Cruising with the O’Maras (The Irish Guesthouse on the Green #17)

Chapter 10

Day 2 - At Sea

‘ W here am I, Donal?’ Maureen opened her eyes into the inky room, confused and fuddly-headed.

Donal jolted awake and, ignoring the guilty twinge at having woken him, she asked again, not liking being so disorientated.

‘In our cabin on the Mayan Princess , Mo.’

‘Oh yes.’ It all came back to Maureen in a rush. 'And what’s the time?’ she croaked. It was a disconcerting thing being in a ship’s cabin below decks without so much as a porthole to give you a clue whether it was day or night. Donal must have turned the bathroom light he'd left on out in the night.

Donal yawned and stretched before flicking on the bedside light and picking up his watch. ‘It’s gone eight, Mo.’

‘Gone eight!’ She pulled herself upright and then wished she hadn’t.

‘Yes. Does it matter?’

‘It does, actually.’ Maureen didn’t mean to sound snippy, but she wasn’t a good patient and, at this moment, needed some TLC. ‘I wanted to go to the sunrise yoga session on the Lido deck to tell Roisin whether it was any cop when I emailed the girls my cruise ship life update, tomorrow.’ Maureen had selected the activities on offer today from the ‘At Sea’ newsletter as she had waited for Donal to finish his ablutions last night. Nothing in their contract said they couldn’t take part in things between gigs, and she thought it would be a case of the more the merrier. The Margherita-making class had grabbed her attention, and she’d been about to mention it to Donal when she read the small print. It wasn’t complimentary. Still, seeing there was to be a pub quiz made up for it. Maureen loved a good pub quiz and prided herself on her knowledge of films, which usually saw her team sweep the floor with the others. Although, to be fair, she thought massaging her poor temples, she wasn’t feeling too sharp this morning and might have to give it a miss.

Maureen knew why she was feeling rough. She’d been here before. It was a sugar hangover. Self-inflicted maybe, but she knew she could count on Donal for sympathy. So, what he said next didn’t impress her.

‘Ah sure, never mind, Mo. There’s always tomorrow for the yoga,’ Donal said cheerily. He added, ‘And if you like, we could go to the gym before breakfast.’

Maureen stared at him, aghast. Who was this man sharing her bed? She shook her head.

‘Silly idea?’

‘Very.’

‘It’s a shame there’s no kitchenette because I like a cup of tea first thing in the morning, as you know,’ Donal lamented.

‘I’d murder a coffee,’ Maureen said wistfully.

‘Shall we get showered and dressed then and see what we can find?’

‘I’ll go first.’ Maureen tossed the covers off and staggered forth to the teeny-tiny bathroom.

‘Are you feeling delicate, Maureen?’ Niall, spreading jam on his toast, paused to squint up at Maureen.

She and Donal had spotted the three lads when they’d emerged from the lift without incident this morning and wandered out into the glorious sunshine hinting at the hot day ahead. They were enjoying an alfresco breakfast on the Lido deck. At the same time, nearby, a couple sucked on cigarettes like their life depended on it, and already children’s heads were bobbing in the pool water. The music playing wasn’t as boisterous as it had been yesterday afternoon, and laughter and chatter could be heard over the top of it. The atmosphere was very convivial, Maureen thought, not feeling very convivial herself.

‘One too many, was it?’ Davey asked, hoovering up eggs, beans, sausage and bacon.

‘Hair of the dog’s what you need by the looks of those enormous sunglasses you’ve on, Maureen. Bar’s open.’ John, who’d already cleaned his plate up and was reclining in his chair, gestured to the bar and cast a wistful eye toward the smokers.

Maureen pulled a face, wondering what, aside from her Jackie O sunglasses, had given her away. Her slow gait and slumped shoulders perhaps? ‘I didn’t overdo it as it happens, lads. Well, I did, but not on the sauce as you’re implying.’ She pushed her sunglasses onto her head, blinking at the brightness of the sunshine and sea. A sudden piercing child’s squeal followed by a splash saw her wince. ‘It’s a sugar crash I’m suffering from.’

‘What’s that when it’s home?’ Davey asked, mopping up his egg yolk with a piece of toast.

‘The terrible low that follows the high after a sugar rush, Davey. It’s thanks to all those desserts I put away after dinner. It's as bad as a hangover, and I don’t mind telling you I’m suffering for my sins today, so I am.’

