by Mark Rice
He stepped down off the stage and was instantly surrounded by fawning passengers who had regressed to being school kids on a day out, staring adoringly at him, hanging on his every word, asking stupid questions and generally boring the pants off the supreme commander of this vessel.
The waiters now disappeared along with the glasses of free wine and the passengers funnelled out of the theatre and off to the first formal black and white dinner of the cruise. We made our way to our table and found our fellow diners already ensconced. The table glistened with sparkly dresses and black suits. Even Craig, our Highlands farmer had dug out a black suit and white silk shirt. He capped it off with a sparkling black and gold dickie-bow tie.
Mary, his wife, wore white pearl earrings and an elegant full-length purple gown hanging bare off the shoulders.
Roger, Frank and Jill all sported military braid on their clothing while Rose and Margaret wore long dresses with faux fur shawls.
“What a sight we all are,” I announced, as I sat down. “Well done everyone.” I took a chance and tried to find out more about my fellow diners. “Roger, can you tell me about the medals you’re wearing tonight?”
For a moment I thought I’d overstepped the mark as he looked somewhat displeased by my question.
“I apologise if you don’t want to discuss it, Roger. I’m sorry I brought the matter up,” I said. I must have hit a raw nerve. He thought for a moment and waved away my retraction and decided to answer me anyway.
“This one here is the South Atlantic medal and I got that for services in the Falklands in 1982. Frank has one of these too. The others I picked up while seconded to the Metropolitan Police to assist in the Iranian Embassy siege in 1980. I won’t say more than that though, as my role is still covered by the Official Secrets Act. I just did my duty and it’s a long time ago now.”
I made a mental note that Roger was one person I must handle with care. His involvement with the SAS (Special Air Service) Regiment meant he had, at the very least, finely tuned combat skills and a sharp quick mind. Any slip-ups in conversations at the dinner table could prove fatal to me.
Frank lightened up the mood by asking Margaret about the gold brooch she was wearing and she cheerfully explained how my mother, God rest her soul, had pressed it into her hand, as a dying wish that she should keep it and wear it proudly.
“Your mum would have loved this cruise, Luke,” Margaret said to me. “If only your dad had shown the slightest interest in cruising…”
“Yes. If only,” I answered.
This evening in the Gaiety Theatre the Judy Garland Show was performed by Rita Watson who looked the spitting image of Judy Garland. She not only sang like her but had her manner of speaking and moving down to a T. I enjoyed the high energy performance very much and was amazed that she seemed to sing her heart out, as her performance had to be repeated an hour later for the second sitting audience. All the evening shows are repeated twice each night as the formal dinners, to cater for the two thousand passengers on board are served in two sittings, at 18:30 for the early diners and at 20:30 for the late.
We travelled again to the Hawks Inn to wind down with the Lorcan Bond Trio playing laid-back jazz standards. The room was dimly lit, and a scattering of well-dressed passengers sat in booths listening to a selection of 1920’s jazz numbers while uniformed waiters quietly circled taking orders and delivering drinks.
We descended by lift and took a stroll outside on the promenade to experience the offering of a cold blast from a North Atlantic gale. We fought our way along the wooden deck as the ship rose and fell with the waves. We gratefully levered open a door some fifty yards further down the deck and rejoined the living.
It was almost midnight when we slid the card into the cabin door lock.
Exhausted, we climbed into bed after each of us using the bathroom.
A few minutes later, I became aware of the continuous sound of running water. I jumped out of the bed and flung open the bathroom door hitting the light switch to find water again pumping out of the side of the toilet bowl and onto the moulded plastic bathroom floor. At least this time I knew what to do. I punched the button and the vacuum flush drained the overflowing toilet bowl. Now it was just the inch of water washing about the bathroom floor to deal with.
I called reception and within minutes staff appeared and sucked the water up. However further investigation revealed water had filtered under the carpet just outside the bathroom door. This cabin seems jinxed.
We fell into bed again, well after midnight and slept soundly.
Day 4
Friday 6th January.
Closing in on the Azores.
This morning we left the cabin to the maintenance team and had breakfast.
Free to wander, we circumnavigated the promenade deck, clocking up the steps, when we heard the Captain announce another change to the itinerary.
10:00. Beginners Bridge Class
Now we are nine tables strong. Today was all about scoring and bidding and not a single hand of cards was played. Brendan asked if we wanted a recap or to press ahead and the louder let’s press ahead group won the day. Our table resolved to get a practice game in before the next session. If I was seeking a challenge with bridge it is delivering in spades. My head is throbbing after an hour of concentration. Right now I’d be happy to postpone the actual playing of hand, indefinitely.
11:00. Ballroom Dancing - Beginners Sequence Dancing
Again a large group of dancers materialized in the Pelican ballroom. The Russian instructors seemed more than a little irritated with the crowded dancefloor and excited students. It’s obviously going to be more difficult to teach such a number with space at a premium. Roxanne informed us that though less complex in steps, there were many more steps to be memorised in sequence dancing. Also, though no lead and follow had to be catered for, the sequences themselves were quite challenging. We started with the box step, but that’s all I can remember of the class.
