Love Overboard

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Sofia decided on pasta for the crew’s first dinner. She wanted a gentle warm-up in the kitchen and, well, Italy.

She lay a luscious bunch of cavolo nero on the counter. She chopped eight plump cloves of garlic, shredded the dark, spongy leaves and then started on the guanciale, cutting the lump of fat into small nubs and throwing them into a smoking hot pan. She watched them shrink as they hit the aluminium, oozing with grease. The pork was laid to one side, and in went the garlic and cavolo nero, until the leaves had wilted, glossed with a film of fat. She boiled a large vat of pasta, heavily salted the water and grated the parmesan. When everything had cooked, it all went in with the pasta, along with a big dollop of crème fraiche.

Before she called Petra in to help serve it up, she took a moment to admire her work, dipping a fork into the skillet and swirling the creamy pasta around its prongs. It had been so long since she had cooked an entire meal for someone. Not just chopped the onions, or made the roux, or seared the fillet. She had been part of a machine, a highly efficient one to be sure, but nevertheless a cog among cogs. Now she was the whole operation. Each dish, her very own masterpiece.

‘Petra, can I get a little help?’ She was still getting the hang of her radio, and she felt goofy using it, like a kid playing make-believe.

A harsh crackle and then: ‘Heading right down now.’ Mere moments later Petra was standing on the opposite side of the counter. ‘Smells bloody delicious,’ she said. Sofia offered her a mouthful. She chewed appreciatively, her eyes widening. ‘Damn, is that bacon?’

‘Guanciale.’

‘I have no idea what that is, but I want more.’

Sofia ducked her head to hide her blush at the compliment and hurried herself serving up. Petra dutifully picked up the first three plates and disappeared out the door.

‘The masses are starving,’ she called over her shoulder as the door slammed.

Sofia made up another four plates and radioed in after waiting a couple of minutes, with no sign of Petra.

‘Err, Petra, I think I’m going to need a hand with the final plates.’

‘No need, our poor little Tabby cat will not be eating anything tonight.’

Sofia thought she could hear laughing in the background.

Then the voice of Captain Mary came through. ‘What Petra meant to say is that Tabitha is having some trouble finding her sea legs and has had to retire for the evening.’

When Sofia walked into the main saloon, where the crew were allowed to eat only before the guests arrived, the boys were already eating. ‘I don’t think you’ve met Stuart?’ Captain Mary gestured to a nervous-looking man as she laid down the final three plates.

Stuart was startlingly blonde for a man of his age, although she had to admit she wasn’t entirely sure what that age was. He had pale grey eyes and a patchy arrangement of facial hair that didn’t quite converge at the tip of his chin. He was not an unattractive-looking man, but he was an odd-looking one. She smiled in his direction. ‘I’m Sofia.’

He hastily wiped his mouth, which was spattered with flecks of crème fraiche, and swallowed emphatically. ‘Yeah, um Stuart, like the captain said, I’m the engineer,’ he said, the last syllable rumbling from his throat in a strong Scottish accent.

‘Pleasure,’ said Sofia with a bright smile. ‘Hope you’re liking the food.’

He flushed, and the pink spread from his cheeks all the way down his neck, and all the way up to his hairline. ‘Sorry, I wanted to wait, but I was starving.’

‘No worries, I was warned by Petra.’ She hadn’t thought it was possible for the man to get any redder, but at the mention of Petra’s name, he sunk into an even deeper shade of scarlet. Sofia understood – the head stewardess seemed to intimidate everyone. Sofia sat down and joined the rest of the table in their ravenous swallowing, feeling a pang of pride that her food was being so thoroughly enjoyed. She looked around the table and caught the eye of Jack, who was slurping a length of spaghetti. He winked at her.

‘Great stuff, Chef Harlow.’ She was disconcerted by the sincerity, and the cheeky tone. The hot and cold of their interactions was unsettling and she resolved he was doing it on purpose.

She was mulling over a retort when Captain Mary spoke. ‘Good work today, everyone. I feel like we’ve got ourselves in a suitable position ahead of tomorrow, and a special thanks to Petra for stepping up to the plate and covering for Tabitha, as well as getting on top of her own duties.’

‘What’s wrong with Tabitha anyway?’ This came from Declan, who had already scraped his plate clean.

‘Turns out she’s only worked on docked boats, and she’s seasick.’ Jack chuckled. ‘Honestly, Captain, where do you find these people?’

Almost immediately it was clear to everyone around the table that he had crossed a line. The rowdy table went completely silent.

