Angel arrived at the table with two bottles of pink champagne.
‘Please join us in a glass,’ said Royston.
‘There’s not enough room for all of us in a glass,’ said Eric, giggling away at yet another poor joke.
‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Irene.
‘Well, it’s not often you find yourself married for thirty-nine years,’ said Royston, giving Stella a big wink.
‘Goodness me,’ said Eric, although it was noted that he didn’t dive in and try and pip them by saying something on the lines of, ‘Well, Irene and I have been married fifty-one years.’ For once, the girls thought, Eric must have been outdone.
When eight glasses had been poured out, Eric led the toast.
‘Many more to come for you both,’ he said, tipping his glass their way. ‘Happy Anniversary, Royston and Stella.’ The others echoed that and sipped whilst they chose from yet another gorgeous menu, although Roz still plumped for soup and sirloin steak.
After dessert, the waiters began to gravitate towards their table.
‘Oh here we go!’ laughed Eric. ‘The choir.’
After a signal from Supremo, the waiters launched into the worst rendition of ‘Congratulations’ the girls had ever heard. It was so bad it was brilliant. People from surrounding tables were clapping along – cruisers who had seen it all before, presumably, and knew the drill. Royston basked in the attention, Stella endured it with a tortured smile on her face and intermittent jangling from her many glittery bangles.
They went as an eight to the Motown show in Broadway and thoroughly enjoyed it. Then Royston insisted they all join him and Stella for a nightcap in the champagne bar Beluga. They parted company just after eleven o’clock; everyone went back to their cabins, full of fizz and good food, except for Ven who walked up the stairs and out onto the top deck. It was dark but the air was warm and soft. She looked out and, though there was nothing to see but a fingernail-snip of moon, dots of stars in the sky, and waves sprinkled with silver, she thought it was beautiful. The ship rocked gently on the shushing sea, the breeze tumbled through her hair and she smiled to herself. For the first time in ages she felt calm and rested and thought she might have got it, what people found so wonderful about such a simple thing as water, when it looked as if it could have gone on and down for ever.
DAY 4: MALAGA
Dress Code: Smart Casual
Chapter 29
Olive awoke first the next morning and realised the ship wasn’t moving. They were in port. She threw back the curtains and, to her disappointment, the day looked dull again. She had been looking forward to wearing her new shorts and one of her swanky T-shirts. But it seemed as if it was going to be another cardigan day.
She had just put on her slacks and long-sleeved top when there was a sharp rap at the door and Ven’s accompanying voice.
‘Ol, are you up? It’s me, Ven.’
Olive opened the door to Ven in skimpy shorts and a vest with shoelace shoulder straps.
‘You’ll catch your death in that,’ Olive commented.
‘You’re joking,’ said Ven, grinning a wide arc. ‘It’s gorgeous. Seventy degrees according to the announcement some Irish officer has just given out over the Tannoy, and it’s not even nine o’clock yet. The sun is at the other side of the ship, but trust me it is out there and blazing for us. So take those thermals off whilst I get the other two lazy arses up and then we can go up for a nice sunny breakfast.’
And sure enough, when the four of them walked up to the Buttery, they passed the Topaz area and found that the great glass ceiling over the pool had been pulled back and the sun was streaming down through it. It was gorgeous. They were in Spain. Hot, bright, beautiful Spain.
‘What shall we do? Just have a plod about on land?’ asked Frankie, mid-toast-bite. She was wearing a lovely pale-blue top with a matching bolero and white shorts.
‘Yeah, why not. Let’s stretch our legs,’ said Olive. ‘When are we off next?’
‘We’ve got a couple of days at sea then we’re in Corfu,’ said Roz. ‘So it will be nice to have a walk about, won’t it?’
‘How’s the weather back home?’ asked Ven. ‘Anyone know?’
‘According to the Mermaidia Times, it’s chilly with thunderstorms expected,’ said Olive with glee.
‘How awful!’ exclaimed Frankie, with fake sympathy for all the people in the UK.
Ven popped the last of her almond croissant into her mouth. She dreaded to think how many calories it contained. But sod it, it was delicious and she was on holiday. ‘Come on, then. Let’s go and sample España!’
