I stood up from my steamer chair; the comfortable, warm mood of the evening had gone now.
‘Would you like to join us?’
I think, under the circumstances, ninety-nine point nine, nine, nine per cent of women would have said, Ooh no, I can see you’re having a lovely chat. I don’t want to interrupt.
Not Marnie Miller.
She sank gracefully into my chair and pulled her pashmina more tightly around her.
‘I’d love some champagne,’ she said with a sweet smile.
‘Of course.’
Gabriel went off to find another glass and Marnie directed her beautiful eyes at me.
‘Have we met?’
‘I was in your talk this morning: Write for Love. I thought it was really great.’
‘Did you? How super of you to say so. You never know how these things are going to go. I mean I’ve done this sort of thing so often but sometimes I’m just – well – the girl from Worcester, wondering if I’m good enough. Does my lifestyle advice really help? Am I really and truly a success around the world?’
She tilted her head to one side and gave me a sad, beseeching look.
‘I should have thought you knew that by now? You’ve sold billions of books.’
‘Yes, but inside my head I’m just little old me. Struggling to get my head around life. Wondering if I’m useful. Wanting to be a success.’
‘But you are,’ I said, slightly irritated by her rather transparent attempts to be humble while fishing for compliments. ‘You’re a terrific success. You have thousands of readers, you do television seminars and magazine articles about decluttering and improving your life, you have fantastic reviews on Amazon. I mean, you’re on this ship because people want to learn from you.’
‘I’m still the silly girl with the untidy desk.’ She was off on one now, I could tell. ‘Little Marnie Keogh with the skinny legs who was never picked for the netball team, or got cards on Valentine’s Day, or had a boyfriend. Sometimes I wonder if people really do like what I have to say or if they’re just being kind.’
I fell into her trap, irresistibly baited by her hunger for praise and flattered that, for some reason, she was confiding in me.
‘Why should any of that matter now? People admire you. You’re pretty and gracious and everyone loves your books. They buy them in shops and supermarkets and airports all over the world. You must help a lot of women every day.’
She looked at me, her lower lip trembling a little. ‘Yes, you’re right. Thank you so much. I do, don’t I?’
Mercifully, at that point Gabriel returned and poured out a glass of champagne for her.
‘Thank you, darling,’ she said and sipped it, hunching her shoulders up with pleasure.
I had the ungracious feeling that she needed a good slap.
‘Right, I’m off to bed,’ I said.
‘Oh, must you?’ Marnie murmured unconvincingly, looking at Gabriel as though she wanted to eat him.
I think I was just jealous.
‘I really must,’ I said, draining my glass. The champagne tasted flat and bitter now, not nice at all. I slunk off to bed in a right old mood.
Chapter Eight
East India
Cognac, Grand Marnier, Maraschino Liqueur, Grenadine, Angostura Bitters
The following day we were going to be at sea all day and planning to spend some time enjoying the onboard activities. For one thing there were dance lessons with Peter and Paula, who were planning on teaching us ballroom dancing. God help them.
First of all we had breakfast. India tried a nice healthy option of whole-wheat granola but said the noise she made eating it was too much for her and gave up halfway through, pushing the bowl away.
‘I think I’ll stick to quiet food today,’ she said, looking rather pale and fragile. She had already expected me to acknowledge her bravery for even being up and dressed. ‘Why did you let me have that champagne after dinner last night? That was when the rot set in.’
‘It’s not my bloody fault! Oh, it wasn’t the Strawberry Daiquiri then? Or the Martini? Or the wine?’
‘Stop shouting, for God’s sake. Today I’m sticking to the controlled eating,’ she said, ‘and I’m going to find something else for breakfast.’
She wandered off to look at yogurt and fresh fruit and came back with two jam doughnuts and a vanilla milkshake.
‘Pardon my French but how controlled is that?’ I said.
‘This is a medicinal doughnut,’ she said. ‘Shut up and leave me alone.’
