Here Come the Girls

by Milly Johnson

  ‘Manus didn’t know what was up with her, before you ask, and he still doesn’t. He could see she was upset about something and he put his arms around her and you know the rest. He didn’t know what was going on in her head, but he did know that kissing him wasn’t the right way to sort out whatever it was. But Frankie was prepared to take everything you threw at her because she felt so shit about what she did.’

  Roz was frozen, unable to move, unable to talk. That day forced its way to the front of her mind. She and Manus had had another row, something too stupid to even remember, but she knew she was the root cause of it. She had stormed off, had a coffee in a café then decided to go home and stop being so puerile. Manus had met her at the door, looking tortured about what had happened in her absence. And he had ’fessed up because he wanted to tell her that something was troubling Frankie, for her to act that way. But had she even considered that last point? No – she’d fixated on his fall from grace, enjoyed that it justified her behaviour and proved once and for all that no man was ever to be trusted. And boy, had she then run with it.

  She closed her eyes against the truth as she now knew it. Her head felt light and buzzy. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? I’d have understood that,’ she said breathlessly.

  ‘No, you wouldn’t,’ said Olive, her voice uncharacteristically harsh. ‘You haven’t listened to anything we’ve said since you and Robert started going downhill. You treated that scumbag like a god and then Manus – lovely Manus that we’d all kill for – he copped for all the bile you should have given Robert. It’s as if you were waiting for your chance to stick the boot into him because you never stuck it into Robert, and then Frankie gave you that perfect opportunity to let rip. It must have been like a gift for you, Roz. That bloke must love you a hell of a lot to put up with all you’ve dished out to him.’

  Roz looked slapped. But for once, she was listening and it was Olive who couldn’t stop herself.

  ‘We wanted to tell you from the off about Frankie, but she made us swear not to. “It’s not an excuse,” she said. “I had no right to do what I did, whatever was going on in my life.” She knew you’d never have done that to her. Jesus, we gave her a hard time when we found out, but that was nothing to the beating-up she gave herself. She then had her op and it was successful, and so Frankie reckoned that you need never know about her illness. She said that if you poured all your vitriol her way, you and Manus would get back on track. But it didn’t work out as well as she planned it, did it? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been close to telling you, especially when you were moaning that we’d had to cancel a couple of our Saturday afternoons to go and help her. You’d say, “Ooh, the world stops when Frankie wants you”, not knowing what was really going on. It wasn’t fair on you, Ven and I argued that, but when Frankie realised she’d made a wrong call, she knew she’d left it too late to say anything because you’d never forgive yourself for hating her that much. She reckoned it was better that you carried on rather than learn the truth and hate yourself.’

  Roz’s eyes filled with tears that plopped silently down her cheeks. But Olive hadn’t finished. There was no point in keeping anything back now. Roz might as well learn the lot.

  ‘She had to have both breasts off and reconstructed, and she went for a bit extra to what she had before so she could get a little confidence back because she was rock bottom, Roz. And her hair, for your information, isn’t dyed blonde. It fell out with the chemo and it’s just started growing back that colour. She didn’t want to risk dyeing it back to black in case it all fell out again. Plus, she says, it’s easier to hide any patches when it’s fair. So no, she wasn’t trying to pretend to be more like you so Manus would fancy her. This ends tonight. I have to say this, Roz, you’ve been swimming in a lake of ME for so long I’m surprised you haven’t grown a dorsal fin.’

  Roz covered her face with her hands. The tears slipped in between her fingers onto the deck. ‘Oh God,’ she said, over and over again. She thought of all the horrible things she had said about Frankie. She felt the weight of her shame which all that hatred projecting outwards had masked. Roz saw herself through the eyes of others and it wasn’t pretty.

  ‘So now you know,’ said Olive. God, she felt sick. Ven and Frankie were going to kill her – what had she done? She almost wished she could be transported back home to Land Lane in order to avoid them. Roz was crying hard now, but Olive couldn’t bring herself to comfort her. She was spent and tired and fed up and angry that it had fallen to her to burst such a fetid balloon of secrets. Four long years of wasted energy and lies and bitterness which had taken its toll on every single one of them. She was done with it all. She opened up the door to the deck and left Roz alone.

