‘But did you enjoy it?’ enquired Ven.
‘It was bloody marvellous,’ said Olive, with a cringe of pain. ‘But I need a gin and tonic and quick.’
‘Hello, ma’am, can I get you something to drink?’ said the friendly voice of Buzz doing deck duty.
‘Four gin and tonics, please,’ said Ven, checking that was okay with everyone.
‘And those are just for me,’ groaned Olive. She could still feel Romana’s thumbs pressing under her shoulderblades. Olive wondered if she was slightly masochistic to have derived so much pleasure from being battered for an hour. Then a nasty little voice reminded her that she must indeed be very masochistic for putting up with a lot more than one Hungarian masseuse subjected her to, namely years of drudgery from the Hardcastle clan.
‘Ice and lemon?’ asked Buzz.
‘Oh yes please, my love,’ said Ven, as Buzz buzzed off to get them.
Then up the stairs came Eric and Irene, dressed like twins in blue shorts and white tops.
‘Hello, ladies,’ Eric waved. ‘I thought you might be ashore today.’
‘Ah, we thought we’d give it a miss,’ said Roz with good humour. Eric wouldn’t be Eric without that stupid joke following him around.
‘Look at that mist rolling in.’ Olive nudged Ven. It was the weirdest sight. They were sailing into a low-sitting dry-ice of a mist that clung to the almost-smooth glassy surface of a very calm sea. Coupled with the silence, it was spooky to say the least. Like something out of a Tales from the Crypt Hammer Horror film.
‘Not sure I like this,’ shivered Roz. ‘It’s a bit weird.’ Then she started to ‘der-der’ the theme tune to ‘The Twilight Zone’.
‘Ah look, here come the girls!’ Eric pointed out into the distance. Three shapes were forming, becoming more defined with every passing second. ‘Look, Irene, the Duchess Alexandra. There she is, bless her.’ His voice crumbled and to everyone’s surprise, Eric pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose loudly on it. He was man-crying. Coughing and shaking his head trying to disguise it, but there were glittery water traces on his cheeks.
Olive noticed how he then reached for Irene’s hand and held it tightly.
‘We met on that ship forty-six years ago,’ Irene explained in her whispery soft voice. ‘It has some lovely memories for us.’
A loud blast from the Mermaidia’s horn scared them all to death. Then, when it was answered by the deep mellow sirens from the three old swans swimming ever more closely, it felt incredibly touching, as if they were all benign sea-creatures calling to each other.
‘It’s like they’re saying hello,’ said Olive.
‘Or goodbye,’ sniffed Eric. ‘What a lovely old girl the Duchess is. Solid as a rock. Never budged in a force twelve. Beautiful, beautiful. God bless her.’
By now the decks were crowded, everyone watching the hypnotic sight of the huge black-and-white painted Duchess with the bright orange funnels, flanked by the two smaller ships, like ladies-in-waiting. They looked as if they were gliding on the strange mist like ghosts. People on the decks weren’t cheering, but stood in a silent reverence reserved for the graveside.
The three old Grandes Dames of the sea, laden with their passengers, sailed alongside the Mermaidia for a short while, then they turned again into the mist and plunged onwards at a speed that the much bulkier Mermaidia could not hope to emulate. Their horns called an echoey farewell, to which the young cruise ship eagerly responded. No one on the deck moved until the three old sea queens were totally out of sight. Some people were waving goodbye, Eric included. His hand made a slow, sad arc in the air. Reactions ranged from the awestruck to the tearful. Even Roz was seen wiping at her eyes.
‘Well, if someone had told me that I’d be upset because I’ve just seen a few old ships, I would have laughed them out of town,’ Olive said, also dabbing at her tear ducts.
‘Come on, love,’ said Irene, taking Eric’s arm. ‘Let’s go and have a stiffening brandy.’
‘Aye,’ sighed Eric, sniffling into his giant hankie.
Venice wanted to hug him. ‘Make sure you each get a double,’ she called after Irene.
