Chapter 6
‘Want to join? You can have the mat,’ Berry says, unfurling her yoga mat in the middle of the deck.
I’m curled up in the corner of one of the big sofas with my phone and a coffee and Nico is stretched out on the other sofa.
We’re picking the guests up in Palma, which is just over two hours away and since we got the prep done first thing, the captain said we can relax while we sail.
I shake my head. ‘Thanks but no. I’m not that bendy. ’
Berry raises her arms over her head and leans a little from side to side, before folding herself into downward dog.
‘You don’t have to be bendy.
This is how you get to be bendy. ’
‘Stop saying “bendy”,’ Nico says without moving.
‘You’re getting me hot and bothered. ’
‘You haven’t changed then,’ Berry says, but she’s smiling.
‘It would take a stronger man than me to resist a sexy woman doing yoga in the sun.’
‘Have you ever considered,’ Berry says, moving up to kneeling, ‘that not everything a woman does is directed at your dick?’
Nico pushes his sunglasses up onto his head and grins, squinting against the bright morning light.
‘I have considered it, yeah. But I dismissed it as unrealistic.’
Berry shakes her head.
She lowers to plank – triceps flexing – and then down onto her belly before pushing up to cobra.
‘Keep away from this one, Hope,’ she tells me.
‘He thinks he’s charming. ’
‘Don’t worry, I plan to. ’
‘Actually, I know I’m charming,’ Nico says.
‘And I know you both know it too.’ He lies back down, replacing his sunglasses.
‘Keep telling yourself that,’ Berry says, without any malice.
She arches her back, dropping her hands down behind her to hold on to her heels, her chest raised to the sky.
She looks so strong and powerful.
She looks like a sculpture.
I realise I’m staring, but I don’t have muscles.
I mean, obviously I have muscles – I’m not a jellyfish – but I don’t have visible muscles.
I think I’d like to.
When Berry’s done with her yoga, she stretches out next to me for a while, texting, and then goes inside for a shower.
Nico’s asleep with his T-shirt over his face.
I climb off the sofa and experiment with a quick stretch – arms overhead, bend side to side – before going for a wander around the boat.
I head for the bow and – along with blue sky, a few tiny, white clouds and glittering water – I find Adam.
He’s sitting on the edge of one of the big round daybeds, hand gripping the chrome railing.
‘Hey,’ I say, sitting down next to him.
‘I thought you went back to bed.’
I glance around to make sure we’re alone before reaching for his hand.
It’s cold and clammy, but I rub my thumb over his palm anyway.
‘I did,’ he says, his voice both rough and weak, like the morning after too much beer.
‘I feel like shit and the cabin was making it worse.’
The colour’s drained out of his face.
He looks pale, almost green.
‘Ad. Did you drink that much last night?’
‘Not that,’ he croaks.
‘Seasick.’
‘Oh shit. Did you bring anything?’
He shakes his head before curling over and dropping it into his hands, fingers pressing into the back of his neck.
‘I can’t believe this,’ he says.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yeah. I mean, it’s a bit weird, especially below deck, but I don’t feel sick, no.
Want me to go and get something?
They must have stuff on board for passengers. ’
‘Please.’ He sits up, leaning back, turning his face up to the sky.
He looks woeful. ‘Thanks.’
Inside, I find Louise and she gives me wrist bands, along with a couple of tablets – she says it’s too late for them to work, but they might just make him feel better psychologically – and she tells me to go and get some ginger from Carlo.
I go back to Adam first. He’s moved closer to the railings, presumably so it’ll be quicker and easier if he does need to puke, and he takes the tablets, washing them down with water.
I leave the bands with him and go down to the galley to find Carlo.
The table that runs through the middle of the galley is covered with an array of fruits and vegetables – red and yellow peppers, a pile of greens, lemons, peaches, tomatoes, cherries.
It looks so beautiful.
‘Is this for us or the guests?’ I ask him.
I really want to steal a tiny perfect tomato, but Carlo has a big knife.
He stops singing tunelessly along to Ariana Grande and says, ‘A bit for both. First the guests and then the crew. Is just a chopped salad. But good!’
He smiles at me, and I notice he’s got a gap between his front teeth.