Sofia had yet to see the captain be anything other than friendly, in a professional, measured sort of way that Sofia admired. When she responded, her tone was still measured, but there was a coldness to it that oozed with authority. ‘I go to great lengths to carefully select a crew that I believe will work well together, and whose skills and experience complement each other to give our guests the best experience on board.’

Jack, too, seemed to grasp that he had stepped out of line. Sofia noticed the withdrawing in his eyes she had seen earlier, and he replied in an equally steady tone. ‘Of course, Captain, I meant no offence.’

‘I appreciate that, Officer Carter.’ The formality of the exchange had chilled the atmosphere around the table, and the rest of the meal was eaten mostly in silence, with the occasional polite question offered up to the room.

‘So has anyone been to Italy before?’ said Petra cheerfully. Responses were varied and the slightly strained amicability was palpable.

‘I’ll clear the plates,’ said Declan when everyone was done, probably sounding the least enthusiastic she’d heard him all day, and Sofia stood up a little too quickly to help him.

Back in the kitchen, the pair of them silently scraped the plates and Declan began to fill the large sink with soapy water.

‘Don’t worry about those. I can do them in the morning; you must be exhausted after today,’ Sofia said.

Declan put on the rubber gloves and took the plates from her hands anyway.

‘I’ll wash, you dry?’ he suggested. It was such a domestic scene that Sofia felt a pang of homesickness.

‘OK, deal.’

As they got to work, Sofia’s curiosity got the better of her. ‘So how did a black guy from Croydon end up working on luxury yachts then?’

Declan chuckled. ‘That’s such a fair question. Not many Nigerian deckhands about huh?’

‘I mean I haven’t been in the game very long, but I’d assume not.’

‘I actually started off on sailing yachts, went on this holiday to the South Coast with this friend from school and his family, and they were like “boat people”, you know?’

‘White?’ said Sofia dryly, and Declan chuckled again.

‘Yeah, how did you guess? Anyway, I sort of fell in love with it. I was gutted to leave after a week, so I googled “sailing clubs” and managed to persuade my parents to drive me to Portsmouth every weekend to go out on trips.’

‘I grew up around there,’ said Sofia, as she polished the cutlery.

‘Oh for real? So you’re a proper country girl then?’

‘At heart, yeah I guess. I haven’t ever really been on a boat like this though, like a yacht or whatever, but I’ve always been a bit in love with the idea of being “at sea”, you know?’

Declan nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.’ They worked in silence for a minute or so. A familiarity settled around them as they continued with their respective jobs, quiet and comfortable.

‘So anyway,’ said Declan, as he seemed to continue out loud the train of thought he had been riding in his head during the brief silence. ‘I graduated from Durham last year and my parents really wanted me to get a job straight away, so I did this grad scheme thing, and I hated it.’ He drained the sink and began peeling off the yellow gloves. ‘So, I quit in January, and they were so mad, but like I started sailing again and met this guy who had just got back from a charter in the South of France, and it sounded sick, so he gave me Captain Mary’s details.’ He leant back against the counter and looked at Sofia with a grin. ‘And the rest is history, as they say.’

‘What did you study?’

‘Economics,’ he said with in a tone that verged on disgust.

Sofia laughed. ‘God, that sounds dreadful,’ she conceded.

‘It was.’

She started to put everything away.

‘And how did you end up here then?’ Declan asked.

‘Oh you know, same kind of deal really, quit my job and ran away to the circus.’ She had expected a laugh, but when he didn’t say anything, she looked over to him and he was smiling kindly, waiting for her to say more.

‘I umm, was kind of burned out I guess, and not very happy and um, I had this weird thing with a colleague there who um...’ She trailed off, suddenly shy and wary of dragging her baggage into this new chapter of her life.

‘It’s OK,’ said Declan, sensing he had asked an innocuous question that could not be met with an innocuous response. ‘You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.’

Sofia was touched by his sensitivity. ‘Thanks, it’s not like a big deal. I just don’t like to dwell or whatever.’

Declan’s grin banished the heaviness from the small room. ‘Well if you ever do want to talk, you know where I am,’ he said cheerily. ‘Thanks so much for dinner – that cabbage stuff was mad tasty.’

‘Cavolo nero.’

He mimed a chef’s kiss. ‘Anyway, I think it’s time for me to go to bed.’

‘Yes, you’re probably right. Thanks for your help.’

‘Yes, Chef!’ He saluted and left the kitchen.

As Sofia walked back to her cabin, she could hear some muffled voices coming from the crew’s mess. She contemplated poking her head around the door but then thought better of it. The call to her pillow was too seductive.

That night she slept deeply, dreaming of fruit tarts and delicate mountains of fresh crustaceans.