by Pam Rhodes
Heads turned towards Rob, curious to see his reaction to Jill’s make-over. In fact, there seemed to be no reaction at all. He was simply staring at her, his mouth slightly open.
“Come on now, everyone, the photographer’s waiting,” ordered John. “Dinner will be served soon, and we want to get this photo done first. Arthur, we’ll put a chair for you over on the right here, with Peter and Callum beside you. Julia, can you angle Ida’s wheelchair inwards a bit over on the other side? Sheila, Betty and Marion – you need to be in the front there. And Rob, stop gawping and bring Jill over here to join them. You stand behind her, next to Clifford – then you gentlemen can make up a back row with Brian and Peter and your ladies in front of you. Neil, you go in the middle – after all, you’re the one who’s brought us all together. Claire, stand in front of Neil, next to Iris. Harry, can you tuck in behind the two ladies? And Raymond, you’re the tallest, so make sure you don’t mask poor Mark. That’s right, Deirdre, where you are is fine – and Carole, where are you? Carole?”
Carole and Garry were standing to one side of the group, uncertain whether they wanted to own up to belonging to this giggling, chattering group.
“Oh, don’t worry about us. We aren’t keen on group photos…”
“Nonsense. You’re going to be in this one,” commanded Bishop Paul, as he and Margaret squeezed themselves into one side of the crowd. “Look, there’s plenty of room for you both over here. And Barbara and John, stop issuing orders and come and join us.”
It took a couple of minutes before the photographer was satisfied with the way they all looked. Finally, he asked everyone to smile before he took several shots. Later that evening, when all the photos were put on display in the library, Betty and Sheila were the first to take a peep. Everyone looked wonderful. Even Garry, whose expression suggested he had a bad smell beneath his nose, didn’t detract from the obviously friendly atmosphere among the group. Most eye-catching of all, right in the centre, was Jill, looking radiant – unlike Rob, caught in a rather awkward pose by the camera, his expression unreadable as he looked sideways towards his wife rather than forward like everyone else.
Neil had arranged for the whole group to be seated around three circular tables in one corner of the large dining room, and conversation and laughter flowed throughout the four-course meal as wine was sipped and then dainty petits fours were offered by gloved waiters when they finally served the coffee.
“So, are we all going to see Rhydian’s performance this evening?” asked Bishop Paul.
“Certainly!” said Iris. “He has a magnificent voice.”
“So good looking, too,” chirped Betty.
“Well, I hope he’s planning to include some opera in his repertoire,” commented Carole. “It will be a terrible waste if he only sings popular numbers. He may think the audience here would never appreciate highbrow music.”
“Excuse me,” said Clifford, rising from his chair. “I have to go.”
“You will be coming to Rhydian’s concert, won’t you?” asked Carole.
“You might see me there,” replied Clifford as he smiled a general goodbye and left the table.
“Who fancies a bit of dancing before the show begins?” asked Sylvia. “The band will be playing for an hour before Rhydian comes on stage, and if we go up now, we can all make sure we get good seats near the front.”
By the time they reached the lounge, several couples were already on the dance floor and the band was playing a jaunty quickstep. Peter and Val had been taking ballroom dancing lessons since before they married the year before, so they took to the floor immediately with a routine of fancy footwork and swirls which had them laughing breathlessly together. Brian and Sylvia joined them, gliding effortlessly along with the familiarity of a couple who had enjoyed dancing together for more than thirty years. The rest of the group settled themselves around the small tables at the edge of the dance floor, and Jill joined them, swaying in time with the music as she stood watching. Her face lit up when Rob arrived, and she looked expectantly in his direction. Rob hesitated for a moment, staring at her, but then turned away to find another table as Jill stared bleakly after him.
Standing not far away, Mark’s heart lurched as he saw the disappointment on her face. Turning to Deirdre, who was at his side, he realized that she too had been watching Rob. With a quiet look of mutual understanding, he squeezed her arm before making his way over to Jill.
“I wonder, lovely lady, if you would care to dance?”
Jill glanced towards Rob, but her husband appeared to ignore her, so she turned back to Mark and took his hand.
“I’d love to,” she smiled, and he led her to a corner of the dance floor where they were in Rob’s direct line of sight.
“You dance really well,” she laughed as Mark expertly twirled her around in time to the music.
“I learned at school, believe it or not. I was a really geeky teenager, so if we had a disco I never had the courage to ask any girl to dance, because I knew she’d say no. But then I discovered the school had a ballroom dancing class, where there were two girls for every boy. They’d literally fight each other to get a partner. I’ve never been so popular in my life. My wallflower days were over once I’d shown them my cha cha cha!”
Laughing, Jill followed his lead, singing along to the music as they circled the floor together. When that number finished, Mark led Jill back to the edge of the floor, where Brian was waiting to offer her his hand for a foxtrot, with Peter and Raymond forming an orderly queue to take their turn as her partner for subsequent dances.
“Well?” Iris turned to look meaningfully at Harry. “Are you going to ask me to dance?”
