Sail Away

by Celia Imrie

  The doctor’s parting shot was to tell Amanda that she should look for the bowls of ginger, which were laid out in the restaurants and in the spa. Keep your eye on the horizon until you feel better, he said, and nibble on pieces of ginger. That would do the trick.

  Amanda felt rather wary about his advice but decided to follow it; after all, he was the professional.

  She had a shower which did make her feel vaguely human. The very thought of food had her heaving again, but she determined to follow the doctor’s instructions, so she phoned down to room service and ordered a bread roll, toast and a pot of tea.

  While she waited, she went out on to the balcony but realised that this was a very bad idea. The wind was so strong that she feared she would be blown away, and fly off over the lifeboats to disappear beyond the horizon, a bit like a fat middle-aged Dorothy Gale, caught up in the twister.

  When she came back in she had to rush once more to the bathroom.

  A short time afterwards, a knock on the door and waiters came in and set up a table, complete with cloth and cutlery, for her feeble meal. She forced herself to take bites of bread roll, chewing it laboriously while breathing deeply. The tea she drank black but with a spoonful of sugar.

  When this brought no bad effects, she lay down and within minutes was asleep. When she woke, she felt so much better that she left her cabin and made her way to the spa.

  She hoped the whole ship would not be having the same idea. But there were very few people about, and along all the corridors of cabins she saw that many doors had ‘Do Not Disturb’ signs swinging from their handles.

  She felt terribly weak, and wondered whether her friends, Myriam, Tyger and Liliane, were similarly afflicted.

  Grabbing the rails, Amanda staggered down the stairs towards the spa, hoping that she would not bump into her new gentleman friend while she was feeling and no doubt looking so rough.

  Her fears that she looked dreadful were confirmed by the cheery girl on the desk in the spa, who took one glance at her and gave a sympathetic sigh.

  Amanda bought a two-day pass and was shown around. As she was ushered through the entrance she walked past a small metal basket piled high with crystallised ginger. Amanda took a piece and hastily chewed on it.

  ‘It does work,’ said the girl. ‘Tasty too.’

  They went through a pool area, with sauna and steam room, then along a dark corridor. ‘These are the treatment rooms,’ said the girl. ‘You can book in for a massage, or many other treatments which you’ll find described on the leaflets in your welcome pack.’ She took a white towelling robe from a row of shelves laden with them and handed it to Amanda as they walked into a long room lined with loungers which faced a wall of windows and looked out on to the open deck. ‘This is the relaxation lounge. You can lie here all day, or rest here between treatments.’

  Amanda went to the dressing rooms, quickly changed into her underwear and robe and came back to lie on the day beds.

  Soft music played, the kind of tuneless music you only ever heard in ‘alternative’ treatment centres. At the far end of the room, a woman in a towelling robe was sleeping. All the other beds were empty.

  The spa girl was clearing away used towels from another bed.

  ‘Can people not see us?’ asked Amanda, looking out on to the open deck. ‘All those windows!’

  Two joggers, fighting against the wind, silently trotted by on the other side of the glass.

  ‘Everyone asks that.’ The girl laughed as she piled the towels into a basket at the end of the room. ‘But you can’t see in. From the outer deck no one would have a clue we are in here. Out there it looks like a large mirror.’

  Amanda watched a couple stroll past, arm in arm, hunched together against the cold wind and spray. Amanda waved and smiled.

  ‘Believe me. They can’t see you!’

  The woman on the outer deck turned and glanced towards Amanda. Then she froze, concentrating. She took a few steps towards the window.

  Amanda was certain she was looking straight at her.

  Then the woman on deck pouted her lips and started adjusting the hair within her hood.

  ‘She sees a mirror and uses it. Giving herself the OK,’ said the girl. ‘She’s looking at herself, not you.’

  ‘I will certainly watch out for that mirror,’ said Amanda, ‘when I next take a stroll along the outside deck.’

  ‘Make yourself comfortable. And there is always someone at the desk if you need assistance.’

  Amanda settled herself on the nearest lounger.