It’s funny, Carlo is almost as handsome as Ben, but he’s cute rather than hot.
I tell him about Adam’s seasickness and he points to a gnarly-looking piece of ginger, already on the table.
‘I put this for the dressing,’ he says.
‘Just in case.’
He picks it up and scrapes off some of the rough peel before cutting off a chunk.
‘Tell him just hold in mouth for as long as he can, and then he can nibble it, but he might not like to,’ he says.
When I take the ginger to Adam, he’s lying flat on his back on the sunlounger, eyes closed and fingertips pressed to his eyelids.
‘I’ve brought ginger. ’
He groans as he pulls himself up to sitting, looking even worse than when I left him.
I help him put the wrist bands on, rotating them so they’re in the right position, pressing on the acupressure points that are meant to prevent nausea.
‘Carlo said to just hold it in your mouth. You don’t have to swallow if you don’t want to. ’
‘I hate this,’ he moans.
I know he must be feeling bad because he wouldn’t usually miss a ‘that’s what she said’ opportunity.
As soon as the ginger passes his lips, he lurches up and vomits over the side of the boat.
I rub his back, as he clings to the railing, his knuckles white.
‘I didn’t even think of this,’ he says, once he’s stopped puking.
‘How thick am I? I just thought, like, I’m fine on the ferry.
It’s not even rough! ’
He gestures at the gentle swell of the ocean.
‘If I feel like this now, what about when there’s a storm? ’
‘I think maybe it’s something you get used to.
Don’t they say that?
You get your sea legs? ’
‘Oh yeah.’ He frowns and his eyes go wide.
He covers his mouth, gags a little and then says, ‘I’m okay.
Isn’t sea legs about keeping your balance, not puking? ’
‘I don’t know. Maybe?
But I guess if you can get used to one, you can get used to the other? ’
‘If I have to leave this job cos I can’t stop vomming, I’m gonna feel like a right dick. ’
‘It’ll be all right,’ I tell him, still rubbing his back.
I’ve got an excuse to touch him and I’m happy to take it.
‘Thanks.’ He bumps his knee against mine.
‘You’re always there when I need you.
At least we’re not working too hard today. ’
‘We will be once we pick the guests up.’
‘Oh yeah. Shit.’
I lean into his side and relax against him.
I’m so glad we’re doing this together.
When we arrive in Palma, the Gothic cathedral glowing golden in the sun behind a row of palm trees, we change into our whites – the smart uniforms we have to wear to greet guests – and then line up on the marina and wait for Xander and his entourage to arrive.
I once again feel like I might throw up from nerves.
Berry gently squeezes my arm.
‘They’re just people,’ she tells me, leaning sideways to speak directly into my ear; it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
‘People with money, but just people.’
I nod.
I know she’s right. I just haven’t been around people with money very much.
Before Mum met Mick we didn’t have much at all.
And while they both earn good money now, they also have three children together.
And me. I had part-time jobs all through university and of course I lived at home, but they still had to pay fees and expenses and I know it was a stretch.
It’s part of the reason I agreed to come and do this.
It pays well and the tips are great and I can send some money back home.
Mum will probably say she won’t take it, but I can get around that.
When the guests appear, walking towards us along the jetty, they all have that sort of glossy sheen that comes from expensive clothes, skincare and haircuts.
They walk down the line of the crew, greeting us all and shaking our hands, and they seem nice.
Just people. Rich people.
Rich people who want to have a good time to celebrate a birthday.
It’ll be fine.
While Louise takes them for a tour of the boat and shows them to their cabins, the rest of us form a human chain from the dock along the passerelle to bring all their luggage on board.
I can’t believe how much stuff they’ve brought for just three days of charter.
We didn’t take this much to Gran Canaria and that was seven of us for a week.
Berry and I set the table on deck, before heading down to the kitchen where Carlo is preparing the guests’ lunch.
Louise radios to say the guests are hungry and will be coming straight up so could we bring up some nibbles.
Carlo has made fried courgette flowers with honey and I take them up to the deck, where Xander Barrett and his friends are already waiting and take their drinks orders.
They’re all polite and friendly.
They ask my name and where I’m from and Harry – the one with the curly hair who is, according to the information sheet, a ‘TikTok tarot guru’ – says he loves my accent, that he had a fling with a Scouser at college.