  Roz wiped her eyes, not caring that her mascara was probably down to her knees by now. She let her mind wander past its locked gates. She thought of Frankie coming to her house after being told she had cancer, seeking out Roz first before anyone because they were ‘Froz’. She imagined how scared she must have been, head bursting with fear that she was probably going to die. But she didn’t find Roz there, she found lovely, sweet, caring Manus instead. And she knew Manus would have put his arm around her and led her inside and asked her if she wanted a cup of tea, because he was like that. And Frankie would have just wanted a hug, because she was like that. And Roz would have been there to give her that hug, had she not been a total bitch and argued with Manus.

  Chapter 39

  Frankie was reading her book in the lounge area of Ven’s room when she heard the gentle knocking at the door. She opened it to a bleary-eyed Roz.

  ‘Hi Frankie, how’s Ven?’ she said, no trace of her usual aggression in her voice.

  ‘She’s sleeping,’ said Frankie. ‘She’ll be okay.’ She smiled. ‘Roz, are you all right? What’s up?’

  Roz fell on Frankie, her arms tight around the small, thin-framed woman who had once been so solid-bodied.

  ‘Frankie, I’m so sorry, forgive me. Please, I don’t deserve it, I know I don’t. Olive told me.’

  ‘Oh shite. You’d better come in,’ sighed Frankie. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’

  Roz sat on the sofa at the other side of the suite from the gently snoring Ven.

  ‘Still milk no sugar?’ Frankie asked.

  ‘Please.’

  Frankie delivered two cups of coffee to the table.

  ‘You should have told me,’ said Roz, suddenly angry. ‘I didn’t have a clue.’

  ‘I did what I thought was right at the time,’ said Frankie ruefully. ‘Obviously I made a total bollocks of it. I did think, halfway through my treatment, that I should ring you and explain, but you’d have felt all mixed-up and guilty and in the wrong – and that felt worse.’

  ‘You silly, stupid cow,’ sobbed Roz. ‘And are you . . . okay now?’ She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.

  ‘So far,’ nodded Frankie. ‘The fags have gone, obviously, and I don’t drink a quarter as much as I used to, unless you count this holiday. I put some decent things in my body – no joke intended – and try and look after myself a bit more than I did.’

  ‘I just can’t believe it,’ said Roz. ‘What if you hadn’t been okay? What if you’d . . . you’d gone and I never got the chance to say sorry?’

  ‘You hadn’t anything to say sorry to me for,’ Frankie told her. ‘I was the one in the wrong. And if . . . if it hadn’t gone well, I promised the others I’d tell you. They made me swear, just like I made them swear not to tell you.’

  Roz sipped on coffee she didn’t really want, but she badly needed to draw warmth from the heat coming from the cup. The cabin’s air conditioning was too effective and she was shivering.

  ‘I turned it up to max for Ven.’ Frankie read her mind – they were always on the same wavelength, except on the Manus episode which had blindsided both of them. ‘Hang on, I’ll turn it down a bit.’

  ‘No, leave it, I’m okay, it’s not important,’ said Roz. ‘How did your mum and dad take it?’ />
  Frankie shrugged her shoulders. ‘Dad’s Italian so he went all dramatic because that’s what they do. He told me that Carnevales didn’t die until they were in their nineties at least and forbade it. Dad drank a lot of grappa, sang to Rossini operas and cried a lot. He did the same when I was given the all-clear as well. Mum just cried a lot. I think Dad telling me I wasn’t allowed to die helped me fight a bit harder. My family were fantastic.’

  ‘Oh, Frankie . . .’ I wasn’t there for you when I should have been. Roz couldn’t get the words out past the massive lump in her throat.

  ‘Roz, it’s a part of my life that’s over, touch wood.’ Frankie reached her fingers out to touch the wood of the table hopefully as she said it. ‘I just want to look forward and enjoy things.’

  ‘Can I be your friend again?’ Roz crumbled into a ball.

