Gil had bought a black tuxedo for the cruise. He put it on for dinner that evening and Angie wolf-whistled when he stood back to check his reflection in the mirror.
‘You look as gorgeous as always, but do I scrub up okay?’ he asked.
‘Absolutely,’ she replied, even though he looked as uncomfortable as hell. ‘Stop pulling at your collar.’
A picture flashed across her mind of how Zander would carry a suit. As easily as James Bond. Gil was not as naturally suave and sophisticated as her first love had been.
He shouldn’t even be crossing your mind after all these years, said an annoyed voice in her head. A voice that knew and appreciated the lovely man to whom she was married.
Over the years, she had thought about Zander Goldman far more than she would have dared to admit, even to herself. She had loved him so much and he had smashed her young heart into so many pieces, it had never properly healed. How could Selina have stolen her man from under her nose, as if she didn’t have enough good things in her life? Selina had lived in a huge house, her parents were filthy rich and very very posh. Selina had long golden hair and the teachers loved her – especially Mrs Weaver, who picked her to be captain of the hockey team, even though Angie was a far better player. Selina was an only child and didn’t have to share her bedroom with a mad sister. And she had the one thing Angie would have killed for – a pony. His name was Benji and he was the sweetest boy ever, but he was traded in for an Arab-cross without a second thought. That should have given Angie a big clue that Selina was heartless. Angie would never have let Benji go had he been hers.
She wouldn’t have traded Zander Goldman in for a better model – because there wasn’t one. He was the equivalent of a stallion – slick, stylish, sophisticated and stunning. He was the boy every girl sighed over, wanted to notice her. And Angie had been the girl he noticed and sighed over – then Selina moved in and stole him.
Angie watched darling Gil putting on his swanky new polished shoes. She did love him. Everyone loved Gil Silverton. But the clue was in the names – he was the silver prize… and Zander was the gold. It wasn’t in Gil’s nature to be the masterful, dashing hero that Angie’s heart yearned for. And she hated herself for feeling like that and wouldn’t have told a soul because she was so ashamed of it. He deserved better.
The party that evening was upstairs in the Vista bar. There was a slow-moving queue to get in and Angie and Gil gravitated to the back of it. They were joined a few moments later by Doreen and Vernon. Doreen was wearing a flamingo-pink gown covered in small beads, and resting on her coiffured puff of white hair was a sparkly tiara. Vernon looked smart in a tail coat and a white bow tie with small orange goldfish printed on it.
‘This queue is for photos with the captain,’ advised Doreen. ‘If you wanted to avoid it and get straight to the booze, use the other entrance. We thought we ought to tell you.’
‘Ooh, thanks for that,’ said Gil, turning to his wife. ‘I’m not bothered about photos, are you?’
He hated getting his picture taken; he said his nose always looked huge.
‘Fine by me,’ replied Angie, following the older couple to the second door.
‘Jerry and Yvonne at three o’clock,’ muttered Vernon out of one side of his mouth, stopping a waiter with a tray full of drinks. ‘Queuing for pics with Jean-Luc.’
‘Jean-Luc?’ asked Angie.
‘Captain Dupont,’ Vernon clarified. ‘Very nice fellow. Cheers.’ He lifted his glass.
‘I preferred Captain O’Shaughnessy,’ sniffed Doreen. ‘Fabulously handsome. But he’s moved onto the new swanky flagship, the Heliana. ’
Angie waved over to Cyn. She had on the most beautiful long red gown but was wearing it as awkwardly as if she had stolen it out of her mother’s wardrobe and was expecting to be caught at any moment. Beside her, sweeping his eyes across the room, was her ruddy-faced husband. He looked out of place in his tuxedo, with his hair still resembling an exploded sofa.
Doreen swiped another gin and tonic from a passing waiter.
‘All this socialising really builds up a thirst,’ she said.
‘You’re quiet,’ Angie said, turning to Gil who had barely touched his drink. ‘You okay?’
Gil released a discreet burp. ‘Yep, fine and dandy,’ he replied, not sounding at all convincing.