Harry grimaced. “My dear Iris, the heart is willing, but my knees won’t let me. Sadly, my dancing days are over.”
“Well, mine aren’t – not when the band are playing a rumba,” she sniffed in reply, looking around to see if she could spy a more suitable partner.
“Madam.”
Paul, the dance host, appeared at her side holding out his hand in invitation. With a coquettish look that had probably won her many a suitor in her younger days, she slid into his arms as they took to the floor.
“You remember that Joyce Grenfell song about Mrs Fanshaw at the Old Tyme Dance Club?” Carole hissed in Garry’s ear as the two of them watched Iris glide into action. “‘Stately as a galleon I sail across the floor…’”
Garry chuckled as he remembered. “Woe betide anyone who gets in her way! I thought the man was supposed to lead…”
“Oh, come on, Neil,” urged Claire. “Please!”
“I’ve got two left feet. You know that. I’ll only make a fool of myself.”
“Well, let’s be fools together. There’s no need to bother with proper steps. We can just lean on each other and have a nice cuddle on the dance floor.”
Neil’s face lit up. “Oh, now you’re talking.”
Returning to Deirdre’s side, Mark squeezed her hand. “You’re quiet.”
With a small smile, she shrugged her shoulders dismissively.
“Worrying about tomorrow?”
She gave a small nod, saying nothing.
“I love you.”
She turned to look at him then.
“And I’ll be there, however you need me to be. You’re not alone any more, Deirdre. You are loved. I love you.”
Wordlessly, she leaned forward to rest her head on his shoulder. His arm slipped around her waist as he started to sway to the music, and then gently, as he felt her respond, he drew her onto the dance floor, where they clung together, their feet hardly moving, their bodies entwined.
When the rhythm of the music changed to a waltz, the floor cleared a little as some couples left and others joined.
“Julia!”
Julia turned with surprise at the sound of her name. Paul, the dance host, was standing at her side.
“Look at your mum,” he whispered. “She’s tapping her foot in time with the music.”
> In astonishment, Julia stared at Ida’s foot, which was barely moving but definitely flexing along with the rhythm of the waltz.
“I didn’t realize she could move her legs,” he said. “I’ve only ever seen her in a wheelchair.”
“She can walk about at home reasonably well. We’ve arranged the furniture so she’s always got something to grab. When we’re out, though, she feels more secure in the chair. But it really looks as if she’s hearing that beat.” There was wonder in Julia’s voice as she spoke. “I’m not imagining that, am I? Usually she seems to connect with so little of what’s going on around her.”
“No, you’re right. The music’s getting through to her. In her own way, I think she’s dancing.”
Julia cupped her hands over her mouth, her eyes glistening with emotion.
“Let’s give her a show. Dance with me!”
“Oh Paul, thank you, but I couldn’t. It’s years since I danced…”
“Time you started again, then. Come on. Nothing fancy. I promise to be gentle with you.”
She looked at the kindness in his face, then slowly rose from her seat to join him as he drew her onto the dance floor. Firmly, but with the lightest touch, subtle movements of his arms and body guided her steps until she found herself forgetting about how awkward and out of practice she felt, and simply relaxed and followed his lead.
Two songs later, the band leader announced that they were coming to the end of their set so that the stage could be prepared for Rhydian’s show, which would be starting shortly. “So take your partners, please, for the last dance!”
Finding herself without the offer of a partner for the first time that evening, Jill stood to one side, pink-faced with the exhilaration of so much dancing. She glanced across at Rob, who was looking everywhere except in her direction, although as she’d been dancing, she’d caught him several times watching her with an expression on his face she couldn’t read. Finally, taking a deep breath, she made her way over to his side.
“Dance with me, Rob.”
As he turned to stare at her, she glimpsed something in him that she hardly recognized. He looked unsure, even vulnerable, in spite of the brusqueness of his reply.
“Why? You’ve not been short of partners all evening. Why bother with me?”
“Because this is the last dance – and you always save the last dance for the one you love.”
There it was again. Hesitation, uncertainty, before he finally got to his feet, taking her outstretched hand. They came together with the familiarity of all their years together pulling them into their own private bubble of intimacy, Jill’s cheek brushing his as they swayed to the music.
“You look really nice.” His words were so quietly spoken in her ear that she wondered if she had actually heard them. “Your hair, that dress. You look different.”
She pulled back, her face almost touching his as she smiled at him. She didn’t reply. She had no idea what to say. Instead, she stepped a little closer into his embrace and laid her head on her husband’s shoulder.
Rhydian’s performance was magical from the moment it started with just his solo voice echoing around the huge lounge, which tantalizingly remained in darkness. Suddenly there was a blaze of colour as the stage was bathed in brilliant gold. Rhydian was standing at the mike in the centre, immaculate with his gleaming blond hair, the sharp features of his face dramatically highlighted by the spotlight that encircled him. He was dressed all in black, his tailored tuxedo jacket casually open to reveal the tight black T-shirt clinging like a second skin to his honed body.