  ‘Course you can, you daft mare,’ said Frankie, putting her arm around her and pulling her into her shoulder. Roz could feel the hard bone against her ear and it turned the tap on her tears up to full flow.

  In the background Ven gave a snort.

  ‘Jesus, who let that pig in the room!’ whispered Frankie, making Roz spurt out a pocket of laughter that she didn’t think was in her.

  ‘Dubrovnik tomorrow.’ Frankie gently rocked, still holding Roz. ‘Apparently it’s very beautiful. I reckon it’s going to be a lovely day if Sleeping Beauty is okay.’

  ‘For all four of us,’ said Roz. ‘I’ll make sure it is.’

  Frankie stayed awake long after Roz had left the cabin, thinking back to that day, the beginning of the rift. She honestly didn’t know what she would have done, had Manus not gently pushed her away. If he had tightened his hold on her and reciprocated the kiss she had given him, she wasn’t sure she would have left his embrace. That was why she had taken the full brunt of Roz’s hatred. But maybe now her debt was paid – maybe she had suffered enough.

  DAY 8: DUBROVNIK

  Dress Code: Formal

  Chapter 40

  Ven awoke to the noise of someone shifting next to her in the large double bed.

  Oh hell, was her first thought. I’ve pulled and I can’t remember who.

  Her eyes focused on Frankie’s spiky hair, just poking out from under a throw on top of the quilt. She wondered why Frankie was there, and what happened last night, and how the hell did she get to bed. She groaned, loud enough to wake up Frankie.

  ‘Morning, druggie friend. How are you feeling?’ Frankie smiled through a yawn then got up and headed for the kettle.

  ‘Oh God!’ sighed Ven. ‘Tell me I didn’t make a total arse of myself in front of the whole ship. What happened to me?’ A picture loomed up in her mind of that handsome bloke in white sitting next to her at the dinner-table. She hoped that bit was a hallucination.

  ‘You had some dodgy Greek medicine, remember?’ said Frankie. ‘And just for good measure, took far more than you should have done and mixed it with alcohol. Very sensible.’

  ‘You didn’t answer the first question,’ said Ven, not wanting to hear the answer now.

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ replied Frankie. ‘You were fine – just a bit spaced. You didn’t wet yourself or fart loudly at the table, if that’s what you were wondering.’

  Frankie’s attempt to jolly Ven up, alas, put unbidden images in her brain and scared her half to death.

  ‘Look, Ven, it wasn’t your fault. Everyone was really concerned. Especially the doctor.’

  The doctor. Ven’s trail of memory ended with walking out of the restaurant. ‘How did I get to bed?’

  ‘One of the crew helped me.’

  ‘Oh God, he didn’t carry me, did he?’

  ‘Nobody’s that strong!’ grinned Frankie. ‘No, he . . . er . . . pushed you in a wheelchair.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Ven’s head dropped into her hands. She wanted her hands to grow large enough to envelop the whole of her so she could hide in them.

  ‘No one saw you. And even if they did, there are a few people in wheelchairs around the ship. It’s not something to be ashamed of.’

  ‘I bet they weren’t singing “Show me the way to go home” though, were they?’ said Ven.

  ‘Oh, do you remember that bit?’ said Frankie.

  ‘Jesus Christ – I didn’t, did I?’ Ven gasped.

  ‘No, of course not. Chillax, you silly thing.’

  ‘Was . . . was there an extra man at the table?’

  ‘Yes. Nigel. You can remember him, surely?’ Frankie busied herself putting coffee in the cups. ‘He’s the bloke you’ve been ogling for days.’

  ‘Oh heck. So not only did I make a show of myself in front of my fellow passengers, I made a prat of myself in front of a member of staff as well!’

  Frankie’s mouth opened and then slammed shut again.

  ‘What?’ said Ven, alarmed. ‘What were you going to say?’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Just then!’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Frankie.

  ‘Yes, you were. We were talking about that officer bloke and you were just about to say something about him. What? What? What did I do?’