Within a matter of minutes, I stormed off the floor, red with embarrassment, hot with a fever brought on by my efforts and my frustration with the dance we had to execute. I brushed through the other couples, their eyes burning into me as I went, and I didn’t stop until I stood well away from the Ballroom—and far away from the classes probing eyes. I was aware of Margaret standing next to me, who had followed close on my tail.
“What brought that on?” she challenged me.
“You saw it all,” I replied, curtly. “I tried so hard, but I just couldn’t do the steps and rather than show you up, I cut my losses and ran.”
She shrugged her shoulders and grabbed my arm. “Don’t worry, love, there is more to life than dancing.”
It took quite a while for me to shake off the black cloud that hung over me. We slipped upstairs for coffee and before long, my good humour had returned.
12:15. Ships Choir
My singing buddies were all in place when I arrived. We were still holding steady with the large numbers. We recapped five of the six songs already covered, and, if I'm honest, I thought the singing was of a lower standard than in earlier sessions.
Certainly, there was no sign of praise, heaped on us in earlier sessions by our choirmaster Lorcan. We were making silly mistakes and I feel we were given a reality check. We will have to work harder in days to come. An extremely well known if not boring song, You Are My Sunshine, was added to our repertoire, and we finished the class on time.
We took advantage of lunchtime to commandeer the tennis court and had another session. This time we had finished by the time Richard and his cricket cronies arrived. He made no effort at building bridges with me and behaved as if nothing was amiss between us. But there is Richard, and ignoring it isn’t going to make it go away. He’s just tightened the noose around his neck, metaphorically speaking.
Lunch was small and we ate late and met up with Brian and Anita at four to play a few practice hands of bridge. Upon strong recommendations, we, did not play together as a team.<
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“Apparently, a man knifed and killed his wife because she played a bad hand of cards,” Margaret said. “I heard Brendan talk about the incident today with Shirley. It’s a true story as apparently, they both knew the couple in question. “
“Yes,” Anita interjected. “Shirley said she never knew what the woman saw in him in the first place. He was one of those biker types with tattoos on his knuckles, you know the sort.”
“Not your average bridge player then,” I ventured.
“No, quite so, but I can see how it could happen.” Brian smiled, casting a sideways glance at his wife.
The session went well, with honours even, 2-2 and we all gained a bit more confidence from the exercise.
We returned to our cabin and its damp carpet, to glam up again for dinner.
We joined our table of fellow diners as the menus were being distributed. The conversation was good, and we appeared to have gelled as a group, even if we don't seek out each other’s company away from the table. The food was, as always, very good and the waiters were respectful and courteous. Roger suggested we mix the seating positions tomorrow night and we all agreed. Craig, the Scots farmer, is very nice to talk to, but his accent and voice is so soft I struggle to hear him even when seated next to him.
Afterwards, we rushed to get the best seats in the place to see Richie Rowe’s final show. I can honestly say I have never seen Margaret laugh so often and so uncontrollably as she did in the following forty-five minutes. Richie finished off with a rousing rendition of the Wild Rover and the audience sang along, none louder than my Margaret who clapped and stood to wave him off stage.
Feeling pumped and upbeat, we ducked in to see the Revolver band, playing the sounds of the sixties, to a packed lounge and then into the Pelican bar to watch experienced ballroom dancers including Brian and Anita execute the correct steps to various dance styles.
Afterwards, we headed to the Hawks Inn where the Lorcan Bond Trio and the SS Azara Jazz orchestra were playing jazz till midnight.
I ordered a beer and Margaret settled for a gin and tonic while the music washed over us. The night was going well and I was relaxing at last, when I saw Richard Chad appear at the bar. He was off duty and was dressed in a casual suit, but I recognized him all the same. He didn’t recognise me, probably because I was dressed in a black suit and not a pair of shorts and a t-shirt.
It was a pure coincidence, that when I headed out of the lounge to the men’s toilets a little later, I found Richard on my tail.
An idea began to form in my head, fed by my growing resentment for the small dictator Richard truly was.
I exited the lounge and glanced to my right and yes, there it was, the sea door out onto the open deck. I grabbed the handle and checked it would open. Looking back I saw Richard’s shoulder appear, and, in one motion, I grabbed him around the neck and pulled him head-first and out through the doorway. I appeared to have taken him completely by surprise.
He didn’t utter a word or any resistance, as I dragged him across the open deck and thrust his slight body up and over the rails, into the turbulent North Atlantic Sea.
I stood there holding my breath, in total shock, as I stared over the wooden rail. In the pitch-black darkness of night and, with the ship travelling at 18 knots, Richard was gone in seconds.
Had I actually gone through with it? I pinched myself, and no, it wasn’t a dream. I glanced up and down the deck, relieved there were no other passengers about. It was stupid of me to have taken this chance but then I have a history of procrastination. I endlessly think things over and end up doing, nothing. Maybe it had to be this way.
I stepped back inside the sea door and closed it behind me, trying to calm my raging pumping heart. I glanced at my watch. The whole episode had taken less than seven seconds. My hair had been blown to kingdom come, so I continued to the toilet where I straightened myself up and splashed a handful of icy water on my face before grabbing a few tissues and returning to the lounge.
