After that first meeting, Jon seemed to seek Kirsty out whenever there was a break in rehearsals. A little voice inside Kirsty’s head kept asking why he was so keen to spend time with her when they were surrounded by beautiful, skinny dancers who could wrap their legs around their necks. Kirsty was all too conscious that she couldn’t match up to their physical perfection. Because of that she told herself she mustn’t read too much into Jon’s attentions.
The long weeks of flirtation came to a head at a crew party during their week on board the old decommissioned ship the cruise line used for crew training. They spent a week sailing back and forth from Fort Lauderdale to the Bahamas, spending their days practising safety drills and muster procedures and listening to lectures about the proliferation of e-coli. They got their afternoons off on incredible beaches. The food was amazing. The drinks were free. The whole experience reminded Kirsty of that old Wham ‘Club Tropicana’ video. The crew worked hard but they played even harder.
On the very last night of the training cruise, a few of the musicians on board grabbed their instruments and formed an instant band, playing the sort of tunes that everyone had to get up for. It was hot. Tropically so. Kirsty and Jon were dancing on different sides of the dance floor. Jon got closer and closer until he was by her side. They danced an approximation of the salsa, with his leg between hers. Kirsty felt herself growing hotter and hotter as they swayed together. She fancied him so much. Jon rested his forehead against hers and stared deep into her eyes. Kirsty tried to stare back but she was a little bit dizzy from all the free alcohol and Jon was too close for her to be able to focus.
Then Jon kissed her. And that was that. There were fireworks. Quite literally. On shore someone was having a party. It seemed like an excellent omen that, as their lips touched, a rocket flew into the sky.
Two weeks after their kiss on the training cruise, Jon and Kirsty flew back to the United Kingdom to join The European Countess in Southampton. Kirsty was especially delighted she would be working on the cruise ship where the magic had started – where she had sung ‘It’s Raining Men’ in the karaoke competition and changed her life’s direction.
Of course, this time her experience wouldn’t be quite so luxurious as sharing the honeymoon suite with Jane. But Kirsty was pleased with her room. It was, at least, above the waterline. Kirsty knew from her training that the men and women who worked in the ship’s kitchens, restaurants and as housekeepers would not be so lucky.
And having Jon around made the cruise perfect. Even if he did spend much of his time moaning about sea-sickness. He had a terrible time with it. Couldn’t even raise his head from the pillow in the morning without first popping a pill. But apart from that he was the funniest, sexiest man she’d ever had the pleasure to be with. She liked to listen to him talk about his dreams. Unlike her, Jon had never deviated from his career path. He had always wanted a career in the theatre and he had never done anything but work in the field he intended to dominate.
‘You’ve got to keep your dreams firmly in focus,’ he told Kirsty. ‘I can’t believe you ever worked at an accountancy firm.’
‘It certainly seems like a very long way away,’ thought Kirsty as they disembarked in Barcelona, with a free day ahead of them. What other job gave you the opportunity to spend your time off in such fantastic places? It was heaven.
The summer season went by in a flash. Kirsty made some good friends. She got the sort of suntan she’d always dreamed of. She saw the great cities of the Mediterranean. She became more confident in her skills as a performer. And, of course, she was head over heels for Jon.
But what would happen next?
Chapter Eight
Kirsty had already been asked if she would like to continue to work for the cruise line, taking The European Countess across the Atlantic and staying on-board for her winter season in the Caribbean. Kirsty was delighted by the prospect. But Jon, who also had the chance to stay, was not so happy.
‘I can’t keep taking tablets every day,’ he complained. ‘I’m sure they’re messing with my mind. They’re squashing my creativity.’
Jon was very protective of his creativity.
‘And crossing the Atlantic? Have you got any idea how rough that can get?’
Kirsty hadn’t really thought about it, though she’d heard plenty of horror stories from the old hands. Hundred-foot-high waves. Windows blown out and cabins full of seawater. Days spent confined to the very bowels of the ship because the upper decks were too dangerous. Kirsty just focussed on the balmy weather on the other side.
