‘What?’
Mum’s eyes snapped back to me and she smiled brightly. ‘Nothing.’ She reached in her pocket and took out a handkerchief. I saw that her eyes were shining. ‘It’s just … departures. All those people. So many emotions …’ She shook herself again. ‘Anyway. Quick, get your glasses.’
I topped up Mum’s flute and poured for John and me. When we all had our glasses in our hands, I raised mine and tapped it with a finger.
‘Ting! Ting! Ting!’ I said. ‘I propose a toast. To Mum. Thank you for inviting us to be a part of this trip. I hope you have the best birthday ever. And may you have many more happy and healthy years. Cheers!’ The wind whipped my hair around my face and I pushed it back to take a sip.
‘Cheers,’ said Mum.
‘Cheers,’ echoed John, taking a swig of his champagne.
We all turned to face the front as the ship made its way slowly through Venice and out to the open sea beyond.
14 July 2013, 9 a.m.
After a day and two nights at sea, Mum, John, and I fell into the rhythm of ship life, quickly finding out favourite places. John holed up the in the library, examining books, charts, and maps, and bluntly refusing to join in any activity, while Mum and I discovered we both loved nothing more than promenading around the decks, gazing out to sea and lounging in deck chairs, people-watching with endless cups of tea.
Shunning the formal dining room, we took our meals in Ocean Breeze restaurant – a large circular buffet, which, at breakfast, was stuffed with every type of food anyone could possibly want, from full English breakfasts to Chinese dumplings and Indian dosas.
On our second morning, I’d just sat down with a plate of fresh fruit when I saw Mum walking slowly down the length of the restaurant, a plate of food held carefully out in front of her. She was wearing a simple blue dress and flat shoes but it was taking all her concentration to walk steadily as the other, younger passengers weaved around her, their plates piled high with doughnuts, pastries, toast, and hot breakfasts. I waved.
‘Mum, Mum! Over here!’
She didn’t hear me over the din. The restaurant was full and Mum was looking carefully around for somewhere to sit. In that split second she looked old – like a grandmother – and my insides contracted with the thought that she might never know the joy of having grandchildren to call her own. Not for the first time, I felt like a failure.
Pushing my chair back with my legs, I jumped up. ‘Mum, Mum! Over here!’
This time she stopped and turned, having heard my voice but not knowing where to look. I started walking towards her. ‘Here, Mum. I’ve got a table.’
A smile broke over her face and she made her way towards me. ‘Thank goodness for that, Alexandra. There’s no space anywhere. I’ve been around the restaurant several times looking.’
‘Oh, Mum. It’s only this busy because we’re at sea. When the ship docks, everyone will rush off and the restaurants will be much quieter.’
‘I hope you’re right. I can’t go through this hoopla every day, just to get my breakfast.’
‘You won’t have to. I’m sure.’
We ate in silence for a bit, both of us keenly observing the people swarming around the restaurant.
‘So, we arrive in Corfu just before lunch,’ I said by means of conversation as our eyes followed a twenty-something man in the shortest denim cut-offs I’d ever seen. ‘What are you going to do between now and then?’
‘I’m going to the spa,’ Mum said, dragging her gaze back to me. ‘Facial and foot massage. At the same time.’ She wiggled her shoulders a little.
‘Nice.’
‘I deserve it. I’ve been to the Early Bird Step and Tone class yesterday and today.’
‘What? Before breakfast?’
‘Yes. First thing in the morning. Helps me get the old muscles going. You should try it.’
‘There are classes like that at Harbourside,’ said John, appearing behind me with a plate of chocolate croissants and a coffee. ‘Just think, you could do them every day. In fact,’ he said, clearly pleased with himself, ‘I should imagine that life there wouldn’t be so dissimilar to life on board a cruise ship. There’s something on offer every day, and a lovely little restaurant. You’d never have to cook again, if you didn’t want to.’
He plonked himself down at the table, an act that surprised me given how little Mum and I had seen of him in the last twenty-four hours.
Mum squinted at her watch. ‘Speaking of which, it’s time for me to go. So, will we go ashore together later? It would be nice to spend some time together. Or do you want to do your own thing? Do you have plans?’
