The Mercury Travel Club: Getting your life back on track has never been more funny!

by Helen Bridgett

  ‘Captain,’ I say, ‘I don’t know whether this is relevant but everyone knew these people had those things in their cabins last night and they knew that they’d be at the party.’

  Together we go to the magician’s cabin and knock on the door. Nothing. The captain says he needs to check the register to find out where the assistant is staying.

  ‘Oh I know that, come on,’ I say.

  We get to Patty’s cabin and knock loudly.

  ‘Hold on,’ comes her voice, ‘there’s enough of me to go round.’

  Patty opens the door in her robe, raises her eyebrows when she sees the captain and then sighs grumpily when she spots me behind him. We barge past her and see one tidy bed and one newly slept in. I pull open the wardrobes and drawers; only evidence of Patty remains.

  ‘What on earth...?’ she asks.

  ‘The assistant, where is she?’

  ‘Hasn’t been here all night. I imagine she’s bunking up with the man and his magic wand. Why?’ she replies.

  ‘Some of the guests have been robbed,’ I tell her, ‘and all of them were involved in the magic trick last night.’

  ‘You think they might be the culprits?’ asks Patty.

  ‘It’s starting to look like it,’ I reply.

  ‘Well they can’t get off the boat, we’re ready to leave,’ says the captain as he picks up his radio.

  ‘But the gangway is still lowered,’ I tell him.

  The captain finishes his conversation and darts off. I follow, as does Patty wearing only a robe and deck shoes.

  We dash up the stairs and see the magician and his assistant starting down the gangway.

  The captain speaks into his radio: ‘Do not let anyone disembark until I get there.’

  The magician overhears the instruction being given and looks up to see all of the guests hanging over the side yelling, ‘Stop thieves!’

  They grab their bags and start to make a run for it, causing a mass panic with guests tearing along the deck, trying to follow them. I have visions of the Mercurians falling into the sea and being crushed by their own cruise ship.

  The crew do a valiant job of holding back the tide of angry customers, but the magician makes it to the end of the gangway just as it is a couple of feet off the ground. They throw their bags and cases over the barrier and the van screeches closer. The driver jumps out and starts loading the bags into the back. The magician leaps on shore and is legging it towards the van, but the assistant is afraid to try; he starts to leave without her.

  ‘He’s going to get away,’ I exclaim.

  Suddenly the dock is filled with the screeching of sirens and tyres as four police cars surround the van then drag out the driver and magician. The gangway is lowered and ship security takes the assistant on shore to be arrested.

  A big cheer goes up from the dining deck and I realise we’ve all been yelling this on as if it were a spectator sport. Those who haven’t had their phones stolen are sharing the videos they’ve taken; I expect we’ll see this online at some point.

  I follow the captain to meet the police. Patty starts to do the same but I nod down at her outfit and she rushes back to get changed.

  It turns out that the magicians had quite an alternative act going on, genuinely making things disappear (I know, that pun will be used so many times over the next few days). They committed the robbery, using the act to establish who had jewellery worth stealing and then breaking into cabins when they knew people would be out at the fancy dress. They knew the guests would be partying hard so wouldn’t miss their belongings until later in the morning.

  They also had a laundering business going on; they picked up stolen goods from one country with their costumes and transported them to another, meeting a new courier at each port.

  The captain and I convey this to the guests who have to identify their possessions now.

  ‘I’m so sorry you’ve had to endure this,’ I tell the Mercury Club. ‘We’d never knowingly put you in any danger or send you on holiday with master criminals.’

  I try to make light of it hoping that our reputation hasn’t been destroyed; I needn’t have worried.

  ‘Are you kidding?’ exclaims one guest. ‘This is the most exciting holiday I’ve ever had.’

  Sadly for the beautiful harbour town, the delights of its market square and cafés are only a backdrop to the constant retelling of this morning’s tale, which even made it back home.

  INTERNET SENSATION AGAIN :) texts Charlie.

