery slope. Am I slowing down when actually what I need is another big shake-up? But what could that be? The most dramatic thing someone who is always on the move can do is stand still! And I can’t possibly do that.

  I partly blame Alekos for my current jarred equilibrium. When I first met him I was as intrigued and attracted as the rest of the ship, then came word of his reputation: heartbreaker of the first degree. Succumb at your peril. So I stepped back and shut down, which isn’t easy when you’ve got all stirred up by the attentions of a wickedly handsome man. Holding strong (in a run-and-hide kind of way) I reminded myself how miserable I felt after the Norwegian – I didn’t want that again. At least this one had come with a warning.

  Of course intentions are one thing but it’s not so easy to un-trigger your desire. Even if you’ve switched off to that particular person, you still can’t help lying in bed wondering about alternatives . . . What if I did meet someone nice, someone Jules gave her seal of approval to? What if we moved in together and it deteriorated into sofa life again, would that be so bad now that I’d seen something of the world?

  But then off I’d go on some tour and find myself brimming over with wonder as I beheld a two-hundred-foot-high glacier face glowing blue and I’d think, ‘I can’t give up all this for a man, I just can’t.’

  I even feel a little annoyed now – look at me cowering in my cabin when I should be having farewell Martinis with my friends. I’ll give it two more minutes to be sure he’s gone and then head out. Perhaps if I finish my packing I’ll at least feel I’ve done something constructive . . .

  I flip open my suitcase, tucking a few pairs of shoes down the sides, not that I’m short of space – now that I know I’m returning to the ship, I don’t have to take any of my winter woolies or jackets back to England. I can’t wait for the day when I can walk out the door in just a T-shirt. Well not literally – oop, that’ll be the phone. ‘Selena?’ It’s Jules.

  ‘Heyy!’ I cheer. ‘I’m just packing!’

  She giggles, knowing this is her cue to quote one of our favourite moments from Desperate Housewives. ‘Whoah! I told you to just pack essentials!’ she channels Carlos addressing his high-maintenance wife Gabrielle. ‘Is that a boa?’

  I clutch at an imaginary ruffle of black feathers and pout. ‘If you’re taking me somewhere where I don’t need a boa, then I don’t want to go!’

  We chuckle and then I huddle up for a gossip – even though I’ll be seeing her in two days’ time I have to bring her up to speed on the latest – and last – instalment with Alekos.

  ‘Well, you say last but I bet you anything he’ll be in the bar tonight and then giving it one last shot outside your cabin door at two a.m.!’

  ‘Don’t!’ I wail. There’s only so many times I can say no convincingly to that man.

  ‘I expect you’ll be glad to get away,’ Jules concludes.

  ‘And even more glad to see you! So, what Duty Free booze should I bring?’

  Silence.

  ‘Jules?’

  ‘Oh Selena! I don’t even know how to tell you this . . .’

  ‘Tell me what? You surely haven’t quit drinking—’

  ‘I’m getting married!’

  My stomach drops all the way down to the engine room. ‘To Dom?’ I don’t know why I asked that, who else would it be? Clearly I’m stalling for time.

  ‘Yes!’ she exclaims. ‘It was supposed to be this big surprise but then I found the tickets for Mauritius—’

  ‘You’re doing the whole barefoot beach thing?’ Now at least that makes perfect sense – Jules will make the ultimate bikini bride.

  ‘Dom said we should do it naked but the hotel won’t allow it.’

  ‘Spoilsports!’

  ‘It’s okay, they’ll more than make it up to me in spa treatments – I’ve already booked in for the frangipani body float and there’s this Exotic Moisture Dew facial that sounds divine!’

  I know Jules loves her fancy gunks and pummellings but she actually sounds more excited about Elemis than becoming a Mrs.

  ‘So when’s the big day?’ I ask. ‘Or should I say the big holiday?’

  ‘We leave Sunday.’

  ‘Sunday Sunday? This Sunday?’ Surely she can’t mean the day I am due to arrive on her doorstep. ‘As in the day after tomorrow?’

  ‘Sudden, huh? Good thing I had booked the time off work to be with you.’

  ‘Yes. Well. Wow.’ I sit down on the bed, accidentally flattening my straw cowboy hat. ‘So I take it it’s just the two of you? Or is your family going?’

  Suddenly I feel a total outsider – reminding me how recent a friendship this is.

  ‘No, it’s just the two of us. You’re not miffed, ar
e you – that it’s ruined our plans?’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ I tut. ‘I’m just shocked. I mean surprised.’ I scrunch my brow trying to come up with the appropriate phrase. ‘What I mean to say is that I’m delighted!’ I conclude, only to add, ‘If this is what you want?’