‘You could fly across and join in Fort Lauderdale,’ she suggested.
‘The Caribbean will be no better for me. The Med is a millpond and I’ve still been sick as a dog. Besides, aren’t you getting just a little bit tired of seeing the same old faces day after day? Don’t you find living on ship claustrophobic? Everybody knowing your business the whole time?’
‘I like it,’ said Kirsty. ‘It feels a bit like family.’
Unlike Jon, whose parents were still together, Kirsty, a child of divorce with only one much younger half-sibling, yearned for that sort of closeness.
‘Well, I don’t. The minute this stretch on board comes to an end, I’m off. I’m going to look for something in London.’
Kirsty’s heart sank. What chance did she have of maintaining her relationship with Jon if she was at sea but he was back in England? There would be days without a mobile signal. Incredibly expensive Internet that was slower than in the good old days of dial-up connections. She would have no real time off for at least three months. Her fellow performers had warned her that on-board relationships rarely survived the real world. Why should she and Jon be any different?
Of course, in the end, Jon didn’t find a job in London. He found a job – well, a sort of job – in Newbay.
Kirsty tried to hide her astonishment as Jon told her his new plan.
‘It’s an amateur company,’ he said. ‘But they have their own theatre and it’s my chance to write and direct a production according to my own vision. It will give me the opportunity to create something which really showcases my talents.’
‘You’re going to turn down another cruise to go back to Devon to direct an am-dram panto …’ Kirsty said slowly.
Jon nodded.
‘Will you come with me? Will you be my Cinderella?’
‘What?’
‘Play Cinderella for me. You’d be perfect. You’ve got all the right skills for panto. You sing like an angel. You know how to get a laugh. It could be a good platform for you too.’
Kirsty wasn’t sure she could see it. However, Jon continued and what he said next had her wondering if she did want to go to the Caribbean after all. He took her hands in both of his and looked deep into her eyes.
‘And I want you to be there with me. I can’t imagine spending Christmas without you.’
It was the most romantic thing she had ever heard. Until he capped it with, ‘I love you.’
Jon went on to describe how it could be if they spent the Christmas season together back in the UK. The wild majesty of the Devon coast in winter, contrasting with cosy nights cuddled up indoors by the fire. By the time he had finished, Kirsty could almost smell the mulled wine in Jon’s favourite Devon pub.
The following morning, Kirsty regretfully informed the entertainment director that she would not be taking up the offer of a Caribbean tour that winter. She made the excuse that she wanted to be back in the UK for ‘family reasons’.
‘You mean you’re going to do a pantomime,’ said the director. ‘In Devon.’
Of course the director had heard about Jon’s scheme. News travelled fast on board ship.
Kirsty admitted that was the truth of her sudden decision.
‘Jon’s writing the show around me,’ she explained. ‘We could take it on the road next year. Touring panto’s really lucrative.’
Jon had told Kirsty about an old friend of his who made a small fortune putting on mini
-pantos in fancy hotels. Not that Kirsty needed a financial incentive to follow Jon back to England. It was those three little words that had swung it. Kirsty was sure she felt the same way. Before meeting him, she had almost given up on finding love. There was no way she was going to risk losing it now.
The director nodded. ‘Well, I know how important it is to be happy in your personal life.’
‘Thank you for understanding.’
‘But if it doesn’t work out, then of course you must let me know.’
Kirsty was sure it would work out.
Walking off the ship at Southampton for the last time, Kirsty couldn’t help feeling a pang of sadness but she looked towards the future with great optimism. It was working in entertainment that had always been her dream, not necessarily being at sea. She would still have that – the working in entertainment bit – and she would have Jon. And she would even have the sea. She’d just be beside it instead of on it. It wasn’t what she had planned but it could still be fabulous.
That was why she needed Jon to be excited about being back. That was why she felt a little annoyed with him when he complained about the NEWTS. He’d given up the seasick tablets. She’d given up a great deal more.