  He also reports that sales have started increasing again as the news and the videos have started spreading. Bizarre to think that we all now need to be part of something outrageous to have a good time; sunsets and sights are no longer enough. I’m not sure how I keep this up. Do I have to get people eaten by lions on the South Africa trip?

  Stormy Waters

  Patty is making hay. First of all, as the former roommate of the master thief, she is deemed to have some insight into the minds of these international criminals and now moves from table to table accepting a free drink then exaggerating this newly found knowledge.

  Second, the ship needs another pre-dinner act for our last two evenings, so she’s agreed to host a karaoke competition as Granny-P; she’s already stoking up interest as she works the crowd.

  I leave her to it; after this morning, dealing with the police and then ensuring all of my guests have all of their belongings back, I just want to have a few moments of peace. I need to find a quiet space on the boat so run up the stairs to the sky deck, which I know will be deserted at this time of day. My guests think I’m some sort of mastermind giving them adventures they usually see in films; it truly is insane that my disasters are other people’s entertainment.

  As I get closer to the deck, the horizon opens up and with a quick glance behind me I run the last few steps hollering like no one is watching.

  ‘You look like you needed that.’

  Bugger. Alan.

  ‘Just a bit,’ I say. ‘Anyway, what are you doing up here? All the excitement is down there.’

  Looking over the railings on to the sun deck, we can see golden parasols opening to form a honey-coloured hive and we know that underneath them the bustle and buzz of gossip will still be in full flight.

  ‘You’ve done well. I wanted to tell you that,’ he says without looking at me, and as I can’t think of an answer I say nothing.

  ‘I was a real shit but you’ve come out smelling of roses.’

  ‘That’s what you do with shit, isn’t it? Fertilise roses,’ I reply.

  ‘I taught you something then,’ he laughs.

  It’s now or never, I’m going for it.

  ‘Do you know where I live now?’ I start.

  ‘Of course I do,’ he replies.

  ‘And have you ever visited my house?’ I continue.

  ‘Yes, but you weren’t in,’ he tells me.

  This is it.

  ‘I need to ask you something and I need you to promise not to make fun of me.’

  ‘Promise,’ he crosses his heart.

  ‘Have you ever bought me a gnome?’ I ask.

  He bursts out laughing and I feel so stupid.

  ‘You promised.’

  ‘I’m sorry but that was the last question I was expecting. Why on earth would I do that?’

  What seemed feasible and logical now seems ridiculous and my only consolation is that no one else can hear this conversation.

  ‘You don’t think I want to get back together do you?’ he asks.

  ‘Well, you did follow me on to this cruise.’ Embarrassment starts to turn angry.

  ‘I won it.’

  ‘And you’ve been overly friendly.’

  ‘To show that we’re both adults getting on with life, nothing more,’ he says.

  ‘It’s more than that,’ I protest getting more and more heated, ‘half the time it’s bordered on flirting.’

  ‘Flirting? I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ he replies. ‘Would you rather
I insulted you every time I saw you?’

  Him being reasonable and calm is just infuriating me every time he opens his mouth.

  ‘You know what you’re doing?’ I feel bloody stupid now. ‘Trying to hedge your bets with both women.’

  ‘You have one hell of an imagination,’ he says getting up. ‘I’m going now.’

  ‘Oh, drop dead will you,’ I tell him.

  I know it’s not the most articulate insult I could have thrown, but I’ve just humiliated myself and I need him to go. He does so, hurling more comments about my vivid imagination.

  I want to howl, just like a werewolf. Howl and howl and howl. I’ve seen dogs do it when they’re left alone or feel extreme angst and I need that release. However, I can’t guarantee Alan is out of earshot and hearing me cry like a banshee won’t help my sanity case.

  Nor will alcohol; I head back downstairs and straight for the gym. I find the punch bag instead. I pound it with everything I have and then more. This lasts about thirty seconds – they’re much tougher than they seem in films. The gym instructor looks me in the eye and suggests that I spar with him.

  ‘No thanks,’ I murmur, ‘I’m just letting off steam.’

