Out of the Blue

by Belinda Jones

  I chuckle and then all too quickly my smile fades. ‘So if all this is true – and I’m not doubting you – then why is he now with Jules?’

  Here we draw a blank.

  And then my phone bleeps. It’s Greg. Poor guy, I’ve already been an hour longer than I said.

  ‘I am so sorry to come here, upset everyone and then leave!’ I apologise as I get to my feet. ‘Please don’t worry about this. Love is very unpredictable. These things happen.’

  They are still shaking their heads and muttering as I pack up my equipment and tell them again how wonderful they were and how grateful I am that they agreed to this project. Even if my love mission has backfired in the most spectacular way.

  I’m at the door now but reluctant to let go of Athina – something tells me that the second the lock clicks she’ll be on the phone to Alekos.

  And he won’t thank me for that. But I didn’t say anything out of place. I simply explained he’d chosen Jules. No malice, just the truth.

  I hover on the pavement outside their apartment. Part of me wants to ring on the doorbell again and say, ‘Well? What did he say? Did he tell you the reason?’ But then I realise that the last thing I want to hear is what Jules has that I don’t.

  Besides, Greg is calling again.

  ‘Hello,’ I strive for ebullience as I stride towards our meeting spot. ‘Sorry I’m so late. I’ll be there in— What? You went where? And now you have no clue how to get back . . .’ I trail off.

  I can’t believe it – I don’t know how I’ve done it but in under seventy-two hours, I’ve managed to lose two men.

  25

  ‘Fate leads him who follows it, and drags him who resists.’ – Plutarch

  I sit down on one of the waterside benches and fold the map out on to my lap. ‘Right, let’s start with street names.’

  ‘They’re all in Greek!’ he despairs. ‘No neat little translations beneath them. I’m guessing this isn’t a prime tourist trail.’

  ‘Okay, well, landmarks then, anything that distinguishes the area?’

  ‘I don’t know – every road seems to have big skips and dusty clumps of building falling into them. It’s definitely seedier than where we started, more chaotic and careworn. I’m still getting a mariner vibe but now it’s more Popeye and Bluto than Onassis and Callas. Oh and here we have a small street urchin who seems absolutely outraged that I don’t want to empty my wallet into his palms. No!’

  ‘Piraeus,’ I gulp, instantly getting visions of the bloodied bandages and stray dog that plagued my last visit. Not the ideal destination for a travel novice on their own. And the last place I’d ever want to return to. ‘I think the best bet is for you to just jump in a taxi and get them to drop you back here at the marina.’

  ‘That was my plan twenty minutes ago but every taxi I’ve seen is chock-a-block and—’ His voice is drowned out by the penetrating honk of a ship’s horn, no doubt making him jump but blasting home a very particular realisation to me: I am not the same person as I was fourteen years ago! Ships are my friends now and I am perfectly capable of guiding my charge to safety.

  ‘Greg!’ I begin by calmly commanding his attention.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Can you see the water from where you are?’

  ‘No, but I’m just approaching a surprisingly posh restaurant – the first that doesn’t look like the cook is waiting behind the door to clout you with a ladle – I could ask in there?’

  ‘Get them to point you in the direction of the main port,’ I instruct, getting to my feet, now in search of a taxi myself.

  ‘Will do, hold on . . .’

  There’s muffling and clinking and a small misunderstanding over the kind of water he’s interested in – bobbing with boats rather than ice – and then he’s back out on the street.

  ‘She said it’s just around this corner and – yes! yes! – I see ships!’

  ‘Big ships?’ I enquire.

  ‘Huge!’ he gasps. ‘Like blocks of flats with funnels and anchors!’

  ‘Okay,’ I breathe, encouraged. ‘Now you want to look for a landmark of some kind so I can locate you. But not a ship in case it sets sail.’

  ‘Basically there’s just miles of metal fencing, a security hut . . . Hey, what about a gate number – E10?’

  ‘Perfect!’ I like the simple precision of his choice. ‘Stand right by the sign and don’t go anywhere. And if anyone else asks you for money don’t say no, say ohee.’

  ‘Ohee?’

  ‘Yes, just in a more gruff, stern voice.’

