Here Come the Girls (26 page)

‘We’ll all move a lot quicker if you don’t push,’ Vaughan warned in a loud booming voice, his tone – if not his words – understandable in any language. He reached over to Frankie and hoisted her towards him, shielding her from people behind with an arm of iron. He didn’t have enough time to say anything other than, ‘You’re okay now.’ Suddenly Frankie felt space around her and Roz grabbing her arm at the other side of the arch. Frankie could breathe again; she stood against the wall trying to still her rasping chest. Then she saw Olive push herself out, followed by Ven deliberately elbowing past someone who’d just stood on her toe.

‘You all right, kid?’ said Ven, who knew that Frankie always hated being closed in, and anything near her chest area panicked her terribly these days.

‘I am now,’ said Frankie. ‘I feel like I’ve just plopped out of a birth canal.’

Two policemen nudged into the crowd now to officially sort out the bottle-neck.

‘I wish I knew the Croatian for “better late than never”,’ tutted Roz to their backs.

‘Come on, let’s get to the shuttle bus and go home,’ said Ven. ‘I need a big glass of ice wine after that.’ Substituting the word ‘home’ for ‘ship’ was an unconscious slip of the tongue.

It seemed that some nations enjoyed a good crowd-push more than others. There was pandemonium as a shuttle bus arrived for one of the other ships and the ordered queue disintegrated as everyone ran for the door. Grown men were tugging at each other’s shirts and gesticulating madly. Meanwhile the queue for the British
Mermaidia
stood ruler-straight and perfectly calm.

‘I’d love to come back here when it was quiet,’ said Roz.

‘I bet it’s lovely at night,’ Ven agreed.

Frankie remained quiet. Roz looked at her and noticed how small she was, especially after such a weight loss. Now she was seeing her through different eyes, Roz saw the full extent of the changes in her and it made her ashamed that she had ever thought those changes were down to vanity rather than illness. She vowed to make it up to her – somehow.

The Figurehead shuttle bus pulled up and the
Mermaidia
passengers climbed on. The air conditioning hit them like a delicious cold shower. Every passenger seemed to collapse onto a seat and then begin twittering about the Pile Gate crush.

But the pay-off was that it was extra-restful to enjoy the journey back to the portside, viewing the mountains plunging straight into the sea, the big ships at anchor, the private yachts showing off their swanky presence in the harbour, the pale-stoned houses with their green gardens and bursts of bright purple blossom on the trees. And it really did feel like coming home when they presented their cruise cards at the ship’s entrance and put their bags through the security machine.

After one glass of ice wine, all four of them stretched out on sunloungers and alternated between light snoozes and book-reading. Frankie was also giving Ven a crash course in Italian so she could find her way to the hotel she was looking for in Venice. Then, at five-fifteen, the ship set sail. Songs from the deck party around the nearby Neptune pool filtered over – ‘La Bamba’, ‘Tequila’. They joined the people lined up at the sides to wave to passengers on the
Merry Cruises
ship next door. Ven leaned over and watched the Croatian pilot step off the
Mermaidia
onto a small boat. He looked like an elderly James Bond in his slacks and shirt. He waved goodbye to the ship too as his transport twisted sharply in the water and headed back to Dubrovnik. The
Mermaidia
blasted a polite farewell to the mainland, which sounded like a ‘thank you for having us’ to Ven. There was a real sense of happiness pervading, as if a fishing net of smiles had been cast over the ship. It was odd, but lovely.

Then Nigel’s soft voice came over the Tannoy with the information that there was a whale on the portside. The four women stood and watched as something too far away to see jetted up a plume of water into the air and made yet another lovely memory for them all.

Chapter 42

That evening, as they took their places at the dinner-table, Ven asked if anyone else would like a turn at sitting next to Captain Nigel, but everyone seemed quite happy with the present seating arrangements. So Ven sat quietly next to the vacant seat, waiting for their guest to arrive and hoping she could get through the next two hours without making a total twerp of herself.

‘Have you seen those blokes who helped us through the crowd in Dubrovnik yet?’ Roz asked Frankie. ‘We owe them a drink or twelve.’

‘Nope,’ came the reply. It wasn’t for the want of trying though. Frankie had walked all round the ship a few times since they set sail trying to find Vaughan to say thank you for rescuing them. But she hadn’t seen anything of him or his party at all. It seemed that she only bumped into him when she wasn’t actively trying. She would meet up with him sooner rather than later, she hoped.

Royston was wearing a white shirt with frills down the centre. He looked like the offspring of the Queen’s private bingo-caller and Shirley Bassey. Roz reckoned that shirt must have cost a fortune too.

