Here Come the Girls

by Milly Johnson

  The four of them had fajita wraps and chips from the Terrace Grill by the still closed-off Topaz pool and watched an episode of Only Fools and Horses on the giant sea-screen. A waiter called Relish brought them four glasses of sparkling mineral water and lots of chinking ice.

  ‘So how was your meeting with Andrew then?’ asked Roz, who had been waiting for the right moment to bring this one to the boil.

  ‘Oh, it was okay. I just did an interview with him.’

  ‘Where did you meet?’

  ‘The Samovar.’

  ‘What sorts of things did he ask you?’ Roz pressed.

  ‘Well, you know, have we had a good time et cetera, all low-key stuff. Anyone want anything stronger to drink?’

  But Roz wasn’t letting her change the subject this time. ‘Doesn’t he want to meet us?’

  ‘He hasn’t said.’

  ‘Have you showed him the picture we had taken at the bottom of the staircase the night before last?’

  ‘Yes, he’s going to use it in the magazine.’ Ven was trying to end the conversation but Roz wasn’t letting her.

  ‘Isn’t he going to introduce himself to us before we leave?’

  ‘I . . . don’t—’

  ‘Bloody hell, Roz,’ put in Frankie. ‘Are you practising for entry into the Gestapo?’

  ‘Ven,’ said Roz calmly. ‘Come on, ’fess up. What’s going on? You’re telling us a load of old pump.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Ven, but she was jittery now and very red-faced. Deception didn’t sit easily with her.

  ‘Yes, what do you mean, “what’s going on?”’ said Olive. Now the others were sitting up and wondering what Roz was talking about.

  ‘Ven, I know you didn’t have a meeting with “Andrew” this morning. I don’t think the bloody bloke even exists. What are you playing at?’

  Ven growled in frustration and buried her head in her hands.

  ‘Ven?’ said Olive, not getting any of this at all.

  ‘All right, all right,’ said Ven, shaking her palms wildly at them to fend off any further questioning. ‘I lied. I didn’t win a cruise in a competition. I won some money to take us on a cruise. But I knew that if I told you that, you’d start being stupid and not let me pay for everything for you.’

  ‘You silly generous cow!’ exclaimed Frankie. ‘You need that money. You shouldn’t have spent it on us.’

  ‘Yes, well, I wanted to spend it on us for this holiday and I didn’t want you telling me that I shouldn’t and getting all silly. Now you know, you’ll not let me buy everything. Just great.’ Ven gave a giant sigh of disappointment.

  Roz felt awfully guilty now that she had spoiled her friend’s generous surprise. When would she ever learn that she didn’t know best at all?

  ‘Oh Ven!’ Olive leaned over and gave her a big hug. ‘You are the loveliest person ever. But Frankie is right, you are also a silly cow.’

  ‘Was it the lottery?’ asked Roz, subdued now.

  ‘Yes, Roz, it was the lottery,’ said Ven. She leaned back on her sunbed and the others followed suit.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ven, I didn’t realise I was spoiling a surprise.’ Roz gave her friend’s arm a gentle butt.

  ‘Well, it was going to happen today or tomorrow anyway. I was just waiting for the right moment. Seems it’s here now.’

  ‘How much did you win, Ven?’ said Olive, hoping that Ven wasn’t going to be out of pocket herself with her stupid generosity. They all really had bought a lot from the shops.

  ‘Let me start at the beginning,’ said Ven. ‘On the sixth of June I saw Ian and his floozy out in a flash car and he gave me a really smug wave when he passed. I was pig sick about it.’

  ‘As you would be,’ added Olive. ‘Bastard.’

  ‘Some blokes should never be in sole charge of a penis,’ added Roz.

  ‘Well, I was so angry I went to the post office.’

  ‘Steady on, Ven,’ laughed Frankie. ‘I’d hate to get on the wrong side of you, mate. What did you do? Buy some first-class stamps and rip them up?’