Half an hour later, the girls wandered up to the side of the Topaz pool to watch the ice-carving demonstration. A member of the galley crew, armed with what looked like a big chisel, hacked away at a huge slab of ice and revealed the most beautiful detailed sculpture of a mermaid. He made it look as easy as peeling a banana. This was carried downstairs to form the magnificent centrepiece for the Mermaid’s Sea Food Buffet in the Ambrosia restaurant that lunchtime, which the four girls felt delightfully obliged to attend. There was the most amazing display of fruits de mer – plump prawns and flaky salmon, squid, scallops and hot seared slabs of white fish and accompanying salads to die for. Ronnie and Reggie Tray were there, obviously, their plates piled as high as the Eiffel Tower. It was gluttony’s finest hour.
Olive pushed her fork into the baked cod. Turbot’s fish-and-chip shop would never have the same appeal after this feast, she thought, then quickly threw out all thoughts of home before they spoiled her day. She tried not to acknowledge how easy that was to do.
Amazingly, when they returned to the Topaz, they found four free sunbeds right by the pool with a great view of the giant sea-screen. Mamma Mia was about to start showing on it in ten minutes. And they were at the side nearest to the bar. The downside was they were very near to a loud man with a Brummie accent.
Frankie slathered on her factor forty whilst Roz, Olive and Ven dripped on their factor thirty that smelled of coconuts. They had bronzed beautifully and sensibly, unlike some of the daft teenagers who were sporting very red shoulders.
Nigel’s voice came over the Tannoy warning people that the sun was much stronger at sea and that people should take extra care.
The Brummie was talking to a couple behind him. ‘I don’t need suntan lotion, me. I could cover myself in vegetable oil, me, and I wouldn’t burn. I’m a Sun God, me.’
Buzz waved hello to the ladies. He had obviously done his stint on the top deck and was on ‘shade’ duty for a while. He wended over with his usual big boyish smile that suggested he was genuinely pleased to see them yet again.
‘You following us, Buzz?’ teased Ven.
‘Of course,’ replied Buzz. ‘I am your devoted servant.’
‘That’s what we like to hear,’ smiled Roz. ‘I think that calls for a champagne cocktail.’
‘Make that two,’ said Ven.
‘Three!’ put in Olive.
‘Oh, go on then – four. I was going to have a healthy sparkling water but you’ve twisted me around to your way of thinking,’ Frankie laughed.
‘Champagne is a sparkling water,’ said Buzz. ‘But special grape water.’
He didn’t need to see Ven’s cruise card because by now he knew the cabin number to charge it to.
‘He’s a lovely boy,’ sighed Ven as he scooted off. She adjusted her head on her towel pillow so she was comfortable. Her brain emptied of everything but the sounds of children splashing, teenagers shrieking, the clink of glasses. Then, just as she was drifting off to a sleepy place, she heard an irate voice to her immediate right.
‘I said, if you’d listened correctly, this is not a Mai Tai!’
She opened her eyes but it took a few seconds of adjusting to the light before she could make out that Dom Donaldson and Tangerina were standing nearby holding out their cocktails to Buzz with stiff aggression.
‘A Mai Tai is vodka-based, not rum,’ Dom Donaldson was saying, none too quietly either.
‘No, no,’ Buzz was protesting quietly. ‘Mai Tai is rum and orange—’
‘I know what a Mai Tai is, for God’s sake. And this isn’t a MAI TAI. Take. It. Back. Do you people understand English?’
Venice felt a bolt of adrenaline rush through her. How dare he talk to lovely Buzz like that? Then she saw Dom Donaldson, her heart-throb, stick out his finger and poke Buzz in the chest, repeating the words: ‘Take.
It. Back.’
Mild, sweet Ven flew off her sunbed and pushed in between Dom Donaldson and Buzz.
‘Don’t you dare talk to him like that!’ she snarled at the actor.
Dom Donaldson was stunned that anyone would challenge him. And so it took him a few moments to find his voice.
‘And who the hell are you?’
‘Never mind who the hell I am!’ said Ven, not cowed at all by his height or perfect, fit physique. ‘Don’t talk to Buzz like that!’
Dom Donaldson did not know how to react in this situation, because he was too used to people bending to his will and agreeing with him and fetching him whatever he wanted. So he reverted to the last time he had been countered and threw his toys out of the cot. Or rather batted Buzz’s loaded tray to the side. The glasses narrowly missed a small child trotting by, and the ones that didn’t land straight in the pool with their contents, shattered on the tiles at the side of it, the shards bouncing into the water. Not that Dom Donaldson cared, for he was too busy towering above Ven and turning purple. When his finger came out ready to poke her as he had done Buzz, Frankie leaped up from the sunbed ready to do what was necessary to stop him laying a hand on her friend, but she was still steps away when a large white sleeve dropped as a barrier between Ven and the irate actor.
