Chapter 24
I naturally gravitate towards the balcony and step outside.
The sun is out in full force and it’s glorious but instead of breathing in the sea air, I’m instantly hit by the smell of cigarette smoke.
Clouds of it just ready to absorb into my clothes and unwashed hair.
As I look down, it becomes clear that my cabin is directly above one of the ship’s smoking areas.
My heart sinks. Is it going to be like this for the rest of the trip?
I close the door again, trying to keep the smell outside.
People are absolutely entitled to smoke if they want to but fucking hell, do I have to be right in the line of fire?
Eau de ashtray isn’t the alluring scent I’m going for.
Maybe later the wind will blow in a different direction, and it’ll be someone else’s problem.
Trying not to get too discouraged, I carry on with my plans to go swimming.
Perhaps ‘swimming’ is too ambitious, maybe wading up to my waist is more accurate.
I pour myself into my swimming costume, feeling the Lycra grip and flatten anything that wobbles.
I stand in front of the mirror, which gives me an entirely different reflection than the one I believed to be true at home.
I frown. The black of the costume makes me look paler than I normally am.
I should have self-tanned, even the gradual stuff that has no discernible guide colour, eventually ending up with runny, streaky thigh stripes that look like I’ve pissed myself.
If I were blonde or a redhead, I could get away with this colour.
People would just be like ’ah, she’s Swedish or Celtic, it’s fine,’ instead of forming finger crosses and waiting for me to explode in the sunlight.
It’s too late to do anything about it now so I slather on sun cream, tie back my hair, cover up with a blue kaftan and slip into my sliders.
At least my toenails are painted but given my swimming costume, perhaps choosing black gel might not have been the best option.
Sun hat and beach bag in hand, I make my way back to the lift.
The main pool is located on the lido deck, which I initially read as the libido deck, making me question what kind of cruise I’ve actually booked. After rereading correctly (and feeling somewhat disappointed) I discover it’s on the top deck of the ship. It’s busy and loud.
In front of two huge waterslides, there are two pools.
A larger one and one specifically for kids, some who appear to be battering a beach ball around, mainly off each other’s heads.
The screams from the waterslides are both frightening and hilarious.
The main pool isn’t quite so frantic but despite what looks like a hundred sun loungers placed around the deck, I can’t see any free.
It’s going to be like the buffet all over again only with no cake to ease the discomfort.
I just want to lie down, read Dawn French, and avoid sunburn wherever possible. Is that too much to ask?
As I continue to scan the deck, I catch the attention of a member of staff. She looks late teens and very happy to be here.
‘Are there any loungers available?’ I ask, already knowing the answer. I might as well have asked if she could reverse the ageing process.
She gives me a very sweet pity smile. ‘The waterslides are quite popular,’ she says.
‘On sea days, you have to be up here early to nab a lounger. We discourage people from laying down towels to save chairs, but it does happen, I’m afraid.
We do have an adult pool on deck nine if you want to try there? ’
‘I will!’ I reply, wondering how I could have missed this on the deck plans. Adults-only sounds ideal. ‘Thanks for your help!’
I promptly turn myself around, and flip-flop myself back to the lift, just as Justin Timberlake’s voice begins blasting over the speakers. I’d rather sit in the smoking area than endure that.
The adults-only area is thankfully a completely different atmosphere.
There’s a shaded space to the left with comfy white couches and tables, and a retractable roof covering a large oval-shaped pool.
While it’s still a busy area, and filled with couples, I feel completely at ease.
I notice a pool bar at the back with waiting staff carrying drinks to guests and it’s all very civilised compared to the chaos at the pool above.
Surprisingly I find two loungers on the far side.
It’s as if they knew I was coming. I place my book down and head to the bar.
The cocktails are listed on a board, twelve of them in total.
Everything from pina coladas and mojitos to rum punch and something called a Gully Wash.
I settle for a Bahama Mama, which is rum, grenadine, orange and pineapple juice, vowing to make my way through the list before the week is out.
Grabbing a towel from the pile at the side, I take off my kaftan and make myself comfortable at the side of the pool.
The music here is far better than upstairs.
Instead of Justin bloody Timberlake, there’s a softer, almost Caribbean-style music playing.
Maybe I’m just getting old or maybe it’s because I’ll shove the cotton bud in a little too far if I’m forced to listen to ‘Can’t Stop the Feeling’ one more time.
Two chapters into my book, I order a Gully Wash. It’s condensed milk, coconut water, gin and angostura bitters. It arrives in a martini glass, frosted with sugar, looking like a runny, watery cup of bird poo. I hope that’s nutmeg sprinkled on the top.
‘On the Gully Wash already?’
Startled, I whip around to see the man from the pub, while Gully Wash splashes down my chin and cleavage.
‘You scared me!’
‘Apologies. Just wanted to say hi!’
‘Hi!’ I respond, placing my drink on the side table while wiping the booze off me. ‘Nice to see you again.’
It was nice to see him. All six foot of him, bare-chested in his pool shorts.
He doesn’t have a six-pack, or anything close to a sculpted body.
It’s not quite a dad bod, he’s just a thicker guy and I am not complaining.