  ‘No, I bought a lottery ticket,’ said Ven when the laughter had subsided. ‘A EuroMillions one. I picked the numbers based on how angry I was. Forty-one – for Ian’s age, twenty-four – because that’s how old his bit on the side is, fifteen – because that’s the number of my old house which they’re now living in, three – because that’s how many letters there are in “Ian”, and six – because it was that day’s date: the sixth of June. And his bloody birthday. But for the star numbers I picked four – because we’re a four and two because that’s the square root of four and four is my lucky number. And I won. And the first thing I did was book this cruise for us. The second thing I was going to do at the end of the cruise, and that was to share out the rest of the winnings.’

  ‘You’ve got some left?’ said Olive. ‘After buying all this, you’ve still got some left?’

  Ven opened up her handbag and pulled out three envelopes bearing their names. She’d been carrying them around with her all holiday – waiting for the opportune moment.

  They all lazily sat up. Frankie was the first to open hers and she laughed.

  ‘My Aunt Rosa did this,’ she said. ‘She left fourteen of us in the family a cheque for fifty thousand quid each, but she only had seven hundred pounds in her bank account – total. Bless her.’

  ‘God, Ven, you’re a silly sod,’ said Olive, looking at the cheque. To Olive Hardcastle, the sum of four hundred and forty-four thousand, four hundred and forty-four pounds. Only. She sank back onto her sunbed.

  Only Roz was trembling, because she was looking intently at Ven and she knew Ven wasn’t joking.

  ‘I won just over four million quid,’ said Ven quietly. ‘I’m going to give Jen the same as you and donate a lump sum to the Macmillan nurses who looked after Mum and Dad. I won’t have any arguments about this – I want you to share it with me, in accordance with four being our lucky number.’

  Olive sat up again, her back straight and unbending and giving the impression she was rising from a grave – which she could easily have been, given the sudden pallor of her face. ‘You are joking?’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘You won four million quid?’

  ‘Yep. Just over.’

  Maybe if Ven had said she had won ten thousand they would have whooped for her, but this figure was too much to take in, in one sitting. As it was, they decided to go and have a coffee. In the Buttery – because it was always free there.

  ‘I was worried,’ said Ven. ‘You hear all these stories about people getting loads of money and it wrecking their lives. I was so excited that you wouldn’t have to struggle financially any more, then I kept dreaming awful things – that we bought high-speed cars and died in crashes, and stuff like that.’

  ‘Aye, well, trust you to look on the bright side of a four-million-pound lottery win.’ Frankie laughed but her hand was shaking as she lifted the cup to her lips.

  ‘I wanted Manus to have his big garage and you, Roz, to be able to tell that Mrs Hutchinson to stick her job up her bum. I wanted you, Frank, to buy a nice house and never have to worry about money again, and you, Olive, to give up cleaning and—’ She didn’t say that she wanted Olive to leave David and get a life; the money gave her no right to play God. ‘Just don’t cash the cheque until you’re sure no one will take half of it from you like Ian did with me.’ She said this to no one in particular, but Olive knew the warning was meant for her.

  ‘I can’t take this in,’ said Frankie. ‘I cannot take this in.’

  ‘Think how I felt!’ said Ven. ‘I couldn’t even tell anyone because I wanted this holiday to happen so much. And I didn’t want anyone else to know before you all did.’

  ‘Ven, that is a hell of a lot of money to give away,’ said Frankie.

  ‘Do you think I’d enjoy it, keeping it to myself?’ said Ven. ‘All for one and one for all. The Fabulous Four reunited again. Some things are worth more than money.’
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br />   ‘Nice to have both though,’ winked Frankie. They all grabbed each other’s hands as if about to embark upon a séance and squeezed. Because some joy just had to be let out slowly and carefully.

  Roz attended her last belly-dancing class that afternoon. She would definitely have to find a class and continue lessons when she got home. She wondered if she dare do a dance for Manus? He looked at her with desire in his eyes when she was in her old dressing-gown, he’d blow up if she started gyrating in jingly scarves, enticing him to whisk her to bed.

  As she practised moving her hips from side to side whilst keeping the top half of her body totally still, she tried to think of the last time she and Manus had made love. It brought her shame to think how she wanted to abandon herself to him, and could feel him willing her to love him with the same intensity that he loved her. He did turn her on, she did adore the feel of his skin next to hers. Stupid, stupid pride. She was going to love him to death when she got home and make up for every little rejection she had ever given him.