John opened his mouth to speak.
‘I’m happy to potter about with you,’ I said, cutting him off before he started. ‘I don’t have an agenda, really. Just want to soak up a bit of the atmosphere, see some of the old town.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ said Mum. ‘Oh, and before I forget, we’ve got a dinner reservation in the Italian restaurant tonight. Valentino’s. At eight. I believe the ship sails early evening and I’d like you both to be there.’
I looked at John. He sucked in his cheeks.
‘Sure. I’ll be there,’ I said pointedly. ‘John?’
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Great,’ said Mum. ‘There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.’ She pushed her chair out and stood up. ‘Right. See you later.’
I waited for her to move out of earshot then tutted at John. ‘Did you have to bring up Harbourside? Let her enjoy her holiday. Please! She’s said she’ll look at it after the cruise. She doesn’t need you banging on about it all the time.’
‘I was just trying to get her used to the idea. Immerse her in it until she’s not scared of it anymore. Flooding, I think psychologists call it.’ He was chewing a croissant while he spoke and flakes of pastry stuck to his lips. My brother consumed food as if it were alive; as if he had to shovel it into his mouth before it ran away. For him there was no pleasure in savouring taste; the act of eating was merely a means to an end. The word ‘mastication’ sprang to mind.
‘Thanks, Dr John,’ I said.
‘You’re welcome.’ He gave me a big smile that revealed chocolate smeared on his teeth.
‘Right,’ I said, ‘I’m going to catch some sun by the pool. Enjoy Corfu, if I don’t see you first.’
‘Cheers. You too.’
14 July 2013, 11 a.m.
Mum had left her cabin door on the latch so I could let myself in. I found her on the front balcony, the binoculars pressed to her eyes. Although the sun was hot, the wind from the ship’s motion was bracing and I had to steady myself for a second.
‘Land ahoy!’ Mum called as I stepped past the loungers.
‘Corfu?’
‘Expect so. Here. Take a look.’
Up at the front railing, I put the binoculars to my eyes. It was strangely emotional to see land after a day or two at sea. There was a large part of me that didn’t want to disembark; I’d got used to the rhythm of the ship, to the rumble of its engines and the gentle lull of the waves as I lay in bed at night. I’d come to love, too, the hypnotic sight of the waves breaking on the bow when I looked down from the promenade deck, and I liked the feeling of being in constant motion. Deep down, the thought of being on land once more, of walking slowly around a hot, Greek town thronging with tourists didn’t appeal in the slightest.
I handed the binoculars back to Mum. ‘You don’t really need them anymore. We’re quite close.’ I paused. ‘I almost don’t want to arrive. I’m quite enjoying being on the ship.’
‘Me too.’
‘I wish we could ask the captain if we can go around for a bit longer. Do you know what I mean?’
Mum nodded. ‘I always get a bit nervous as we approach land.’
‘As you do every day?’
Mum gave me a sharp look and I regretted my sarcasm.
‘How do you think I got to India?’ She paused. ‘I sailed. On the SS Oriana. Beaut
iful, she was. Nothing like these cruise ships. A real liner.’ Mum smiled.
‘I never really thought about how you got there. I guess I just assumed you flew.’ I was silent for a minute, imagining what it must have been like. ‘How old were you?’
‘Twenty-seven. It was scary – of course it was – but I had to get away.’ She took a deep breath, then spoke again. ‘I loved the journey, the voyage. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to come on a cruise. Although my reasons for leaving England were sad, I’ve always hankered after those days I spent at sea. I’ll never forget as the ship neared Africa and the weather grew warmer and warmer. We went from wrapping up on deck to sipping iced drinks and seeking out the sea breeze. The journey was cathartic.’ Mum stared at the land mass in the distance. ‘I always have this sense that the sea washes away the past. It’s always there … the waves are always rolling in, no matter what happens in life. It makes me realise how insignificant my problems are.’
I hadn’t questioned why Mum had picked a cruise over any other type of holiday we could have done. Standing there on the balcony, I realised I never really thought about her as a person; I never thought about what her hopes, her fears and dreams might be. She was always just ‘Mum’; more often just a problem that needed solving.