I wince before I can stop myself and, to my embarrassment, Jeff notices.
‘Don’t worry,’ he tells me.
‘He’s not into women. ’
‘Oh god, no,’ Harry says, before adding, ‘No offence.’
I smile.
‘None taken.’
‘He’s got a guy in every port,’ Xander jokes.
‘Talking of ports,’ Louise says, appearing next to me.
‘Captain Liz wanted me to tell you that we’ll be setting sail in around thirty minutes and lunch will be served just after.
And if it’s all right with you gentlemen, I’m just going to steal Hope away for five minutes .
. .’
I follow Louise down to the galley where we quickly put together a huge dispenser jug of iced water with lemon, lime, strawberry and cucumber.
‘Can we get some tequila in there?’ Jeff – beard like a badger – asks once we bring it up to the deck.
‘Ignore him,’ Xander tells us.
‘But actually, maybe this evening we could get a punchbowl going?’
We set sail while I’m setting the table and after Berry’s finished unpacking the guests’ cases, she joins me on deck.
Carlo radios to say that lunch is ready and we bring up platters of seafood, along with tempura vegetables and garlic ciabatta, and the guests praise everything.
‘They’re so nice!’ I say, next time Berry and I are in the galley at the same time.
‘They are,’ she agrees.
‘So far. Sometimes things are different once the alcohol starts flowing.’
‘Right,’ I say.
‘Of course.’
‘But you’re doing okay? ’
she asks me, resting her fingers on the back of my hand.
Her nails are short and painted Barbie pink, the same as her toes.
There’s just so much to remember and not nearly enough time to think, but I nod.
‘All good so far. Thank you.’
Carlo’s made a strawberry and nectarine galette that looks and smells delicious, and my stomach growls as we take it up to the table.
While the guests linger over coffee – teasing each other, laughing, talking about how fabulous everything is – I refill the water, clear away dishes and make sure to stay on top of as much as I can.
The guests spend the afternoon in the sea with the water toys – snorkles, jet skis and Seabobs, which are like underwater scooters – with the deck crew supervising.
Louise, Berry and I sit down with schedules for the week ahead.
I’m on crew mess and the captain’s cabin, which she likes to be cleaned every day, so I go and do that, making her bed, hoovering, polishing, cleaning the bathroom.
I straighten the pile of books on her bedside – a couple of dark-looking thrillers and a novel about a woman’s unlikely friendship with an octopus.
I refill the water bottles in her fridge and then radio Louise to come and make sure I’ve done a good job.
‘This looks great,’ she says, hands on hips, big eyes scanning the room.
‘Did you polish that mirror?’
‘Oh! No, I didn’t. ’
Louise nods. ‘Make sure you do all the mirrors. Also it looks like the tissues need topping up.’
There’s a chrome tissue box on a small, recessed shelf under the mirror.
‘Okay.’
‘I’d say also give the TV and the monitor a wipe – there’s screen wipes in the locker.
Don’t use normal wipes or sprays. ’
‘Okay,’ I say again.
‘Great.’ She smiles at me.
‘Good job. When you’re done in here, go and see Carlo because we need to start setting up afternoon tea. ’
Xander Barrett and his friends clamber out of the water and flop on the bunny pad and we bring up drinks and snacks: watermelon with halloumi, gazpacho shots, pinwheel sandwiches.
‘The chef is incredible,’ Xander Barrett says, picking up a cheese straw.
‘Did he make these?’
‘I think so,’ I tell him.
‘I can go and ask.’
He shakes his head.
‘No, don’t do that. It’s too hot to move. ’
He’s right. It’s so hot that the back of my polo shirt is soaking wet where it’s tucked into my shorts.
Every time I step out of the air-conditioned interior and onto the deck, my face prickles with perspiration.
I can only hope my make-up’s holding up in the heat because I haven’t had time to stop and check it.
I haven’t even had time to pee.
Jeff is lying flat out on the bunny pad, a T-shirt over his face.
‘He’s the oldest,’ Harry tells me and then fake whispers, ‘He can’t keep up. ’
‘I can hear you,’ Jeff says, his voice muffled by the cotton.
‘I just know how to pace myself. Unlike some.’