Ven spotted Nigel coming in from the other side of the restaurant and her leg went immediately into a nervous spasm. He really was totally gorgeous. She reached out for her glass of water, knocked over the wine which Angel had just poured out for her and caused havoc yet again.

Oh dear
noises came from Irene, even louder ones from Eric. Buzz ran over with a serviette to mop up the worst of it and Ven wanted to die. Captain Nigel arrived just in time to witness the chaos.

‘Good evening, everyone,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry I’m late.’ He looked at the red-wine stain spoiling the perfect table.

‘My fault again, hey ho,’ said Ven. ‘Can’t blame any medication this time, though.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ said Nigel.

Elvis whispered something to the Captain, probably about changing the cloth but Nigel waved him away with a, ‘No, it’s fine, Elvis. Really. There are worse things at sea.’ He smiled and little crinkles appeared around his grey, grey eyes. Ven felt her heart boom against her ribcage.

‘Have we all had a nice day?’ Nigel addressed the table collectively.

A merry chorus of chirruping yeses came in response.

‘I heard it was a bit of a crush getting in and out of the Pile Gate.’

‘It was really scary,’ said Olive. ‘We were all caught up in it.’

‘I tried to berth another day, because there were too many ships in, but it was impossible,’ said Nigel.

‘We didn’t bother going into the city,’ said Royston. ‘We got a taxi to a lovely little beach, didn’t we, boss?’ He turned to his wife for confirmation. Stella had obviously collected quite a few more rays today – she was making Dom Donaldson and Tangerina look like Frosty the Snowman.

‘Nice when we got through into the city though,’ said Olive. ‘Beautiful.’

‘We walked around the city walls,’ said Eric proudly. ‘Marvellous view. I’ve never managed it before so we were determined this time, weren’t we, Irene?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Irene, who was looking lovely that evening with a creamy light tan building nicely and her lovely brave-pink dress contrasting beautifully with her white hair, which had obviously been done in the salon for that evening.

‘Do you ever get off with the passengers, Captain?’ asked Ven, trying to contribute something sensible to the conversation and ending up doing quite the opposite. ‘I mean, go off with them . . . leave . . . disembark.’

‘Here, have a big roll, stuff it in your mouth and shut yourself up,’ Roz whispered in Ven’s ear as Buzz reached between them with the bread-basket.

‘Sometimes I do,’ said Nigel, crinkled eyes fully trained on Ven. Her cheeks could have given the red-wine patch on the tablecloth a run for its money. ‘I’m getting off at Venice actually. I always try and “get off with the passengers” at Venice.’

Ooh, was that a hint of a flirt there, Olive, Roz and Frankie each asked themselves. Interesting.

‘You must go on a gondola at Venice, Venice,’ said Eric, chortling at himself.

‘We fully intend to,’ said Frankie.

‘It’s a beautiful name: Venice,’ said Irene.

‘She hates it,’ Roz thumbed at Ven. ‘She used to go mad at school if anyone called her anything but “Ven”.’

‘Hark at you – Rosalind!’ said Frankie.

‘Hark at you as well – Francesca!’ returned Roz.

‘Why would you all want to shorten such lovely names?’ tutted Irene.

‘Venice is okay if you’re a film star,’ said Ven. ‘You need to have a fancy surname and parents with bags of money to carry it off. Venice Smith just sounded so wrong. Like Tatiana Riley or . . . or Fanny Sidebottom.’

Oh NO did I really say
Fanny? Ven tried not to cringe, then Nigel said, ‘I have a niece called Tatiana Riley.’

‘Oh, please tell me you’re joking,’ said Ven with panic straining her voice.

‘Yes, I’m joking,’ Nigel grinned.

Ven’s heart-rate had just about slowed down when the starters arrived. She liked the sound of the Feuillête of Poached Egg, but she wasn’t going to show herself up trying to pronounce it, so she plumped for the roasted beetroot and rocket salad, followed by steamed lemon sole stuffed with a prawn mousseline in a dill butter sauce. Roz was really going for it tonight with loin of pork with rosemary and roasted pumpkin. And for someone who was supposed to be watching her carbs, she didn’t half get stuck into the croquette potatoes when Buzz expertly served them up.

‘So what are you doing for your big day tomorrow then, Venice?’ asked Nigel over a dessert of rich chocolate rum slices garnished with fruit coulis.

‘Well, we’re riding on a gondola, having lunch, then I’m going to try and find the hotel where Mum and Dad had their honeymoon and conceived me.’