  She hasn’t even mentioned Dom in any recent correspondence but I suppose that’s a good sign – in my experience people generally have more to say about their partners when they’re peeved with them and want to vent and gain support for their side of the argument – I remember bumping into an old friend on my last trip to the UK and asking how life was since his girlfriend moved in and he said, ‘Uneventful.’ And he meant it in a good way.

  I decide to sidestep the emotional probing and cut to the crux of the matter – ‘What are you going to wear?’

  ‘Well, for the old I have my nan’s diamond earrings, new is going to be this amazing white sequin bikini I’m collecting tomorrow, and my mum is letting me borrow her Gucci sunglasses.’

  ‘What about the blue?’

  ‘I’ll just pick up something out there.’

  I listen to her talking about coconut-scented body shimmer and the possibility of using a wispy sarong as a veil while simultaneously trying to break down my feeling of unease.

  Obviously I’m disappointed that I won’t be seeing her and that our plans have gone awry and I can’t help but feel snubbed by Dom – Jules took the week off to be with me and he’s trumped my company with a marriage proposal and a spa-fest. I suddenly feel very dispensable. On the upside I don’t have to worry about being homeless, at least initially, because she’s kindly said I can stay at her flat while she’s gone. But what about when they come back? Will he be moving in straight away? Where will I go? I shake my head – look at me selfishly considering all the repercussions in my life! This is supposed to be a time for celebration and, more significantly, jealousy. Well, I can certainly cop to a pang of the latter. It’s not the marriage itself that gets me, just that partnership thing – being in cahoots, be it with a friend or a lover, moving forward in life with someone by your side. I sigh to myself. This really is the end of an era, only with Jules I don’t have the benefit of a last-night party. When I see her next she will be someone’s wife.

  ‘Oooh, I’ve got to go,’ she suddenly blurts. ‘My sunrise pilates class is here!’

  As I put down the phone, I turn my head to look out into the churning black abyss. Tomorrow I have a set schedule involving a bus, a plane and a couple of trains. Logistically I know exactly where I’m going and when. And yet the truth is, I’ve never felt more at sea.

  2

  ‘The oldest, shortest words – yes and no – are those which require the most thought.’ – Pythagoras

  Passing laughter weaves under my cabin door reminding me that I’m letting my last night of guaranteed sociability slip away from me.

  ‘Come on, Miss Harper – your guests are waiting!’ I gee myself up, flouncing the netting of my skirt and checking on the elaborate up-do Kirby experimented with earlier. One more swish of Benefit blush and I’m on my way.

  Normally I would walk the internal route to the bar but feeling in need of a quick blast of air, I tug open the glass side door and find myself caught in a salt-tinged twister. Instead of ducking back inside like a sane person, I step boldly into its midst, holding down my skirt, closing my eyes and letting the wind bluster and muss me, hoping it will buffet the queasiness from my body.

  As I reach for the railing to steady myself, I find myself leaning over, concentrating on the water rushing below me.

  ‘Don’t do it!’ Kirby is suddenly upon me, pretending to wrestle me back from the edge and bundling me inside. ‘Christ, you look like Helena Bonham Carter!’ he curses as he assesses the damage. ‘I’ve never seen such wilful wrecking of a hairdo. What were you thinking?

  Technically the answer would be, ‘I don’t want to leave – I’ve got nothing and no one to go back to!’, but I don’t want his parting impression of me to be a moany no-mates so I tell him I was just thinking about Mrs Burrell’s false teeth falling overboard while she was whale-watching.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he says, smoothing my stray strands back into place before leading me onwards, ‘just one more night of this insanity and you’re free!’

  I force a smile but there it is again, that sinking feeling and a niggling query: ‘Free to do what?’

  What choice could I possibly make now that would revive my deflated spirits?

  ‘White Chocolate Martini or Peach Bellini?’

  Well. Everything starts with baby steps.

  I take a sip of my smooth, perfectly chilled cocktail and look around me. There’s something so comforting about a cruiseship on formal night. With everyone putting on the ritz, it’s as though we are all harking back to a more refined era.

  People are so quick to dismiss cruises as full of newlyweds and ‘nearly deads’ and even my own parents say they’re saving it for their eighties ‘because there are doctors and coffins on board’, but I say don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. There’s a camaraderie among the guests that you rarely find in hotels; a sense of shared experience. Here people actually talk to one another in the lift or at the café counter. That’s one of the things I have to watch when I first get back to England – not saying good morning to every person I pass on the street. Maybe I’ll solve that by not getting up till noon – oh glorious lie-ins here I come!

