Here Come the Boys Page 2

  The bus doors had opened and people started moving out and into the terminal. Gil and Angie joined a long snaking line of holidaymakers. Doreen and Vernon were in a different queue, marked by a sign which declared: ELITE MEMBERS.

  ‘That will be us in a few years,’ said Gil, leaning to whisper in Angie’s ear.

  ‘We’ll see,’ she replied, moving forwards.

  There were loads of check-in desks, so the queue was going down very quickly and within a few minutes they were presenting their passports, visas and booking reference numbers and signing a form to confirm that neither of them had a diarrhoea-type bug. Then they had their photos taken with a camera shaped like a large eyeball and were presented with a card that acted both as their door key and method of payment on board.

  They passed through security and then were on the walkway that led them from the terminal towards the ship.

  ‘Good grief,’ gasped Angie as she took her first steps on board the Mermaidia. She hadn’t expected to be that impressed. The reception area was a massive atrium open to five storeys with walls opulently decorated with glass mosaics of mermaids. A magnificent statue of a mermaid stood at least twenty foot high. Two glass elevators, full of people, were moving upwards.

  A breathy ‘wow’ escaped from her and Gil smiled. ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself,’ he said. ‘Wow indeed.’

  An Indian officer in immaculate whites asked Gil for their room number and then directed them where to find it.

  ‘Rather nice, isn’t it?’ Gil said to a gob-smacked Angie as they turned down a passageway to the Aft staircase and up two flights to their cabin.

  To Angie, the word ‘cabin’ had conjured up a picture of basic facilities and a small porthole to see out of but their room was as spacious and comfortable as one in a very nice hotel. It had a decent-sized bathroom, loads of wardrobe space, two TVs, a fridge, lovely pictures on the walls, plenty of drawers for all her new clothes and a huge glass door that led out onto a balcony.

  ‘There’s a Raul Cruz restaurant on board. We’ll have to go to that,’ said Gil excitedly as he read the welcome letter on the dressing table.

  ‘Sounds good. Will it be expensive, do you think?’

  ‘I don’t care,’ said Gil, putting his arms around his wife’s shoulders and bending down to give her a kiss. Then he grabbed her hand. ‘Come on. Let’s explore.’

  There seemed to be bars and restaurants everywhere. There was also a spa, a casino, a gym, and a lovely little coffee bar called The Samovar which had some delicious-looking cakes in glass cabinets. They each had a caramel latte in there and Gil had a slice of carrot cake, although Angie stole half of it.

  They were more than happy to sit and people-watch for half an hour, surprised at the mix on board – young people, children, couples with babies, elderly people, groups. Despite what their friends had told them, Angie had still been convinced that ninety-nine per cent of people on board would be retired admirals married to posh ladies dripping in diamonds.

  ‘Do we dress up for dinner tonight?’ she asked.

  ‘Dave said no. Everyone is very casual on the first night,’ Gil answered. Their friend Dave had been the loudest advocate of cruise holidays and he’d given Gil quite a few pointers.

  After they had finished their drinks, they returned to their cabin to find their suitcases waiting for them so Angie proceeded to unpack. She had just finished when there was a knock at the door and in came a pretty young Filipina woman. She introduced herself as Melissa, their steward, and pointed out some cabin features and how to alter the air-conditioning and then informed them that they had to attend a life-jacket drill in an hour. She showed them where their life jackets were and then left to move on and introduce herself to the people in the next cabin.

  ‘That’s comforting,’ said Angie. ‘Welcome to the ship and oh, you need to go to a meeting to show you what to do when the ship starts to sink.’

  ‘“In the unlikely event of the ship sinking…”, it says here,’ said Gil, reading the notice on the back of the door informing them where their muster station was. ‘It won’t sink. The Med is baking hot, that means the sea conditions will be mill-pond-like.’

  They attended the meeting with their orange life-jackets and then returned them to their cabin because everyone was starting to gather on deck for the grand sail-away party. Gil and Angie joined them. Waiters were weaving through the crowds with trays of champagne and, on the quayside, a brass band was playing. Gil ordered two glasses of fizz, signed for them, and chinked his against his wife’s.

  ‘I could get used to this system,’ he said. ‘It’s like having things for free.’

  ‘Dangerous,’ said Angie. They’d spent years scrimping and saving and she wasn’t comfortable about being indulgent.

