Annie Stanley, All At Sea

by Sue Teddern

  Bloody Hilary. She wouldn’t let it lie. She refused to respect my feelings and, ultimately, her solution was so well-conceived and brilliant that I had no choice but to go along with it. Will I regret it? Quite possibly . . .

  Apparently she and Toni took it upon themselves to get me and Dad back on track and complete my circuit of the British mainland. They Googled train timetables and coach tours, figuring that if they could come up with an all-inclusive itinerary, I might be more inclined to follow it. And then Toni found (cue drum roll) the cruise: a five-night voyage, taking in the final four sea areas: Irish Sea, Malin, Hebrides and Fair Isle.

  Hilary, in a rare moment of self-knowledge, realized that her haranguing me into doing it was always going to be a non-starter. So she sent her emissary Rob to run through the details over coffee in a favourite cafe. He didn’t bring up our drunken shag, so I took my lead from him. If we gave it oxygen, it would exist. Better to suffocate it with overenthusiastic talk of Hilary’s solution. That way, we could pretend there was no shag.

  ‘The ship departs from Liverpool and visits Greenock, Tobermory and Kirkwall,’ he explained, via a map on his phone. ‘Six days out of your busy schedule and it’s job done. Plus she’s paying. Hilary is picking up the tab. She’s not short of dosh and she has no one to spend it on. So you’d be a special kind of prat not to accept, Annie. Well, what do you say?’

  What could I say?

  It was only after I agreed and Hilary had bought the tickets that I was made aware of some unexpected Terms & Conditions. Hilary didn’t want me travelling alone – I’d done more than enough of that – and wondered if Kate might join me. But Kate was otherwise engaged with Charlie and I didn’t want to drag her away.

  Rob was the obvious companion. Hilary would pay not only for his ticket but Fi’s too. Yep, Fi was joining us on the cruise. Her great-grandfather came from Mull and she’d never been there. So I could either throw a hissy-fit and say ‘No way’ or accept their couply company for six days. Less than a week. No time at all in the scheme of things. Even if it was only a fortnight ago that I was shagging her boyfriend.

  Suck it up, Annie Stanley, I told myself. You can do this. Suck it the fuck up!

  Fi suggests we three travel to Liverpool together but I can’t face that, on top of the cruise. So I pretend I’m setting off early, to see an old friend for lunch, and we’ll meet at Lime Street Station. I’m getting super-good at lying but, just in case, I plant a picture of Kim in my head so that I can bullshit better, if interrogated on who I met.

  The train journey is uneventful. I sleep, I listen to one of Josh’s Spotify playlists on Bluetooth, I knit my square of Lundy wool and study my phone to check sea area borders. Irish Sea is St David’s Head to Portpatrick, Malin is Portpatrick to the Sleat Peninsula, Hebrides is Sleat to Kearvaig and Fair Isle is Kearvaig to John O’Groats. And then I’m done.

  Liverpool is my only chance to buy some Irish Sea yarn before we set sail and I snap up what I’m after at a charity shop in St John’s Shopping Centre. At 1 p.m., I am fed, watered and ready to meet Rob and Fi by the Ken Dodd statue on the station forecourt.

  Rob appears first, steering two suitcases, one streamlined and modern, the other looking like a car boot sale cast-off; battered tan leatherette and covered in faded stickers. Rob is frazzled and knackered, even before we begin our ‘adventure’.

  ‘Slight change of plan,’ he mutters, mopping his sweaty brow. ‘Well, a pretty major change of plan, actually. I should have told you but it was all a bit . . . fluid.’

  I look around for Fi. Is she buying sensible snacks from the shop? Has she nipped to the rather fancy Lime Street loos? That’s when Hilary appears, wiping wet hands on her patchwork Indian trousers.

  ‘I hate those ruddy hand dryers. All they do is warm the water and you’re still damp as a dog at the end of it.’

  My dropped jaw prompts a full explanation from Rob. ‘Sorry, Annie. It all went tits up two days ago. Fi got a last-minute slot at a fancy new food festival in Shropshire. She’d applied months ago and they’d said they were full. But then, well, they had a cancellation and she couldn’t turn it down.’

  Hilary can keep quiet no longer. ‘Therefore I shall be Fi for the next five days. Robin was keen to tell you but I said it’ll be much more jolly if we keep it a secret until, well, now. Surprise!’