‘Ah, good evening.’ Jerry and Yvonne swooped on the party from left field. There was no chance of escape. ‘Just been speaking to the Cap. Catching up on gossip. Having yet another pic taken with him.’ He tutted, pretending it was an ordeal, but fooling no one. The ship seemed to lift and drop and a few people made ‘Oh’ sounds. ‘We’re in for a rough one tonight,’ chuckled Jerry.
Yvonne was wearing a dress that probably cost more than Angie’s house, but despite all the fancy stitching and attention to detail, it didn’t suit her at all. The washed-out shade of grey drained all the colour from her face and the drop-waisted cut made her body appear disproportionally long to her legs. At her throat was a glitzy necklace which captured every bit of available light in a bid to show itself off.
‘What a lovely dress, Yvonne,’ said Angie, being polite.
‘Thank you,’ Yvonne answered her, sweeping her eyes over Angie’s lovely duck-egg blue gown but choosing not to bat back a compliment. Rude cow, thought Angie.
The Captain made a welcoming speech, drew a raffle, and then, after wishing everyone a fabulous holiday, he started walking towards the group.
Jerry, presuming that he was the reason why the Captain was approaching them, beamed. His smile slipped when Jean-Luc Dupont opened his arms and Doreen moved into them.
‘Dreen,’ he said, in the sexiest French accent Angie had heard outside Jean-Christophe Novelli’s gob. ‘’Ow are you? And Ver-non? Mon ami.’ He kissed Vernon on both cheeks. ‘You look so well, the both of you. It is wonderful to see you again.’
‘Very nice to see you too, Jean-Luc,’ said Vernon.
‘I was just saying, Cap, that we’re in for a rough one tonight,’ Jerry butted in. For all his bragging that he was on special terms with the Captain, it was quite obvious that Jean-Luc Dupont didn’t know him from Adam.
‘Ah yes,’ he said. ‘You must all take care when walking around ze ship.’
He turned his attentions back to Doreen and Vernon, obviously delighted to see them.
‘So, you are not renewing your vows this year?’ he said. ‘I was looking forward to the pleasure of conducting ze ceremony. I will never forget the sight of the little fish on your dress that lit up, Dreen.’
‘Not this year,’ said Vernon. ‘Maybe next. Takes time to plan these things, Jean-Luc.’
‘Listen, my friends, I will have to circulate, but it ’as been wonderful to see you. We must have cocktails togezer before you go. Come up to the Bridge and watch the dolphins at Gibraltar.’
‘Oh, that will be nice,’ said Jerry, bobbing his head forward as if the invitation extended to him also.
Doreen looked at him as if she had just found him on her shoe and couldn’t scrape him off.
‘Ầ bientôt.’
‘Abiendo,’ echoed Jerry, wrongly.
What an arsehole, thought Angie, grinning inwardly. Jerry would have hated that Doreen and Vernon were the main objects of the Captain’s attention.
‘Offerings look very good tonight,’ said Jerry, as they waited for the next lift down to the restaurant.
‘Don’t tell me,’ said Angie. ‘I don’t want to know what’s on the menu until I sit at the table.’
‘You’ll be picking the lobster, I guarantee,’ said Jerry. ‘Unless you prefer the steak au poivre or the… what else is there… the cod in a prawn sauce.’
Angie snarled inwardly. Well that had ruined that then. Gil could tell she was cross.
‘I’ll find a way to kick him for you,’ he whispered as they walked into the lift.
‘I recommend the mushroom and brandy pâté for starter if you decide on the pork loin main,’ said Jerry, no
n-too quietly.
He’s doing it deliberately, thought Angie. And now that he knew it needled her, he would probably continue to do it all holiday. God, she hated that type of person who couldn’t tell the difference between being amusing and acting like a total a prat.
The motion of the ocean could be felt quite considerably in the lift. The sea was quite rocky tonight. Angie found that she didn’t mind it but she suspected Gil might. He was looking quite pale.
Ken and Cyn were already at the table. Angie made a beeline for the seat next to the lady in red.
‘You look lovely,’ Angie said and meaning it. Cyn had obviously been to an onboard hairdresser who had tamed her curls into a flattering soft style. And her dress, simple in design as it was, suited her perfectly. Cyn flapped the compliment away shyly.
Angie decided she had been wrong in her first impressions of the couple. They were sweet, gentle people - after all, quiet didn’t necessarily equate to boring.
