The dinner gong sounded and they wended their way down to the restaurant where the large square body and wide grin of Supremo was waiting to wish them a good evening.
‘How can it be good, Supremo?’ said Ven. ‘It’s our last dinner.’
‘Then you have to come again, ma’am,’ said Supremo. Which made perfect sense really. Ven wondered if she would ever be able to go back to a one-destination holiday again and airport luggage restrictions. In fact, Ven wondered if she could ever go back to dry land full stop!
Royston had saved his best until last: a Hawaiian shirt totally covered in banana patterns.
‘Hello, girls. Have you seen that photo we had taken last night? How lovely do we look?’ he said as he approached the table.
‘Fabulous shirt, Royston,’ said Frankie.
‘Thank you, darlin’. I’ve got matching underpants on – do you want to see?’ Royston chuckled.
‘No, she bloody doesn’t!’ Stella warned. ‘Sit down and behave.’
‘Yes, boss,’ Royston saluted his wife.
The menu that night was full of traditional English dishes – presumably to acclimatise the passengers for the imminent return to Blighty. Not that any of them at the table wanted to be acclimatised until they reached the dock of Southampton – they wanted a reverse thrust to moussaka and stuffed vine leaves, carbonaras and paella.
Nigel still hadn’t arrived by the time the bread had been distributed, much to Ven’s disappointment.
‘Might as well order,’ said Stella. ‘Doesn’t look as if the Captain is coming. What a shame.’
Ven tried to look nonchalant, but a definite fat grey cloud had fallen over the evening for her. She buried her nose in the menu.
‘My goodness, sorry I’m late,’ came a breezy Irish voice from the side of her. ‘Have you ordered?’
Royston cheered. ‘Naw, we were just killing time until you came, Captain.’
Ven knew that if she had a tail, it would be wagging fifteen to the dozen now. ‘Ooh look, Ven,’ said Stella, glancing down the menu and then winking at her. ‘Raspberry Ripple’s for dessert.’
Ven cast her a warning glance. God, she hoped Stella hadn’t told Royston about Ven showing off her raspberry ripples to Nigel.
‘Did you tell Stella about my costume!’ Ven whispered to Roz.
‘No, I did not,’ replied Roz indignantly. ‘Frankie did.’
‘I’m going to kill her,’ growled Ven.
‘Frankie told her to keep it to herself.’
‘Oh, well that’s all right, then,’ huffed Ven.
‘It was a pearler,’ Roz giggled. ‘We had to share it with her.’
‘Everyone okay?’ said Nigel, taking the menu from Buzz. He quickly perused it and ordered corn fritters and then a fillet steak stuffed with Stilton to follow. ‘So everyone had a good time today?’ he asked.
Variations of the word ‘lovely’ twittered to him in response.
‘Let’s hope this is the first of many more cruises for you all.’
‘I think it’s impossible to just go on one cruise,’ announced Eric, reiterating, ‘impossible. You have to come back, once you’ve experienced it.’
‘Yep, I’ll go along with that,’ said Frankie. ‘Finances allowing, I think we’ll all be back.’
‘Would you really come back, Venice?’ asked Nigel, turning a beam of attention on her. It was so intense, it virtually burned her. At least, that’s what was happening to her cheeks.
‘I’d love to,’ she whispered, shifting her eyes from his before he fried her retinas off.
‘Frankie met a man,’ smiled Roz. ‘She’s going back home with him to “get to know him better”.’ Then she started singing the theme tune to The Love Boat.
‘Grass!’ grinned Frankie.
‘Yes, it’s terrible when your pals tell everyone your business, isn’t it?’ said Ven.
But Frankie was too taken up with the opportunity which Roz had just handed to her. She was going to get Nigel and Ven closer tonight if it killed her.
‘I didn’t expect to find romance, I’ll be perfectly honest, but it’s bound to happen sometimes – ON BOARD – isn’t it, Captain?’
Oh God, here we go again, thought Ven. She could smell a conspiracy just as sure as if a sewer had opened nearby.
‘Indeed,’ said Nigel. ‘A few of my officers have met their partners that way.’
‘There you go, Ven,’ laughed Royston. ‘You’ve got,’ he checked his Rolex, ‘just over twelve hours to hook a man in uniform.’