I left her hunched over her carbohydrates and went off for a walk round the deck on my own. It was a bit colder outside as the ship sailed north, but it was very refreshing. The sky above was pale blue with wisps of cloud scudding in from the sea. I had been pleased how well India and I had been getting along. I needed to give her and her hangover some space otherwise it was only a matter of time before our morning bickering turned into something much worse.
I found a sheltered spot where there were thoughtfully placed chairs in between the orange bulk of two lifeboats. Ten minutes later, apparently unable to leave me alone, India appeared and sat down.
‘So, last night…’ she said, flopping down beside me. ‘Gabriel Gorgeousness. What was going on there?’
‘Nothing, he just wanted company, I suppose. Marnie Miller said she wanted an early night. We were just the first people he saw.’
India gave me a look. ‘So you don’t think it’s because he fancies you?’
‘No, don’t be ridiculous!’ I said, my brain spinning with the possibilities.
‘Of course he does! You don’t think he’s been following you around for no reason, do you? Do you think it was a coincidence he turned up in Newport to have lunch with us?’
I blinked at the prospect. But, to be fair, India’s radar was far better attuned to this sort of thing than mine. I allowed this thought to sink in.
‘You fancy him too, don’t you? I know you. You always settle for the slightly grubby types with few prospects and no table manners, when you prefer the good-looking ones, but don’t think you stand a chance with them.’
‘What? Where did that come from?’ I said, a bit taken aback by this sisterly psychoanalysis. ‘I’m not you. It is possible to go through life not fancying every man I set eyes on, you know.’
She wasn’t listening. ‘He might be just the thing to get you over Ryan the Bastard. Get yourself over Gabriel Frost instead, so to speak. Get you back in the saddle. A moonlight stroll along the deck; he invites you into his cabin for coffee. I mean, it is next door to ours after all. You wouldn’t have to go far in the morning, would you? Or in the middle of the night if he snored.’
‘So you’re encouraging me to have a swift bonk, are you? Honestly, India, you’re about to get married – you should be full of romantic yearning not encouraging mindless sex between virtual strangers.’
She laughed and it almost felt like old times. ‘There is something to be said for it.’
‘I bow to your superior knowledge!’
‘But I bet it wouldn’t be mindless. I bet he’d be really good in bed.’
‘India! You’re almost a married woman. And by the way I don’t need to get over Ryan the Bastard as you so delicately put it. I got over him in ten minutes.’
‘Rubbish.’
‘I did!’
‘No, you didn’t. You were still moping about and sulking months after you found out what he’d been up to. And when you heard his new girlfriend was pregnant you were inconsolable.’
‘Well, I thought he might have been, you know …?’
‘The One? Don’t make me laugh,’ India said. ‘He was never good enough for you. He was always a bit shifty.’
Good enough for me? Since when did India worry about that sort of thing? She’d been so wrapped up in Jerry and the wedding I was surprised she’d even noticed Ryan and I had broken up.
‘Well, you’ve had your share of unsuitable sods over the years. How did you know Jerry was The One?�
�� I said, trying to shift the focus away from my obviously terrible taste in men. ‘He wasn’t the sort I thought you would go for.’
She thought for a moment and looked rather soppy and wistful. ‘He came over for dinner, and he brought Lindt chocolate. Three giant bars rather than a poncey box because he said you got more chocolate for the money. Which is true, isn’t it? And Sarah and Lucy were there and they started talking about Uri Geller and what happened to him and how he used to bend spoons.’
I frowned. ‘Yes. How is this relevant?’
‘We tried sticking spoons on our noses and Jerry was the only one who could do it, and then we found out he’d wedged it on with a Dairylea triangle. And the spoon fell off and I looked at him with cheese on the end of his nose and I knew. He was The One. I know he might not be the best-looking bun in the window but he makes me happy and he’s kind and thoughtful and funny.’
‘Wow,’ I said, a bit gobsmacked. This was not the sort of thing my sister usually said. ‘That’s amazing.’
There was no doubt about it – my sister had been a bit of a bike in her teenage years. There was always some drama, some boy throwing pebbles at her bedroom window in the small hours, occasionally the unexpected creak of the stairs in the middle of the night. Twice there were pregnancy scares; once a jilted suitor threatened suicide. I can think of a few reasons for throwing myself off the Clifton Suspension Bridge, but I have to say my sister isn’t one of them.