Chapter Nine
The day after the first read-through, a Sunday, Jon woke up on the wrong side of the bed. He grumbled and growled his way through breakfast. Overnight, he’d received a text from Lauren saying that she’d Googled Tilda Swinton and now she knew Tilda was the ‘blokey-looking one with the weird neck’ she wasn’t sure if she wanted to be Newbay’s answer to the beautiful world-famous gender-bending actress after all. She wanted to be Cinderella or nothing else. Jon had to spend half an hour talking her round.
When Jon had finished, Kirsty suggested a walk. Jon didn’t want to join her. He always ran on a Sunday morning (even on the ship, he would jog around the top deck) and he claimed that after a run he had no more energy for the rest of the day. Kirsty had asked him if he wouldn’t prefer to save his energy to do something with her instead, but Jon said that he had always run on a Sunday. The implication was that he always would.
So Kirsty went for her walk alone. It was no big deal. At least she could do it at her own pace which was always slightly more leisurely.
There were two beaches within twenty minutes’ walking distance of the flat they’d rented for the winter. The first – the main beach – was a two-mile stretch of pristine yellow sand dominated by a grand old Victorian pier. That was Newbay’s showstopper, the one everybody thought of when they talked about the town. But if you turned right instead of left at the bottom of the road where Kirsty and Jon were living and went up and over the headland, you came to a smaller bay edged by rocks. It was known as Duckpool Bay because a family of mallards frequented the shallows there.
Kirsty was intrigued to see the ducks when Jon took her to Duckpool as part of the obligatory tour of the area when they first moved in. She’d always thought of ducks as freshwater creatures.
‘They are,’ Jon told her. ‘But that lot hang around for the ice cream cones and chips people drop on the beach. It’s why they’re so fat. They’re no better than rats.’
Not quite so romantic.
The beach at Duckpool Bay was not so picture perfect as Newbay’s main beach either. The sand was darker in colour and there were slick wet patches that Jon explained were quicksand. The very idea that quicksand really existed outside the sort of adventure stories she read as a child made city girl Kirsty’s heart beat a little faster. When Jon told her, she clung tight to his arm as though it might ooze up to get her where she stood on the concrete terrace that had been built for the cafe and ice cream hut.
‘It’s not deadly,’ said Jon. ‘Though I’ve seen a few people lose their shoes. And their dogs.’
‘You’re joking.’
‘OK. Maybe I was joking about the dogs.’
Kirsty wasn’t comforted. When she visited Duckpool Bay from then on, she stuck to the bits of sand that were obviously dry. Better safe than sorry.
As she walked across the headland to Duckpool Bay that Sunday morning, Kirsty was practising her lines. Jon had written the play but it was obvious at the read-through that he’d never read the script out loud. There was plenty to stumble over. Lots of inadvertent tongue twisters. Kirsty hoped Jon wouldn’t be too precious to let her make a few edits. She segued into imagining how that conversation might go. How could she put her concerns tactfully?
She’d seen a slightly different side to Jon in the time they’d been back in the UK. He wasn’t quite so laidback as he had been on board ship. Maybe it was just that now they knew each other better, he felt he could be honest about his frustrations as well as his ambitions. Let her see him for worse as well as better. Kirsty knew it was all part of being in a proper relationship, feeling comfortable with showing all aspects of your personality to the one you loved.
When Kirsty reached the beach, it was quieter than she had ever seen it. A combination of the hour – still relatively early – and the weather – overcast with a definite autumnal chill in the air. There was a single dog walker on the sand. Steering clear of the dodgy sinky bits, Kirsty hoped.
The tide was half-in but Kirsty was ashamed to say she couldn’t tell whether it was coming in or going out. The tide table on the side of the cafe hadn’t been amended since the cafe closed at the end of October, officially marking the end of the season.