‘I think I’m going to die,’ said Ven through clenched teeth. She said it to herself, but from Nigel’s fleeting glance sideways, Ven was almost sure he overheard.
‘So how are you getting up to Ayr, Nigel?’ asked Frankie.
‘In my car,’ said Nigel.
‘That’s quite a drive.’ Royston stroked his chin in thought. ‘You should play it safe and take a long coffee break halfway. That would be Yorkshire, wouldn’t it?’
Poor Ven just wanted the floor of the ship to open up and allow her to drop straight down to the engine room. Or even beyond the keel of the ship where she could be eaten by sharks. It couldn’t have been more uncomfortable than the conversation at the table.
After the starters were eaten, the main courses arrived. Ven had chosen the same as Nigel. She spied on his hands as he cut up his steak – even they were perfect too. She tried to bat down thoughts of those hands smoothing over her skin, kneading into her shoulders, unfastening her bra. She knew she was just tormenting herself by doing that.
Buzz brought desserts, and over coffee and delicious coffee truffles, Royston gave everyone his business card and Irene wrote down her address for Stella and Roz, who promised to copy it for the others. Eric and Irene weren’t going back on the Easy Rider bus to Barnsley because they were staying for a few days in Southampton with friends whom they had met on a previous cruise. It was at that point that Nigel stood to go and Royston stood with him and shook his hand.
Oh bloody hell, thought Frankie. There was nothing she could do now to push Nigel and Ven that teensy-weensy bit closer – short of luring them both to a cabin and locking them in from the outside. She just wished Ven could have had a bit of romance – she was so overdue for some. She knew she spoke for the others in wanting Ven to be loved up with a nice decent man.
‘Thank you for being such wonderful company,’ Nigel said, shaking Eric’s hand. He gave Stella and Irene a kiss on the cheek, then Roz, then Olive, then Frankie. Lastly, he said a very simple, ‘Bye, Venice,’ but as she moved towards him, her lips fell short and landed smack on his white collar, planting there a perfect red tattoo.
‘Oh my God, I am so sorry. That lipstick isn’t supposed to come off!’
‘Please don’t worry about it,’ said Nigel.
But for Venice it was the final straw. All that money in the bank and she was still a bloody useless klutz. She was wrong in thinking there was nothing left to embarrass herself with in front of the most gorgeous man she had ever clapped eyes on. She didn’t look up at him as she said, ‘Bye.’ She didn’t want to see the cast of controlled annoyance she knew would be there.
The next few moments were blurred. Ven couldn’t remember if he said goodbye again; all she would recall in future was the sight of his back leaving the restaurant.
‘He’s going to have to go and change now because of me,’ sniffed Venice. ‘He can’t walk around the ship with lipstick all over his collar.’
‘Ven, shut up and eat your truffle,’ said Roz sternly. ‘It won’t be the first time he’s had lipstick on his whites.’
Which didn’t exactly do much to disperse Ven’s cloud of despair, which was growing blacker and uglier by the second.
After the coffee had been quaffed and the table of eight stood to go en masse to Broadway for the last time, Buzz and Elvis presented each of them with a pack of souvenir menus. Ven didn’t cock up the goodbye hug she gave either of them, she noted. In fact, both hugs were
expertly executed, as were the ones she gave Angel and the Great Supremo standing at the door wishing everyone a pleasant trip home. Yep, it seemed that she only made an arse of herself in front of people wearing easily stained suits and whom she fancied the pants off.
The Mermaidia Theatre Company put on a rousing performance of a play called Land of Hope and Glory. There was much Britishness to be had – and waving of complimentary Union Jack flags – and it was a very spirited exit for the entertainment.
‘Anyone fancy the nightclub?’ asked Royston, executing a few steps of dad-dancing on the spot.
‘Oh, why not.’ Stella shrugged her shoulders. ‘Might as well go out with a bang.’
‘We’re going to turn in now,’ said Eric. ‘It’s been wonderful to meet you all, hasn’t it, Irene?’
‘It’s been lovely,’ said Irene with a very teary smile. Eric and Irene made gentle huggy goodbyes, Royston did big bear hugs and Stella suffocated everyone with perfume.