  Rob gives an apologetic shrug. Hilary is Hilary; you stand in her way at your peril, particularly if you’re her godson.

  I try to get my head round it. ‘What about the cabins?’

  ‘Easy-peasy,’ says Hilary, still beside herself with excitement. ‘Toni got on to the ship people and made them sort it out. You and I shall occupy the twin cabin and Robin’s got your single. Howzat?’

  In the cab to the quayside, I queasily think this through. On the plus side, I don’t have to be pally with Fi for the next five days, even though I’m still avoiding eye contact with Rob. On the minus side, I’m sharing a cabin with an elderly, eccentric, short-fused woman.

  Hilary, on the other hand, couldn’t be happier. ‘I took all of twenty seconds to take Fi’s place. Didn’t I, Robin? I’ve always felt drawn to the Scottish isles: Lewis, Shetland, Orkney. I never thought I’d see them before I popped my proverbials, but here I am. And I have a little adventure of my own in Glasgow.’

  Rob looks surprised. First he’s heard of it. ‘Well, spill the beans.’

  ‘I will. Tonight.’

  I hope it’s nothing to do with Dani C, Dreamgal or Bella B.

  We’re told that our ship, the Black Watch, is a wee thing compared to some of the twenty-storey floating cities that rule the waves, but it looks pretty bloody huge from the quayside. We are swiftly processed and go on board to find our cabins, with luggage already deposited outside our doors.

  I’m sad not to be using my dinky Star Wars wheelie suitcase for this final leg of the grand tour. It served me well through ten sea areas – apart from that little adventure in Okehampton – but it’s just not big enough. As soon as I started to pack, I realized I’d need more than a couple of changes of clothing and some spare knickers. Plus a safe corner of the case for Dad, obviously.

  When I get back home, I’ll ask Bev to pass the suitcase on to Evie because she thought it was ‘awesome’.

  ‘Dressing for dinner’ isn’t in my DNA, but I can hardly rock up five meals running in manky leggings and a sweatshirt. Fortunately I found a couple of silky tops and a pair of black trousers at the back of my wardrobe, and Kate’s donated a dress from Toast – midnight blue, slinky and sleeveless – which I’ll wear with bronze Birkies and a turquoise pebble necklace given to me by Bev.

  I must see her on my return. I must, must, must.

  Hilary is impressed with our cabin. Yes, it’s small and, okay, we may need a bit of forward planning if we want to pass each other by the dressing table. But at least the beds are far apart, which we’re both silently relieved about. And there’s heaps of wardrobe space for our meagre selection of ‘outfits’. The chambermaid has thoughtfully folded the first sheaf of loo roll into a little paper boat shape and, on each bed, our flannels have been fashioned into a rather scary Donnie Darko-style rabbit.

  I wish there was a window sill – or should that be porthole sill? – where I could put Dad’s urn for the duration of the cruise. But there isn’t so he must settle on a side table and feel the sea beneath him.

  Hilary bags the bed by the porthole, which is only fair since she’s picked up the tab, and I offer her all the high shelves and drawers so that she doesn’t have to bend. Once unpacked, we lie on our beds and sigh. It’s been an exhausting day and we haven’t even set sail yet.

  ‘What do you make of our fellow travellers?’ Hilary asks, all set to slag them off.

  I won’t rise to it. ‘They look okay. More your age group than mine. Yeah, they look fine to me.’

  ‘You do know we’re expected to dine with the same people every night? I can’t promise to bite my tongue if we have fu
ndamental differences on austerity or the death penalty or vegans.’

  ‘Since when have you been a vegan? You wolfed down that burger at the De La Warr.’

  ‘Me? Heavens, no. I can’t abide them. Smugness personified. I’m afraid I get more intolerant with advancing years.’

  ‘You were certainly pretty harsh about Toni and now you’re best pals. What happened?’

  Hilary emits a faint fart. ‘Ah, now, I should have warned you about that. I’m rather a windbag, in every sense. Toni is a decent person and a good neighbour under all that orange hair. I locked myself out of my ruddy flat one day and she came to my aid. She’s got a spare key now and I have hers. She’s actually lived a fascinating life, which I hadn’t expected.’

  ‘I’m really pleased,’ I tell her. Because I really am. ‘Does she know about your secret life on Tinder?’

