She disappeared and Jen came back.
‘So, are you having a big on-board party or something tonight then?’
‘There are a few things going on, but I’m just going to head to the countdown in a few hours.’
‘You’re turning into a boring old fart,’ she said mockingly.
‘What can I say, lounging in the sun all day can do that to a girl.’ I winked at the screen.
We said our goodbyes and I promised to take more pictures and put them on Facebook. After I hung up, I set my alarm clock to wake me up before midnight and lay on the bed. Seeing Cherry stirred up some of the anger I’d felt back in the village. From my new perspective, I almost felt sorry for her. To steal the staff and customers from a person at their lowest ebb was more than just a weak move; it was an act of desperation. Hiding away from the world during those six weeks of solitude taught me something: You just never know what somebody is going through and what you see on the outside is such a small percentage of what a person is. I rolled over and closed my eyes.
When I arrived in the atrium, it was already bustling with people. The cruise director, Marco, was at the top of the first staircase, dressed in a tuxedo. A formally dressed string quartet played an elegant classical piece as the guests – many in evening dress, a few in nightclub wear and the odd one in T-shirts and shorts who probably shouldn’t have been – chatted and drank champagne.
I spotted Kristy, Pete, and Britney on the outskirts and headed over to them. They all seemed reasonably relaxed. I don’t know why I was surprised that they weren’t in a state – I knew we weren’t allowed to get drunk in front of guests, even on New Year’s Eve.
‘Well, guys, this is it. To the end of the year!’ Pete said, throwing his big arms around us all and squeezing us tight.
The cruise director began his speech. He talked about how the year had been a record year for cruise bookings, giving stats on how many people had boarded the ship that year and how many boiled eggs had been served. But I paid little attention. I was lost in my own thoughts about what the year had brought to me. My dream life had spontaneously combusted; there was little trace of it left. I was all that remained, though not my whole self, a fragment perhaps. ‘Ten … nine … eight …’
Was I ready? Could I really embark on a new life, in a new year where everything was different?
‘Two … one … Happy New Year!’ Marco screamed down the microphone. Gold and silver glittery confetti fell from the ceiling, sprinkling the magic of the New Year all around.
Everyone began hugging and kissing, apart from me. For a split second, I was on the outside, an observer. I wasn’t one for being in the centre of the action anyway and my palms began to sweat. Stood there without anyone to kiss made me feel vulnerable to sympathetic gazes again. I wanted to inch backwards away from the action, but before I managed to, Pete grabbed me in his burly arms and kissed me full on the lips. ‘Happy New Year – still only a seven?’ He grinned before moving on to Kristy. He was a bugger!
I hugged Kristy, Zac, and Britney and wished them Happy New Year too. Marco took to the mic again to wish us all a healthy and prosperous new year and I realized, I didn’t have to be the pity case anymore.
I looked up at Pete. He was watching Marco. Pete had his arm around Britney, who had snuggled into the nook of his arm – it looked like she’d got what she wanted. Her other arm was thrown over Kristy’s shoulder and Kristy had an arm over Zac’s – obviously she’d got to know Britney and Zac a bit more at the club. I smiled to myself. This is going to be a much better year.
Chapter Eight
‘Oh come on, it will be fun,’ Kristy said, grabbing my arm.
‘No, no way. You go right ahead.’ Pete was already on stage singing an Ed Sheeran song and other staff and crew members whooped and cheered. Britney was dancing behind him, three sheets to the wind. ‘I’ll sing along from here.’ I was quite comfortable, leaning on the rail of the crew deck observing everyone else as they made complete and utter fools of themselves.
That particular crew members’ deck party was my first (and rather eye-opening) experience. Given the hours they all worked, the crew could certainly let their hair down. The drinks had been flowing for a few hours before the karaoke started, and as such, there was many a rock star among us. Kristy and Pete included.
‘You’re such a bore.’ Kristy shook her head whilst I pondered for a minute. None of the people who had got up were any good. The measure was more a scale of tolerable to intolerable and, I reckoned, I sat at the more tolerable end. It was only a few months before when I’d been in awe of Britney’s confidence, so I channelled it.
