Marnie was right. Oh my God, she was so right. I mean what did I know about Gabriel? Barely anything if I was honest. And he’d wanted to keep our fling/relationship/whatever you call it a secret from Marnie. And I’d let him. I held my breath for a second, letting this sink in. I’d done this with Ryan, letting him talk his way out of cheating on me for months, and Tom, who just took everything from me … No! No! I wasn’t going to do that again.
I looked up at Marnie, feeling determined to listen up now. I needed to Spring-Clean My Life and I really was going to do it this time!
Marnie was strolling now. I must have missed a bit. Her arms were folded, the headset microphone nestling against her cheek like a stray Rice Krispie. When she reached the end she turned neatly on one heel and strolled back. This time her hands were splayed out in front of her as she continued.
For the rest of her talk she covered everything from wardrobes, to friendships, houses and handbags – she had a view on all of them. Get rid of this, have more of that. Kick out anything that wasn’t either beautiful or useful. (Wasn’t that the mantra of the Arts and Crafts movement?) Give stuff away, especially anything you hadn’t worn for a month. Considering I usually lived in jeans and a selection of old T-shirts that would mean slinging out everything else. Even the nuclear power worker outfit. For some reason that was still rolled up at the bottom of a chest of drawers in my bedroom. Hmm. Why on earth had I kept that? That would be the first thing I’d chuck out.
Then she was on to more: declutter your desk (mine was always pretty tidy, so I felt quite smug about that, but I sent India a meaningful look and she stuck her tongue out at me). Declutter your mind (I bet mine looked like an old attic full of rubbish and broken chairs, metaphorically speaking). Clean your house (I wrote down buy new Hoover bags). Clean your brain. Sleep more, eat more consciously, drink more water. Be productive. Get up, move around; endorphins make you happy. Comfort food never brings much comfort. Sit down, don’t forget to rest. Take the TV out of your bedroom. The list went on.
By this point I’d stopped writing everything down. I didn’t think I needed it. I mean I could remember to do this. Stop doing that. Cut out snacks, don’t eat sweets, stop drinking so much (something I’d think about when I got home), quit smoking (I didn’t smoke but I gave myself a tick for that one anyway). Eat more vegetables, recycle things. Don’t fidget, do your homework, clean your teeth, sit up straight.
Then suddenly I could tell there was a shift in Marnie’s voice. She lost her ordering-around voice and became warm and cuddly. She told us about Camp Spring.
The penny dropped; of course, chucking out old T-shirts wasn’t enough. If you really wanted to change you needed to go to a Marnie Miller-run boot camp somewhere in Illinois where, for a five-hundred-dollar down payment and the rest in monthly instalments for the rest of all time, Marnie’s Spring-Cleaners (she actually did call them that) would thrash you into shape physically and mentally. I bet they used wire brushes and megaphones. Well, I definitely wouldn’t be doing that, but I couldn’t discount everything she’d said … No, I’d had my realisation. I could see it clearly now. I’d been a pushover and I wouldn’t be one any more. I was worth more! I deserved more! I was amazing. Well, sometimes. A bit.
Marnie had started talking about inner beauty and colonic irrigation, which were apparently linked, and India returned to her frenzied scribbling.
Up on the stage Marnie was back in full flow after making her sales pitch.
‘Now you know how to Spring-Clean Your Life I can hear some of you asking yourselves: does everyone need to change? Will nice people succeed? Do all the annoying people need to get what’s coming to them? Of course not, life is rarely that simple, but we all need to think about who we want to be. It’s up to us to change; no one else is going to do it for us.’ She left this thought hanging and took another sip of water.
Then she launched into full flow again, having a go at fast food, plastic bottles, micro beads, the state of the oceans. There was a ripple of laughter through the audience at something she said and Marnie waited for a moment for it to fade. And then, standing on the edge of the stage, she turned and looked me straight in the eye, a small smile on her face. Ah well, that answered the ‘does she know I’m here?’ question. But instead of shrinking back I stayed where I was. I was going to be the new Alexa, not someone who shrivelled away and let other people take over my life, dictating how I felt and letting their issues ruin my day. No, that stopped here!