The cafe, when it was open, was a good one. It didn’t just serve coffee and tea. It served delicious panini and fresh pasta dishes. And it was decorated in proper hipster seaside style with lots of the old machines from the pier that couldn’t compete with the type of high-tech games that kids demanded now. Among them was an automatic ‘fortune-teller’, a glass booth containing a spooky-looking mannequin, dressed in early twentieth century exotic, with a turban and a neatly pointed beard. You could buy tokens to use the machine along with your cappuccino.
The first time Jon brought Kirsty to Duckpool Bay, the cafe was open and Kirsty bought a token to go with Jon’s espresso and her tea. She was embarrassed by the racket the machine made when you dropped the token in – there was no way of pretending you hadn’t just handed over a quid to have your ‘fortune told’, as the mannequin’s eyes dropped open and it swayed and shuddered to the accompaniment of mysterious music and flashing lights. But Kirsty was delighted with the fortune it spat out. Just a single line on a piece of stiff cardboard.
‘You are where love is,’ was what it said. Kirsty took that to mean that her having followed Jon back to the UK was the right decision. She was where her love was. She showed Jon the card when she joined him at the table.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ he asked.
‘I suppose it’s an old-fashioned way of saying “love is all around”,’ said Kirsty, feeling too shy to tell Jon her real interpretation.
‘Don’t say that,’ said Jon.
‘Why not?’ Kirsty was taken aback.
‘Because you’ll give me a Wet Wet Wet earworm … Too late,’ he groaned. ‘I am going to be thinking of that song all day.’ He mimed shooting himself in the head.
The fortune card lay on the middle of the table. They finished their drinks. It was a good morning. The sun was shining. The sea was sparkling. Jon was full of enthusiasm for the project ahead. He had Kirsty in stitches as he described the NEWTS. She still had yet to meet them at that point. Then he told her how glad he was she had chosen to come back to the UK with him. He promised it would be worth it. He took her hands across the table and pulled her closer for a kiss.
While Jon took their empty cups back to the counter, Kirsty surreptitiously pocketed the little piece of cardboard. She tucked it inside her purse.
‘I am where love is,’ she thought as she and Jon walked back home. He slung his arm around her shoulders and held her tight and she felt as though she could be happy in Newbay for ever.
On that Sunday morning almost six weeks later, the ducks that g
ave Duckpool its name were sitting on the sand rather than floating on the waves. The water must be as cold as it looked, thought Kirsty. The sun was barely making an effort. Kirsty wished she’d brought the ducks some crusts of bread to eat. But then, Kirsty was no longer in the habit of leaving bread crusts uneaten. Now that Jon was helping her keep a closer eye on her weight, Kirsty allowed herself just two pieces of toast for breakfast. And if she was only having two pieces of toast, she was going to make sure she ate every last mouthful.
Oh, no. Thinking about food made Kirsty feel hungry again. That was the problem with diets. The moment you start to restrict what you eat, you become obsessed with the things you can’t have. The extra toast. The pain au chocolat. The warm bread roll with your salad. Kirsty was glad that the beach cafe was shut.
She must be more disciplined. Part of her new regime was that she was supposed to be walking ten thousand steps a day on top of cutting back on the calories. Walking the length of the beach would go some way to reaching that total. But it had to be brisk. That’s what Jon kept saying. No point pottering along.
Arms pumping, Kirsty marched to the far end of the sand and back again. She checked the step counter on her iPhone. How was it possible that all that energy only accounted for eight hundred steps, she wondered? She marched back and forth again. She shook her phone to see if it was actually working. It was.
Another two beach circuits later, she sat down on a rock and looked out over the water. In the distance, she could see a ship. It was hard to tell from so far away whether it was a cargo ship or a cruise liner. Kirsty wondered where it was going. Who was on it? Who had taken her part in the show she’d left behind on The European Countess to follow Jon back to the UK?
As if Jon could read her thoughts, at that very moment, he sent her a message. Kirsty opened it eagerly, hoping for a little love note like the ones he used to send when they were first together. Something to remind her why love had won out over clear blue skies and azure seas.
A Fairy Tale for Christmas Page 4