  He hits me with a little jab.

  ‘I said no,’ I tell him astonished.

  ‘You need this, I can tell,’ he counters and jabs me again.

  I punch him back but he blocks and gets me round the side.

  I try again and make contact. He holds his hands up to his face and tells me to go for it. I punch and punch and punch until I’ve beaten a smile back on my face.

  I have sweated that complete humiliation out of my system by the time we’re finished.

  ‘You were right,’ I beam taking off the gloves, ‘I did need that.’

  * * *

  Getting ready tonight I look in the mirror and know that I’m glowing red with exercise rather than anger and embarrassment. I give myself a talking to.

  ‘OK girl, no more. You’ve done so much this year and now you need to get this into your head. IT IS OVER.’

  I’m going to tell Patty what happened so that she can keep me on the straight and narrow from here on in. I head off to her cabin where she’s getting dressed for her new role as karaoke compère and spill the gory details.

  ‘Go on,’ I tell her, ‘say it.’

  ‘Told you so,’ she obliges then gives me a little hug.

  ‘But you probably had to hear it from him before you would believe it,’ she adds, ‘and at least this time your angst wasn’t broadcast on the internet.’

  ‘Do you think I’ll ever learn?’ I ask.

  ‘Think of this year as getting a diploma in breaking up,’ she says. ‘You’ve just graduated with honours.’

  ‘That’s a more positive spin.’

  ‘But you’ve passed the exam now, so stop retaking it.’ She hammers me on the skull to drive it in.

  The Kids Wanna Rock

  Granny-P is ready to face her audience; the lyrics for ‘Material Girl’ start up on the karaoke screen and as the music begins, she jumps up onstage urging the audience to give her a round of applause: ‘Come on boys and girls, like the advert says, I’m worth it.’

  She starts singing along, camping it up as much as possible, and as you can imagine that’s to quite a high standard.

  ‘She’s like a woman doing a man doing drag,’ whispers someone on my table.

  Patty finishes the song and then starts her act.

  ‘Where’s the daft bunch who turned up to an eighties costume party as the cast from Grease?’

  A cheer goes up from a table on the left.

  ‘Did you learn nothing in history? Nineteen seventy-eight, I was a mere babe when it first came out,’ she scolds.

  Scornful heckling rises.

  ‘Mind you, I’m still a babe now,’ she continues.

  Wolf whistles from the audience; this woman can work a room. She finds the couple who came dressed as Danny and Sandy and cajoles them on to the stage.

  ‘Your punishment for not knowing your seventies from your eighties is that you can go first. The good news is that you get to pick who goes second. Music, maestro.’

  She’s chosen ‘You’re the One That I Want’ for them to sing and the night kicks off. This crowd love nominating each other, so the night flows well until Patty closes her first act of the evening.

  ‘That was bloody awful,’ she says, ‘but points for trying. If you want to see it done properly, we Granny-Okes are up next, so fill your boots and come back cheering.’

  We’ve sailed into our final destination, St Peter Port, tonight and we’ll spend our final day visiting Guernsey tomorrow before getting back to Southampton. So there’s an end-of-trip buzz about the evening and everyone is in the mood to party. Tonight we have an evening of soft rock with a Bryan Adams tribute headlining; Alan is going to love that, ‘Summer of ’69’ was his ‘once more around the block’ song. I think everyone has one, the song you drive once more round the block for and you won’t get out of the car until the track finishes.

  Tonight isn’t fancy dress but a few of the guys have dressed up and are sporting 1980s rock-star wigs; they’re reliving the days they had long hair and are having the time of their lives. You can tell when someone is having a nice time and when someone is having a brilliant time. I wonder how long it is since any of these guys got the chance to let it all hang out to rock music? Their kids would die of embarrassment if they could see them now.

