Chapter 18
‘I did it! I booked the cruise. Check this out: seven nights. I got a last-minute deal. I fly out from Liverpool to Palma, and it’s all-inclusive.
Jaunting around Europe, I’ve booked my excursions in advance.
Pompeii, beach day in Sardinia, Pisa . .
. I even booked the entertainment. Apparently, there’s a full stage show of Hairspray! I love Hairspray.’
‘Damn, you’re organised! When do you leave?’
‘Next week. I’ve just emailed Rupert – he will complain about the short notice but I’m due about a thousand holiday days.’
‘Go you!’ Naomi replies. ‘You’re killing this, I’m so impressed.
Seven days alone sounds like heaven. I can’t even go to the toilet without someone asking me a question through the bathroom door, and that includes Philip.
On Sunday, I was literally mid-pee and he’s at the door asking if we have any plates.
What the hell does he think we’ve been eating off for the past twenty years? Hubcaps? Anyway, tell me more.’
I smile. ‘So, it’s technically not a singles’-only cruise but the website says there are mixers specifically for singles, where couples and children aren’t allowed.’
‘So it’s just a normal cruise?’
‘Well, yes, but with singles’ mixers, like I said. The solo cruises looked dreadful. I guarantee they play the “Birdie Song” at the end of the night, dance moves mandatory.’
‘Hmm,’ she responds. Nothing else. Just ‘hmm’.
My smile begins to fade.
‘Do you know what cabin you’re in?’ she asks.
‘Um, no, it’s a guaranteed cabin. But it was cheaper than the others.’
I hear her sigh. ‘Sophie, you do know that last-minute cabins will be the ones that no one else chose to book, right?’
I stare down at my booking confirmation and frown. ‘You don’t know that. Maybe it’s the ones that were too expensive and grand for anyone else to afford!’
‘You could be right,’ she replies. ‘Maybe it’s a suite for royalty where Celine Dion will sing you a beautiful song, while dolphins leap out of the water to greet you every morning.’
Her comment is met with silence while my stomach drops into my feet. Maybe impulsively throwing caution to the wind with my Mastercard wasn’t the smartest move.
‘Soph?’
‘Oh God, it’s going to be like the poor quarters on the Titanic, isn’t it?’ I exclaim. ‘All bunk beds and dysentery. What have I done?’
She snorts loudly.
‘Why are you laughing? This is all your fault,’ I insist. ‘I didn’t even want to go on a cruise! I wanted to take that cigar tasting class.’
‘No you didn’t. You specifically said that—’
‘Shut up.’
‘Look, it’ll be great,’ she backtracks. ‘I mean, cabins are only for sleeping and you’ll have a balcony to chill out on . . . It does have a balcony, right?’
‘I think so,’ I say hesitantly. ‘I requested a balcony, but I assumed they all had balconies, no?’
‘Did Jack have a balcony?’ she replies. ‘No, he did not. In fact, the only decent sea view he got was from twenty feet under.’
‘I’m hanging up now.’
I immediately start searching for reviews of the cruise on Tripadvisor, something I should have probably done before handing over the best part of two grand.
At first glance, they’re pretty great: excellent time, great service, amazing holiday, gorgeous cabin, first cruise and it won’t be our last. There’s the odd negative review, saying that the air con needed to be fixed or that the vegan options were limited, but so far so good.
However, when I search for guaranteed cabin, I start to panic a little.
No window! Had to sleep on the couch. Sound of the anchor loud enough to raise the dead – never again.
I rush to read the fine print on my booking, and as it leaves next week, it’ll cost me five hundred pounds to cancel my booking. Five-hundred-bloody-quid! There’s no way I’m throwing away five hundred pounds.
Fuck it. I guess I’m going on a cruise.