All three men looked at Maureen like she’d suddenly grown two heads.

‘It’s a thing,’ she insisted, looking to Donal for backup.

‘Tossed and turned all night she has, lads, moaning and groaning about cheesecake and the likes being the work of the divil,’ he said in a jolly voice before announcing he fancied an omelette. A portable cooking station was in hot demand near the bar where several chefs were earning their keep frying them in the open air.

‘Would you mind getting me one, Donal?’ Maureen sank into the spare seat at the table like the maiden in distress.

‘Not at all. It might sort you out.’ Donal headed off to join the queue.

‘I’ll fetch you a coffee,’ Niall said putting his toast down. ‘You look like you need one.’

‘That’s very kind of you, Niall.’ Maureen, whose energy levels were as low as an empty petrol tank, couldn’t be arsed telling him to finish his toast first.

John watched his pal go and, as he disappeared inside the restaurant, said, ‘Niall and yer Carole woman seemed to hit it off last night.’

‘They did. I never knew Niall was a Captain and Tenille fan.’ To be fair, there was no reason she should have.

‘Someone has to be,’ John said.

‘Now, now, John, the “Love Will Keep Us Together” song was very catchy,’ Davey piped up.

John sighed. ‘Don’t mind me.’ He looked longingly at the spirals of smoke rising above the nearby couple’s heads.

‘You’ve done so well knocking it on the head, John,’ Maureen reminded him gently.

‘It’s mad how you can crave something you know is bad for you.’ John was hypnotised by the smoke spiralling into the sky.

If she’d had the energy, Maureen would have gone over and asked if they had to make such a show of enjoying things because there was a man at her table who’d given up but was sorely tested. Sure, the self-satisfied expressions as they blew the smoke out would have you thinking they were postcoital. She wasn’t in good form, she thought, muttering, ‘Tell me about it.’ The cheesecake and its sweet partners in crime she’d over-indulged in sprang to mind.

‘The proof in the pudding was it, Maureen?’ Davey piped up, thinking himself hilarious. He was close to wheezing as he added, ‘You know what they say, “You are what you eat”.’

Maureen gave him her most withering look. He’d a peculiar sense of humour, did Davey. She was grateful when Niall returned with a much-needed mug of coffee for her. He’d even remember she liked a dash of milk, which surprised and pleased her. ‘Thanks a million, Niall.’ He shot up in her favourite member of The Gamblers rankings. Of course, Donal held the number one position.

Carole would be a lucky woman if she and Niall were to get together, Maureen thought. She’d made the assumption the pianist was single given her three-month solo contract. It was a long time to be away from a partner. Single or not, she was getting ahead of herself as he set a mug down for Donal, too. She let the galvanising effects of caffeine work their magic as she sipped her drink, sparing a glance over at the omelette station. Seeing Donal being accosted by a red-headed woman – the hair wasn’t natural, Maureen’s hawk-eye deduced – her gaze narrowed. The redhead was thrusting a paper napkin and pen at him while Donal, holding his hands up like he was under arrest, shook his head at her. If Maureen had had the energy to do so, she’d march over and tell your woman there Donal was a retiree from Ireland. It was both a curse and a blessing to bear such a close resemblance to Kenny Rogers.

‘Here we are, Mo. Get that down you, and you’ll be a new woman.’ Donal returned a few minutes later unscathed and slid a plain cheese omelette under her nose.

‘I saw your woman up there with the red hair,’ she said after thanking him. Then, inspecting her omelette, she gave the chef a ten out of ten for presentation. The garnish of parsley sprinkled over the golden, cheesy egg dish was a nice touch.

‘Ah, sure, it took some doing to convince her I wasn’t Kenny taking a break from my new album with a Mexican Riviera cruise.’ Donal searched for a spare chair, pulling one up and sitting down to enjoy his breakfast.

‘How’d you manage it in the end?’ John asked, relaxing now your smoking couple had stubbed their cigarettes out.

‘I told her to come to the Havana Lounge this evening, and she’d see for herself that I’m the singer in a tribute band.’

‘Good man, drumming up business,’ John said approvingly. He’d once confided that after a lacklustre sixtieth wedding anniversary gig, his greatest fear was performing a live show and looking out to the audience to see there was no one there.

‘Well, just so long as she doesn’t try to do a “Jolene” on me. She's got the flamin locks, after all.’ Maureen was only half-teasing as she asked what colour eyes she’d had.