‘Now we come to the final thing to consider,’ Marnie said, having glanced at her watch and seen that time was passing probably faster than she’d anticipated. ‘The question you must ask yourself a dozen times a day. The thing you want versus the thing you need. You see there is a difference, isn’t there? You may want a bag of doughnuts, but perhaps you need to go to the gym?’
More polite laughter.
‘Perhaps you want that relationship but you need to step back and stop kidding yourself. Maybe you want that man, but you need to run a mile.’
I looked up; Marnie was slowly striding along the stage with her back to me.
In the wings I could see Marnie’s assistant checking her watch. I wondered if she listened to these lectures and dreamt of being someone else, something else. Funny how she must have heard this stuff a lot and yet still looked so downtrodden.
I must have been daydreaming for longer than I thought as Marnie was suddenly saying how much she had enjoyed the trip, how wonderful it had been to meet so many interesting people and that she wished us all the best of luck with our writing. If anyone wanted to buy her books she had a few left to sell and would be happy to autograph them. At this point the glum assistant wheeled on a trolley laden with paperbacks and there was a surge of interest from the audience, sensing a great last-minute gift for someone.
I straightened up, ready to join in the applause before India and I went to find some lunch. I had so much to tell her. And there he was. Gabriel Frost. On the other side of the theatre. He was leaning against the exit door, a muscular figure in a checked shirt and dark jeans. His arms were folded and he was looking over the audience.
For a moment I had the mad thought that he might be looking for me. But no, of course he wasn’t – he was only using me. I knew that. I gave myself a stern talking-to to remind myself of my new determination to change and be strong. But he did look so delicious over there … Stop it.
‘God, wasn’t that brilliant?’ India breathed, and I nodded, maybe not as enthusiastically, back at her.
I had really enjoyed my euphoric moment, but really the rest of it sounded like a mishmash of every other self-help book I’d ever read. India wanted to join the queue so she could buy Marnie’s latest book and get it autographed, so I arranged to meet her in the food court and went out almost at a jog trot to avoid Gabriel. Keeping my head down I scurried past a queue of passengers talking to the reception staff about booking a second voyage and taking advantage of the fifteen per cent discount on offer. I wondered how much this holiday would have cost us if Mum hadn’t won that raffle. A lot I was guessing.
Chapter Nineteen
Ginger Frost
Vodka, Ginger Liqueur, Orange Juice, Lemon Juice, Sugar Syrup
That night dinner went on for hours as there were speeches and prizes to be shared out in between courses. Yesterday we’d been given a list of awards to vote for and our steward Amil had excelled himself over the last twenty-four hours trying to impress us. He’d left extra chocolates on our pillows, rose petals scattered over the beds and terrified both of us with a towel bat hanging inside the bathroom.
Apart from the award for best cabin steward, there were prizes for best bar manager, best cocktail waiter, best wine waiter, best talk, favourite dessert, prettiest cake, dog with the waggiest tail. Okay, I made the last bit up but you get the picture.
Our maître d’ was presented with a silver tray for twenty-five years service with the cruise line and then there was a long procession
of crew members coming forward to be rewarded with a scroll and a handshake from the Captain. Actually it was the first time we had seen the Captain since we came on board. Perhaps he had been too busy steering the ship and pandering to the richer passengers in the suites? Anyway it was reassuring to see he was still on board and he looked as tall and capable as ever, still plastered with gold braid and shiny buttons.
Meanwhile everyone seemed in high spirits, looking forward to the dance and the late-night show that was billed as A Tribute to Space Travel. It seemed a bit weird to me, but India was busy sloshing down white wine while I was equally busy with some Barolo that Marty had bought before deciding it gave him gas.
Our steward Amil won a prize and we all cheered and whooped for him. I think he won because India and I collected all the voting cards that had been left outside the doors on our floor and put his name on all of them, but I could have been wrong.