‘I think it would be a good idea if you came with me, sir,’ said Nigel, calmly and politely.
‘Yes, I most certainly will, thank you, Captain,’ said Dom Donaldson with a sneer, following Nigel away from the pool area with a haughty swagger to his walk because now he was with the Master of Mermaidia and a company apology of the highest order was surely in the offing. And possibly a free holiday.
At the pool, crew were now shepherding everyone out and throwing a secure net over the top. The water would need to be drained to get rid of the glass. Dom bloody Donaldson and his hissy fit had ruined the fun for everyone. Luckily there were other pools, but that one seemed to be rather a favourite with everyone because of the film screen above it and the generous paddling area surrounding it.
‘Was that my fault?’ asked Ven, feeling a spot guilty as the crew guys busied around. She was shaking. Confrontation didn’t come easy to her at all.
‘No, it most certainly wasn’t your fault,’ said Olive, giving her a hug. ‘It was that horrible actor’s fault. I hope Nigel doesn’t schmooze around him just because he’s been in a couple of films and a soap.’
Buzz arrived with a tray of four cocktails just at the right time.
‘Do you still want these?’ he asked. He seemed a bit shaken up too. ‘I would like to buy—’
‘Oy, don’t you even think about it, sonny, or I’ll start poking you in the chest,’ said Roz. Champagne on his wages – bless him.
‘Thank you,’ said Buzz. ‘Tonight I will make sure you get extra truffles with your coffee.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘My girlfriend makes them in the kitchen.’
‘That’ll do us,’ said Olive, taking a champagne glass and putting it in Ven’s trembling hands. ‘That’ll do us all very nicely.’
Later on, when Frankie went back to her cabin to get ready for dinner, she found her new dress hemmed and hanging up for her. She showered, dried her hair, spiking it up with strong gel, and went to town on her make-up. After slipping on the dress and shoes and a magnificent chunky gold necklace which she had found in Market Avenue for twenty quid, she stood back to appraise herself in the mirror. If this didn’t show that bloody Viking what he was missing, nothing would.
Ven had a shower, wrapped herself up in her complimentary white towelling robe and took a cup of coffee out onto the balcony. It was a beautiful late afternoon. The sea had barely a ripple in it and the sky was full of ice-cream colours on the horizon – vanilla and strawberry. It had been a hell of a day. First there was that Dom Donaldson incident, then at afternoon tea in the Buttery, they had shared a table with a gentle, elderly couple from Southport. He’d had a stroke and hadn’t really done any of the port visits, but his wife explained for him that it didn’t matter because the ship itself was holiday enough.
‘Enjoy it while you can, love,’ the lady had said, helping her husband to his feet when they were ready to go. Then she nodded towards him. ‘You never know what’s around the corner.’
She smiled, taking his hand and threading it around her arm so she could lead him away.
‘Take good care of yourselves,’ Ven gulped.
‘Oh I do,’ the old lady replied chirpily. ‘Fifty-five years we’ve been together. We were eighteen when we married. They all said it wouldn’t last.’
And she walked off slowly, in time with her man’s shuffling.
Frankie handed Ven a tissue just before she burst into tears, because she knew what she was like.
And as Ven now leaned over the balcony, she knew she had to take a lesson from that little interlude. She was going to suck the juice out of her life when she got home, and make sure the others did the same.
Then she saw it – a black arc of dolphin back curve out of the water and nose-dive back in again. And another. Then two more. Four beautiful dolphins in the distance, effortlessly rising from the glass-like sea, four times – then no more. Ven raised a hand in triumph. At last she’d seen some – and boy, were they worth waiting for! She wondered if it was possible to watch them without smiling. Four beautiful shapes in the water. And four, she smiled to herself, had always been her lucky number.
‘Wow!’ said Roz when Frankie emerged from her cabin for pre-dinner drinkies. ‘You look like . . . well . . . Frankie. Full-throttle Frankie Carnevale.’
‘Is that a compliment?’ Frankie asked sceptically, eyes narrowed.