Mum gave herself a little shake. ‘Anyway, no point dwelling on the past. You’re lucky to have a husband like Mark. I’m so glad you got a good one the second time around.’
She looked back out at the sea, avoiding making eye contact with me. These days, we never spoke about Richard, my first husband. He’d been controlling and cruel. I’d been the last person to see it. Swept along with the romance of the relationship, I’d ignored the fact that he’d eroded my confidence until I was a shell of a person. It’d been Mum who’d helped me see what was really going on; Mum who’d helped me get out of the marriage.
‘Me too,’ I said. ‘If only I’d met Mark earlier.’ It was a thought I had a hundred times a day. I’d wasted the best of my child-rearing years in a joyless marriage with a man who never wanted children, and only met Mark when it was almost too late.
‘You can’t say that,’ Mum said. ‘You might not have been right for each other earlier. These things – they happen when the time’s right. I really believe that.’
‘But …’ I took a deep breath. There was something about looking at the ocean that gave me confidence. I gripped the railing. ‘But … if I’d met Mark sooner, you might have grandchildren by now.’
Mum swung around to look at me. She knew a little about the struggles Mark and I had been having to conceive – the trail of almosts, not-quites, and a miscarriage – but we never really spoke about it.
‘Grandchildren? Is that what worries you? Giving me grandchildren?’
‘Well – obviously I want a baby. But yes. I want you to have a grandchild. Grandchildren – not adopted like John’s. Real ones that are biologically yours.’ I bit my lips together, willing myself not to cry. ‘I feel like such a failure. You had us by the time you were thirty, and look at me: I’m forty-two and it looks like it’s never going to happen.’
‘Oh, Alexandra.’ Mum put her hand over mine on the railing. She opened her mouth as if she was going to say something then closed her eyes and squeezed my hand. ‘Don’t do it for me,’ she said. ‘Do it for you. I can tell you, there’s not a single day that I’ve sat and wished for you to give me grandchildren. I promise you that.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Really.’
‘But I thought you’d love to have grandchildren of your own.’
Mum laughed. ‘This is your life. Don’t have children for me!’
I stared into the distance. I could make out buildings on Corfu now. A tangle of emotions swept through me. Mum wasn’t expecting grandchildren from me? All I could do was nod into the wind.
‘How does Mark feel?’ Mum asked.
‘He’s happy to look at fertility treatments if it’s what I want. But I don’t think he wants to keep trying if it doesn’t work,’ I said. ‘Anyway, it’s not like we can afford to do something like IVF more than once. If that.’
‘I’m a great believer in fate,’ Mum said. ‘Try not to worry about it. Maybe things will work out. And if they don’t … well, just accept some things just aren’t meant to be.’ Mum paused. ‘The world works in mysterious ways.’
‘I guess.’
‘And, Alexandra, if it doesn’t work out, you can still have a very fulfilling life without children. Don’t beat yourself up about it. I know how hard you can be on yourself.’
I turned away, pulling my hand out from under Mum’s, and wiped my cheek. That was easy for her to say. She wasn’t the one with no child to call her own.
‘Sea spray,’ I said. ‘I’m going inside. Can I get you anything?’
14 July 2013, 11 a.m.
Corfu was hot. I understood that before we’d even left the port. It was a quiet, stealthy heat, the type of all-encompassing dryness that hits you from every angle, toasting your skin, filling your lungs, and making the inside of your head buzz. A shuttle bus, its plastic-covered seats burning hot despite the air-conditioning, had driven Mum and I, fanning ourselves with our port notes, the short distance down the terminal pier past those passengers too impatient to wait and now, as we exited the terminal, the heat radiated up from the concrete making me feel as if the rubber soles of my shoes would surely melt. The air smelled of the sea and of wilting vegetation with an undertone of fish. I felt an overwhelming urge to turn around and head back to the quiet coolness of the ship.