‘Okay,’ I said.
Kristy spun round, visibly shocked. ‘You’ll do it?’ she asked bouncing up and down.
I nodded. ‘On one condition.’ She regarded me curiously. ‘I choose the song.
***
‘No drunken karaoke tonight, Hannah?’ George said as I sat at the bar on a quiet evening in February.
‘How can I? I don’t have my other Spice Girls with me,’ I joked. Nobody had been more surprised than me when I’d joined Kristy on the makeshift stage for a rousing rendition of ‘Spice Up Your Life’ at the crew party. I could still feel the buzz, not just because of seeing everyone dancing and cheering, but because I’d challenged myself. To most people it may seem like nothing, just some drunken fun that many people take part in. But for me, it was a huge, brave step forward, out of the bubble of self-consciousness I was often swathed in.
I’d got to know George quite well and during a particularly quiet cruise a few weeks earlier, I’d spent many evenings sat in the bar and he worked the bar most nights for the company.
‘Hey, next week when we pull into Labadee, you have to come and meet my family,’ he said. I’d already heard so much about them – his two children were grown up and had children of their own, and his wife was a volunteer for a sustainable community program as well as having baby-sitting duties for the grandchildren. The whole family were getting together at his home for ‘food and laughter’. ‘Come and experience real Caribbean culture,’ he said.
A week later, our taxi pulled up outside the freshly painted, modest, pink wooden home. It was a similar type of house to all the others that lined the street, brightly coloured and two storey, and seemed to have been looked after with a sense of pride. Before we’d had chance to get out of the car, a plump woman wearing cropped jeans and a lime green vest ran out of the house.
‘George!’ She threw herself at him and I couldn’t help but smile at the reunion. Four little girls came running out behind her screaming, ‘Grandpa, Grandpa.’ As they all embraced, I suddenly felt a little self-conscious and awkward as I awaited my introduction. When George had finished hugging everyone, he turned his beaming face to me.
‘Hannah, come and meet my family.’ His eyes crinkled with happiness as I walked over. ‘This is Vernetta, my wife.’ He gestured to the woman who smiled warmly at me. ‘And these –’ He gestured to the girls in descending order of height. ‘Joan she’s seven, Diana is six, Disso is five, and Zanda is … How old is Zanda?’ He pulled an exaggerated puzzled face. ‘Ahh, she’s three.’
She howled. ‘I’m four!’ before giggling.
We made our way inside and two other women were placing food on the table.
‘This is Tina and Vee.’ He pointed at them in order, both women smiled wide smiles; I could instantly tell they were George’s daughters, with the same happy, soulful eyes.
‘I’m Hannah,’ I replied, smiling politely. The house was simply yet brightly decorated with a beige tiled floor and lime-green walls. In the kitchen, there was a white wooden table covered with a red and white tablecloth. The table was groaning with dishes of fish, rice, beans, and many other delicious-smelling foods. My stomach rumbled.
‘So you work with George?’ Vernetta asked warmly in her thick accent. I’d noticed that when she spoke to George she slipped into Creole; I picked up on some of the Frenc
h words I recognized. I had tried to learn French a long time ago, and just when I thought I was getting to grips with it, I’d forget everything. I went to France once, thinking I was reasonably well equipped to get through some basic conversations but it’s so much harder talking to real French people versus a recording. I ended up giving in and allowing them to speak near perfect English to me instead. I felt like an utter failure then too.
My shoulders sagged at the memory. Seeing Vernetta move between two languages to accommodate me was humbling and made me wish I could speak another language. I felt a little embarrassed that even little Zanda could speak two languages whilst I couldn’t even manage a greeting in Creole.
‘I do,’ I said smiling. ‘George is one of our best bartenders. He looks after everybody.’
She smiled amiably. ‘That is George. It comes from having too many ladies in his life,’ she said, stroking his face as she passed him. ‘I’m going to miss him when he sails off to Europe. When he’s here in the Caribbean, at least I get to see him every couple of weeks or so but there … He will be gone for months before he comes home.’ She shook her head.