‘Oh, by the way,’ Eric said, doubling back. ‘Venice, I looked it up on the net for you. Florence and Dennis Thompson. Those were the names of the old couple who died on the maiden voyage.’
Ven shivered. Someone was having a laugh, surely.
‘Fancy a Horlicks in Café Parisienne?’ Olive asked.
‘Rock ’n’ roll!’ said Roz, leading the way.
‘I wonder if the Captain got that lipstick off,’ mumbled Ven.
Roz linked her arm and hurried her along. ‘If he didn’t, he’ll have a constant reminder of you. Think of it that way.’
They sat in the elegant surroundings of Café Parisienne, nibbling on tiny muffins and having their cups of creamy Horlicks constantly refilled whilst watching the cruise world go by. Teenagers walked past, tearful and clinging to their new friends and promising to keep in touch for ever; little children were carrying stacks of artwork and goody bags – souvenirs from their play clubs; lovers were braving the now very breezy decks for a long, last romantic look at the sea. The waiters were pulling the shutters down on the bars, Café Parisienne was accepting no more customers.
Finally Olive yawned and after tipping the last of her drink into her mouth, she said, ‘That’s me done for tonight. I’m off to bed, guys.’
‘Me too,’ said Roz.
‘And me,’ said Frankie. ‘I’ve got a lot of bonking to do tomorrow. I need a good night’s sleep.’
‘Lucky cow,’ said Roz. Then she let out a long breath. ‘I hope I have.’
‘Are we going down for breakfast together? Shall we synchronise our watches for seven?’
‘Why – there’s only four of us,’ said Olive, cracking a joke, though she was feeling less and less jolly by the minute.
‘Ho ho,’ came the chorused reply.
‘I’m going out for a bit of fresh air first,’ said Ven. She hugged her friends goodnight and caught the lift up to the top deck, then opened the door and went out into the quiet, breezy dark.
She made sure she was quite alone before she dared to call, ‘Florence! Dennis!’ She knew it was ridiculous. She knew she hadn’t seen ghost-people. There was no such thing as ghosts.
There was no response. Then again, she didn’t expect there to be. She wasn’t Derek Acorah. She had no explanation for the Florence and Dennis she had met up there. But Florence’s words came back to her as a faint echo in her head: A little glimpse of heaven, maybe? And Ven knew then that if such a place existed, it would be a ship sailing through sea mists full of other jolly ghosts. Maybe somewhere in Venice her parents’ souls were wandering unnoticed amongst the tourists there, in their own heaven.
‘Time for bed,’ she told herself as a wave of tiredness overcame her. She opened the deck door just as the faintest movement caught the corner of her eye. A single twirl of a dancing couple, a flash of black sparkly sequins – then it was gone.
Frankie dragged her suitcases outside the cabin to be taken ashore, stripped off and then knelt by her bedside. She spoke to God every night asking Him to look after her loved ones, but tonight she felt she needed the full big guns position of kneeling, hands clasped together like a portrait of a child at prayer.
‘Dear God. Thank You for this lovely life and please keep my family and my friends safe,’ she began as she always did, then added the ‘special of the day’. ‘God, You gave me the best gift You could have – my health back again. If it’s not too much trouble, will You give me three more miracles as well? Please help Olive break away from those bloody Hardcastles – excuse the language – and please, please give Roz a chance to make it right with Manus. And PLEASE, is there anything You can do to bring Ven some love from a good man? And if You can make that good man Captain Nigel I’ll go to confession every week. Well, every month. Not that I’ll have anything to confess because I’ll be so good You won’t believe. Amen.’ And she crossed herself and added yet another ‘please’.
SOUTHAMPTON
Chapter 73
The ship was sickeningly still the next morning. Ven drew her curtains back to a view of grumpy skies and a dull grey sea. The sun hadn’t even gotten out of bed, from the looks of it. It had opened one eye, thought ‘sod that for a lark’, and pulled the covers back over itself.
She was doing her fourteenth check around the cabin, making sure she hadn’t forgotten anything when the others called for her. Together they wended down to the Ambrosia in long sleeves and jeans, and ordered their last monster breakfasts on board. Out of the restaurant window they could see people leaving the ship and entering the terminal to pick up their suitcases.