The ship jolted and again a few ‘Ohs’ rippled around the room.
‘We’re in for a bumpy night,’ said Jerry taking a sheet of paper out of his pocket and proceeded to read from it, ‘so to keep our minds off the waves I’ve brought some jokes. What lies on the bottom of the sea and shivers?’ He waited for the others to work it out but no one did. ‘A nervous wreck. Why was the sand wet?’
‘Jesus Christ,’ said Doreen under her breath, spotting that there wasn’t just one sheet of paper in his hand, but three or four. She turned to the menu and ignored Jerry until he nudged her to join in.
‘Come on, Doreen. Why do crabs walk sideways?’
‘Has anyone ever told you your jokes are funny and actually meant it?’ she replied with a dead-pan expression on her face.
‘Very good, very good,’ grinned Jerry, wagging his finger at her. ‘You’re after my comedy crown, I can see that.’
The waiter rescued them by arriving to take their order.
‘I think I’ll pass,’ said Gil, rubbing his stomach. ‘Feeling a bit gippy.’ He rose to his feet and when Angie stood too, he gently pushed her shoulder down.
‘You stay, darling. You love lobster. I’ll be okay. I insist. I’d feel worse if you missed dinner because of me.’
‘Gil…’
‘No. I’m going to go and have a lie down, so you won’t be able to do anything for me. Please stay here, darling. Please.’ He addressed the others. ‘Sorry folks. Have a good one.’
Jerry hilariously said a goodbye whilst pretending to vomit. Then he tormented the others with more jokes in-between courses. As delicious as the lobster was, Angie didn’t enjoy the experience at the dinner table. Vernon and Doreen were quietly seething, Cyn and Ken were subdued, Jerry wouldn’t shut up and Gil wasn’t there. She escaped after the main course and found him fast asleep in bed. She read for a while and was in bed for ten. The sea was buffeting the ship a lot. She didn’t sleep well at all, but still got more rest than Gil who spent quite a lot of the night with his head over the toilet pan.
DAY THREE
Chapter 5
By the morning, Gil was exhausted. The ship was lifting and dropping like a fairground ride. The captain gave out a message that there was a freak force-ten gale and though the ship’s stabilisers were fully on, a crosswind was throwing an extra spanner in the works. Angie went up to The Buttery to bring some breakfast back for Gil. It wasn’t busy at all; it appeared many people didn’t have food on their minds.
‘Helloooo.’ Angie heard Doreen’s shrill voice call her. ‘Come and join me for a coffee. Vernon’s in the cabin. He’s glued to the toilet.’
Angie saw the people on the next table pick up their trays quickly and move away.
‘You can’t catch it, he hasn’t got a bug,’ Doreen shouted after them. ‘He had too many Baileys last night. It always helps him get to sleep but it does give him the most terrible trots in the morning.’
Angie snorted a giggle back and brought over two coffees from the machine. The scenery through the windows was quite spectacular today: grey grumbling skies and furious waves tumbling over each other. Though not especially ideal for a sunny Mediterranean holiday.
‘Isn’t it marvellous,’ said Doreen. ‘Look at it. Mad and dangerous. It could kill us at any minute.’
‘Yeah, great,’ said Angie, raising her eyebrows in disturbed agreement.
‘I can’t wait to bring my little grandson on a ship with us.’ She sighed with the pleasure to come. ‘We’ve been waiting too long for an heir.’
‘Oh,’ said Angie, not daring to ask why that was, but Doreen enlightened her anyway.
‘It’s our David’s second wife, you see, who’s having the baby. My, she’s knocked him into shape. He’s like a different fellow.’ She laughed. ‘His first wife was a lovely little thing. Meek as a mouse though. They didn’t have any children together. Dolly’s a different kettle of fish. A right old Amazon.’ She sighed. ‘I wasn’t that nice to his first wife. I’ve felt rotten about it since she left. I was a bitter twisted woman for many years. Vernon and I were childhood sweethearts but I married someone else and I wasn’t happy until my one true love came back into my life. Vernon brings out the best in me. I’m reborn with him – happy, satisfied, content. Just like my son is with Dolly.’