Anyway, he was a jolly good steward and deserved to win. One morning when I’d been too tired to leave the room we’d got to chatting. He hadn’t seen his family in Sri Lanka for five months and winning this award would give him a week’s leave next time they docked there. I mean, who wouldn’t vote for that!
At last we were served with our dessert, which was a bit like a Baked Alaska – but far more sophisticated and successful than the time I had tried to make it with a slice of Arctic roll, some egg white and a blowtorch – and then the maître d’ came forward from his cubbyhole by the dining room door to announce the next round of winners.
‘And the award for the best informative talk –’
He paused for dramatic effect and, over on the far side of the dining room, there was a crash as someone dropped a tray of dishes and everyone cheered. Well, you do, don’t you?
‘Do you think it will be the Titanic one?’ Marion asked, eyes gleaming after she’d polished off Marty’s glass of wine.
‘Well, it’s not a shoe-in. The talk about great maritime disasters was good,’ Ike chimed in. ‘I voted for that one.’
‘The talk on catering was interesting,’ I suggested. ‘Do you know the ship gets through six tons of butter on a transatlantic crossing? Or was it six tons of chocolate? Anyway, thirty thousand eggs – that’s definite.’
‘You’re kidding?’ Caron said, suitably impressed.
‘I could get through six tons of chocolate given half a chance,’ Marion said proudly. ‘My physician told me my sugar levels were so high he dared me to eat pumpkin pie last Thanksgiving. He absolutely dared me.’
India grinned at me. We really had enjoyed our dinner companions and I wondered what dinners once we got home would be like. Me back to my microwave meals and India to dinner with Jerry, who, while very nice, wasn’t quite as entertaining as the four in front of us.
‘He knows what a whalephant you used to be though, doesn’t he?’ Marty said between mouthfuls of dessert.
‘I was not!’ Marion said indignantly. ‘A few extra pounds maybe. You are! You’re the one who’s a hog. Wonder what he would have said if he’d seen you with your snout in the trough over the last few days. Keeping an eye on the calories, were you? More like inhaling them, I’d say.’
‘You got it straight up, Marion,’ said Marty, reaching over and taking the last spoonful of her dessert, causing her to screech with fury and the rest of us to burst out laughing.
Meanwhile the maître d’ was waiting for the noise to die down and fixed us all with a beady eye.
‘Prize for the most appreciated and informative talk was unanimous. Spring-Clean Your Life – by the very talented and beautiful Miss Marnie Miller.’
The double doors behind him opened and Marnie entered the dining room, a vision in sleek black velvet that showed off her toned shoulders and arms and probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. She turned to the maître d’ with a modest smile, mouthing I can’t believe it while we all clapped. He presented her with a small, silver-framed picture of the ship, and she blushed prettily while he bowed over her hand.
‘Thank you all so much,’ she said, turning to address us. ‘This means the world to me. Really, I can’t believe it – you’re all so lovely, so kind.’
She went on for a while, smiling and thanking everyone as though she’d won an Oscar. I zoned out for a bit and then zoned back in again with a jolt.
‘Of course, to my dear friend Gabriel Frost, who has been such a great comfort to me in the last few days. I don’t know what I would do without his love and support. Gabe, come out here!’
Gabriel had evidently been standing just outside the door, and he came forward looking quite embarrassed. Marnie sidled up to him and ducked underneath his arm so that it rested on her shoulder. She looked up at him adoringly.
Well! I felt India’s hand reach out for mine on the table and give it a squeeze. Gabriel had his arm around her and she was snuggling in and giggling like a schoolgirl. I felt cold, sick, all kinds of feelings that I desperately wished I didn’t. I’d been trying all day to be more confident, stronger, not giving in to the yearning to speak to Gabriel. Maybe end up in his bed … I tried to stop my eyes from filling.