  Chapter 71

  ‘How do I look?’ asked Frankie, head to foot in white shimmering sequins.

  ‘Like a million-dollar glamorous snowman,’ laughed Roz in black silk. The others were also in black: a long figure-hugging crushed velvet number for Olive, a black strapless taffeta gown with a feather boa draped around the shoulders for Ven.

  It was Black-and-White Night and, with a few exceptions, most people had stuck religiously to the monochrome theme.

  ‘Champagne, darlings?’ asked Ven, gliding into the Vista lounge.

  ‘No, let’s have some ice wine,’ purred Frankie, answering the disapproving look Ven gave her by adding, ‘not because it’s cheaper, just because I like it as much, if not more.’

  She waved at Vaughan, pulling at his white collar, trying to find some space for his neck. He waved back shyly and made to come over.

  ‘We’ll meet you by the window,’ grinned Ven, and the three of them moved away to give the couple some space.

  ‘You look lovely,’ said Vaughan.

  ‘So do you,’ replied Frankie, trying not to sigh like a schoolgirl.

  ‘Didn’t you get my answering machine messages?’

  ‘Answering machine?’ said Frankie, puzzled.

  ‘I rang your cabin and left a message. Wasn’t there a flashing light on your phone?’

  ‘I never thought to look at it. Oh God, sorry.’

  Vaughan looked visibly relieved. ‘Phew, I thought you were avoiding me,’ he said.

  ‘Why would I do that?’ said Frankie, giving him a wide grin.

  ‘Frankie, I know it’s hard on board . . .’

  ‘Well, it was in Gibraltar,’ she winked.

  ‘Let me finish, you minx,’ he said. ‘I know it’s hard to meet on board because you’re with your friends and I’ve got my family, but what do you think about . . . would you like . . . Okay, here it is.’ He coughed. ‘How would you like to come back home with me after the cruise? I want to get to know you.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said immediately. ‘That would be wonderful.’

  ‘Wow, that was easier than I thought it was going to be,’ said Vaughan, almost sweating with relief.

  ‘For an ex-Hell’s Angel, you aren’t half a wuss,’ Frankie told him. ‘So, what did you say on your answering machine message?’

  ‘Message-s,’ amended Vaughan. ‘You’ll have to listen to them.’ He waved them away bashfully.

  ‘No, tell me,’ said Frankie.

  Vaughan started pulling at his collar again. ‘I said I really enjoyed myself with you – not just the sex,’ he said, ‘although that was pretty hot, if I’m honest. I just asked if you’d meet up with me for a coffee or something. I wanted to see you again.’

  He was so adorably uncomfortable saying all this to her face that she wanted to grab him and start snogging him.

  ‘I can do better than coffee, Vaughan,’ said Frankie. ‘If you fancy some more wild rampant sex come to my cabin at eleven tonight. And wear those clothes, because I want to rip them right off you.’

  Vaughan grabbed her, tilted her back Hollywood-style and kissed her full on the mouth.

  ‘There, that was me not being a wuss – happy now?’

  ‘Very,’ Frankie said through a breathless grin.

  ‘See you later then, Brown Eyes,’ imitating Humphrey Bogart. Both his party and Frankie’s were cheering in the background. Frankie joined the girls at the bar table wearing a smile as wide as the Straits of Gibraltar.

  Five minutes before the call to dinner, Ven went to deliver her anniversary card to the Ambrosia restaurant for Florence and Dennis. She located tables five and four so she was in the right quarter, but when she looked around there were no tables with any balloons on them. She hailed a passing head waiter.

  ‘Could you tell me where table one is, please?’ she asked.

  ‘Table one? There is no table one, ma’am,’ he replied. ‘Table two is the first number. Who are you looking for?’

  ‘An old couple – Florence and Dennis. I don’t know their surname. She has white hair, if that helps.’ It obviously didn’t because the head waiter was shaking his head.

  ‘Not in first or second sitting in this restaurant, ma’am. Are you sure it is not the Olympia restaurant where these people are eating?’