Angie wondered what she would have been like if she had married Zander. Would she be different? She’d be richer, that was for sure. So she’d be content because she wouldn’t have any money troubles and would sleep better, so she’d have less worry lines. It all had a knock-on effect.
‘How’s Gil?’ Doreen asked.
‘Rough.’
‘I hope he’s better for Malaga tomorrow. The weather forecast is much better.’
‘So do I,’ replied Angie. ‘I came up to get him some breakfast.’
‘Ginger biscuits are what he needs,’ said Doreen firmly. ‘But the shop will have sold out of them by now. He can go and get a jab in the medical bay. Tablets won’t be much good because he’d just chuck them back up. You have to take them before you get the sickness.’
Gil hated needles. Angie knew that there was no way he’d queue up to get an injection. He’d suffer on and try to ride through it.
‘Did I miss anything at dessert last night?’ asked Angie.
‘Only that pillock with his joke sheet,’ said Doreen, picking a bit of croissant out of her teeth. ‘Yvonne started bragging about her grandchildren so I told them that I had a granddaughter called Chlamydia who was the official florist for Elton John. That shut her up for a bit. Nice little couple from Devon, aren’t they? I wish he’d brought one of his cows to flatten Jerry and Yvonne, the boring bastards.’
Angie giggled.
‘Crackers and dry biscuits will be best for Gil,’ said Doreen, making a move to get up. ‘I’m going for a rub down with a bamboo stick in the spa. There’s a Romanian girl in there called Aleka. She’s more brutal than Stalin but by ’eck, she’s good. You should give her a try.’
And with that Doreen tootled off.
Angie gathered a plate of biscuits and bread and wrapped them up in a serviette. Everyone looked drunk as they walked, trying to keep their balance as the ship swayed. Poor Gil couldn’t eat a thing though and merely wanted to sleep. Angie stayed with him reading until it was time for dinner when Gil roused himself and made the effort to go down to the restaurant as he was ravenously hungry. Luckily the dress code was casual. His blue polo shirt complimented his ashen complexion beautifully.
‘Hello there, Gil; bleurgh bleurgh,’ greeted Jerry, doing another vomiting impression. No one laughed, but he didn’t seem to notice. Doreen was resplendent in a lime green gown today and a different tiara in a style reminiscent of a Romanov grand duchess.
Ken looked infinitely more comfortable in a jumper. Cyn wore a matching one in a smaller size.
‘Malaga tomorrow,’ announced Jerry. ‘So I’ve brought some Spanish jokes.’ He took a sheet of paper out of his trouser pocket. ‘What do you call a pair of Spanish fir
efighters?’
Everyone else, bar Yvonne who was his only captive audience, took refuge in the menu.
‘Jose A and Jose B,’ Jeffy guffawed.
‘What is a pithivier?’ asked Ken in his soft slow voice. He pronounced it ‘pithi-veer’ ‘A sort of pie,’ explained Vernon.
‘Good country fare,’ added Jerry. ‘You look like proper pair of farmers tonight in those knits.’
Angie’s eyes sprang open in horror. God he was so rude.
‘Well, that’s because we are,’ replied Ken with a smile.
‘At least we were,’ added Cyn, smiling at her husband.
‘Were? Were?’ said Jerry. ‘Cows get foot and mouth and you had to close up shop?’
He chuckled again as if he’d made the funniest joke of the night.
‘Well, I mean, before we won the lottery and sold up.’ Ken’s quiet voice silenced them all.
‘You won the lottery?’ Yvonne’s tone suggested she didn’t believe that anyone who came down to dinner in his and hers market-quality jumpers could possibly be telling the truth about being rich.
‘Yep. Twenty-five million,’ said Ken in his gentle burr, eyes on the menu. ‘I think I’ll try that pithi— pie thing. That sounds just up my street, that does.’
Oh please make him be telling the truth, willed Angie, watching the colour drain from Yvonne and Jerry’s faces. Jerry even dropped his joke sheet on the floor with shock.
‘Congratulations. And how are you enjoying your newfound wealth?’ asked Vernon with genuine admiration.
‘Not bad,’ replied Cyn. ‘I still can’t sleep past five in the morning though. I think we’ll end up buying a couple of cows as pets. I miss ’em.’
Here Come the Boys Page 3