  ‘Cheers, darling. Here’s to a very merry trip.’

  ‘Yes, bon voyage,’ Angie replied.

  The ship’s horn sounded, the waters began to churn and soon they were gliding away from the dockside. Seventeen nights touring the East Mediterranean on a luxury cruise ship in a room with a balcony. Suck on that, Selina Molloy.

  ‘We’re moving,’ Gil said. ‘Either that or the band have shrunk a bit.’

  ‘Yes, we are,’ Angie replied, wishing she could grin like a Cheshire cat on Prozac too.

  ‘I’m getting hungry. It must be this sea air.’

  ‘Sea air? We’ve only been near the sea since half-past two.’

  ‘Thank goodness there’s only an hour until dinner. ’

  Gil was already bedded into life on the waves.

  Oh, please don’t let me be bored, said Angie to herself.

  And the gods, it appeared, were listening.

  Chapter 2

  Gil and Angie found themselves on a dining table for eight. Seated with them were a couple their age, Ken and Cynthia from Devon, a couple in their late fifties, Jerry and Yvonne from Northallerton, and the old couple on the bus, Vernon and Doreen. Angie’s first impressions of the strangers weren’t that great. Ken and Cynthia looked very quiet and boring. Cynthia had frumpy grey curls and wore huge glasses like Deirdre Barlow in the eighties, and Ken had mad brown hair and was very red-faced. He was either a farmer, a chronic alcoholic or really bashful, Angie decided.

  Jerry and Yvonne were far from backward about coming forward though. They’d only been sitting at the table for five minutes and everyone had already learned that they were on their twentieth cruise, that they were off again on the Queen Mary in three months and they had one of the large suites on B deck. Jerry and Yvonne presumed that Vernon and Doreen were new to cruising as the elderly lady had dressed up in a long sequinned black frock and very sparkly jewellery and Vernon was sporting a tuxedo and bow tie. They didn’t know about the first-night dress code evidently, a point which Jerry felt duty bound to bring up over their starter.

  ‘People don’t tend to change for dinner on the first night, you know,’ he said to Doreen. ‘Too much hassle.’

  ‘Not for us,’ Doreen answered, not missing a beat. ‘Our butler unpacked all our clothes and ran an iron over them. We shall be dressing up every night, whatever the dress code tries to dictate. It’s part of our holiday getting our glad rags on.’

  Gil gave Angie a little conspiratorial kick under the table that she translated as, that shut him up.

  It didn’t though. Jerry seemed extra keen now to drop in some serious bragging to try and outdo the elderly couple.

  ‘We had a butler once but we preferred our privacy, didn’t we, Yvonne?’

  Yvonne, casual in a tailored Joseph suit, nodded heartily by way of agreement. ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘What about you then, Cyn? You been on a cruise before?’

  Cynthia cleared her mouth of her prawn cocktail before speaking in a broad country Devonian accent. ‘No. It was always hard for us to get away from the farm to take many holidays.’

  Ah, Ken is a farmer then, thought Angie. Not a chronic alcoholic or extra shy, after all.

&n
bsp; ‘Got an arable farm, or is it quite nice?’ Jerry burst out laughing at his own joke. It was to be the first of many ‘jokes’ he cracked at the table and Angie found her patience wearing thin by dessert. Jerry was fond of his own voice, but no one else was. Thankfully he didn’t want to stay at the table for coffee as he and Yvonne preferred to dash off to the theatre and bag the front seats.

  ‘Thank God for that,’ said Doreen to Jerry’s retreating back. ‘There’s a man who could match the bus driver for talking bollocks.’

  Angie stifled a giggle. She noticed that Cyn and Ken were chuckling too.

  ‘We can all get a word in now,’ said Vernon, who appeared to be very comfortable in his smart clothes.

  The atmosphere around the table seemed to warm by degrees with the absence of the dreadful Yvonne and Jerry.

  ‘If I hear one more word about how talented her grandchildren are, I shall scream,’ said Doreen, launching into an impression of Yvonne by delicately patting her hair as she spoke. ‘Our Pia has just done grade fourteen on the piano. She’s applied for the Royal Academy of Music. Her brother Sebastian is a flautist. He takes after his father who played in front of the Queen after single-handedly bringing down Osama Bin Laden’s regime. He was made Field Marshal at nineteen, don’t you know.’

  Cynthia was almost bent double with laughter at Doreen’s dry delivery. Gil had to wipe his eyes on the serviette.