‘Ahh, you’ll just miss telling me what to do.’ He laughed, throwing his arms around her waist. I laughed too; the warmth was infectious.
‘Dad, can you take a look at my car later?’ Vee shouted from across the room.
‘A man’s work never stops.’ He sighed, throwing his arms in the air. ‘Where is your husband?’ he asked.
‘Working, but he can’t fix a car,’ she said throwing her arms in the air.
‘You certainly are surrounded by women here, George,’ I said. It suited him.
‘I am. Now you know why I work on a cruise ship.’ He chuckled.
After lunch, which included Vernetta’s delicious mahi-mahi, Joan and Diana dragged me into the back garden to play football but ran rings around me so it wasn’t long before the heat got the better of me and I had to sit down and watch, much to their amusement.
There was so much love in the house. I could see why George worked such an unforgiving job – not to escape the women in his life like he’d joked, but to provide for them. During the short ride from the ship it wasn’t hard to see that there were people with very little on the island and from what I’d seen, George’s house was a marker that he was doing okay in comparison. Despite that, and despite the fact the first thing his daughter wanted him to do was fix her car, I didn’t get the impression he was taken for granted. He was as important in life as he would be in death and that stung me a little because at eighteen, I think I had taken my parents for granted, and the appreciation for all they’d done, came too late.
The girls were running around screaming with delight and didn’t notice when I had to take a tissue from my bag to wipe a stray tear. Thinking about my parents had always been hard. I couldn’t rewind the clock and thank them for what they’d done for me, or let them know I appreciated them. But I could tell Jen.
She’d gone above and beyond her duty as a sister to look after me despite the fact there was only a two-and-a-half-year age gap. I’d paid her back by behaving like a stroppy teen, way past my teenage years. I’d used pain as an excuse and she’d let me, but really, my excuse was anger and guilt. Looking after me was her way of dealing with that, whereas I’d rebelled.
Vernetta approached me with a platter of fresh pineapple, interrupting my thoughts. ‘You look like you could use some refreshment.’
I smiled at her kindness. ‘Thank you.’ I took a slice. ‘I think David Beckham has some serious competition here.’ I pointed to the girls.
‘They like their football.’ She nodded. ‘Come inside to cool off.’
I didn’t have long because I had an afternoon shift, but I really didn’t want to tear myself away. Spending the day with a loving family gave me a warm, fuzzy feeling. It was a poignant reminder that Daniel wasn’t the loving family I thought he’d been. I’d come to realize that everything had always been about him, whereas this family were all about each other. And I realized, for me, that was Jen. She’d put me first every single day since our parents died.
‘I can’t believe the time. I have to go,’ I said, dabbing my head on a napkin. ‘Thank you so much for bringing me into your beautiful home,’ I said to George and Vernetta.
‘Any time,’ Vernetta said embracing me. I said goodbye to the others and left George behind, to cherish the time he had left with his family. Once in the taxi I let my head fall onto the headrest and smiled. What a happy couple they were. I seemed to recall George telling me they’d been married for thirty years. To be that happy after thirty years was some feat – Daniel and I were never that happy, even when I’d thought we were happy. Just before we reached the ship, I spotted a post office and it gave me an idea. I asked the driver to stop so I could pop inside and send Jen a postcard. I scribbled:
Jen,
Having a wonderful time. Miss you lots.
Thanks for all that you do.
Love
H
xxx
I’d never been good at heartfelt messages but spending the day at George’s house made me appreciate what Jen had done for me. She’d been my whole family for sixteen years. The postcard was a small gesture on my part, but a step in the right direction. When I climbed back in the taxi, I felt lighter, the weight of guilt I’d felt for taking Jen for granted lifted.
Working on the ship was turning into a positive experience in more ways than I’d anticipated. Escaping the prying eyes of the village, my business failure, and Daniel was starting to feel small and insignificant, a bit like the life I’d led. Realizing how much Jen mattered to me was a much bigger step. As the taxi pulled into the cruise port I felt tension in my cheeks and realized I was smiling.
