Love Overboard

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Sofia woke up with a start, lying on top of her covers in her bra and pants. She checked her watch – only twenty minutes to make dinner. This job was relentless. She pulled on her chef’s whites and went to inspect her fridge. And there it was, the picnic hamper, sitting on the shelf, mocking her. Except, she thought, she could repurpose it for the crew’s dinner.

She had made far too much for two people anyway.

As everyone wandered into the mess and sat around the table, Sofia realised just how hungry she was. It was a quintessential British picnic spread, pork pies, finger sandwiches, sausage rolls, quiche, fruit salad, chocolate strawberries, all freshly made that very morning.

‘This looks amazing, as usual.’ Stuart began loading up his plate. ‘Are those Scotch eggs? What a treat.’

Sofia laughed as Petra picked one up and eyed it suspiciously.

‘It’s a boiled egg cased in sausage meat,’ Stuart explained.

‘You Brits are disgusting,’ she said, opting for a slice of quiche instead.

‘Agreed.’ Jack took a seat. ‘Thank goodness I didn’t have to force one down in front of our guests at lunchtime.’ He smirked at Sofia.

‘Am I missing something?’ Declan was loading his plate high.

‘This is the lunch that Sofia did not pack for the picnic today,’ Petra clarified.

‘Oh damn, it was an eventful day huh?’ Declan chuckled.

Sofia was embarrassed. It wasn’t like her to drop the ball like that at work; she prided herself on being a professional. ‘I hope Captain Mary wasn’t too disappointed about it.’ She looked over at Jack.

‘What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.’ He grinned. Sofia felt a flood of relief, and then gratitude, which was almost as uncomfortable a feeling to sit with as the anxiety she’d been harbouring before.

‘Oh, you didn’t...? Thanks, Jack.’ She didn’t know what else to say, but it sounded so half-hearted, she blushed with yet more embarrassment.

Jack seemed unfazed. ‘What happens on the tender, stays on the tender, eh?’

‘Nobody else is doing anything dodgy on the tender apart from you, Jack.’ Petra gave him a playful smack around the back of the head. ‘Enough work chat anyway. Where are we going tonight?’

A few suggestions were thrown around ‘Fernandos’, ‘Ballare’, ‘Oceana Azzurra’. Sofia was preoccupied thinking about whether or not she was going to drink. She was regretting having already said she might. She hadn’t, since she’d left Nakachwa. It was part of her fresh start. Everything had gotten so complicated and so many lines had gotten blurred when there was alcohol involved. But she didn’t want to miss out on the ‘yachtie’ experience and she wasn’t naive; she knew that there was a big drinking culture, and the others had already started to comment on her abstinence; maybe one night of drinking would keep any probing questions at bay.

‘Sofia?’ It was Petra. ‘Let the boys clear up; we need some girls’ time to get ready.’

It wasn’t easy to ‘get ready’ together in the tiny cabins, and the bathroom was even smaller. Sofia had barely bothered with makeup since she got on the boat, partly because the lighting was so bad in her room and partly because she would invariably sweat it all off in the kitchen. Petra seemed to have a system, mascara, eyeliner, brow brush all precariously balanced on various ledges and nooks around the tiny mirror.

Sofia was wondering what to do with her hair. Up until now she’d had it mostly tied up. She let it down and used her afro pick to loosen up the curls that had stagnated in a bun for the past seven days.

‘Wow, your hair is beautiful, Sofia. You should wear it down more often.’ Petra had the starry-eyed look of wonder that Sofia had often encountered on the face of white women. They seemed mesmerised by her hair’s defiance of gravity.

‘Doesn’t go well with kitchen grease, unfortunately.’ Sofia shrugged. ‘And I don’t think Captain Mary would be best pleased to find a strand of it in her dinner’.

For a tense moment Sofia feared Petra might ask to touch it, but instead she said, ‘I have a headscarf that would be great on you.’ That was pretty much the last thing Sofia had expected her to say. Petra riffled through her washbag and pulled out a red and white gingham silk scarf.

‘You know what, I have a really cute red top that might go with this.’ Sofia had planned to wear a black camisole, but she had packed an off-the-shoulder red crop top at the last minute ‘just in case’. It had seen her through dozens of summer nights out in London, and it was always a good look.

Sofia pulled on a pair of black jeans and slipped into the top, self-consciously turning her back to Petra as she wriggled into the tight fabric.

‘OK, I see, you’ve come to play!’ Petra gave a chef’s kiss. ‘I fear you’re going to stop poor young Declan’s heart in that outfit.’

‘Oh no,’ Sofia groaned, heart sinking. ‘It’s that obvious?’

Petra laughed. ‘Don’t worry, it’s just puppy love. He’ll get over it.’ She went back to applying mascara, her face close to the glass. ‘He has to anyway. Captain Mary is not messing around with her “no crew relationships” rule, even if you were interested.’

‘Her what?’

‘Captain Mary doesn’t hire couples, or like if you hook up with another crew member, one of you is getting the chop. She says it complicates “boating dynamics”.’ Petra leant back and admired her handiwork. ‘I think it’s written somewhere in the crew pack, but honestly it’s like right at the end. I didn’t even get to it.’