‘They weren’t emerald green, Maureen, and I’ve only eyes for you.’

Maureen smiled as she added a sprinkle of salt to her omelette. A companionable silence fell across the table as Maureen and Donal ate, and the others watched the world go by. By the time she set her knife and fork down and drained her mug, the brain fog she’d woken with was beginning to lift and she decided she would be alright to take part in the 11am pub quiz after all. At least she could tick something off the ‘At Sea’ newsletter.

Donal wiped his mouth then balled the napkin, dropped it on his plate and said, ‘I’m going to put my name down for the table tennis tournament this afternoon. Are any of you keen to help me train?’

‘You know my views on couples and competitive sport, Donal. The two don’t mix,’ Maureen said sagely, silently debating a second coffee even though she’d need the loo every five minutes for the rest of the day if she pushed the boat out and went for it.

‘I’m not asking you to play a game with me. Just lob the ping-pong over the net, Mo.’

‘No, Donal. Have you forgotten the incident at the Howth community centre? You snapped the bat when you threw it down in a temper the last time we were “practising”.’ She made the inverted commas with her fingers.

‘It’s a paddle, Mo,’ Donal said because of the lack of any other comeback.

‘Don’t look at me,’ Davey and Niall said in tandem, but John put his hand up, saying, ‘I’ll do it, but you’ll owe me one of those Blue Lagoon cocktails. I’m not a cocktail man, but those were very nice.’

‘Done,’ Donal replied.

‘There’s a pub quiz at eleven this morning in the Sundowner Bar. Would any of you like to make up a team?’

‘I can’t stand pub quizzes.’ John was quick off the mark.

‘Just as well, pal, because you’ll be busy training with me for the tournament,’ Donal informed him, making a swishing motion as though he already had a paddle in his hand.

‘So you’re out too, Donal?’

‘I’m sorry, Mo, but the table tennis has to come first.’

Maureen pursed her lips but decided to let it go. You had to pick your battles when you were in a relationship. As such, she turned to the two remaining lads, hopefully. ‘Davey, Niall?’

‘Ah, g’won then,’ Davey said, eyeing the contents of a plate passing by. ‘I didn’t see those chocolate pastry yokes. One of those would round things off nicely.’ He scraped his chair back.

‘Niall?’

‘Count me in, Maureen.’

‘Grand.’ Feeling pleased, Maureen decided she would have that second coffee and, taking orders, padded off into the restaurant. ‘Fancy meeting you here,’ she said tongue in cheek, seeing Carole dipping a teabag in and out of a mug. By the end of a week onboard the ship, Maureen suspected they'd all feel like they were guest starring in that Australian soap opera that made the Minogue girl famous. She’d a lot to answer for did the Minogue girl, in Maureen’s opinion, because she’d seen the hotpants video for that catchy pop tune a few years back. As soon as the song caught on, Moira, a sheep when it came to following fashion, wanted a pair of teeny-tiny gold shorts. They’d had words with Maureen, saying she could spin around in the things all she liked so long as she didn’t leave the privacy of her own home. Maureen blinked her youngest child and her habit of taking things too far away. Instead she focussed on Carole, who gave her a wan smile. Was she suffering from a sugar hangover, too? Maureen wondered before saying, ‘The omelettes they’re serving on the deck out there are delicious, so they are.’

‘I’ve already eaten.’

‘Oh.’ She was hard work was Carole, Maureen thought, chattering on about her family while they waited for the tea to brew. ‘Sure mine and Donal’s life is busier than a fiddler’s arm since the grandchildren came along.’ This was Carole’s cue to step in a tell her a little of her life but nothing was forthcoming. Maureen, who couldn’t stand awkward silences, thought about mentioning the Captain and Tenille music but decided against it. Sure, what relevance did they have at the tea and coffee station? Then, remembering the pub quiz, she brightened. ‘Are you free around elevenish this morning, Carole?’

The Australian woman looked cagey, but Maureen was well used to that look from her girls and carried on unperturbed. ‘Only there’s a pub quiz in the Sundowner lounge. Myself, Davey and Niall will be there,’ she added coyly. ‘You’d be very welcome.’

To her amazement, Carole replied, ‘You know, Maureen, I think I’ll take you up. I could do with a distraction.’

From what? Maureen wondered, but Carole had already dropped her tea bag in the rubbish bin and was walking away.