  ‘She’s joined me. She calls herself Super Cougar. And don’t you tut, Miss Holier-Than-Thou. We’re having the time of our lives and we’re not hurting anyone. You should try it some time.’

  We’ve been assigned a table for six in the rather swanky restaurant and wonder who the other three will be. Looking around, this ‘dressing for dinner’ thing seems to cover a wide range: a fair few sequinned cocktail dresses and evening bags from the women while the men mostly make minimal effort with a clean shirt and chinos, plus the occasional blazer and fancy waistcoat.

  Hilary has thrown on a rather spectacular purple kaftan, loaned by Toni, which she accessorizes with some well-worn hiking sandals. Rob looks freshly washed, neatly pressed and slightly anxious in a flower-print shirt and his best jeans. This is so not his natural habitat. Him and me both. I opt for innocuous black trousers and paisley silk top. We blend in quite successfully with our fellow diners.

  Rob barely has time to tell us about the cosiness of his single, windowless cabin when our three dining companions arrive: a tanned older couple holding hands, in lairy Hawaiian prints; and a woman of about my age, wearing a little black dress, a zebra-striped shawl and a resentful frown.

  ‘Nice to see you, to see you nice,’ the man says, pulling a chair out for his partner. ‘The gang’s all here so uncork the Chateau Nerf du Plonk and let’s get ready to rumble.’

  Hilary kicks me under the table which I ignore. I have been known to make instant value judgements on people, but this is way too soon, even for me.

  ‘Dad!’ the younger woman hisses. ‘Remember what we said in the taxi.’

  ‘I heard you, love. Loud and clear. But I’m that pleased to be here.’

  They introduce themselves: Mim and Barry from Bury, and their daughter, Dawn. We nod hello Britishly.

  ‘Hilary . . . Robin . . . Annie,’ Hilary replies, waving a mein Host hand across our side of the table. ‘I’m his godmother, she’s his ex. If you come across another set-up like us over the next five days, you win a prize.’

  ‘You’re on, Hilary,’ says Barry, rubbing his hands. ‘I like a challenge, me. Don’t I, Mim?’

  Before our starters have arrived, we’re regaled with all the cruises Barry and Mim have been on these past ten years. Every ship, including the Queen Mary and the infamous one with the novo virus outbreak; every destination from Cambodia to Tasmania, Alaska to Madagascar. This is their third trip on the Black Watch so they’re on bantering terms with several waiters, bar staff and crew. They are more than ready to rumble.

  ‘Are you a seasoned cruiser too?’ I ask Dawn, who, so far, has let her folks do all the talking.

  ‘I’m a newbie like you. I always fancied it, but Liam didn’t. My husband.’

  ‘Your ex-husband,’ Mim chips in. ‘And good riddance, I say.’

  Barry gives Mim a warning look and we three pretend not to notice the tension.

  ‘The kids are off doing their own thing,’ Dawn continues. ‘So I thought, it’s now or never.’

  Barry takes this as a cue for a song. ‘It’s now or never. Come hold me tight. Kiss me, my darling. Be mine tonight.’

  I sneak a look at Hilary, expecting her to be appalled. But she isn’t. She even applauds. ‘Oh, I adored Elvis. Such a sexy man before he discovered deep-fried peanut-butter sandwiches.’

  Barry beams. ‘I thank yew, I thank yew. I’m here all week.’

  Mim’s eyes shine with love. ‘Shut up and eat your crab cakes, you great daft lump.’

  The three courses are delicious, the service is friendly and all six of us make a dent in several bottles of wine. I could get used to this, although I fear Hilary’s choice of artichokes, cassoulet and plum compote will come back to haunt me later in our airless cabin.

  We adjourn to the Neptune Bar – Hilary fancies a cognac. The sea has been calm since we left (‘moderate or good’) and the night is clear and starry, with the occasional twinkle of light from the coast.

  I suddenly realize that, apart from bobbing around the Rampion Wind Farm with Simon, this is my first proper experience at sea since I began my journey. I run through a mental image of the Shipping Forecast map: have we passed the Isle of Man yet, or the Mull of Galloway? Where are Arnamurchan Point and Macrihanish Automatic, and will I know them when I see them? What do they even look like?

  I’ve been subconsciously aware of these magical place names all my life, shushed by Dad over Saturday bangers and beans when he wanted to catch every gale warning and wind speed. And now here I am, quite literally ‘sailing by’.