I survey the deck, expecting to see his significant other running behind him, ready to knock me out if I get too close. So far nothing.
‘Mind if I join you?’ he asks, motioning towards the second lounger.
‘Sure,’ I reply nonchalantly, going back to my book, when deep down it’s already been established that I do not mind, please sit down immediately and yes, I will marry you, thanks for asking.
He lays a towel on the lounger beside me and starts applying sun cream to his arms.
‘I heard you were with us, Captain Simon. Couldn’t stay away, huh?’
I look up from page twenty-eight to see a member of the pool waiting staff coming towards our loungers. I look around to see who he’s speaking to.
‘Hey, Owen, it’s been a while! Yeah, thought I’d take in the sights. Take advantage of the cocktails, eat some of Hana’s sushi, you know how it is.’
Owen laughs. ‘I had some futomaki yesterday. Insanely good. Nice to see you anyway. What can I get you?’
He turns to me. ‘Is that good? I’ve never actually tried one.’
I look down at my drink. ‘It’s dreadful. Absolutely not my favourite.’
‘Hmm, just a tequila sunrise then,’ he tells Owen, who scurries off to the bar.
I want to get back to my book, but my curiosity gets the better of me.
‘You’re a captain?’ I ask. ‘Army or sea?’
‘Sea,’ he replies.
‘Do I have to salute you or . . .’
He laughs. ‘Not at all. Captain is more of a politeness. But you can call me master if you wish.’
He sees the look of discomfort creep over my face.
‘No, no, not like that! Master is my rank, not some weird control kink. My name is Ellis Simon and I wish I hadn’t made that joke.’
I smirk. ‘Nice to meet you, Ellis. I’m Sophie.’
We sit in silence for a moment before I eventually break the ice. ‘I can’t imagine taking a holiday at my job. But then my job isn’t at sea.’
‘What do you do?’ he asks.
‘Marketing. Not quite as exciting as sailing around the world. You must really like your job?’
‘Yeah, I do,’ he replies. ‘Well, I did. But I’m taking a break at the moment, you know, re-evaluating things . . .’
‘Sure.’
I don’t push the topic any further. Mainly because it’s none of my business but also because I don’t want to intrude on any existential crisis he might be experiencing by demanding some backstory.
‘So, you’re from the UK?’ he asks. ‘I live in London.’
‘Me too! Edgware.’
‘Feltham here.’
‘Nice! You’re American, though, right?’
He nods. ‘Grew up in Salem.’
Owen appears with the drink, motioning to another passenger that he’ll be right over.
‘Ah, like the film, Salem’s Lot?’
‘No, Salem, Massachusetts.’ He pauses. ‘Um, you do know that the novel Salem’s Lot was set in Maine? Short for Jerusalem’s Lot. It also doesn’t exist . . .’
‘I did not know that.’ I laugh awkwardly. Nice one, Sophie, next you should talk about the fact that you also believed Camelot was real until your late twenties.
‘Easy mistake to make,’ he says as my cheeks turn pink. ‘We’re more about witches than vampires.’
We both sip our melting cocktails. It’s thirty degrees and if I wasn’t shaded by this umbrella, my pale skin would be frying like bacon, even underneath my factor fifty.
‘Booked any excursions?’ he asks. ‘There’s some good ones this week.’
‘Richie, I swear, if you splash my hair one more time . . .’
We both turn towards a woman lying on a stone lounger, scowling at the splash-happy Richie from behind her designer sunglasses.
I pull up the app on my phone and check my itinerary. ‘Yeah, I’ve booked for Olbia, Pompeii and Pisa. I wanted Civitavecchia for the Vatican, but it was full up.’
‘Nice,’ he replies. ‘The Vatican tour is great, but it’s also a three-hour coach ride with no bathroom on board. Not for everyone, especially if you’ve been eating at the buffet.’
‘I’ve been eating at the buffet! What’s wrong with—’
‘I’m kidding,’ he replies. ‘But between the ship and the coach, motion sickness can be a thing.’
As miffed as I am to miss the Vatican trip, three hours on a coach doesn’t sound particularly appealing. Three hours on a plane will get you snacks, coffee and a toilet that doesn’t require the plane to stop and let you out halfway.
I hear the blonde woman whine loudly about her hair again.
‘I’m thinking that visiting the salon before hitting the pool isn’t quite working out for her,’ Ellis notes. ‘Or maybe Richie pinky promised that he wouldn’t splash her and is now being a backtracking dick.’
I snort. Ellis doesn’t sound like a captain. Well, at least not the current captain who does the morning announcement that I don’t quite understand. I’m pretty certain Captain Montgomery doesn’t call passengers on board backtracking dicks either.
The rest of the conversation with Ellis is short but enjoyable.
He finishes his drink then takes himself into the pool, while I return to my book.
I wait for him to leave the pool before I get in and bob around, avoiding Richie in case he splashes me too.
I don’t want to be circling Ellis like a shark, making conversation while he’s trying to relax or just nodding politely every time we wade past one another.
The water feels amazing, though, and I manage to grab one of the stone beds beside hairdo girl. If Richie splashes me, I’ll drown him.