Getting off the ship was an easy enough experience. They went down to deck four, presented their cruise cards to a guy at a machine, which recorded they had left the ship and said a robotic ‘goodbye’ to them, and then they walked down a long tunnel and into a huge enclosed building with a small selection of shops promising better prices than Gibraltar. Once they had left the building and walked outside, the heat of the day hit them full on. Frankie stripped off her bolero and Roz caught her first glimpse of the angel motif on her shoulder.
‘Bloody hell, she’s got a tattoo!’ she hissed in Ven’s ear. ‘Mind you, as if I’m surprised.’ She hated tattoos. She thought they were common enough on men, but on women they were something else! Manus had a tiger on his arm, something he’d had since he was eighteen. She’d told him on more than one occasion that only idiots wanted to brand themselves.
Ven didn’t reply. She wasn’t that keen on tattoos on women either, but she knew the angel meant something special to Frankie and the reason why she’d had it done. She definitely wasn’t going to spoil the day and start taking sides on the matter though.
They joined the queue for the shuttle bus and enjoyed the short ride from the port with all its extensive building work going on, past a replica of a pirate ship with the magnificent figurehead of a crowned lion and a few moored multimillionaires’ yachts. Fifteen minutes later they were in the throng of Malaga shops.
‘I’m tired out already,’ said Ven. ‘I’m not used to this heat. Let’s go and get a coffee.’
‘I’m all for that,’ said Olive as they approached a square by the Cathedral. She gestured at one of the cafés there. ‘What about this place?’
‘No,’ said Frankie, pointing to a tank full of live lobsters. ‘Not here. It upsets me seeing them.’
‘Blimey, you’ve changed,’ scoffed Roz. Frankie was never that sensitive in her youth. She’d have delighted in picking out the fattest one and having it boiled for her lunch.
‘Haven’t we all changed?’ said Olive, partly in Frankie’s defence. It wasn’t as if Roz was the same as she used to be years ago either. If only. These days, Roz’s emotions were all wrapped up tightly in barbed wire, forbidden to escape. Even her choice of food was ridiculously rigid. It was as if she was compensating for feeling lost and adrift by grabbing at control over herself where she could.
‘That’s a nice-looking café,’ said Ven, spotting one across the other corner of the square. ‘Look at the desserts in there. Always the best sign of a quality place.’ The twirling sweet cabinet was bursting with huge cakes.
‘Just a coffee for me. Isn’t it too early for cake?’ grumbled Roz.
‘I’m not looking at the clock on this holiday,’ said Ven, turning to the waiter who arrived at their side as they chose a shaded table. ‘Cuatro cafés con leche y er . . . tres gateau?’ She looked at the waiter but she had lost him after the coffee order.
‘Gato is a cat in Spanish,’ laughed Frankie. ‘You’ve just ordered four white coffees and three cats.’
‘Do they do lemon drizzle?’ asked Olive.
‘Oh for God’s sake, Ol!’ said Roz. ‘Ven doesn’t even know what “cake” is in Spanish. She’s not going to be able to order “lemon drizzle”, is she?’
‘Chocolate then,’ said Olive. ‘Surely that’s an international word.’
‘Will you stop laughing, Frankie Carnevale,
and help me out here? You’re the language expert.’ Ven play-thumped Frankie in the arm.
‘Tres tortas de chocolate, por favor,’ Frankie ordered smoothly as she wiped the tears from her eyes. ‘Oh, that was the funniest thing I’ve seen in ages. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.’
When the pieces of chocolate cake arrived, they were embarrassingly huge. Sitting on the pavement, people were passing and looking at them. A Japanese tourist actually took a photograph.
‘That was divine,’ said Frankie, polishing off the last cherry on the top.
‘I should have had something,’ mused Roz. ‘I’m a bit peckish now.’
‘Have a soup and some steak,’ Frankie twinkled. Roz always did bring out the imp in her.
‘We’re not all as adventurous as you,’ replied Roz frostily.
‘But there’s so much on the ship menus. How come you won’t even try anything else?’ put in Ven. ‘If you don’t like what you order, you could always send it back and then get a steak.’
‘I like a steak,’ said Roz with more than a touch of exasperation.