  While Kirby goes in search of Lana the Lithuanian croupier who he sent in search of me, I approach the group of foxy fortysomething divorcees who chose Alaska based on the state’s excess of single men.

  ‘So, how’s the manhunt going, ladies?’

  ‘Oh that lumberjack show you sent us to was hilarious!’ the ringleader raves. ‘All check shirts and whopping great axes!’

  ‘We got pictures with them, look!’ Her friend shows me on her camera – three strapping chaps with necks like tree trunks and one who looks like he’d be better suited to IT. ‘Well, you know what they say about Alaskan men – “The odds may be good but the goods are odd!”’ they all chorus and then fall about laughing.

  ‘So you’ve had a fun time?’ I conclude happily.

  ‘The best!’ they enthuse. ‘We’ve already booked the Southern Caribbean for Jen’s fiftieth next year!’

  I congratulate them though I am a little envious, imagining them all cavorting together when my own birthday plans have so recently gone awry. But I don’t have time to ponder this further because two of my most adventurous customers are beckoning me over to the piano.

  ‘We’re so sorry you won’t be with us next week.’ A liver-spotted hand caresses my wrist. ‘You’ve taken such good care of us!’

  ‘It was my pleasure,’ I tell Mr and Mrs Sinclair. ‘You’ve been an inspiration – I hope I’m game for ziplining and canoe safaris when I retire!’

  ‘We’re just a little bit concerned about the choppier seas they are predicting.’

  ‘Just get a pair of those anti-seasickness wristbands,’ I tell them. ‘They really do work.’

  ‘What about acupuncture? I see they have a special on at the moment.’

  I pull a face. Each to their own but all I could think as I lay there covered in needles was that if the ship made a particularly violent pitch I’d be tossed from the treatment table to the floor and impaled, dying a thousand deaths like an Agatha Christie murder victim.

  They look suitably stricken. ‘Ginger is supposed to be good for settling the stomach . . .’ I try to temper my accidental scaremongering. ‘Oh, and by the way, I’ve left that book on totem poles at the Shore Excursions desk for you to have a look at.’

  This cheers them up no end. ‘You’re a gem!’ they say, kissing a cheek apiece before I move on, colliding with Dashing Danny from the Entertainments crew – dashing as in he’s always running, as opposed to his being particularly debonair.

  ‘Oh Selena! I’m glad I caught you!’ His eyes are even brighter
than normal. ‘I spoke to the boss and he’s interested in your idea!’

  ‘Really?’ I gawp. Now this is unexpectedly good news.

  ‘Which idea?’ Kirby reappears, nosing in alongside me. ‘Voyager or Voyeur?’

  Kirby has a natty label for everything. Voyager is what he calls my travel project, offering guests personally customised tours, and Voyeur is his name for my bid to get into guest speaking.

  Every week we have an expert come on board and present three fifty-minute talks on a specialised subject, be it opera, astronomy or something more destination-related like the behaviours of Alaskan black bears. They don’t actually get paid for this – the cruise itself is the fee – which is where my custom tour sideline would come in. I’ve actually had a fair bit of practice at the speaking part in that I do daily talks on stage in the theatre to showcase our range of upcoming tours – a combination of promotion and information and answering any questions the guests may have, however bizarre and unrelated. Anyway, I have boldly decided to become an ‘expert’ on the one thing I probably know least about – love.

  It all began on my last South America run. I met a beautiful Swiss lady of seventy who became a teenager before my very eyes as she spoke of a Peruvian man she’d fallen in love with in her youth and never forgotten. It really was captivating, being so close to such treasured emotions . . . I couldn’t believe that over fifty years on – and now that her husband had passed away – she’d come to Lima in the hope that she might pass him in the street and have another chance . . .

  It seemed incredibly romantic but also sad. I looked at her thinking, she’d spent her whole life missing him and it made me wonder, who does it really happen for, enduring love? I know I’ve never experienced it. But then I started looking around me – cruiseships are full of people celebrating twenty-and thirty-and even sixty-years anniversaries. I started listening to their stories and then when I was in Singapore I picked up a camcorder and began filming couples on location, talking about how they met and what has kept them in a state of bliss, as well as looking at the way different nationalities express and define love. Kirby calls it voyeurism because he says I’m all observation and no personal interaction. I can’t argue with that. Meanwhile, Jules thinks I’m delusional. She says it’s like I’m out collecting evidence so that one day when I’ve met enough happy couples I can present the film footage to the high court and say, ‘I have proof! True love does exist!’ And then as a reward they will hand me over my man.