Now, of course, all that was forgotten and she had morphed seamlessly into a wholesome fiancée and paragon of virtue. But I knew where all the bodies were buried so to speak. I knew exactly when, with whom and where she first had sex (her sixteenth birthday with Simeon Palliser in his parents’ gazebo) because she couldn’t resist telling me she’d done it before I had. Perhaps that didn’t help our relationship either.
‘Well, that’s the sort of man you should have. Not Jerry, of course, because he’s mine. But someone who makes you feel like that,’ India concluded.
‘Ryan thought Frankie Boyle was funny,’ I said gloomily.
‘Case proven, m’lud. I’m going in now and I shall have a hot chocolate. With marshmallows.’
‘Is that really a healthy option?’
‘Dunno, I just want one. Are you coming?’
I nodded. We made our way to the food court and got two hot chocolates, one with marshmallows and one without because I think they taste like old pencil rubbers.
‘Perhaps you just overthink things?’ India said, continuing her thoughts on my situation. ‘You’re the clever one after all.’
I laughed. ‘Says who? I never went to university. I didn’t get a degree.’
‘Well, neither did I if you remember,’ India said.
‘What did you do for those three years?’
India laughed. ‘I had a lot of fun, got pissed and involved with some people I’d have been better off avoiding. I certainly didn’t do any work.’
‘Yes, that’s pretty much what I thought.’
We sat watching people milling around, having either a late breakfast or an early lunch. It was always funny watching the more dedicated eaters panicking when something new was wheeled out of the kitchens. They would be quite happy with their muffins, fruit and cereal, and then pancakes, crispy bacon and croissants would make an appearance and they would almost spin off in confusion.
‘I think I could get used to living on a cruise ship. Everyone’s nice to you, the scenery changes every day and you don’t have to do any cooking or housework.’
India snorted. ‘Ah, but what about when you had children? There aren’t exactly good schools or cub packs on board, are there?’
‘Well, no. But if there were enough kids, you could form one.’
India delved about for the marshmallows at the bottom of her mug with a teaspoon. ‘How many kids would you need to form a cub pack anyway?’
‘Five? Six?’ I said. ‘I don’t know. And what if one of them was a girl?’
‘Difficult.’
I came to my senses. ‘India, we can’t afford to live on a cruise ship. Why are we even worrying about it?’
‘Ah, but if you married Gabriel Frost you probably could afford it,’ she said. ‘He looks rich. I expect that means you’ll put him off soon.’
*
After that we wandered about, looking in the shops at the duty free stuff. There were some incredibly expensive bottles of whisky and teddies wearing knitted jumpers with Reine de France embroidered on them. Then we went to have lunch in the Hawaiian Bar next to the pool, an exciting-looking place with fake palm trees and very blue water.
We found a table where we could watch people getting in and complaining about the air temperature. (I didn’t think the Reine de France could be held responsible for that.) The water was so warm it was steaming. And it was September after all.
‘What shall we have?’ India said.
I perused the menu. ‘It’s pizza or pizza.’
‘That’s not very Hawaiian, is it?’ she said.
‘It is if you put pineapple on it. Allegedly.’
India thought about it. ‘No, I don’t fancy that. Pizza should be pizza. Anchovies and olives.’
‘Well, let’s have that.’
A waiter in a Hawaiian shirt and board shorts came over to take our order. I think he had been specially selected for his golden-haired beachboy look. He was tall and tanned and young and lovely as the song goes.
‘Me name’s Liam, I’ll be looking after you? I’ll get that order sorted, and to drink, ladies?’ he said. He was definitely Australian by the sounds of it. Every sentence seemed to end with a question mark.
I was about to ask for some iced water but the abstemious one on the controlled eating diet plan got in first.
‘Two lagers,’ she said. ‘Large ones.’
‘Two lagers? Good choice? I’ll get right back to you?’
‘Thanks?’ India said as he walked away. She leant across the table. ‘You can tell by the way he’s swaggering he thinks we’re watching him.’
