Chapter 25
Two hours later, my sticky self gets into the shower.
While my hair wasn’t ruined by Richie, the humidity has caused a halo of sweaty frizz that needs addressing.
The shampoo and conditioner smell marginally better than the bodywash but I still use my own.
Drying my hair takes longer than I expected, even giving myself extra time.
I swear I’d be quicker standing on the balcony and letting the sun dry it if it wasn’t for the fact that I’ll come back inside smelling like forty Benson and Hedges.
I check my phone. There are two messages from Naomi. One with a picture of a cat stealing an egg and another with a gif from Jaws. There’s also an email.
To: Sophie Smalls
Re: Hello!
Dear Sophie,
Alex here, fitness coach and someone who rarely* receives such high praise.
(*never.) It’s always reassuring that someone out there is reading my articles.
Sorry I didn’t reply sooner, you appear to have been sent to spam along with my Audible highlights of the week and that ‘Free Ninja Airfryer’ mysterious reward that has been expiring soon for the past four months.
I’m glad my article inspired you. I hope things go well! I know it’s daunting so feel free to get in touch if you need any advice. Or just to boost my ego again. Really interested to see how you get on.
Alex Steward
He seems really nice! I’m surprised he replied and also a tad nervous that now I possibly have to be accountable for my actions, but this is helpful. I now have another source of encouragement, one who won’t send me gifs of Roy Scheider at sea, saying you’re going to need a bigger boat.
By 6 p.m. I’m down at the restaurant, waiting in the queue.
I feel underdressed. Everyone here has made an effort, while I’m wearing some sliders, denim shorts and a vest top which, on closer inspection, has seen better days.
I feel annoyed with myself. I have so many beautiful clothes and yet I chose to throw on sun clothes that I haven’t worn in far too long.
As I progress further up the queue, I notice a sign beside the menu board.
Please arrive on time for your chosen sitting.
No shorts, flip-flops, beach clothes, sportswear or baseball caps.
My underdressed arse gets back to my room at record speed.
I had no idea that you had to be smart and fancy for dinner. I’m glad I saw that notice, instead of rocking up in my flip-flops, only to be turned away and forced to do the shabbily dressed walk of shame. My sitting isn’t until 7 p.m., so I have just enough time for a quick turnaround.
As I’m changing into my peach maxi dress, my phone rings. I answer on speaker.
‘Hi, Naomi,’ I say, pulling my dress over my head. ‘Yes, I got your messages but I’m kind of busy right now getting ready for dinner.’
‘Oh nice, just checking in.’
I fumble with the straps. ‘I spoke to you this morning!’
‘Unimportant,’ she replies. ‘A lot can happen in eight hours. What are you wearing for dinner?’
‘My peach maxi dress,’ I tell her, smoothing it down in front of the mirror. ‘Hmm . . . flats or heels?’
‘For dinner, heels. For swanning around on the boat deck, flats. Have you made any new friends then?’
I grab my white strappy sandals from the wardrobe. ‘Nah, not really. People are nice, though. I’m dining at a mixed table tonight. Should be interesting. Oh, Alex Steward emailed me back!’
‘Who?’
‘The guy who wrote the dating article. Says I should keep in touch. Let him know how I’m getting on.’
‘Is he hot?’ she asks.
‘No idea. I’m not looking to date him.’
‘Boring.’
‘Well, I was chatting to a nice guy earlier. Ellis. Funnily enough, he’s a captain. Well, he was a—’
‘You’re chatting up the captain?’ she exclaims. ‘Pretty sure they’re not allowed to fraternise with guests. But exciting.’
‘No, not the captain of this ship. He used to be a captain. He knows the captain here but he’s just on holiday.’
She pauses. ‘Who the fuck goes on holiday to their job?’
‘I asked that too. Apparently, he’s figuring out what he wants to do next. We really didn’t get into it. And I’m not chatting him up. It was just a conversation.’
‘Fair enough. What’s he like?’
‘Tall, brown eyes.’
‘So you’ve noticed his eyes . . .’
‘Hard not to, they’re on the front of his face. He looks a bit like that guy from that show you like.’
‘The Love Boat?’
‘No, Naomi. Not The Love Boat.’
She chuckles. ‘Well, could you maybe narrow it down a bit? I watch a lot of shows.’
‘The one about the woman who works with the priest, and they investigate paranormal shit or crimes or something. I only watched one episode and—’
‘Ooh, Evil?’
‘Yeah, that one. The priest guy.’
‘He looks like Mike Colter. Are you kidding me?’
‘I mean, he’s not identical and he has more hair but yeah, pretty close.’
‘I want photos. From all angles.’
I sigh. ‘I have no reason to take his photo, Naomi!’
‘Find one.’
I tell her I’ll try but I doubt I will. Hey, Ellis, want to take a selfie with me, a woman you’ve had one polite conversation with? I will also require a full-body shot and a side profile if possible. Do you happen to own a dog collar? I think not.
I grab a quick look at myself in the mirror. Hair not too frizzy, dress not too clingy, feet not too swollen. Everything seems on point. I grab my shawl, my purse and make my way to the lift.