And the voice! Years of classical study had brought out the best in its warm, deep richness, so that he could sing with unbearably sweet, hushed tenderness one minute, then ramp up the volume the next so that the lounge chandeliers trembled above them. He sang opera and songs from the shows. He sang in his native Welsh, as well as English and Italian. A delightful sense of humour and modesty came across in his introductions, especially when he came to his final song, which he described as being very close to his heart.
“I grew up in a small town in Wales, where going to chapel was very much a way of life, especially in my family. The first singing I ever did in public was in chapel as part of the choir, and from the start I’ve loved hymns. I love them because of the depth of meaning in their words, and the insight they give into the experience and faith of whoever penned them. The man who wrote the words to the hymn I’m going to sing now made his living as a captain on a slave ship, profiting from the misery and mistreatment of others. One day, when he was bringing his human cargo back across the Atlantic, the ship hit a terrible storm, and in despair he found himself calling out to the God he didn’t believe in, to save his life. When he was dramatically spared, it was a turning point. He left the sea, trained for the ministry and finally became a vicar in the small English country town of Olney. There’s something about John Newton’s words in this next song which touches the heart and soul of every single one of us.
Amazing grace! How sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found;
Was blind, but now I see.
’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
And grace my fears relieved;
How precious did that grace appear
The hour I first believed.
Through many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come;
’Tis grace that brought me safe thus far,
And grace will lead me home.
The Lord has promised good to me,
His word my hope secures;
He will my shield and portion be
As long as life endures.
When we’ve been there ten thousand years,
Bright shining as the sun,
We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise
Than when we first begun.”
Tumultuous applause rang out, and some of the audience got to their feet to show their appreciation. Rhydian took bow after bow, until at last there was enough hush for him to speak.
“Thank you so much, everyone, and thank you for allowing me to join you, all too briefly, on this wonderful Christian cruise. It has been a pleasure to meet you all – and a special privilege that the ship’s band has been led this evening by a keyboard player who is remembered as one of the best musical directors in the business. He says he’s retired now, but no one of his talent ever truly retires. Ladies and gentlemen, a huge round of applause, please, for Mr Clifford Davies!”
Stepping out from the shadows at the back of the stage where the musicians had largely been hidden, Clifford took a bow. Gasps of recognition and admiration resounded around the room, especially among the groups from both Dunbridge and Burntacre.
“Well,” breathed Neil, “what a dark horse. He never let on that he was so famous.”
“Clifford’s not one to blow his own trumpet,” said Brian, grinning broadly. “He’s always been the shy, retiring type, as you well know.”
Neil nearly choked with laughter at Brian’s words as he stood up along with Sylvia and several others around them to give Clifford a cheer.
“How could you not have realized?” asked Carole, her voice loud and patronizing. “It was obvious to me from the moment I met him that he was a musical genius. When it comes to professionals, it takes one to know one.”
CHAPTER 6
DUBLIN
Our God is the God of all things.
St Patrick
Neil and the family had decided not to book an organized trip that day, because the ship was arranging a regular shuttle bus service to take passengers to and from the centre of Dublin. Harry took a detour along the deck on his way back to the cabin after breakfast, and leaned over the rail to gaze at the Dublin docks laid out before him.
What memories they brought back! He tried to work out what year it was that Rose had organized a trip here so they could celebrate their wedding anniversary in “Dublin’s fai
r city”. It must have been right at the end of the eighties, because the statue of Molly Malone had only just been put in place. They’d stood beside it talking about the nicknames they’d heard for the statue: “The Tart with the Cart” and “The Trollop with the Scallop”, and he’d said that Dublin’s fair city didn’t have any girls as pretty as her. She’d looked at him as if he’d said something irrelevant – a typical response from his wife. They’d been married nearly thirty years by then, but they’d never been a particularly demonstrative couple. Oh, they were deeply committed to their home and each other, and had always been the best of companions – but love? That word had never been used between them: not by him, nor by her. It had always seemed unnecessary. Of course they loved each other. They both knew that. It was woven into the fabric of their life together every day for nearly fifty years.
There it was again. That hard knot of grief and loss which caught him by surprise and lodged in his throat until he felt he might choke. He reached into his pocket for a neat, ironed hankie, and dabbed it over his mouth and suddenly hot face. Stupid old man! That’s what he was. Stupid, old – and only half the man he used to be when Rose was at his side.
A door banged behind him as a couple of passengers came out to take a stroll around the deck. Hurriedly stuffing the hankie back in his pocket, he walked away from them towards a part of the deck he’d never discovered before. He soon came across an area labelled “Smokers’ Corner” and was about to turn back to find another way to his cabin when he saw a familiar figure huddled over the rail. The man was so obviously lost in his own thoughts that Harry started to turn away for fear of disturbing him.
“Hello, Harry.”
Harry stopped. “Brig! I haven’t seen you for a while. Daisy said you’d not been feeling too well.”
“Oh, I bet she did. Told everyone, I expect.”
“How are you now? Better, I hope.”
“My seasickness is very short lived. It was only those strong currents up north there. I’m fine now.”