Day 5
Saturday 7th January.
Docked in - Praia Da Victoria, Azores.
I had a rough night. The source of my heaving stomach was not the rolling movement of the ship or the murder of Richard Chad, but I suspect the pint of John Smith bitter I’d supped in the Hawks Inn. Maybe the combination of all three had played their part in leaving me feeling quite fragile this morning. I’ve never before acted on impulse like I did last night. In the cold light of day, I am experiencing some regret but also a measure of astonishment that I found, from somewhere, the steely determination to act. But actions have consequences and I fear I may have jeopardised our future together by this one reckless act.
Our arrival at Praia Da Victoria has been delayed by five hours as we are now due to dock at 13:00. I suspect the delay is linked to the disappearance of Richard.
I’d switched on the TV during the night and took the navigational statistics off the screen. The ship had definitely gone backwards while passengers slept and had only resumed its normal course at 06:00. Presumably, the night search yielded nothing. There was certainly no mention of anything untoward happening, to any of the passengers in the daily newsletter or in the First Officers 08.00 report, delivered over the ships PA system. The captain himself came on at 08.30 and apologised for the ships late arrival in Praia Da Victoria but, tellingly, didn’t explain why we were late in.
Hopefully, that would be the end of the matter, but I doubt it.
Margaret took advantage of the delay and decided we would do the laundry instead. The nearest launderette is almost directly above our room and we managed to get a wash on straight away.
While waiting for the laundry, we found a quiet buffet restaurant.
Doing a detour on the way back to the cabin, we loaded our clothes into a dryer. An older woman helped Margaret with the setting. Then they chatted like old friends while I flicked through a few of the complimentary magazines.
A while later, a ship’s security officer walked into the laundry and my heart missed a beat. I felt my cheeks flush and I turned away from him until I regained my composure.
He didn’t seem to notice me as he retrieved his washing from a washing machine.
“Morning, ladies” he uttered in a Scottish accent, as he shoved his clothes into a dryer. “Have yea got an exciting day planned?”
“Yes, thanks and you?” Margaret smiled.
“Oh, I’m looking forward to a few hours of shut-eye now. I was on the bridge for twelve hours straight last night. I’m completely knackered. The bed is all I’m good for!”
Having gathered her dried clothes Margaret picked up a handbag and slung the strap over her shoulder and made for the door.
The other woman reacted swiftly and reached over and removed the bag’s strap from Margaret's shoulder.
“What the…?” Margaret uttered as the bag was taken from her arms and we all turned to look at her.
“That’s my bag, thank you!” The woman smiled, placing it on the chair by her side.
“Oh, my God” blurted Margaret. “I thought it was mine. I have one almost identical. I do apologise!”
Immediately, smiling, the officer produced his walkie-talkie and pretended to speak loudly into it. “Alert all stations. We have a 94 occurring on Deck 9 in the laundry. Please dispatch two armed officers immediately!”
Red-faced but laughing, Margaret took the jibbing well and we left the room pronto.
We took a stroll on deck and watched the docking process. We were berthed in a large semi-circular harbour. The SS Azara was by far the biggest ship in port, the rest being small fishing vessels.
A fleet of shuttle buses were running every ten minutes to and from the town, about a mile further round the bay.
The day looked grey and clouds covered the upper half of the mountains. The captain had forecast temperatures of sixteen to nineteen degrees, but at that hour it looked unlikely and we took cardigans and raincoats.
Emerging from the bus we found the
town was filled with hundreds of passengers. They were everywhere. Around every corner were more and more ancient, slow-moving, cruise passengers. The shuttle bus stopped outside the Santander Bank which offered free Wi-Fi for about fifty yards in all directions so that was where a lot of passengers had headed. Octavian Cruises and their expensive Wi-Fi packages caused many of their passengers to ignore the shops and sights and instead spend hours on their phones and tablets reconnecting with families at home.
It was amusing and sad in equal measure to watch octogenarians produce shiny new tablets, the plastic film still on the screen and watch them trying to find the settings option to connect and send messages home that all was well.
We pressed on into the town after sending our own messages. We walked on down the streets and along a promenade to a sandy beach. Following a steep path past the yacht club and moored boats which led to a cliff top, it was a challenge even for us, relatively young passengers. In amongst the volcanic rocks that made up the steps and walls, thin rock coloured lizards lay warming themselves in the sun. We climbed the zigzagging sets of steps to reach a tall statue of Christ that stood on the hilltop overlooking the harbour. Given Margaret's bad hips and dodgy knee, she did brilliantly, and we stayed a few minutes to enjoy the view and gather our breath.
By the time we had descended the steps we were both melting from the extra layers of clothing we’d worn. We made our way back into the narrow, windy streets of the town and sought out the ancient church in its centre.
The building was lavishly decorated with gold leaf painted walls, ceilings and pillars. There stood multiple statues of Jesus, Catholic priests and monks from centuries past. The baby Jesus was still in his crib by the altar and the Christmas tree still stood in the body of the church. Some Catholics celebrate the Epiphany on January 6th as well as Christmas on 25th December.