  ‘Ohee,’ he repeats, dropping a couple of octaves.

  ‘That’s it. Now don’t move.’

  As the lemon-yellow Mercedes switches between derelict backstreets and congested main arteries I’m amazed at how far Greg has walked. And how adventurous he’s been. I just hope this hasn’t knocked his confidence too badly – perhaps I can convince him this is all just another movie set – yesterday Acropolis, today apocalypse.

  ‘Here, here!’ I blurt as I spot the outsized sign for E10, reluctantly emerging from the taxi cocoon and removing my necklace as I do so, just in case . . .

  I have to dodge a gang of growling cars and mob-like pedestrians but there’s no missing Greg – and it’s not just that he’s paler and more anxious-looking than the general ensemble – the man is holding a giant orange lifesaver ring.

  ‘Selena! Oh thank god!’ He rushes to embrace me, clunking me slightly with the hard casing. ‘I’m such an idiot, I’ll never wander off again, I promise!’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’ I wave his apologies aside, relieved I’m not getting the blame for letting him go out to play unsupervised. ‘But what, pray tell, is with the ring? Were you afraid someone might throw you in the water?’

  He rolls his eyes. ‘I went into this marine supplies shop to get off the street for a bit and the shop assistant was watching me so intently I felt compelled to buy something!’

  ‘You couldn’t have just picked out a fish-hook?’

  ‘Well, actually, I was tempted by this sonar fish-finding watch – it has a radius of seventy-five miles and transmits images of the fish on to the LCD screen on your wrist.’ He shows me a photograph in the brochure he had scrolled in his pocket.

  ‘Have you had a complete nightmare?’ I ask, genuinely concerned for his sanity.

  He takes an assessing breath. ‘Well, there was a point where I could see my life taking a very wrong turn . . .’ He flinches as he steps out of the path of some swarthy men with porcupine-esque stubble. ‘Have you ever seen Never on Sunday?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘It’s this great black-and-white film from the Sixties about a feisty prostitute working the port here. She sleeps with all the shipyard workmen and visiting sailors and I had horrible visions that would end up being me!’

  I giggle at the picture he paints of himself in a pencil skirt swinging a dinky handbag and assure him, ‘Don’t worry, we’ll get you back to Lancaster, virtue intact!’

  ‘I have faith,’ he says as we stroll onward in the direction of the metro. ‘The woman who played the prostitute went on to become the first female Minister of Culture for Greece!’

  ‘What, for real?’

  ‘Yes, her name was Melina Mercouri. I’m sure she would have been an excellent candidate for your love story – she met an American director when her first film took her to Cannes and they spent the next thirty-nine years together, until she died. In fact he wrote, directed and played opposite her in Never on Sunday.’

  ‘Wow, you really know your film trivia, don’t you?’

  He shrugs happily. ‘So how did you get on with your couple?’

  I open my mouth – where to begin? Do I really want to rehash more stuff about Alekos? This is Greg’s holiday after all, not a counselling session. ‘Fine.’ I decide I’ll tell him all later. ‘It went really well.’

  ‘Good. So now what?’ He looks expectantly at me as we pause beside the overpass that could return us
to civilisation.

  I would have thought I’d want to make a speedy exit before my old stray dog pal sniffs me out but I can’t help but feel drawn to the water’s edge.

  ‘Do you mind if we have a little ship-side stroll before we head back?’

  ‘Not at all,’ he indulges me. ‘This is like a home from home for you, isn’t it?’

  I nod and yet find myself questioning if that is even true any more – are cruiseships home to me or just another means of escape? Part of me yearns to walk trance-like on board and be spirited away as if my time in Greece were just a dream. But another part feels resistance – Not again, don’t make me go round again! It’s probably simply that it’s too soon – just eight days since I disembarked in Vancouver. How different things were then . . .

  ‘I really can’t get over how vast they are.’ Greg’s gaze climbs the balconied levels. ‘How many cabins would you say are there?’

  ‘On Celebrity Summit?’ I muse. ‘You’re looking at about a thousand.’

  ‘So double that to get the number of passengers?’ Greg queries.

  I nod. ‘And throw in another thousand for crew . . .’