  ‘Maybe,’ replied Ven, although she was sure that she hadn’t got her facts mixed up. She took a slow walk through the restaurant hoping to spot Florence taking her seat. Maybe the old lady had got her table numbers mixed up. Oh damn.

  There was a table one in the Olympia, but it was for eight people and the head waiter in that quarter also shook his head as Ven described the old couple. As she weaved her way through the tables to their own, she could see Frankie’s grin a mile off. She envied her friend that look on her face and her budding relationship with Vaughan, who really was a bit of top totty now he had got all that hair off his face. He had kind eyes, like Nigel’s. Nigel. She should have grown out of all this holiday-romance stuff at her age. It didn’t get any better and she knew she was in for a rough ride when she got home, dreaming about what snogging Nigel would have been like and knowing she would never find out. Okay, so life would be fun looking for a new house, but it wouldn’t make her knees go weak like a whiff of Nigel’s aftershave did. Money didn’t keep you warm at nights or make your heart gallop.

  Nigel pulled the chair out for her and tucked her underneath the table.

  ‘What a beautiful dress,’ he said over her shoulder. She felt the heat of his breath on her skin and gave a delighted little shudder.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Ven. ‘It’s out of the shit shop, Ship Shot . . . SHIP SHOP!’ Bang goes my class act yet again, she thought, cringing inwardly.

  ‘Bit of a tongue-twister, “ship shop”,’ said Irene kindly, although she managed to say it without making a total prat of herself.

  ‘Good job your dress sense is better than your control of the English language, gel,’ said Royston. ‘Doesn’t our Ven look lovely tonight, Captain?’ And he gave a big juicy wink to Ven.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Nigel diplomatically. ‘As do all the ladies on this table.’

  Ven turned to Frankie and whispered through gritted teeth, ‘I hope none of you lot told Royston I fancied Nigel.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ she replied. ‘Although I might have let it slip out to Stella.’

  ‘Great!’ said Ven. As if things weren’t bad enough with her verbal Tourettes, now she was going to have to endure Royston’s amateur matchmaking. He was about as subtle as a sledgehammer with a self-playing vuvuzela attached.

  ‘This is my favourite night,’ said Stella. ‘I love to see all the variations on black and white.’ Then she cast an exasperated glance at her husband, who was wearing a white jacket, matching white trousers and shoes, black shirt and piano tie. With his tan in full bloom he looked like a photo-negative.

  Ven was still blushing and shaking her head at herself. She was looking at the menu but no
t reading it because her brain was too busy calling her a total berk. Nigel gave her a gentle nudge to alert her to the fact that Buzz was waiting to take her order.

  ‘The ham then the halibut, please,’ said Ven. At least there was nothing to mispronounce with those two.

  ‘Are you all right tonight, Venice?’ asked Nigel. ‘You seem a little . . . distracted.’

  Too right she was distracted. The way Nigel said her name echoed in her head. ‘Venice . . . Venice . . . Venice. Come to bed, Venice, I have things to do to you . . .’

  She coughed. ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said. ‘I’m just not looking forward to going home. I think I’ve enjoyed myself too much.’

  ‘Join the club,’ said Stella. ‘You want to book yourself another holiday at the future-cruise desk by Reception. You’ll get some on-board spending money included if you do.’

  ‘I just might,’ said Ven, trying to gee herself up to be a bit more cheerful. After all, she could afford it now – she was a millionairess. A very lonely millionairess with a major crush on the guy sitting next to her. If that wasn’t a mix of emotions, then she didn’t know what was.

  ‘I did most of our packing today,’ said Irene, as if Ven wasn’t depressed enough that she’d have to pack tomorrow as well.

  ‘Oh no.’ Stella waved a perfectly manicured hand to dismiss that thought. ‘Last-minute for us. I don’t even want to think about packing.’

  ‘What are your plans when you get home?’ Nigel asked Ven.

  ‘House hunting,’ said Ven with a loaded sigh. At the moment, all the hassle of moving wasn’t thrilling her. Not even with all that money in the bank to spend on a country pile.