‘Ah, so you were a honeymoon baby?’

God, he said ‘honeymoon’ so beautifully, thought Ven.
Honimuin
.

‘Yep,’ said Ven. ‘I’m leaving the others to their own devices for a bit and wandering around by myself.’

‘There’s no nicer place to wander aimlessly,’ said Royston. ‘Get to Saint Mark’s Square and just let yourself off the lead, that’s what I always say.’

‘Then we’re having caviar and champers!’ put in Olive, who really couldn’t imagine what caviar tasted like. She hoped she wouldn’t be too disappointed – like she was when she first had oysters. Yeurch. They didn’t make her feel randy, only nauseous.

‘You should get up about six o’clock tomorrow morning and watch us sail into the Grand Canal,’ added Eric. ‘Stunning.’

‘Six?’ said Frankie. ‘Sod that for a lark, Eric.’

‘Well, maybe you’d all like to come up to the bridge tomorrow and watch us leave the Grand Canal instead,’ Nigel offered.

‘Ooh, could we?’ twittered Irene. ‘That would be marvellous.’

‘Eeeh, it would that,’ echoed Eric. ‘Thank you very much, Captain. We’d like that.’

‘Settled then,’ said Nigel, dabbing at his lips with a serviette and making a move to stand. ‘All of you meet me at Reception at half past four tomorrow. Now, if you’ll excuse me, have a wonderful day tomorrow, won’t you? Venice, have a very happy birthday.’

‘Thank you, Mr . . . Captain O’Shaughnessy,’ said Ven, thinking that even though she’d remembered his name correctly, she still pronounced it
Ocean Sea
.

‘What a lovely man,’ said Stella as she watched the Captain having a word with Supremo. ‘Very handsome. Bet he’s got a girl in every port.’

‘Port, that’s a good idea,’ said Royston. ‘Angel? Angel love, can we have a round of ports after the coffee.’

Eric protested immediately, brandishing his cruise card. ‘My turn.’

‘No, mate, I’m loaded,’ said Royston. ‘I insist.’

‘Oh let him, Eric, he gets his pleasure from flashing his wad. Don’t ruin his holiday.’ Stella flapped her hand at him to shut up. And she had great intentions of letting her husband be very happy in some jewellery shops in Venice tomorrow.

After coffee and the most delicious home-made cherry fudge accompaniment, the four women headed off to the theatre to watch the Mermaidia Theatre Company perform
Rocket Man
, a tribute to Elton John. Roz, however, suddenly darted off, telling them to save her a place and that she’d be there in a moment because she needed the loo. She didn’t; she had just spotted Dom Donaldson and Tangerina Orange Jelly having a drink in Darcy’s – the bar next to the theatre. Darcy’s was a plush-seated, non-children bar which allowed smoking. Roz pulled out the small birthday card she had bought from the Emporium a couple of days ago, and which she had been carrying around with her in the hope of bumping into him. You couldn’t miss him tonight though, in a dark blue sequinned jacket that only someone very macho could pull off.

‘Excuse me,’ she said, quite meekly for Roz. ‘I know it’s an imposition but it’s my friend’s fortieth birthday tomorrow and she’s such a fan of yours. It would absolutely make her day if you would just sign this card for her. Her name is Venice – as in the city.’

Dom Donaldson, so twinkly-eyed and smiley on the soap in which he acted, turned an ice-chipped gaze onto Roz who was holding out the card and a pen hopefully. He took them, without saying a word, and scribbled something on the card before closing it and thrusting it back to her.

‘Thank you so much,’ said Roz. ‘She’ll be thrilled. I’m so sorry to have interrupted you. Have a lovely evening. And thank you again.’

She mouthed, ‘Miserable bastard,’ to herself as she left the bar. Anyway, Ven would be thrilled and that’s all that mattered. Outside the theatre, she stole a peek at what he’d written. There in angry capitals were the words GO AWAY I’M ON HOLLIDAY!

The rotten
. . . Roz turned on her heel and took two steps back to Darcy’s to tell that jumped-up little turd a word or two of hard truth, then she stopped herself. What good would that do? It wasn’t as if he’d apologise and say, ‘Oh I am sorry, let me get you another card and do it properly for your friend.’ He was just one of those smarmy actor types who’d got a bit of female attention and become a god in his own eyes. He made Russell Crowe look like Graham Norton, the bad-tempered cock. Plus he couldn’t even spell ‘holiday’! Why didn’t these celebrities realise that all they had to do was be nice to the people who had given them their status in the first place? He just had to write
Happy Birthday
on a card, for God’s sake, not donate a kidney.