‘Course it is,’ said Roz. ‘And a very big one.’
Olive emerged in her long red dress and matching stole, Roz in a sleek black gown which fishtailed out at the bottom into a sea of ruffles, Ven in a chocolate-brown heavily sequinned two-piece which went perfectly with her glossy auburn hair. She looked like a princess. But Frankie, that evening, was the queen in that gold dress and sod-blond-Viking-type-men attitude.
‘Oh Frankie, you look gorgeous,’ sighed Ven. ‘Let’s go and get our formal pictures taken for the competition people before we eat.’
And they all swaggered off, feeling like four million dollars, in the direction of the grand staircase at the side of the Mermaidia wall sculpture.
They couldn’t have timed it better. As the four of them were posing for the photographer, Vaughan and his party appeared looking over the balcony from above.
‘Don’t look up,’ said Roz out of the corner of her mouth, like a really crap ventriloquist. ‘Vaughan at twelve o’clock. He’ll have a cracking view of your tits in that dress.’
Frankie couldn’t resist looking up though. Her eyes locked with Vaughan’s in his black tux, then she pulled them haughtily away and back to focus on the camera lens. That small rejection of him salved her ego a tiny bit but she was still feeling a heavy weight of sadness lodged inside her and wished it would bugger off. She knew it wouldn’t wholly shift until there was time and distance between them, so she was stuck with it for now. She made sure there was an extra Mae West sashay to her bottom as she followed the others up the staircase to the restaurant floor.
They were slightly late going to dinner that night and Ven was delighted to see that Nigel had not gone to Cruz after all but was sitting in his usual seat at the table. He stood gallantly when the ladies approached but Ven noticed that he seemed to be having difficulty making eye-contact with her. Again.
The conversation at the table inevitably touched on the glass in the Topaz pool and the gossip flying around the ship about it. Royston and Stella had heard that a fight between some teenagers had broken out and a whole tray of cocktails had been tipped over but the girls put them straight with the real story. Nigel was very wishy-washy on what had happened with Dom Donaldson afterwards, avoiding giving any detail. All he would say on the subject was that ‘it had all been sorted out now’
. He tapped light feet around the subject like Michael Flatley in ballet pumps.
Ven decided that meant Nigel had taken Dom Donaldson to his office, apologised to him profusely and massaged his ego back up to its fully inflated volume. Why else would he be so evasive? She found herself being really disappointed in him. He had toppled from his pedestal, just like Dom Donaldson had that day. She didn’t even get a raise in pulse when Nigel leaned over during the main course to reach for the pepper and his leg knocked against hers. And when he returned to the bridge before coffee, for the first time Ven didn’t watch his back as he crossed the dining room with a sigh lodged in her heart. The only man who hadn’t been a disappointment in her life was her dad. She’d grown up with him as her benchmark, and not one of the others had come up to the mark.
As the two older couples wended off to Flamenco to listen to a jazz band, the four girls made a slow stroll over to Broadway to watch yet another production by the Mermaidia Theatre Company, who must have had brains the size of major planets to remember all those lines and song lyrics. The offering tonight was For Your Eyes Only – a tribute to the James Bond themes. Then, afterwards, laughing that they were really getting to be old farts, they sat in Café Parisienne with cups of Horlicks watching all the teenagers filing past on their way to Harlequins nightclub on the floor below.
When the others went to bed, Ven took her usual trip to the top deck again – her ‘constitutional’ as the others laughingly referred to it – to get some fresh air. Her head was full of Nigel and Dom Donaldson. What did you expect a Captain to do? asked a voice in her head that seemed to be insinuating she was being slightly unfair. Crunch his fist into Dom Donaldson’s nose and send him flying into the swimming pool? This is Captain Nigel, not Chuck chuffing Norris.
‘Hello, there,’ said a cheery voice to her side, knocking her right out of her reverie. Florence in black sparkles and her familiar pearls. ‘Ooh, was I interrupting you? You were very deep in thought, my dear.’
‘Sorry,’ Ven smiled. ‘How lovely to see you again. How are you?’
‘Oh, we’re very well, thank you,’ said Florence, holding up her arms in an expansive gesture towards the sea and the star-filled sky. ‘How can you be anything else here?’
Here Come the Girls Page 32