‘I’d like to take a look around Corfu Town,’ Mum said as we stood on the roadside wondering in which direction to walk. She looked cool in a straw sunhat and sunglasses. My own hair was already hot to the touch; already I regretted my bare shoulders. ‘I’ve heard it’s very pretty. Do you think there’s a bus we can take?’
Masking a sigh, I looked at a leaflet I’d picked up in the terminal building. ‘Apparently it’s a UNESCO World Heritage site,’ I said. ‘It’s a “delightful medieval enclave …” Hmm … and Spianada Square sounds nice: shops, restaurants, statues, fountains and, if you have the energy for it in this heat, “intriguing alleyways”. Shall we try and go there?’ I wondered what John’s plans had been.
‘Let’s do it. YOLO,’ said Mum.
‘What?’
‘Need any help, ladies?’
‘Stavros,’ said Mum, holding out a hand, which the man picked up and kissed. ‘This is my daughter.’ Stavros bobbed his head towards me. ‘Alexandra,’ Mum said, ‘Stavros is on the Ents team. He teaches Step and Tone. Good timing. We were just wondering how to get into the town.’
‘Taxi is best,’ Stavros said. ‘Allow me, please, to help you.’
He whistled and, within seconds, a dusty black Mercedes broke from the rank of parked cars and drew up next to us. A young man jumped out, slapped Stavros on the back and, after a torrent of rapid Greek, Stavros motioned that we should get into the car.
‘All sorted,’ he said. ‘He’s my friend. Ten euros there. Ten euros back. He’ll wait for you.’
Mum and I sank gratefully into the air-conditioned interior.
‘Hot,’ she said to the driver, flapping her hand up and down.
‘Yes, hot,’ he said. ‘I take you through old town. Very pretty. You sit cool through old town.’
‘Lovely,’ said Mum. ‘Thank you.’ She turned to me. ‘I wonder where John is.’
‘It’d be funny if we passed him,’ I said, imagining him hiking through the old town with his guide and his backpack.
‘We could wind down the windows and wave. Waft a little cool air towards him.’ Mum looked so much younger when she laughed.
The taxi dropped us off on a pretty street lined with shady trees. ‘That way,’ said the driver, waving towards a line of cafés and restaurants. ‘I wait here.’ I took Mum’s elbow as we crossed the street, unsure on the uneven cobble stones and unfamiliar with the way the traffic came, and
we followed the crowds into the end of a narrow street lined with shops. But what was presumably usually a relatively quiet town was thronging with tourists. Wares were piled up outside kooky little shops. Signs, scrawled in English, fought for attention.
‘This is the disadvantage of a cruise,’ said Mum twenty minutes later, as we stood three-deep in a leather goods shop, trying in vain to view a handbag she liked. ‘Thousands of people in a tiny town at the same time.’ She sighed. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
‘Don’t you want to see the bag? It’s nice.’
‘I can’t stand up anymore.’ Mum fanned herself with a lace fan she’d bought in the previous shop. Her face was flushed: the effort of walking in the heat on the higgledy-piggledy cobbled streets, which appeared to run randomly up and down hill, had clearly taken its toll. She took a cotton hankie out of her bag and patted her forehead. ‘Let’s go and find somewhere to sit down. I could do with something cold.’
I took her arm again and slowly we unwound the twists and turns we’d made in the rabbit warren of back streets, trying to remember how to get back to Spianada Square and its rows of shaded cafés. Mum was breathing hard, her weight heavy on my arm. We sank gratefully onto the chairs at an empty table in the first café we came to and ordered two local beers.
‘Medicinal,’ said Mum taking a big drag of hers. ‘Goodness, that’s good.’
‘Cheers, birthday-girl-to-be.’
Mum chinked her glass against mine and we both drank.
‘Speaking of which,’ I said, licking beer froth off my top lip. ‘Do you have any idea what you’d like to do on your birthday?’
‘I thought we could all have dinner together.’
‘Is that all? We have dinner tonight as well, right?’ I wondered how John was going to take the thought of two dinners in a row.
‘Yes. Valentino’s at eight tonight. For tomorrow I saw that there’s a White Night party by the pool that starts at ten. I know it’s late but, if we’re up for it after dinner, maybe we could have a dance as well.’
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