After breakfast, they went back to their cabins to pick up their hand luggage and say goodbye to Jesus. Ven checked the cabin phone, trying not to hope that Nigel had rung and left a message. He hadn’t. Within the hour they were all queueing at the ship’s exit, handing in their cruise cards, taking a last backward look at the opulent ship which they were about to abandon for a cold, depressing building in Southampton docks.
‘I’d hoped Nigel would come leaping down the stairs for you,’ said Frankie, giving her a comforting squeeze. ‘At least to say “keep in touch – here’s my mobile number”. I’m sure he fancied you.’
Ven tried to look unconcerned. ‘Don’t be daft,’ she said. ‘How many women must fall in love with him every single cruise. And if he did fancy me, which he didn’t, he should have said something.’ And she meant it. There was no way that Ven would ever again settle for anything less than being claimed masterfully and firmly. She wanted a man next time, not a wimp. Only her own Richard Gere would do.
‘Oh God, it’s Clive again and his amazing pea repartee!’ Roz noticed as they approached the buses. ‘I might as well slit my wrists now.’ She, Olive and Ven pulled their cases to the side of the Easy Rider coach heading to Barnsley and Leeds and York, whilst Frankie told the Derby bus driver that she wouldn’t be coming back with him. Vaughan was waiting by the trolleys for her in black leather and looking back in his fashion comfort zone.
‘Ring me,’ said Frankie to Roz.
‘Course I will,’ said Roz, filling up.
‘You’ll be okay with Manus, I’ve got a feeling,’ said Frankie, hugging her tightly. ‘See you soon.’
‘Promise,’ said Roz. The tears were out now and flowing fast.
‘Don’t wear him out too quickly,’ said Ven, giving Frankie a big kiss.
‘I won’t,’ grinned Frankie. ‘I want this one to last for a while.’ Then she threw her arms around Olive. Oh, how she wanted to nag Olive, but the intensity of that hug said it all. She didn’t need to say a single word.
Then the bus set off to Barnsley whilst Frankie and Vaughan waved it off, their arms entwined around each other’s waists.
Chapter 74
The house looked deserted when Roz got out of the taxi. The door was locked when she tried it and her heart sank. She pushed the key in, turned it and just hoped she wouldn’t find the place emptied of Manus’s things.
The front room was tidy with a hint of furniture
polish in the air. To her relief, Manus’s denim jacket was hanging on the coat-rack – he would never have left without that. His work boots were lined up beneath it.
‘Hello?’ she called.
‘Here,’ said a small voice from upstairs so faintly that she almost doubted she had heard it.
Roz dumped her bags and climbed the stairs. Their bedroom door was shut. She pushed it open and found Manus sitting on the bed, a suitcase at the side of him, and she gasped. The room was full of flowers; everywhere she looked were bouquets of every colour, every kind, and the bed was covered in rose petals.
‘I know you think they’re a waste of money,’ he said.
‘No . . . no, they’re gorgeous.’ Tears started to course down her face and when she wiped them away, she saw that his eyes were full of water too.
‘Roz, I don’t want us to split up, but I’m ready to go, if that’s what you want.’
‘Oh Manus,’ she croaked in a tiny voice, ‘I don’t want you to leave.’ The sight of that suitcase was breaking her heart. ‘I’ve missed you. I wish I could tell you how much.’
The foreign tenderness in her voice forced Manus’s tears to spill over and Roz’s heart lurched towards him.
‘Sod it,’ she cried, ‘I’m going to tell you how much: loads and loads and loads. I love you, Manus Howard.’
‘Come here,’ gulped Manus, holding out his arms. And Roz moved into them and let them close around her and she felt safe and warm and back home in every sense of the word.
There had been a mischievous little thought in Manus’s mind that night of Jonie’s dinner party. It was: ‘What sort of man turns it down when it’s on a plate?’ because Jonie had made it very clear that no-strings sex was on the menu after coffee and her seductive Godiva chocolates. But Manus also knew that the answer was, ‘A man in love with his woman,’ because there was no other girl for him who would do. Not until he had pushed it far beyond the boundaries, not until he had more proof that his relationship was dead and gone and buried; whilst there was the hint of a breath left in it, he was determined to fight for it.
Here Come the Girls Page 38
