Chapter 9
9
‘I can explain,’ Sam says earnestly as we join our final queue to board the ship.
‘Save it. I’m so angry with you right now that I don’t trust myself not to say something we’ll both regret. A singles cruise? What the actual fuck, Sam?’
‘Look. I meant what I said about the single supplement. On popular cruises, the supplement can be as much as it would cost to bring another person with you. By signing up for the Marco Polo group, the supplement dropped to 30 per cent.’
‘I don’t care about the bloody money,’ I snarl. ‘I care that you’ve dragged me onto this holiday under false pretences. If we weren’t in sodding Italy, I’d be walking straight off and going home.’
‘Why?’ She seems genuinely surprised.
‘Because I don’t want to go on a fucking singles cruise, Sam! I have no idea what a Singles Mingle event is, but I know I really don’t want to do it. Why didn’t you tell me?’
She does have the decency to look a little shamefaced now. ‘Because I knew how you’d react. Nobody’s going to force you to come to the singles things if you don’t want to. I’m sure you can go to the sail away party if you prefer.’
‘What are you going to do?’
She smiles. ‘What do you think?’
‘Great. So my choices are either go to the sail away party on my own, like some sad loner, or come with you to Barry’s mingling thing and be goggled at like a piece of meat.’
‘You don’t have to do either. You could stay in your cabin and enjoy the view.’
‘That’s even sadder.’
Our tense discussion is interrupted as we finally cross the threshold and board the ship.
‘Oh, wow!’ I breathe as I take in the view. We’re in a room that’s not unlike a hotel lobby in some ways, except it’s on a truly massive scale. It looks like it spans the entire width of the ship; there are tables and chairs dotted about and, in front of us, the concierge desks are already busy. There’s a huge staircase at one end, dominated by an abstract artwork that stretches towards the ceiling, three storeys up. Around the edge of the lobby are balconies, with open staircases running up and down between the levels. People are already strolling up them, looking completely at home, as if they’ve been here for months rather than a couple of hours. The centrepiece of the room is a massive crystal chandelier that hangs like a kind of inverted Christmas tree, with the top just above our heads. It sparkles as the crystals reflect the other light sources in the room, giving a kind of classy disco ball effect. I find myself wondering briefly how often they have to clean it before I’m distracted by a voice.
‘Welcome on board,’ a uniformed bellhop says to us. ‘Can I help you find your cabin?’
‘Yes, please,’ Sam replies. ‘We’re on deck seven, that’s all we know.’
‘Can I see your bracelet?’ the bellhop asks, and Sam turns her wrist so he can read it.
‘OK,’ he says. ‘Can you see the panel behind the concierge desks? The nearest lifts are behind that. Just choose level seven. Once you get there, you’ll find yourself in a lobby with a corridor on either side. Even-numbered cabins are on the port side of the ship, and odd numbers on the starboard. The numbering runs from the bow to the stern, but there are signs to direct you and I can tell you that yours is about halfway along on the port side.’ He turns to me. ‘Would you like to show me your bracelet so I can direct you?’
‘Umm, no. I’m fine, thanks. I’m next to her, so if we can find her cabin we’ll have found mine.’
‘Very good. Enjoy your stay, and please don’t hesitate to let a member of the crew know if there’s anything you need.’ He turns to deal with the next guest and Sam and I set off towards the concierge desks.
‘I hate to admit it,’ I tell her, our fight temporarily forgotten, ‘but I didn’t understand most of what he said. I know the bow is the front and the stern is the back, but I’ve never worked out which is port and which is starboard.’
‘This I do know,’ she says. ‘Port is the left-hand side of the ship, marked by a red light on the side of the bridge, and starboard is the right, marked by a green light. I even know where the terms come from.’
‘How?’
‘My dad went through a sailing thing a few years ago. So, it comes from pre-history, when people steered boats with a board sticking out of the side. The steer board, as it was imaginatively called, was always on the right, which gives you starboard. The next problem is that you obviously couldn’t pull alongside a jetty on the right because the steer board would get in the way, so you always put the left-hand side of the boat against the jetty, so that’s the port side. See?’
‘You’ve made that up.’
‘Nope. Absolutely true. In fact, I might use it as a conversation starter at the Singles Mingle later. Are you quite sure you don’t want to come?’
‘Perfectly, thank you. And our conversation about the trick you pulled to get me on here isn’t over,’ I tell her frostily. I may have been momentarily distracted by the lobby and her knowledge of sailing jargon, but now she’s mentioned the Marco Polo thing again, I can feel my anger resurfacing.
‘OK, fine,’ she says as we press the button to summon the lift. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you about the singles thing, but I did it for the right reasons.’
‘When is there ever a “right reason” to trick someone into a singles holiday against their will?’ I ask incredulously. ‘You know, I was stupidly looking forward to all the things we were going to see and do together.’
‘And we’re still going to do those things,’ she assures me.
‘We aren’t, because you’ll go along to the Singles Mingle thing, your head will be turned by the first reasonable-looking bloke in there, and I won’t see you for the rest of the cruise.’
‘That’s unfair!’
‘Is it? Admit it, the reason you chose this cruise is nothing to do with the supplement. This is all just a blatant attempt to meet more single men in your eternal quest for happiness. If it had been about the money, you’d have told me up front.’
‘I’m not going to abandon you, I promise.’
‘Hmm. We’ll see.’
There are a number of other passengers in the lift, so we do the British thing and lapse into silence until we reach deck seven. When we get out, we’re momentarily disorientated. There are two corridors, as the bellhop explained, but no way of telling which side of the ship is which.