‘Well, that makes sense to me.’ And it did, though she’d hardly registered it when she’d first read the pack. But with such small quarters, romantic politics would be a nightmare. ‘Well famously Declan didn’t even know who the guests were so I suspect he definitely hasn’t got to that bit.’

‘You’re not interested then?’ Petra flashed an inquisitive raised eyebrow in her direction through the mirror.

‘Oh no, God no. He’s sweet, but not my type, and he’s so young.’

Petra nodded, and Sofia seized on the moment of girlish intimacy to do some probing of her own.

‘And what’s the deal with you and Stuart?’

Petra snorted. ‘Stuart? Are you joking?’

Sofia wasn’t giving up that easily. ‘Oh come on, he’s obviously super into you. I’ve never seen anyone blush that hard.’

‘I think that’s just the Scottish genes.’

‘If you say so. I think he’s really lovely.’

Brow pencil down, Petra had produced a curling wand from somewhere and was sectioning out a length of blonde hair. ‘He is really lovely; sadly that’s also not my type.’

The two of them giggled, and Sofia once again felt a warming glow of budding friendship.

‘Are you seriously done?’ Petra was looking Sofia up and down. ‘How do you look that good? You just changed and let your hair down. If only you had some glasses to take off, we’d have ourselves a classic rom-com makeover scene.’ Petra stood up, half her hair curled, and tied the scarf around Sofia’s head, turning her around to tie a tight knot at the nape of her neck.

‘Just a little bit of this.’ She flipped her back around, so they were facing each other, lipstick in hand. ‘There you go.’

Sofia focused on the frown of concentration on Petra’s face as she applied. It had been a long time since she’d gotten dressed up. It felt nice.

‘Voila, makeover complete.’ Sofia turned to look in the small mirror. The startle of red lipstick suited her, she thought. She hadn’t seen herself like this for months. ‘You like?’

‘I look hot.’ Sofia beamed at Petra. ‘Thanks, fairy godmother.’

Sofia sat on the bunk as Petra finished her extensive routine. Once the hair was curled and the face made up there were outfit options to consider. The turquoise top? The green dress? The denim shorts or the black mini skirt? All had to be given equal consideration. Finally the lucky winner was a low-slung black satin skirt and cropped white blouse.

‘I think it’s kind of classy actually,’ Petra said and Sofia nodded enthusiastically. At this stage Sofia would have said anything to get them both out of the cramped cabin.

‘Absolutely,’ Sofia agreed.

Petra seemed satisfied and the two of them made their way back to the mess. Music was already blaring, and inside the smell of men’s aftershave was slightly overwhelming.

‘You boys really went heavy on the spray tonight.’ Petra grabbed a bottle of beer from the fridge and held one out for Sofia. In that split second her mind was made. With four pairs of eyes on her, she took the bottle.

‘Glad to see you joining us tonight, Chef.’ Stuart handed her a bottle opener. She smiled shyly, opened the beer and took a swig. She had to admit that she’d missed it. She knew it was associative, but even after that one sip she could feel a warm cloak of comforting haze envelop her.

‘You girls look great.’ This came from Jack, who seemed to be drinking something stronger, either that or it was a glass of soda water.

Petra blew him a kiss. ‘The mothers of Capri better lock away their sons tonight.’

It was only 9p.m. and the five of them drank like there was lost time to catch up on. Around 11p.m. Petra decided it was time for them all to leave. It seemed that the head stewardess role extended beyond the working day. All of them dutifully filed off the boat, with Declan coming stressfully close to toppling into the water as they staggered along the marina towards the taxi rank.

Sofia realised she was drunk. Her months of sobriety had wrecked her tolerance and she had to concentrate on walking and talking at the same time.

‘I really feel like I’ve been here before,’ she said to nobody in particular.

Jack started laughing.

‘Why are you always laughing at me?!’ She could hear the petulance in her voice, but she couldn’t work out what to do about it.

‘This is where we dropped off Brian this afternoon.’ Jack put his arm around her shoulder and she was grateful for the support.

She giggled. ‘Oh yeaaah, I remember now. Man, what a day.’ She nuzzled closer into Jack’s shoulder and surreptitiously inhaled, vying for a hit of that intoxicating blend of musk and sea salt.

Petra hailed a taxi and next thing she knew Sofia was bundled in the back and then bundled out. ‘Oceana Azzurra’ flashed in pink neon above her head. Sofia was pretty sure she’d been to an ‘Oceana’ before, somewhere near Portsmouth.

Petra leant in and whispered in her ear. ‘This is where all the Italian stallions hang out.’

Stamps, shots, Euro pop. Sofia had no idea how long she was swaying in the crowd but she suddenly felt like all she wanted was fresh air. She stumbled out into the cool night, smokers standing around chatting, and a little further down the decking, a couple making out on a daybed.

She felt grit between her toes, and looking down she was surprised to see sand. She really was very drunk. They were at a beach bar; she was on the beach. She found herself wandering towards the sea, the crowd thinning as she went. The moon was mesmerisingly bright, a porcelain plate on an inky tablecloth. Sofia sunk down into the sand, lying on her back and then falling further, letting the wave of drunkenness wash over her. She couldn’t know how long she lay there. In the distance the music kept playing and the waves kept lapping.