  ‘Could I get you a tea, madam?’

  Amanda chose a ginger and lemon and lay down, keeping her eye on the horizon.

  As the girl arrived with a steaming cup, Amanda started feeling very drowsy. She decided to follow doctor’s orders, lie back and enjoy her spa afternoon.

  *

  Suzy was late again. She’d had a fitful night. Her cabin was near the prow of the ship where the movements were felt more violently. All night the clothes hangers in her wardrobe clattered back and forth. Whenever she drifted off to sleep, something smashed from a shelf in the bathroom, or a cupboard door opened and shut with a resonating slam. During her waking moments Suzy mulled over the conversation with Jason. Was it a desperate attempt to frighten her, or could Stan really be a paedophile? She fretted too about her missing savings, and the potential of finding enough work, once home, to get herself back on to an even keel financially. For an actress of her age there was never much work about. She wished that she could make this job on the ships into a regular thing. The money wasn’t great but at least her bed and board were free.

  So far she had done nothing to encourage Blake to think she deserved the job.

  When, finally, she slept she was agitated by frenetic dreams in which she was chased around by Stan this time, who was wearing nothing but a straw hat and underpants. It was like some awful Benny Hill sketch in reverse.

  Suzy awoke, saw the time, hastily washed, dressed and grabbed her notes. She then scurried along the corridors to the other side of the ship to take her morning class.

  Along the way, she saw that the ship was much quieter than she had ever experienced. Corridors were deserted. Nor were many people in the cafeteria.

  She bustled into the ballroom, and was disappointed to see that the girl in the purser’s office had been right – no one was there for her class.

  She dropped her bag on to a nearby table and walked to the centre of the dance floor, where she had a good stretch, then did a couple of tap steps to limber up.

  ‘Oh goody!’ said a voice from a large banquette in the corner. ‘I was thinking the class must be cancelled.’ A young woman sat up, emerging from behind a table. With a sinking heart, Suzy realised it was the girl who was planning to apply to drama school. She also understood that, unless someone else turned up soon, she had no excuse not to spend an hour-long, one-on-one session concentrating on the girl’s audition pieces.

  ‘I brought my speeches,’ said the girl, rummaging in her bag. ‘The prospectuses tell me that they’ll want me to perform one classical and one modern speech. The classical is the tricky one, naturally, because I understand and speak in modern language. Do you think it’s necessary to stick to Shakespeare, or should I try and be original and pick something from another classical play? What would you choose?’

  Suzy pulled up a seat and slumped down at one of the tables. ‘I believe that the whole point is to be yourself. And you must choose something which you love and believe in.’

  ‘But I’ve never read any classical plays. Except for Romeo and Juliet which we did at school, but I wasn’t interested in all that ye-olde-language stuff. Anyhow, you have more knowledge and experience, so you could show me something more interesting and original. A speech which would get me noticed, so that I can stick out and be memorable. So far I’ve only got a really boring one.’

  ‘It really is the case that they want to see you – who you really are …’

 
; ‘But my drama teacher at school thought that if I wear something outrageous and do something bizarre, they’d remember me and then I’d have more choice of schools.’

  ‘Has your drama teacher ever worked in professional theatre?’

  ‘No, but she knows such an awful lot about it. I really trust her opinions.’

  Suzy looked at the girl in her beige cashmere sweater and stylish slacks and wondered what she might have in mind to wear to an audition.

  ‘You wouldn’t wear what you have on now? It looks quite smart to me.’

  ‘No. I thought a T-shirt with a noticeable motif, ripped jeans …’

  ‘I still say, be true to yourself …’

  ‘But I’m positive my teacher is right. It’s important to stand out.’

  ‘You might find that everyone else attending usually wears clothes like the ones you’re suggesting.’

  ‘No, but they wouldn’t.’

  Suzy knew that whatever she was going to say would be followed up with a ‘no’ or a ‘but’, perhaps both. This girl knew that she was going to stick to doing what she wanted to do, and therefore Suzy could only sit back and agree with her.