‘Yes, but you aren’t going to have one for sixteen nights running, surely?’ Olive got in on the argument now. ‘I’m not exactly Mrs Exciting but soup and steak every night would drive me mental.’
‘Will it make your holiday any better if I eat a bloody fish?’ said Roz, expecting an obvious no to her question, but getting instead:
‘Yes, it will,’ from Ven. ‘Because I know you’d enjoy it.’ If you let yourself, she added to herself.
‘All right, if it makes you happy, I’ll order some sodding melon balls tonight,’ sighed Roz. ‘Now what shall we do? Mosey around the shops?’
‘Sounds good to me,’ said Olive, heaving herself to her feet and having a mental flash of Doreen getting up from her chair.
‘Come on then, girlies,’ said Ven, handing a twenty-euro note to the waiter and pocketing the receipt.
‘Here, I’ll get this,’ said Frankie.
‘No, you won’t,’ said Ven. ‘I’ll claim it back from the competition people. All expenses paid, remember. Come on, then.’ She beckoned them to follow her out of the square. Blimey, it was hot. They’d only gone about forty yards and wanted to sit down again in the shade of another roadside café and have some icy Cokes. Ven didn’t want to be a killjoy, but what she would have loved to do most at this moment was turn on her heel and head back to the ship. She missed it already.
‘We could hit the beach,’ said Roz. ‘Although I haven’t brought my towel or anything.’
‘I’m boiled alive,’ said Olive. ‘And tired out.’ How the heck had she ever managed her fourteen cleaning jobs when eating a slice of chocolate cake had just totally knackered her?
‘Well, how about we go to the ship, get our cossies and towels and then come back out and head for the beach?’ Ven suggested.
With no one having a better plan in mind, they set off towards the shuttle bus stop. Coming towards them were Royston and Stella. Royston had a yellow vest on, black shorts and bright yellow sandals. He looked like an elongated bee. Stella wore a short cream sundress that showed a lot of her enhanced cleavage.
‘Hello, girls. We’re just off to take a few photos of the place,’ Royston declared. ‘Well, the boss is. My main purpose of walking in this heat is to build up a thirst so I can enjoy some San Miguels under an umbrella.’
Stella rolled her eyes. ‘Come on, moaner,’ she said and he seemed happy enough to be dragged along by ‘the boss’.
As soon as they stepped on the ship, a wrap of deliciously cool air enveloped the four women, and they sighed collectively. To Ven, the idea of going back out again into the midday sun to sit on a beach lost its pull immediately. She looked at the faces of the three others and could see they were feeling exactly the same.
‘Topaz pool and some cocktails?’ she suggested.
‘Perfecto,’ said Olive.
It was true what Eric had said: with most of the passengers on shore, there was the pick of the sunbeds to be had, no queues for lunch and two empty Jacuzzis at the head of the Topaz pool. Ven, Olive and Roz sat in one whilst Frankie softly snored on a sunbed – in the shade, Roz noticed. No longer a hardline sun-bunny either, it seemed. Was this really the same Frankie? The same Frankie who made her partner cheat . . . Roz sliced off that thought before it spoiled yet another day.
‘Are we right in the head?’ asked Ven as the water bubbled and glugged around her. ‘We’re in Spain and we’re sat on the ship. I feel like I should be out there studying architecture.’
‘Well, I’m having a lovely time,’ said Olive, raising her face to the sun. ‘If I’m wasting the day, so what? I’m on holiday.’
‘You’re more relaxed than I’ve seen you in years,’ said Ven. With her face tilted up, Olive looked just like she did as a schoolgirl – all fresh skin and smiles.
Olive sighed, fighting an irritating thought: how many days was it now until she was back at home? She didn’t want to count. She didn’t want to know what day it was or what the news was back home or even what she was going to do next. She was savouring each moment. She suddenly had a rush of the munchies and fancied a pot of tea and a diddy cream scone.
As if her thoughts had filtered across the pool, Frankie jerked awake, looked around her, spotted her friends in the Jacuzzi and mimed drinking a cuppa over at them.
‘That’s my cue,’ said Olive, hoisting herself out of the Jacuzzi. ‘I’m off upstairs for a nibble in the Buttery. Coming?’