  Frankie sighed. She could see that Ven was filling in the missing time blanks with ludicrous thoughts – like dancing on the table and showing Nigel her knickers. Ven really should have followed her earlier leanings towards a literary career – her imagination was a powerful, loaded tool.

  ‘All I was going to say,’ said Frankie, in her best under-playing voice, ‘was that he was the Captain.’

  Ocean Sea, Ocean Sea. Why am I thinking that? wondered Ven.

  ‘Captain Nigel O’Shaughnessy?’ Frankie tried to encourage Ven’s brain to remember. Unfortunately, it all came flooding back. I kept calling him Captain Ocean Sea, didn’t I?

  Ven buried herself under her quilt and Frankie thought she heard some choice expletives of the Anglo-Saxon persuasion, although they were very muffled.

  ‘Ven, you really didn’t do anything wrong at all. You were sweet and funny and under the influence of very strong medication.’

  Ven’s head popped out from the sanctuary of the quilt a wee bit. ‘Honestly? I didn’t do anything that people will point to me for?’

  ‘No, of course not. Do you think any of us would have let you make a cock of yourself?’

  No, they wouldn’t have. That Ven did believe.

  ‘How’s your stomach?’ Frankie handed her a coffee.

  ‘It feels absolutely fine. Now.’

  ‘Brilliant. The doctor said you just needed to sleep it off. Now have that coffee and then let’s go and get some breakfast,’ suggested Frankie gently. ‘You’ll see that no one will stare at you as the on-ship entertainment. Then, if you feel well enough, we’ll go out into Dubrovnik and see the sights. Okay?’

  Ven’s confidence slipped down a few notches when she stepped out into the corridor and heard the Irish Captain’s voice boom over the Tannoy, warning passengers not to buy any foreign medicines from foreign pharmacies, and that trustworthy help for stomach-aches and sea-sickness was available from the Emporium, or the sick bay if more severe.

  ‘Just think,’ put in Frankie, trying to help, ‘you may have prevented lots of other people from falling down the same hole.’

  Ven nodded, wanting to turn back and hide, but she knew that she couldn’t stay in her cabin for the rest of the cruise. Best to face the world. And hope to God she didn’t run into ‘Captain Ocean Sea’.

  Luck was not on Ven’s side, as far as that was concerned, though. Halfway up the stairs, Frankie doubled back to the cabin for her watch, and Ven went on ahead up to the Buttery to find them a table. She took one step inside the restaurant, only to find Nigel striding towards her. She did such an obvious about-turn that she almost toppled over. Her cheeks had raced from a shade of pale and interesting to burned tandoori by the time Nigel had caught up with her.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said, voice overflowing with gallant Gaelic concern. ‘And how are you feeling today, Venice?’ He looked freshly shaved an
d pristine and she caught a whiff of his aftershave which had a deliciously fresh tang.

  ‘Oh, hello! Er . . . I’m fine, thank you, much much much better,’ said Ven. Her cheeks were boiling hot. One of the chefs could have used her as a stand-in for a George Foreman grill.

  ‘I am so glad,’ said Nigel. ‘I went down to the sick bay to find out what that medicine was you got from Corfu. Your friend kindly brought it down to Dr Floren. Very strong stuff. Best let us dispose of it safely, I think.’

  ‘Yes, yes of course,’ said Ven, trying hard not to get eye-contact.

  Then Eric and Irene, complete with matching Mermaidia-logo-ed baseball hats and thick-soled walking boots on, appeared as well.

  ‘Hello, my love,’ said Irene, eyes full of sympathy. ‘Are you all right this morning? Eric and I were so worried.’

  ‘Yes, yes I’m fine,’ said Ven, trying not to go any redder.

  ‘No buying any foreign medicines today, young lady. If you need any sickness or diarrhoea medicine, come and find Irene or me,’ said Eric far too loudly. ‘We always bring lots of first aid with us for any eventuality.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Irene. ‘And it’s from Boots so we know it’s okay.’

  ‘Anyway, I must away to the bridge,’ said Nigel. ‘Glad you’re fit and well. I shall see you all at dinner, if you’ll permit me to join you again.’