  ‘Let’s get on.’ Suzy resigned herself to the oncoming hour of torture. ‘First, maybe, you should show me what you’ve prepared, and we can work on that?’

  The girl walked on to the centre of the ballroom floor and hung her head, smoothing down her clothes with both hands as she took in a deep breath. Then she launched into her speech.

  Portia from Julius Caesar.

  ‘Is Brutus sick? and is it physical

  To walk unbraced and suck up the humours

  Of the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick …’

  For some reason the girl was shouting the speech rather angrily as though she was taking part in a bar-room brawl. Suzy held up her hand and said, ‘Let’s talk about this. You’re in a garden, in the middle of the night, reasoning with your husband …’

  ‘With respect, Suzy, I do know what I’m doing, if you’d kindly let me continue before you put your two cents in.’

  Suzy shrugged and rested back in her chair. This was going to be a very long hour.

  *

  Amanda awoke from a very refreshing sleep to find that the evening was drawing in. The horizon was a dark purple with a bright scarlet line running across it, the sea now a deep Prussian blue. The ship was still rolling about but Amanda felt fine, if exhausted. She glanced along the row of beds and saw that the woman who had been lying there before was gone but that, in the centre of the row, a couple were sitting up sipping teas.

  ‘It’s lovely to be away from the melee,’ said the woman.

  ‘I thought we’d never find a place to escape all those nasty people, don’t you think, J? Not the class of person you’d expect to see onboard a fine ship like this. Table manners no better than pigs, most of them.’

  ‘I quite like the ladies at our table, Chris,’ Jennie replied meekly. ‘They’re nice.’

  ‘Ladies, my eye, J! They’re no better than brazen old slappers.’

  Amanda pulled up the collar of her robe. She was in no mood to talk to anyone, least of all Chris and Jennie, though she did wonder whether they might have to retract their comments if they saw it was her – Amanda, one of the brazen old slappers! She rolled over on to her side, lay still and listened in.

  ‘Don’t you see the way they all slather over that greasy lounge lizard of theirs. In my opinion it’s all just an unwholesome spectacle of lewdness. Women of their age should know better. And, anyhow, he looks more like a poofter to me. Velvet jackets and satin dickies on a real man? Not in my book, J. Not in my book.’

  Oh lord! Amanda couldn’t take any more of this. Before sitting up, she made sure that her back was towards the couple. She rose hastily and slipped away.

  She was tempted to go straight back to the changing room and get dressed, but she’d paid for her day here, and why should she be driven out by those two vultures, with their horrible tight little minds?

  She wanted to make the most of this place, to relax, to feel good again.

  Dithering between two choices – Swedish sauna or Turkish steam room – Amanda settled on the latter.

  Pushing open the door she was met by a thick, hot, eucalyptus-scented fog. Gingerly she entered, shutting the door behind her, and then felt her way to an empty seat.

  ‘Oh yes, he was just OK when he was on 42nd Street, but when he followed her into Into the Woods, that was the end.’

  ‘Did she break it off?’

  ‘Not before time.’

  Amanda realised that there were at least two other women in the steam room, though she could only vaguely make out their shapes. From their voices she knew that they were from South London. But their conversation seemed very much like something you’d hear reported on the late-night TV show, Forensic Investigators.

  ‘Was that before or after she did over Little Mary Sunshine?’

  ‘Oh, before! And then she went on to murder Nancy.’

  ‘Slaughtered her!’

  Amanda dared not breathe. Did they know that there was another person in the room? Someone who could hear all the details of this grisly conversation?

  ‘I’d have loved to have a go at Nancy but I only ever got as far as covering her. Never had a stab.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Alex.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Amanda now started to think that they must be talking in some odd code. Otherwise it must be something depraved.

  ‘And meanwhile he was chucked out of Saigon.’

  ‘Typical. What did he do that time?’

  ‘Rubbed John Thomas up the wrong way. Then refused to wear the jacket at the call. That was the final straw … out on his ear. But frankly by then we’d all had enough of him.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were in Saigon.’

  ‘I was swing.’