After work that day, I went up to the library and pulled out some language books. I’d decided that my time working on the ship should be about being positive and proactive. In the taxi, I’d already had the idea of trying to learn a language in readiness for Europe, which had stemmed from feeling so ignorant at George’s house.
I scanned the pile, wondering which language to pick: French, Spanish, Portuguese, or Italian. We’d be spending the majority of the European leg in France, Spain, and Italy, so one of those languages would be the best bet. I picked up the Italian phrase book. The idea of ordering my own gelato in Italy was definitely appealing.
***
‘Kristy, stop panicking and just put your face in the water!’ Pete laughed as she lowered her head and pulled it back up again for the hundredth time. We were in the swimming pool of a plush five-star hotel in St Lucia, practising for our scuba dive that afternoon. Pete had been determined to go diving before we left the Caribbean, so we agreed to do it on one of the rare full days off we all had together.
‘Pete, stop being mean,’ Britney said. ‘If Kristy wants to be a big baby then let her.’ She grinned at Kristy who scowled in response. Kristy eventually took a deep breath and put her head under as the instructor guided her.
‘I can’t believe Zac’s missing this.’ Britney turned her attention to me, satisfied that her little push of Kristy worked.
‘I know. He wouldn’t say what he was doing either,’ I replied, allowing my legs to float as I hung on to the side of the pool.
‘I only bloody did it!’ A triumphant Kristy emerged from under the water.
‘Oh well done – you now have the bravery of a new-born lamb,’ Britney teased her before turning back to me. ‘He’ll be with that Spanish waiter guy, Marcel. I don’t know why they won’t just admit something’s going on there.’
‘He’s probably trying to avoid the on-board gossip.’ I shrugged. ‘Or perhaps Marcel doesn’t want everyone to know he’s with the promiscuous Zac!’ I said, before realizing I was no better than the biggest of the Tinbury gossipmongers.
‘Well, I think that’s enough practice,’ the instructor said, interrupting our conversation. ‘After lunch, we’ll head out.’
As we sat
on the boat heading out to our first open-water dive, I looked around at the sparkling turquoise sea, under the blazing sunshine, and thought about how my life had changed. Learning to dive, being on the ship, exploring new places – it was like I could start again. Almost. I wasn’t trying to be somebody else, or to make people believe I was something I wasn’t. But this was my chance to start adulthood again.
I’d met Daniel just after my parents died. I’d gone from a naive eighteen-year-old living at home with my parents to a devastated eighteen-year-old leaning on a kind man who wanted to care for me. In some ways, I supposed I’d projected my feelings for my parents onto him, to stop myself putting them on Jen.
Sitting on that boat, about to dive into the crystal clear water, was about more than just seeing some fish. It was about diving into a life of my own and doing something that I wouldn’t normally do. I was going to be literally out of my depth. Adrenaline pumped around my body. It wasn’t a swimming pool or a classroom any more – this was the real thing. My first open-water dive.
We sat on the edge of the boat, and the instructor counted down. Three, two … The excitement on everyone’s face was readable. One. We took it in turns to throw ourselves backwards into the Caribbean Sea.
Moving slowly through the water, I took in the brightly coloured fish surrounding us. It was surreal and every bit as amazing as I’d hoped. Pete gave me a thumbs-up, obviously as in awe as I was. We stood on the ocean floor, looking at each other, and I suddenly started to feel a bit panicky and claustrophobic. It was an odd sensation, being forty foot underwater whilst breathing normally, and neither the snorkelling nor the swimming pool had prepared me for it.
Calm down, Hannah. I remembered my training and concentrated on taking steady, even breaths. Once I felt comfortable again, I wondered if that’s how I would feel about going back to the village. The instructor led us deeper around the reef, gesturing at us to look at things by tapping two fingers on his mask and pointing. I’d never felt graceful before, but the weightlessness allowed my body to glide around like a ballerina taking in the surreal and beautiful surroundings.
The Holiday Cruise Page 10