‘Nope, I’m staying put right here,’ said Roz.
‘Ditto,’ said Ven.
‘See you in a bit then,’ said Olive with a backward wave as she caught up with Frankie, slipped on a sarong and together they headed for the restaurant.
‘Have you rung Manus?’ asked Ven.
‘No,’ said Roz tightly. ‘We agreed not to have any contact with each other so I’m sticking to that.’ She didn’t say that she had switched on her phone that morning to check if he had left her a message. If there had been one, she knew she would have rung him back. There wasn’t and she had switched the phone off and almost thrown it into her safe.
‘Oh Rozzy, don’t split up with him. You’ll never find another man as nice as Manus.’ Ven thought he was lovely. Roz was lovely too, just so lost. She had a huge chance to be happy with Manus, if only she would let him love her. After the dysfunctional upbringing she’d had and all the crap luck with men, Ven knew that Roz had finally raised her guard after Robert ran off, and found it nigh on impossible to drop it again. Ven, herself, hadn’t been that lucky on the man front either. Once upon a time she carried a little bubble of hope in her heart that someday her white knight would appear, and though she remained outwardly positive and laughed along with the others about being swept up by a handsome hunk and carried off into the sunset, inside she knew it would never happen.
‘I didn’t say we were definitely splitting up,’ said Roz, somewhat impatiently.
‘Are you missing him?’ Ven asked tentatively, not wanting to upset Roz. She knew that behind that hardened façade, her friend was a soft, mangled mess of hurt.
Am I missing him? Do I wish he was here in this Jacuzzi with me? Do I wish his clothes were sharing space in the wardrobe with mine? Was I disappointed when I switched on my phone to find the one solitary message from fucking Orange?
This was what Roz thought, but instead she answered, ‘Ven, trust me, I’m not thinking about him at all.’
Chapter 30
Manus pulled himself from under the car, hearing a set of high heels tap into the garage.
‘Excuse me, can you help me, please? I’ve broken down just around the corner and I didn’t renew my recovery insurance. Four years I’ve had it and never used it, and two weeks after it’s run out, this happens! I could scream.’
Manus wiped his hands on a cloth as he got to his feet. The rain-soaked, trembly-voiced gold-and-caramel-haired lady in front of him was petite, in a smart navy suit
and matching coloured heels, carrying a laptop case and looking vaguely familiar.
Her narrow-eyed expression hinted that she’d seen him somewhere before too.
‘Is it Manus?’ she said. ‘Manus Howard? Do you remember me? Jonie Spencer. We were at Holbank School together.’
‘I thought I knew your face,’ said Manus, breaking into a friendly smile. Jonie Spencer! He’d been in the same class as her for History and French and Maths. He’d had a real crush on her at school, then at sixth form college. But all the lads had a crush on Jonie Spencer. Her hair was always short in a cheeky pixie style, now it was long and woven in a loose plait, but her face was just the same. She had obviously aged after twenty-five years, but she had done it beautifully.
‘How lovely to see you!’ said Jonie. ‘You look great.’
‘So do you,’ said Manus, suddenly bashful. ‘Really well.’
‘I’m twenty-five years older than the last time you saw me,’ smiled Jonie as genuine delight sparkled in her eyes.
‘You must have a portrait getting older in your attic,’ Manus joked, although she could have had because there were no lines around her eyes at all. ‘Come on, let’s go and sort out your car,’ he said, leading the way. Had he grown that much? He remembered being only a little taller than her, but he had a good foot and a half on her now.
She had a lovely silver CLK Mercedes. Classy. She suited a Mercedes. She flicked the bonnet open for him and he had a good look inside as she turned over the engine.
‘Your battery is as flat as a pancake. I’ll juice it up and have a look at it in the garage for you. You won’t have it back today though.’
‘That’s okay, I can live without it for a couple of days,’ said Jonie. ‘Thanks so much. I know nothing about cars – I was beginning to panic.’
‘You’re a girl, that’s why,’ grinned Manus.
‘I promise I’ll go home and do some washing up and know my place, sir,’ Jonie saluted him. Her smile was just the same as it had been at college. It lit her face up – and the street. It was a long time since he had managed to make a woman smile.
Here Come the Girls Page 14