Harry rolls his eyes at me and then pats the cushion next to him, inviting me to sit down.
I tell him thanks, but I can’t – I don’t know if I can, but I’m going to assume not unless someone tells me otherwise – and ask if they need anything else.
‘We’re all good,’ Xander tells me.
‘This is perfect.’
Dinner goes well – Berry and I set the table with bright striped round placemats topped with white dishes and a mini inflatable beach ball around a centrepiece of pink, orange and yellow flowers.
The guests call for Carlo to come up and join them for a drink and he blushes while they praise him and Harry flirts outrageously.
They take their drinks up to the sun deck and Berry and I clear the table.
Again. It feels like clearing and then setting the table is a big part of the job.
Berry takes the dishes down to the dishwasher, and I wipe and polish the table and sweep the deck.
I can hear the guests talking about cocktails – the first they ever had, the ones that gave them the worst hangovers.
‘I remember exactly what I drank that night,’ I hear Harry say.
‘Wine. And then beer.’
‘Makes you feel queer,’ Adam says, making me jump.
I move towards him, before remembering I can’t.
I give him a weird little wave instead.
‘How are you feeling?’ I ask him.
‘Been better, but I think these are working.’ He holds his hands up to show me an anti-sickness band on each wrist. ‘You?’
‘Exhausted. But good.’
‘We started with red and, when that ran out, I moved on to white,’ Harry is saying.
‘And then the beer after that.’
Adam takes the mop out of my hands and starts mopping under the table.
‘And then I had a Black Russian,’ Harry says.
‘And then a White Russian.’
‘Are we still talking about drinks?’ Jeff asks, drily.
‘On this particular night, yes,’ Harry says.
‘Then a tequila slammer. And then, to top it all off, a Brandy Alexander.’
‘What the fuck is a Brandy Alexander?’ one of the other two asks.
‘I think the actual recipe is cognac and crème de cacao and cream,’ Harry says.
‘There’s something else too . . . sherry?’
‘Brandy?’ someone suggests.
Harry snorts. ‘Probably yes. But when I used to make it at home I just did it with brandy and chocolate milk. God, I miss chocolate milk! When did you last have chocolate milk?’
‘When I was an actual child,’ one of the other men – I think it’s Jeff – says.
‘Like most people.’
Harry groans.
‘I miss it. I should never have stopped drinking it.’
When I take the mop down to the galley, I check the pantry and find a couple of bottles of Cocio chocolate milk.
‘Can I take these?’ I ask Carlo, who’s cleaning the galley and looks exhausted.
He shrugs. ‘I think they are for the children, but there are no children?’
I smile.
‘One of the guests said he misses it, so I thought I’d put some in his room. ’
Carlo stops scrubbing long enough to smile at me.
‘Now I’m wondering if I should try some too. ’
‘You should!’ I tell him.
‘The guest puts brandy in it.’
‘Ah,’ Carlo smiles.
‘Maybe for bed.’
I take the two bottles up to Harry’s room.
I knock on the door and when there’s no reply, go inside.
Berry did turn-down service earlier so everything is tidy, the bed is made and the lights are low.
I put the chocolate milk in the fridge.
When I get back up on deck, the guests have come down from the sun deck and are talking to Adam and Liam.
I skirt around them and go up to tidy the sun deck, taking their dishes and glasses down to the galley.
On one of my trips back down, they call out that they’re going to bed and I radio everyone to let them know.
I expect Berry to be asleep when I get back to our cabin, but she’s not.
She’s propped up in bed, watching something on her phone.
‘ Great British Baking Show ,’ she tells me, pointing at the small screen.
‘Helps me relax.’
‘I get it,’ I tell her.
‘Have you watched the Sewing Bee ? I love that too.’
‘I haven’t, but I will,’ she tells me.
She pauses the show and rolls onto her side to look at me.
‘How are you doing? Everything go okay out there?’
‘I think so,’ I tell her.
‘I’m worried I missed something . . .’
‘You probably did. It’s your first day on charter, you can’t be expected to remember everything, but from what I saw, you did a pretty great job. ’
I must be exhausted because my eyes well with tears.
‘Thank you for saying that.’
‘No problem. Now get some sleep.’