‘He’s very handsome,’ Marion said, looking at Gabriel dreamily. ‘Why didn’t I meet a man like that when I was out there looking? Instead I ended up with an ex-Marine who calls me a whalephant and steals my desserts.’
Marty flapped a hand at her, looking around for more leftover dessert. ‘You wouldn’t have me any different – you know you wouldn’t.’
Onstage Marnie was examining the framed photograph of the ship as though it were a missing Raphael and favouring the maître d’ with a brilliant smile.
‘So very proud and happy,’ she said, and he bowed over her hand again while darting a venomous look at the waiter who had now cleared up all the broken china and was scuttling past them at high speed.
They stood there having some official photographs taken and little by little Gabriel backed away. He looked around the dining room and of course he saw me. I held my breath, having a clever and witty conversation with him in my head that resulted in him walking away crushed and ashamed. Gabriel touched Marnie’s arm and whispered something to her and then – oh God – he walked towards me.
‘Hello, watch out,’ India said in a stage whisper and then instantly looked uneasy. Immediately of course the others on our table were on high alert.
‘Well, introduce me, why don’t you?’ Marion drawled at me, completely misreading the look of panic in my eyes that I was sure everyone could see.
‘Good evening, everyone; hello, Alexa,’ Gabriel said and my mouth dried up, all the clever repartee with it.
‘Mnah,’ I replied wittily.
‘Lovely to see you again,’ he said. He stood next to me, looking unspeakably gorgeous in his DJ, quite easy and relaxed while I was as taut as a piano wire. ‘I was wondering where you’d got to.’
Was he? No no, I need to be strong. He just wants one more night …
‘Oh, you know, I’ve been here and there. Mostly there. Or here. I can’t remember,’ I gabbled. There, that would teach him to mess with me!
‘Are you going on to the dance after dinner?’
‘Oh, I don’t –’
But before I could finish Marion had leaned across me and held out a hand.
‘Marion Kowlowsky, and this is my husband, Martin.’
‘Marty,’ Marty said, his cheerful, ruddy face grinning up at Gabriel.
Everyone shook hands and was introduced. Ike and Caron asked how he had enjoyed the crossing. There was a bit of routine ship talk about the smoothness of the ocean, the impressive cuisine and high quality of the evening entertainments, and then Ike pulled a spare chair forward from a vacated table and encouraged Gabriel to join us.
‘Well, just for a moment.’ He looked up at Marnie who was still busy being charming. There was a cluster of guests around her taking photographs and asking her to sign their menu cards.
Ike – incapable of letting the table be alcohol-f
ree for more than thirty seconds – ordered brandy all round and then dropped the question into the pond.
‘So, Gabriel, what’s your line of work?’
Gabriel sipped his brandy and flicked a look at me.
‘I work for Miss Miller. Part of her support team.’
‘And what do you do?’
You have to give it to them: Americans aren’t shy of asking awkward questions even on five minutes’ acquaintance. He’d be asking Gabriel what car he drove or how much he was paid next.
At last Gabriel gave a funny little smile.
‘I’m doing some legal work for her at the moment.’
‘What sort of lawyer?’ Marion asked pleasantly. ‘Do you do that high-profile, “counsellors, please approach the bench” courtroom stuff?’
Gabriel laughed and I felt my body fizz all over. ‘No, nothing like that, although I sometimes do go to court if I can’t avoid it.’
‘So do you handle divorces? I might be needing one if Marty keeps on with the smartass comments!’
Everyone laughed and Marty reached across, lips puckered to kiss his wife’s cheek.
Gabriel finished his brandy and stood up, his face very still. Glancing over his shoulder at Marnie he turned back to us with a placid smile back in place.
‘So sorry, I’d better get back. Delightful to meet you all. I hope we’ll meet up later on in the ballroom?’ he added with a glance at me, and I just about managed a strangled smile before he walked away.
‘Oh surely!’ Caron called after him with a throaty chuckle. ‘You can count on it! I might want some free advice too!’ Ike gave her a friendly smack on the arm and they grinned at each other.
Come Away With Me Page 20