  To this point Amanda believed she had caught up. They were talking about someone who had got into trouble on a trip to Vietnam. Unfortunately, the last phrase threw her right off. ‘I was swing’? She was back to thinking it was something immoral.

  A heartfelt sigh reached her, through the warm fog.

  ‘It was Lion finally did for him. Fell off his stilts during “The Morning Report” and never had a decent part since.’

  ‘The Morning Report’! That was a song in The Lion King! Finally, Amanda caught on. While she had been suspecting all kinds of nefarious business, these girls were simply discussing theatre shows. She peered through the receding mist and could just make out the outlines of two attractive young girls who she presumed must be dancers from the variety show. One of them stretched and laughed.

  ‘He’s quite dishy, though, don’t you think?’

  ‘Mmmm. He looked quite hunky in Kinky Boots.’

  *

  When Suzy arrived back at her cabin Ong was inside, making up her bed.

  ‘Oh, hello, Miss Marshall. My friend Jun tells me that he can see you whenever you like. He’s looking after Mr Arbuthnot. I can take you when I finish your cabin.’

  ‘Oh, thank you so much, Ong.’ Suzy dropped her bag on the desk. ‘I’ll just pop into the bathroom and change into something better.’ She was in the sporty clothes which she usually wore for rehearsing, and which she now put on each day for the morning class.

  By the time she had changed and slapped on a bit of make-up, Ong was out in the corridor, adjusting his trolley.

  They walked up the stairs together.

  ‘Many people sick today,’ he said as they passed a pair of cleaners striding along with a bucket and mop. ‘People no have sea legs.’

  ‘We’re lucky, Ong.’

  ‘Your friend is on Deck 8,’ said Ong. ‘Starboard quarter on stern. Near table-tennis room.’

  Suzy hoped that these facts would remain in her memory long enough for her to write them down.

  The pair strode along the starboard passage. In the distance, another steward saw them coming
and waved.

  As they approached he bowed slightly to Suzy. ‘Mr Arbuthnot out to lunch now, madam.’

  Suzy waited to see if she would get an indication of which of these cabins was his, but Jun’s smile was inscrutable.

  Ong excused himself and left Suzy alone with his friend.

  ‘You want I leave note?’

  Suzy shook her head. ‘I really wanted to give him a bit of a surprise, Jun. We worked together recently and he doesn’t know I’m aboard.’

  ‘Oh, I think he know you aboard, Miss Marshall. He saw your photo in Daily Programme. He ask me if I know what cabin you staying!’

  Suzy felt her chest constrict. That was not the way it had been meant to go.

  ‘He did?’ was all she managed to reply. Through the door at the end of the corridor the sound of ping-pong balls on a table kept up a steady rhythm.

  ‘He is quite tidy man,’ said Jun. ‘Like everything so. It is easy for me to have tidy man.’

  Suzy could not imagine Stan being a tidy person. But as she had never had much to do with him outside of the rehearsal room how would she know?

  The ping-ponging stopped, followed by much laughter. Suzy realised she could not stand here all day, talking to Jun. And at least now she had narrowed the area down to a row of about twenty cabins which would be easy to find again, once she located the table-tennis room.

  She thanked Jun and asked him please to keep the remains of her secret and not let Mr Arbuthnot know she was asking after him. Then she moved forwards and left the corridor through the door to the table-tennis room.

  Inside the spacious games room there were two tables, with people playing at both, and teenagers chatting gaily while waiting on the benches lining the walls. In the corner were a pinball machine and a few large computer race-driving games. When she looked around she could see that everyone in the room was a kid. Some must have been around nine, the oldest probably sixteen.

  A door to the side led out to the open deck. She walked briskly through it and out into the elements. If Jason’s story was true this became even more suspect. Had Stan booked his room with specific instructions that it should be near what amounted to the kids’ playroom? She walked over to the mahogany rail and gripped it, gazing out on to the horizon as it swung up and down. The wind seemed to have calmed somewhat, but the swell was still strong and the ship was still lurching about in the water.