Chapter 26
Unlike the buffet, the main dining room is far more elegant.
There are two floors, the upper held up by white pillars which stretch across the room.
In the centre of the lower floor, numerous tables of different sizes, all with white tablecloths and centrepiece flowers.
Now I understand why turning up in my T-shirt and sliders was a no-no.
I hear piano music floating across the room. It makes a change from the ‘Macarena’.
‘Perfect, just follow this gentleman to your table.’
I feel nervous butterflies in my stomach. Over the years, I’ve attended work dinners and conferences alone, but I was always there for business. To represent the agency and not myself. A good impression is easy to make when it isn’t about you.
The waiter hums to himself as I’m led to a round table for eight in the middle of the room.
It’s mobbed but the chatter isn’t overwhelming, and I don’t see many toddlers causing havoc.
I assume their parents have just accepted that a peaceful sit-down meal on this cruise isn’t in their future anytime soon.
There are seven other people already seated at the table: four men and three women.
I say hello and sit down beside a portly man in a white dress shirt and blue trousers.
His face is sunburned already. ‘Brian Harrison,’ he announces before I even have time to lift my napkin.
‘This is my wife, Evelyn.’ His Geordie accent is endearing.
‘Sophie,’ I reply as Evelyn smiles at me. ‘Nice to meet you. Am I the last to arrive? So sorry, I had to change.’
‘Don’t worry, we haven’t been here long.’
Around the table, I also meet Mia and her partner Dieter.
They’re from Germany, in their thirties and were last spotted in the lift earlier.
Thankfully, the giggling twins aren’t part of their group.
I’m not sure I could cope with that. Cameron and his husband Lucas are an English couple who now live in Finland, and there’s one other single woman, Isla, the whiny woman from the pool earlier.
I have no idea where she’s from, it’s hard to pinpoint an accent when all she said was her name or from her high-pitched whining at Richie.
What I can say is that Isla looks completely bored already, but her hair is still perfectly in place.
Our Italian waiter, Marco, brings us menus and takes our drinks order.
If I understand correctly, Marco will be our waiter all week if we choose to dine here.
Everyone orders wine, except Isla who sticks to her gin and slimline tonic.
The menu changes every night and tonight we have various starters from prawn cocktail to crabcakes.
Main courses include salmon, New York strip steak and risotto.
For desert: ice cream, cheesecake, sticky toffee pudding or an artisan cheese plate.
I wonder if saying yes to every single dish would apply here.
I settle on prawn cocktail and steak and will order cheesecake if I have any room left at the end of the meal. I would have ordered the spaghetti Bolognese but there’s no way I could have eaten that with any sort of grace or decorum. My dress would look like a crime scene once I’d finished.
‘What do you want?’ Dieter asks me. His cheerful face doesn’t match up to his somewhat stern tone.
‘For dinner?’ I reply. I assume this is what he means and he’s not just asking me why I’ve turned up at his table.
‘Ja.’
‘Das Steak,’ I reply, feeling pleased with myself for remembering that the word steak in German is steak.
Mia looks surprised. ‘Ah, sprechen Sie Deutsch?’
I’m tempted to say that I know a little German, but I forget the word for little and instead reply, ‘Not really,’ bringing an end to my charade.
Dieter chuckles. ‘My English ist not so gut. We will teach each other.’
I pour myself some water from the jug on the table, wishing I hadn’t tried to be a smart arse, but thankfully they seem to be a nice couple.
‘So what do you do for work?’ Brian asks me.
‘I work in marketing,’ I tell him, in perfect English. ‘And you?’
‘Retired now but we own a bed and breakfast.’
‘Sounds lovely,’ I reply. ‘But I hear it’s hard work.’
Mum’s friend Diana ran a B&B in Sandsend. I always remember her venting that the guests were ‘filthy, drunken bastards’ and how she worked herself ‘to the bone’. She did cater to stag and hen parties, though. That was probably her first mistake.
‘Aye, it can be,’ he replies. ‘Our daughter Claire runs it now but she’s as old-school as us. Not sure how long we’ll keep it. Hard to compete with the more modern ones, you know?’
I nod. Unless you are tech savvy, it’s difficult to stay ahead of the game.
Marco appears with our starters. I’m really impressed. Isla immediately starts taking photos, positioning and angling her mozzarella salad to get the perfect shot.
‘Instagram?’ I hear Cameron ask. Isla nods and carries on taking photos, her long nails clacking against her iPhone. His husband Lucas throws Cameron a side-eye at her rude behaviour. They both smirk. I like them already.
‘What do you both do?’ Evelyn asks as she digs into her crabcake. ‘We run a bed and breakfast.’
‘Charming!’ he replies. ‘We both work for Nokia.’
‘Like the phones?’ Mia asks.
Lucas nods, trying not to talk with a mouthful of prosciutto.
‘And you met at work?’
‘Ten years ago,’ he replies. ‘I was planning to go back to England when he joined the company. Needless to say, I stayed. What about you, Mia?’