  ‘Wow,’ he reels, ‘three thousand people on one ship!’

  ‘That’s nothing! Royal Caribbean are building one that’s going to accommodate nearly five and a half thousand guests!’

  ‘What?’ he gasps. ‘That’s more than the population of the town where I grew up!’

  ‘You’re going to like this one.’ I turn his shoulders to the right. ‘See the Costa Atlantica? That’s an Italian line and the deck names are all inspired by Federico Fellini!’

  ‘Really?’ he pips.

  Nothing like a film-related fact to cheer him up.

  ‘But I’ll tell you what gives me the biggest kick,’ I say, taking a seat on one of the giant painted bollards. ‘They named one of the ships in their fleet Costa Fortuna!’

  Greg chuckles back at me. ‘And do they?’

  ‘Actually, they’re considered “mainstream”, so not too pricey. Celebrity are premium and Crystal, over there with the seahorse insignia, that’s luxury.’

  Greg smiles and teases, ‘You really know your cruise trivia, don’t you?’

  ‘What can I say? I know people think it’s a naff way to travel but when I think of the places those ships have taken me and all of the people I’ve met on board, it’s been the best part of my life.’

  Greg takes a deep breath. I think he’s going to say something profound about how we each have to find our own unique path and that we should be unconcerned with anyone else’s judgements but instead he whispers, ‘Is it true that they have male escorts on board to dance with the single ladies?’

  I roll my eyes. ‘Yes, but it’s nothing untoward – they’re all highly vetted silver foxes. Mind you, I did meet this one chap, seventy if he was a day, he’d be waltzing away one minute and then the next thing you knew he was down on the floor demonstrating a yoga position – in his suit, no less, feet behind his ears—’ I stop suddenly.

  ‘What is it?’ Greg gasps. ‘Your eyes have gone all googly!’

  ‘It’s just . . .’ I stumble forward, squinting into the sunlight, trying to be certain. ‘I’ve never seen it before, at least not in person . . .’

  ‘Seen what?’

  A smile creeps over my face and I feel an excited fluster as I breathe, ‘I think it’s The World.’

  Greg frowns. ‘Do you mean you think the world of it?’

  ‘No, The World is the name of the ship.’ I turn to him, eyes bright with excitement. ‘This, my friend, is the Holy Grail of the cruising fraternity!’

  ‘It doesn’t look anything special.’ He shrugs as he assesses the simple white lines of the vessel I’m pointing to.

  ‘It’s not the look, or the size,’ I explain. ‘What makes it unique is that the cabins are actually people’s homes with their own furniture and ornaments and full kitchens with ovens and biscuit tins – just like an apartment!’

  ‘You mean people actually live on the ship?’

  ‘Technically, yes, but it’s actually unlikely to be their only home. In fact, I did hear that the typical resident has nine “second” homes!’

  ‘Nine?!’ he hoots. ‘Wow. So I’m guessing these residences aren’t cheap.’

  ‘I had a friend who went to work on board and she said the prices start at about half a million.’

  ‘But what’s the advantage of owning a cabin? Why don’t they just book on a Crystal cruise for a year?’

  ‘Well, for one thing, The World tends to spend longer in each place than the average cruiseship. On my ship you’d be lucky if you got an overnight, it would mostly be a morning arrival and a late afternoon departure, but The World will dock in Rio to coincide with the carnival and they’ll be there for five nights, or you get to spend three nights in Cannes during the film festival, or nearly a week in Russia, so you can get into the country and do some exploring.’

  ‘So you definitely get to see more of each place.’

  I nod. ‘And I suppose their clientele are in less of a rush, not trying to cram everything into a two-week vacation.’

  ‘Rich retirees?’

  ‘I think they are in the majority but also consider the amount of business people who now have portable offices. They have faxes and Internet on board so you can be doing multi-million-pound deals from the middle of the ocean!’

  ‘And you can come and go as you please?’

  ‘Exactly!’

  Greg pulls a face. ‘I’d feel a bit odd about my possessions sailing around the world without me. I mean, I have enough problems finding my house key half the time, imagine the added stress of trying to keep track of your home!’