  The wine waiter appeared with a tray of after-dinner liqueurs.

  ‘Let’s have one,’ said Vernon. ‘To celebrate our first night aboard. It’s on me.’

  ‘Sounds lovely,’ said Ken. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘We always have a Tia Maria in the evenings,’ said Cyn in her quiet country burr. ‘It used to be our treat after work, sitting down with the telly and one of these.’

  They all held up their liqueur glasses and toasted the start of their holiday.

  ‘And may Yvonne and Jerry sod off early every night to the theatre and leave us to our coffees in peace,’ added Vernon.

  Everyone was in full agreement about that one.

  Chapter 3

  Angie and Gil walked with the others to the theatre and sat with them to watch a wonderful musical tribute to Queen. Halfway through ‘Fat Bottomed Girls’, Gil nudged Angie to alert her to the sight of Ken, head lolled, fast asleep.

  ‘We’ve been up since the crack of dawn,’ explained Cyn with some embarrassment. ‘I best wake him up and get him to the cabin.’

  ‘Oh, leave him,’ said Gil. ‘He’s not the only one, look.’ He pointed to an elderly couple a few rows down on the right, both zonked out and holding hands. ‘The show will be over in ten minutes. Wake him then. He’s far too comfortable to move.’

  Cyn was enjoying herself and took Gil’s advice. When the performance ended and the clapping started, Ken shuddered awake and began to applaud with gusto.

  ‘Enjoy that, Ken?’ Gil grinned.

  ‘Marvellous it was,’ replied Ken.

  Gil yawned. ‘Well, that’s me tired out.’ He looked at Angie to see what she wanted to do now.

  ‘Bed?’ she suggested.

  ‘Us as well,’ said Ken.

  ‘Not joining us for a spot of disco-dancing then? I don’t know, the youth of today, no stamina,’ grinned Vernon. ‘Come on then, my love, ad nauseam. To the nightclub.’ And off they went in search of seventies music.

  Gil and Angie wended their way arm in arm back to their cabin.

  ‘Shall we put on the news?’ asked Angie, picking up the remote control for one of the TVs.

  ‘I don’t care what’s happening back home,’ said Gil.

  ‘Actually, neither do I,’ replied Angie, kicking off her shoes. She could feel the motion of the ship and wondered if she would be able to sleep.

  The bed was cosy with crisp white linen sheets, which Melissa had turned down for them, and they were both in the land of nod within minutes of their heads touching the pillows.

  DAY TWO

  Chapter 4

  Angie was awoken by the sound of a ringing bell and an announcement. She looked at her travel alarm clock and her eyes sprang to their fullest width.

  ‘It’s midday!’ she exclaimed. ‘We’ve slept for thirteen hours.’

  Gil opened one eye and then closed it again.

  ‘I’m going to sleep for the next thirteen as well. Wake me up when we get into Malaga.’

  But when Angie emerged from putting her face on in the bathroom, Gil was standing on the balcony, dressed, looking out to sea.

  ‘Big, isn’t it,’ he said, sensing her behind him. ‘The sea, I mean. It’s huge.’

  Angie knew what he meant. The sea looked very big and very frightening for a moment. Angie had a sudden vision of herself thrashing in the water, shooing away an approaching shark after the ship had capsized.

  The sun wasn’t out today. The sky was grey and grumpy though a heat wave had been forecast for the week in Britain. Just our luck, thought Angie. We come to the Med to freeze and everyone back home will be baking in the sun.

  They walked around the shops, managing to avoid Jerry and Yvonne who were looking at jewellery, had a coffee in The Samovar and a snack in the self-service restaurant, The Buttery, and sat at the table long after their plates had been removed, staring out to sea at other boats in the water between them and the far coastline.

  ‘Mind if we join you?’ asked a familiar voice. It was Vernon. ‘We can’t find a free table.’

  ‘Of course not,’ smiled Gil, patting the seat at the side of him.

  Vernon waved over to Doreen. She had chips and curry and three different cakes on her tray.

  ‘Sleep well?’ asked Vernon.

  ‘Too well,’ Angie answered. ‘We’ve only been up an hour and a half.’

  ‘We like to stock up on food on the second day,’ said Vernon, explaining the large lunch he and Doreen were having. ‘Bay of Biscay can be a bugger. Best to have a full stomach, we find. Don’t ever make the mistake of trying to starve seasickness. It’ll only try and eat your stomach if you do.’