  Patty’s set is quite short tonight and of course she ends with Bon Jovi and the Zimmer-frame air guitar, which Sheila brandishes to wild applause and cheering. In a triumph of rock-star frenzy, she throws the Zimmer frame into the audience and there’s an unreal scramble for it. I have a moment of terror when I think Patty is going to attempt to crowd surf but to my great relief she doesn’t, although the thought flickered across her face; I saw it.

  Mind you, if she had, this crowd might well have caught her. In a couple of days, their lives will be back to washing the car and cutting the grass, but tonight they’re partying as if they never had to grow up.

  The star act comes on to the stage and Alan, with the be-wigged guys at the front, goes wild: head-banging, jumping up and down, barging into each other. I fail to see how this drunken performance is any different to my karaoke session. If I’d put this online and called them Grandad Rockers or something he’d have no right to question my sanity. Maybe there are always double standards when it comes to men and women.

  I spot Alan right up at the front pumping his fist in the air; he always adored Bryan Adams and Bruce Springsteen. I look but can’t see Amanda anywhere.

  The heat in this room is now overwhelming and I need to get away from these sweat-soaked walls for a minute or two. I step out on to the deck and at the first blast of cool night air, I sigh with pleasure.

  ‘Bliss,’ I say to no one in particular as I look out on to the night lights of Guernsey.

  ‘Only improved with a chilled glass of Pinot.’ Patty sneaks up and hands me a glass of just-what-I-needed.

  ‘Could you do this every week?’ she asks.

  ‘I don’t think so; I think I’m a landlubber or whatever they’re called. What about you?’

  ‘I wasn’t sure,’ she says, ‘but Ang, they’ve asked me to stay on and do the karaoke act for a few weeks, until they replace the magician. Do you think I should?’

  ‘Do you have enough knickers with you?’ I ask.

  ‘They’re upgrading me to a room with a sink and washing line,’ she boasts.

  ‘Then I think you’re sorted,’ I say and click glasses. ‘Just do it, life is too short for regrets.’

  She looks quite relieved, although I can’t imagine she was waiting for me to give her permission.

  ‘Shall we go and watch your ex make an ex-hibition of himself,’ she asks.

  ‘Yes and let’s take a video of him to post online.’ Which of course I won’t do.

  We head back into the ballr
oom and struggle through the wall of heat just as the crowd are screaming for an encore. There’s Alan, wearing a freshly acquired wig that sits skew-whiff on his head. He looks exhausted with a face like a shiny red portside buoy.

  Bryan comes back on and they go wild, they’re all chanting for the classic they haven’t heard yet.

  ‘Summer, Summer, Summer,’ bay the crowd.

  The chords strike up and there’s a huge cheer. The crowd start leaping up and down and bellowing the lyrics; they all know ‘Summer of ’69’.

  I take a picture of the band and crowd and then tour the room taking photos of the Mercurians enjoying the night, lots of happy faces to go into our next newsletter. I turn back to the crowd to get a close-up of Alan but can’t see him; he’s not in his spot at the front.

  I skim the crowd and then spot him trying to get away from the masses. He must have had too much excitement for one night. No staying power, I muse.

  I watch him and then realise he’s struggling; he’s holding his chest and trying to steady himself grabbing at people as he walks past. All they see is a sweaty drunk bloke and they brush him off. Then it happens, he falls to his knees clutching his chest while his face is paralysed with agony.

  I dive in slow-motion speed to get to him, pushing the crowd aside as I go. No one seems to appreciate what’s happening here and I feel as if I’m in some awful nightmare. A room of people partying and someone dying in their midst yet they haven’t even noticed.

  ‘Get help, get a doctor,’ I scream but no one can hear me over the din.

  I have Alan’s head in my lap and the people directly around me start to see that we’re in trouble. A Mexican wave of concern works its way around the room and then from the stage Patty’s voice. She’s been watching me and when I ran for Alan, she ran for the mike.

  ‘Get a doctor now, there’s a man having a heart attack,’ she calls out.

  The band stop and the crew get the crowd out of the room. The ship’s doctor reaches us and places Alan in recovery position, then gives him oxygen. They transport him to the medical bay and I move to follow.