‘This one has the even numbers,’ Sam says, pointing at a sign. I follow her down what feels like the longest corridor in the world as she calls out the cabin numbers.
‘Here we are,’ she says at last, holding out her bracelet to a door pad and receiving a beep and click in return. ‘That one must be you. Shall we meet up in an hour or so, once we’ve unpacked?’
I follow her lead and push open the door of my cabin once the green light informs me it’s unlocked. Thankfully, unlike the holiday, this is exactly what I was expecting. Although the carpet is the same dark blue as the hull, the ambience is lifted by the pale wood used for the wardrobes, bed surround and other furniture. It’s not exactly large, but it feels bigger than the hotel room Sam and I shared last night. To my relief, my cases are stacked neatly by the bed. I’ll unpack in a minute, but there’s something I have to do first. It takes me a moment to figure out the lock, but then I slide open the door and step out onto the balcony. The bus, terminal building and ship are all air-conditioned, so the contrast in temperature is the first thing I notice. There’s a refreshing breeze, but it’s still warm out here as I close my eyes and tilt my face towards the sun, gripping the balcony rail and leaning out over the side.
‘Never mind Sam and all her Marco Polo nonsense, this will do very nicely,’ I sigh happily as I open my eyes and watch a gull fly past, its piercing cry ringing out across the port. Below me, the terminal building looks small, and I can see the last buses dropping passengers off outside. I breathe deeply, trying to shake off the vestiges of our quarrel. I am annoyed with her, but she’s got a point. I’m still going to see everything I wanted to, even if Sam gets embroiled with someone, as she undoubtedly will. It’s just not the holiday I thought I was signing up for, and I’m definitely pissed off that she wasn’t up front with me. Yes, I probably would have refused to come, but at least it would have been an informed choice. With a sigh, I turn and head back inside to start unpacking.
I quickly discover that, although my cabin is fairly small, there are lots of clever little storage spaces, including the narrowest full-length wardrobe I’ve ever come across. The bathroom is similarly compact, but again there are cubbies for me to store my make-up bag and other toiletries. Out of curiosity, I try the shower, and I’m relieved to note that the water pressure is considerably better than the dribble I endured at the airport hotel. London already feels like a world away as I grab the folder beside the bed with ‘Scandia Cruises Spirit of Malmo , Essential Information’ written on the front and settle in the armchair by the window. I’d like to test out the bed, but I know I’ll fall asleep instantly if I try that, so I’m steering well clear of it for now.
The first page of the folder is full of safety information, the most important piece of which appears to be the requirement to watch the emergency procedures film on my TV, if the large bold type is anything to go by. Grabbing the remote control, I turn on the TV to find the film loaded and ready to go. I watch as it explains what to do in the different types of emergencies, how to put on my lifejacket and find the correct muster station, as well as the different alarms including the one to abandon ship. Not exactly encouraging viewing, especially as I have to tick a box on screen at the end to confirm I’ve watched and understood it. Thankfully, the rest of the folder is full of information about how to book the various onboard restaurants, spas and hair and beauty salons, along with the numbers to dial from my bedside phone. Having read that from end to end, I turn my attention to the envelope that Orange Barry pressed into my hand at the Marco Polo desk. I slit it open and slide out the contents, which are identical to Sam’s apart from my badge, which is orange.
I remember Barry saying something about the traffic light system but, although I went to some traffic light parties at uni, I’m not sure how it’s going to work in this context, so I open the booklet to see if it explains and, sure enough, the information I’m looking for is at the very beginning.
Traffic light system
In order to prevent confusion, we ask the Friends of Marco Polo to wear their badges at all our events and adhere to the traffic light system as follows:
Green – Go. People with green badges are looking for a match, so don’t be shy. Go and say hello! Remember, however, to be respectful. Inappropriate comments or remarks may cause offence and, if serious, may result in you being expelled from the group.
Amber – Pause. Some of our group are unsure at this stage and want to sit on the sidelines for a while to see how things unfold. Don’t avoid them, just be aware that they’re not necessarily looking for a match right now.
Red – Stop. If you see someone with a red badge, that means they’re not available. By all means be friendly and polite, but respect their boundaries.
Note: Guests are free to change their traffic light colours at any point. Just ask your helpful Marco Polo group leader for a new badge.
That’s job number one then. Find Barry and swap my orange badge for a red one. If I do that, this might actually be bearable. I turn the page and find myself staring at the profile of a man with dark hair and dark brown eyes behind glasses. The page title tells me that this is Robin Andrews. As well as the picture, there’s a short bio. A niggle of doubt starts to form in my mind again as I flip to the end to find Sam Thorncroft and read her bio, which is much as she described it a week ago. My heart is in my mouth as I continue to turn the pages. Sure enough, I come across an entry for Ruby Johnson. The picture is one Sam took of me when we had dinner at The Mermaid, but my eyes fall instantly to the text.
Raven-haired Ruby would describe herself as kind, trustworthy and loyal, but there’s a whole lot more to this curvy beauty from the seaside town of Margate in Kent. As you’d expect from a bookshop owner, she’s good with words. A sharp, sassy chick who will swiftly cut you down to size if you don’t measure up, Ruby is no fool when it comes to matters of the heart. You’ll need to be someone truly special to steal the heart of this fiercely independent woman. Take the time to get to know her, however, and you’ll have made a friend, or even more, for life.
Suddenly, Sam’s questions a week ago about how I’d describe myself make complete sense. Killing her would be too easy. I’m going to chop her up and turn her into shark bait.