  The sea was growing choppier by degrees, Angie had noticed. This morning there had been few large waves in the water, now there were plenty of rearing white horses.

  ‘Have you seen the menu for tonight?’ asked Doreen, through a mouthful of chips. ‘I do love lobster.’

  ‘No, don’t tell me,’ replied Angie, putting her hands over her ears.

  ‘She likes to wait until we’re at the table to see the menu,’ explained Gil. ‘She’s always been the same.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, love,’ Doreen apologised.

  ‘It’s fine,’ smiled Angie. ‘You weren’t to know.’

  ‘We get a bit excited about fish,’ Doreen explained. ‘Vernon was a fish and chip shop magnate. He made his fortune and then passed it onto our son who runs the empire now. It’s been the making of him.’ She beamed proudly. ‘Fish has been very lucky for all of us.’

  ‘He’s a good lad, David,’ said Vernon. ‘And he’ll be able to pass it on to his son now.’

  He and Doreen looked at each other with Mills and Boon-type soppiness.

  ‘Our first grandson is due in September,’ said Doreen, turning from Vernon to Angie. ‘That’s why we’re only having five cruises this year. They’ll need us around.’

  Angie felt Gil kick her under the table again.

  ‘That’ll be lovely for you,’ smiled Angie.

  ‘You two got any children?’ Doreen speared a chunk of chicken madras.

  ‘We… er… have been building up a business for a few years. We haven’t had time,’ replied Angie.

  ‘Take my advice and get on with it.’ Vernon wagged his fork at Angie. ‘You’re still young enough. Don’t miss out.’

  Gil yawned and then immediately apologised in case the older couple thought that was a reflection of the quality of conversation.

  ‘Sorry. I’m absolutely tired out.’

  ‘It’s natural, lad,’ said Vernon. ‘Don’t you worry.’


  ‘I think I might have another nap,’ Gil said. ‘Coming, Ange?’

  Angie stood to go. ‘See you two later?’

  ‘Formal night,’ winked Vernon. ‘Best bib and tucker on, don’t forget.’

  Angie and Gil left them to their lunch and walked onto the deck. The pool attendants were putting a tarpaulin over the water which was splashing up and over the sides. There would be no swimming today.

  ‘I wasn’t joking, I really do need a nap,’ said Gil. ‘This sea air is killing me already.’

  Poor Gil, thought Angie. He worked too hard and his body was taking the chance to grab some rest. As soon as they were in the cabin, Gil fell onto the bed fully clothed and was asleep soon after.

  Angie took her book onto the balcony to read. When the sun slipped out from behind the clouds, it was lovely and warm. She suddenly felt very grown-up, aware that she was on a cruise ship, fine-dining, drinking cocktails with a cabin steward to make up her bed and wipe down the bath after her. She wondered if Selina had ever taken a cruise. She probably had her own yacht. It would be called Selder or Zanina – a hybrid of her name and Zander’s. Angie wondered if she worked and if so, what at. She would be either an Olympic show-jumper or one of those bitchy-boss women heading up a multi-national company, Angie decided. Selina would be up at the top of her tree, whatever she did for a living. She was that sort. The ‘fall into a bucket of crap and come out smelling of roses’ type. She would be willowy, toned and golden. She wouldn’t have had a spot since 1989. She’d have children called wild rock-star names like Fruit-Basket and Revelation and drive a gold Porsche . She wouldn’t have had to battle the bulge or work her backside off to get orders checked in or out to build up a business selling school uniforms. Bloody Selina bloody golden bloody Molloy bloody Goldman.

  Angie tried to exorcise Selina from her head and fill the space with The Other Boleyn Girl. But then she realised that Mary and Anne weren’t dissimilar to herself and Selina. Obviously Angie would be nice Mary, who ended up being dumped by handsome Henry-Zander after being seduced by nasty Anne-Selina. Then she imagined Selina going to the chopping block to have her head cut off and realised she was getting too carried away. She put her book down and decided to go for a stroll around the promenade deck to work off her lunch. When she passed the main staircase she noticed that some bags had been attached to the handrail for people who might feel queasy. That didn’t bode too well. She remembered what Vernon had said about the Bay of Biscay and hoped they were in for a smooth passage. She couldn’t imagine what seasickness was like, nor did she want to.