  I chuckle. ‘Oh I love the idea of it! “Henry, I’m bored. Where’s the residence today?” “Let me see . . . currently in Libya about to set sail for Italy.” “Lovely! Let’s catch up with it in Genoa, shall we?” “How long do you want to stay?” “I don’t know, a couple of countries, maybe even a continent if we’re having fun!” Don’t you just love that? I’ve always wanted to go on board.’

  ‘Well, why don’t you ask your friend?’

  I give a nonchalant shrug. ‘We’ve lost touch. Shame, really, she was great – Cherry by name, cheery by nature. I got a few emails when she first transferred but then she just sort of vanished . . .’

  ‘Bermuda Triangle?’ Greg’s eyes widen.

  ‘Maybe,’ I humour him. I’ve actually never been there myself; subconsciously I suspect I’m saving it for my last voyage. I think it would be a fitting end to my life – of no fixed abode, even in the afterlife! ‘Shall we walk on down to the end?’

  We stroll past all manner of sea vessels emblazoned with local brandings – Hellenic Seaways, Minoan Lines and the smaller, fleeter Flying Dolphin.

  ‘So do you still have her number?’ Greg enquires.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Cherry.’

  ‘Why?’ I blink at him. ‘Do you want it?’

  He tuts me like I’m being deliberately obtuse. ‘I meant for you to call now . . .’

  ‘Ohhhh,’ I laugh. I’m so used to filing people away when they leave the ship. I never really expect to see them again.

  ‘Seeing as we’re in such close proximity, it’s got to be worth a try!’ He tilts his head. ‘Or is there some reason you’re reluctant?’

  ‘No, I mean, it was a little bit strange how she left.’ I turn to face him as I explain how she persuaded her boyfriend Dom to come on board as a DJ and then promptly buggered off to The World.

  ‘Oh!’ Greg looks a little taken aback, possibly drawing some parallel to his recent split. ‘How did he react to that?’

  ‘Well, you can imagine he was pretty shocked – she basically dumped him for a sexier ship. But fortunately he got on really well with Jules—’

  ‘As in the home-wrecker of Elounda?’

  I smile. I can’t help but delight in the disparaging remarks he makes about Jules, e
ven though I know they are just to make me feel better. ‘She totally took him under her wing and they ended up together. Right up until last week, actually.’

  Greg stops in his tracks. ‘Cherry’s ex was the guy she was going to marry?’

  ‘Yes,’ I confirm.

  ‘And how long ago did this all kick off?’

  ‘About a year, I suppose.’

  ‘I wonder if she has any regrets,’ he ponders out loud.

  ‘I don’t know about Cherry but I’d say Jules is regretting ever getting involved with him. Not that I’ve heard the full story there . . .’

  Greg is quiet for a moment and then says, ‘Sounds like you all took it a bit personally, her leaving so suddenly . . .’

  ‘Well, of course it happens all the time, people coming and going, it’s part of ship life; I was just surprised that she didn’t say goodbye.’ Though I realise as I say it that I’ve just done the same thing to Jules.

  ‘Not even to you?’

  ‘No. Maybe she was ashamed about what she was doing and she just wanted to disappear. I know all about that feeling, so I can’t hold it against her.’

  ‘But you said she emailed . . .’ Greg is like a dog with a bone.

  ‘A few times, yes. But it wasn’t the same – you know when you’re tiptoeing around a subject, you can’t really relax? We didn’t reference the situation at all. She didn’t even ask after him, just told me about her new job.’ I shrug my shoulders.

  ‘So maybe you don’t want to call her?’ Greg studies me for a few moments. ‘What’s that smile for?’

  ‘I was just remembering this game we used to play – everyone would write down a body part on a piece of paper and put it into a hat, along with the names of various staff members, mostly ones we’d never met. Then we’d each get a pairing – the ship’s doctor and knee, the maître d’ and nape of neck etc. – and we’d have to go up to them and find an excuse to touch them in the appropriate place.’

  Greg raises an eyebrow.

  ‘I know, it was silly but we used to get so giggly. She really was ideally cast as Entertainments Officer, there’s just something infectious about her energy.’

  Greg cocks his head, giving me a significant look. ‘So for old times’ sake?’