‘Well, you are! Stop it!’ I said to India.
‘Just looking – what do you think Jerry would look like in a Hawaiian shirt like that?’
‘Look, can we stop it with the Australian verbal tick? Jerry is not a Hawaiian shirt sort of bloke.’
Liam, the beachboy, returned with our lagers and a cheeky wink.
‘Here you go, ladies? Your pizzas won’t be long?’ He put down two enticingly frosted glasses and tucked his tray under one arm. ‘First cruise with us, is it?’
‘Yes, first cruise full stop actually,’ I said while, beside me, India sank nearly half her drink and let out a happy sigh, wiping a foam moustache away with the back of her hand afterwards. She can be classy my sister.
‘You won’t find better than the Reine de France,’ Liam said. ‘I’ve worked on them all? This one is proper good? Been to any of the activities?’
‘We’re going to the Peter and Paula dance classes later,’ India said.
‘Aw, they really are the dog’s bollocks? I mean really?’
If he carried on asking unanswerable questions I was going to hit him.
‘Gosh, I’m really hungry,’ I said, looking over his shoulder in the hope that our lunch might appear. He took the hint.
‘I’ll go and look?’
India watched him go and shook her head at me.
‘You’re turning into a real grouch?’ she said.
‘I am not! And stop doing that.’
‘What?’
‘Turning every sentence into a question.’
‘It’s Gabriel Frost, isn’t it? You were just the same when you met Ryan and you didn’t think he’d noticed you. And when you met Tom what’s-his-name. He took four days to phone you back, and you were like a bear with a sore bum.’
I spluttered my outrage. ‘You were never more wrong! Gabriel who? I mean really, I don’t know where you got that idea from.’
‘Okay, if you say so.
’
‘Anyway he’s with Marnie Miller, isn’t he? Who could possibly compete with her?’
India looked thoughtful. ‘But he’s not with her, is he? He works for her – there’s a difference.’
Beachboy returned with two pizzas the size of bicycle wheels; if they were thin and crispy the deep dish ones must have been like airbeds.
‘There you go, ladies? Enjoy?’
‘Thanks.’
‘Can I freshen up your drinks there?’
‘No, we’re fine thanks.’
‘Do you want mayo? Ketchup? Black pepper?’
I resisted the urge to wrap my pizza round his craggy, smiling face and sipped my lager.
‘No, nothing thanks.’
‘Side order of fries? Green salad? How about some hot sauce?’ Liam was almost desperate now.
‘No, honestly. We’re okay.’
Nor did I want some olives, garlic bread, banoffee pie or ice cream.
‘Well, you know where I am if you change your mind? I’ll be seeing you?’
He stood and span his tray on one finger for a moment, distressed he couldn’t think of anything else to bring us, and then he wandered off, straightening a couple of chairs as he went.
‘Well, for heaven’s sake,’ I said.
‘He fancied you,’ India said, wrapping a massive slice of pizza into a roll and stuffing the end into her mouth.
‘Stop trying to fix me up with someone. Just because you’re all loved-up and off the market!’
India smiled smugly. ‘I’m right though. You’re sex-starved.’
‘Oh, shut up.’ I laughed.
‘I’m right.’
Chapter Nine
Waltzing Matilda
Passion Fruit, Dry Gin, White Wine, Champagne, Ginger Ale
Thanks to the length of the Versailles Ballroom, Peter and Paula looked to be in their thirties at first glance. Close up they gained twenty years. Even so they were a well-preserved couple, trim in the way that only a lifetime of strenuous exercise and discipline can guarantee. They were dressed in sharp, unattractive dance outfits that owed a great deal to the colour tangerine. Peter wore a shiny grey suit with an orange shirt and spotted tangerine tie. Paula was a riot of carroty ruffles, sequins and tulle. Neither of them seemed able to stand still. Peter twirled Paula round and presented her in front of him as though she was a stuffed toy at a funfair stand. Both had rictus grins. I wondered if they smiled in their sleep. Or maybe once the bedroom door had closed behind them their features collapsed into sullen misery and they had to massage the feeling back into their jaws.
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