  There were times, when I was hurtling towards Humber or Portland, that I forgot the point of this lunatic venture. I got so caught up in the where-to and the how-to that I couldn’t see beyond the next sea area. This is good. This is right and I’m so grateful to Hilary for making it happen. Dad would be dead impressed. I really think he would.

  Rob and Hilary are discussing tomorrow’s first stop in Greenock. I interrupt them to make a toast. ‘To Peter Stanley, who’d be absolutely loving this. And to Jackie Stanley, who’d be taking the piss something rotten.’

  We clink. We drink. Hilary raises her glass again. ‘To family, friends and lovers, past, present and future. To us. And to hell with what people think.’

  We drink again, moved by her words. Then Rob picks up where he left off and breaks the moment.

  ‘I’ve told you what I think, Hilary. Inside your head you’re Wonder Woman. But outside, you’re a 77-year-old pensioner who’s none too steady on her pins in a strange city taking on, as far as I can tell, a complicated outing. You think so too, don’t you, Annie?’

  ‘Sorry. Miles away. What outing?’

  Rob’s about to speak but Hilary silences him with a stern finger to her lips. ‘It’s my outing so it’s my explanation, if you please, Robin. I’m going to Glasgow tomorrow.’

  ‘We all are,’ I tell her. ‘It’s way more interesting than Greenock.’

  Now it’s my turn to get the finger-to-lip treatment.

  ‘Could you both just ruddy well listen?’ she snaps. ‘I’ve done my research. Well, Toni did, but that’s by the by. I know precisely where I’m going and I know how I’m getting there. I will be perfectly fine and I don’t need you inviting yourselves along as my carers.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Rob and I say the words in unison.

  ‘A bookshop on Glasgow University campus. I shall get a taxi to Greenock Central, a train to Glasgow Central and a Tube train – or whatever they call it – to Kelvinbridge. From there, it’s a short walk. I walk all the time in Bexhill. That mobility scooter was just a whim. So sod right off with ruddy great nobs on, the pair of you.’

  Rob gives me a quick nod to indicate a change of tactic. Pestering Hilary will only make her all the more stubborn.

  ‘What’s so special about this bookshop?’ he asks calmly.

  Hilary sips her cognac, refusing to answer. We let the silence sit until she can keep quiet no longer. ‘Frank is at the bookshop. He’s giving a reading at lunchtime. If that’s not fortuitous, I don’t know what is. And now I think I shall retire. Don’t crash about when you come to bed, A
nnie. I’m an exceptionally light sleeper. And may I suggest we both adhere to the “if it’s yellow, let it mellow” rule with regard to nocturnal flushing.’

  After she’s tottered off, Rob and I debrief.

  ‘Frank, Frank . . .’ I recall. ‘She mentioned him a couple of times when I visited her.’

  ‘Frank who?’ He’s peeved that I’ve heard of him and he hasn’t.

  ‘Ex-lover. I get the impression she’s had quite a lively past. She kept teasing me. Dropping his name into the conversation, then saying no more.’

  ‘Why didn’t she tell me about him?’

  I have no idea. And Hilary will only elaborate when she feels like it. If she feels like it.

  ‘We need to go with her,’ I say. ‘That’s quite a trek for someone her age in a strange city. That way, we’ll find out who Frank is.’

  While I have this moment alone with Rob, I decide to bite the bullet and use it to shoot the elephant in the room. We can both relax, enjoy this cruise, if we stop skirting around what happened.

  ‘That night,’ I say and Rob knows instantly which night I mean. ‘It was a thing but it wasn’t a “Thing”. Not for me anyway. So if you’ve been feeling awkward about it, please don’t.’

  ‘We got pissed, we got silly, we got over it,’ he replies. ‘It wasn’t a “Thing” for me either.’

  ‘Phew, what a relief. I was worried you’d read more into it than what it was. Just sex, nothing more. No strings, no agenda. It only happened because we’re still a bit too comfortable with each other, that’s all.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘I like Fi. I really do, Rob. And I wouldn’t want to hurt her. I still can’t believe we did that. I hate women who do that. So bloody selfish and stupid.’

  Rob fiddles with a hang nail. ‘I wouldn’t want to hurt Simon and I’ve never even met the guy. It won’t happen again. Thanks, Annie.’