‘I’m a nurse, Dieter is an accountant. This food is delicious. We cruise every year, but this has to be the best tomato and basil soup I’ve had.’
‘Are we ready for your main course?’ Marco asks, taking away some empty plates. He gets to Isla, who hasn’t touched a thing. ‘You don’t like?’ he asks. Isla shakes her head. ‘I don’t eat cheese.’
‘Ah, you just want to take the photos, I understand.’ I can tell he’s dealt with this before. ‘Maybe next time you give your friends the plate to enjoy, and we don’t waste.’
Isla frowns while the rest of us quietly snigger. He has a point. Pretty sure someone at the table wouldn’t have let that cheese go to waste. Or a passing mouse.
‘Rude,’ I hear her mumble as she gets back to her phone.
‘What is it you do?’ Cameron enquires, once again trying to engage her in conversation.
‘Social media,’ she replies. From her accent, I’m guessing south of England. ‘I promote brands, create content, that kind of thing.’
‘Interesting,’ I say, as our main meals are brought to the table. ‘I work with a lot of influencers.’
‘Yeah?’ she replies, still engrossed in her phone. Again, she starts to photograph her herb-crusted salmon. ‘Like who? Anyone I’d have heard of?’
‘Oh, you know, like Carla Summers, Paloma Bright, Karl Manson, Jade Farrell—’
‘You know Jade Farrell?’ I have her attention now. Jade has 18.2 million followers on Instagram and is an absolute sweetheart. Karl Manson has five million and is a total arsehole.
‘I do,’ I reply. ‘She’s great. Very personable.
’ I’m talking like we’re besties, which isn’t strictly true.
I don’t know her that well. I’ve worked with Jade twice, a few years before she became mega successful, but it’s a name drop we use for potential clients, and it works.
What I do know is that Jade doesn’t behave like a brat and she eats her food.
‘We should exchange information,’ she says, ‘I’m sure we could work together at some point. Are you on Insta? Mine is @islaMann2002.’
‘Your insta name is Isle of Man?’
‘No,’ she replies, looking confused. ‘Isla. Mann. 2002. My surname is Mann.’
I hear those nails hitting the touchscreen on her phone again. ‘I don’t use Instagram for work, but I’ll have a look at your socials and let you know.’
She’d probably have been perfect for the Flirt First campaign, but I doubt I’d hire her for anything else.
‘So, Isla, are you cruising alone?’ Mia takes over the conversation. I think she can see the light draining from my eyes.
‘God, no, I’m not that sad. My boyfriend Richie’s having a spa treatment. He’s intermittent fasting, so he stops eating at six p.m.’
‘Cruising alone is not sad,’ Lucas informs her, glancing at me. ‘Plenty of people do it. Being independent is not sad. Enjoying life is not sad.’
She’s still reading her phone. I continue eating my steak, noticing that once again, Isla hasn’t touched her food. There’s a perfectly good salmon fillet just going to waste. If anything, that’s what’s sad.
She doesn’t hang around for dessert, instead muttering that it was nice to meet everyone and no doubt nipping back to check that Richie hasn’t missed any hair on his chest waxing or accidentally eaten outside his fasting hours.
Dinner has been surprisingly nice. Any reservations I had about sharing a meal with a bunch of strangers have been well and truly quashed.
Whether Lucas was trying to make me feel better or not, his words were especially comforting.
Enjoying life is not sad. I think I might have forgotten that at some point.
I’ve been so closed off to everything without even realising.
Work. Home. Occasional chats with Naomi.
But now that I’m here, I’m starting to feel glad that I’ve come on this cruise.
I might not have met my person yet, but between Ellis and my dining companions, I’ve met some really fun, decent people. Except Isla. Isla can piss off.
Back in my cabin, I manage to sit on my balcony for a total of six minutes before the smoke makes me retreat inside.
I could go exploring but my energy is rapidly waning.
Maybe it just takes a while to acclimatise to not being in bed by 10 p.m. every evening, with a K-drama and bark-proof, noise-cancelling headphones.
I turn on the television, hoping to relax and catch up on The Glory only to discover that there is no Netflix.
In fact, there are no movie apps, only generic news programmes and a kids’ channel with deranged-looking farm animals.
No option to cast or share my phone screen either.
What is this? 1987? I close my phone and catch myself sulking momentarily before snapping out of it.
You didn’t pay all this money to watch The Glory, regardless of how good it is. Behave yourself, Smalls. I bet if Alex Steward went on a cruise, he wouldn’t be—
I hold that thought. Alex Steward. I still haven’t replied to him. I should absolutely reply to him.
To: Alex Steward
RE: Hello!
Dear Alex,
Thanks for your reply! I wasn’t expecting it.
I have to say that thus far, it has been dire.
I’ve tried everything from speed dating, to apps, a games night and even tango classes.
I’ve been told I hate animals and have man hands (I do not, hers were just disturbingly small) and discovered that I cannot play ping-pong to save my life.
So now, I’m on a cruise, full of couples and families. Looking back, it might have been a rash decision but regardless, I’m here and sending this from somewhere in the Mediterranean.
Sophie