Chapter 40
‘He totally likes you.’
I cave and call Naomi, who seems more enthusiastic about this than I am. ‘I mean, why would he go out of his way to hook you up with a new room?’
‘A much bigger room,’ I remind her.
‘Exactly. He could have just left you sleep-deprived and stinking of cigs. I guarantee he’s not running around ensuring everyone on board has a better room. Plus, he saved you from dying.’
‘I mean, that oil was pretty lethal. But maybe he’s only being kind? Thoughtful?’ I consider. ‘Just because he likes me, doesn’t mean he likes me, right?’
‘God, you’re so naive. And annoying.’
‘I believe cautious is the word you’re looking for.’
‘You went on a cruise to hopefully meet someone,’ she says. ‘And now you’ve met someone. Just ask him to have dinner with you. A drink. A game of naked Wordle, anything.’
‘I only have two days left. If I make things awkward, and it will be awkward, I’ll be forced to spend the rest of the journey hiding in my room.’
‘Your much bigger room.’
‘I need to get my bags sorted,’ I say, realising that she’s just going to call me annoying again. I don’t blame her. ‘Then I’m going to the cinema. Will speak to you later.’
Tonight’s movie is Pirates of the Caribbean, which I saw in 2003.
It obviously made such an impression that I cannot remember a single thing that happened.
It’s a good family-friendly blockbuster to draw the crowds but it’s just all a bit tame.
While I can understand why they’re not screening Jaws, my darker side thinks that this would be an excellent time to show it.
I’d take a shark jump scare over swashbuckling any day.
Naomi isn’t easily scared; she has nerves of steel.
At university, a group of us went to Thorpe Park for the day.
While I was clinging on for dear life on some godawful roller-coaster, she was cheering, hands in the air, practically unbuckled.
As the movie begins, I notice that the sound quality isn’t great, a tad distorted and boomy compared to a normal indoor cinema, but I don’t expect the acoustics in an open-air cinema to be perfect.
The fact that they’re displaying English subtitles for an English film ironically speaks volumes.
I also quickly realise that the cinema probably wasn’t the best way to try to mingle.
Striking up a conversation is risky enough, especially when the punishment for talking is often stern looks, shushing and sometimes prison.
Under the sunlight, the screen is also quite dark, like trying to use your laptop in the garden.
I sigh, thinking that I should have taken tickets for the later showing but try to persevere as my nose rudely insists on following the smell of popcorn like a bloodhound.
Two women in front of me, three sheets to the wind, start cackling and making phwoar noises at Johnny Depp while the dad beside me decides to call his wife and find out where the hell she is because he’s been left with the bloody kids all afternoon.
Thirty-five minutes in, the two drunk women have started singing ‘Sailing’ by Rod Stewart, someone’s popcorn flies overhead and the wife shows up asking why the dad can’t let her have two fucking minutes to herself.
I decide it’s time to go. I break the second cardinal cinema rule of getting up and blocking the view of everyone in my row while I manoeuvre myself out, mouthing sorry as I try to avoid standing on toes and handbags.
I descend threes floor below and make my way to the bar.
I order a strawberry daiquiri and sit on the deck, thankful to be far away from the brawl which is sure to erupt when someone who really wanted to watch Pirates of the Caribbean feels disrespected by everyone on board.
Forty-five minutes later, I return to my room, where my cases are waiting, and pull open my balcony doors.
This is bliss. No noise, no smoke, just the view and the setting sun.
I settle down on a lounger and a little happy sigh escapes from my mouth.
I don’t think anything could kill my buzz right now . . .
You sent a drunken email to Alex last night. That’s really embarrassing. Idiot.
Well, except that. I press pause on my serenity and email him back.
To: Alex Steward
RE: Hello!
Hey,
Apologies for sending that email. I have already deleted it from my sent folder and therefore it never happened.
In other news, I got a room upgrade, thanks to my new best friend, (Captain) Ellis. I’m writing this on my large, upgraded balcony. Interestingly, there are no bugs at sea. Did you know this? A bit like space, I would imagine.
Still haven’t met anyone. Well, except for Ellis, who’s divorced and would rather chop off his own feet than get into another relationship.
I know the title of your article was ‘365 days’, but exactly how long was it before you met your girlfriend?
Six weeks? Six months? An entire year? I’m not sure I could keep this up for a year.
There are only so many dating apps, events, cruises and tango classes that a woman can stand before she loses interest and spends her time doing something more productive. Is Netflix considered productive?
Still, I did get to visit Pisa, eat cheese and watch thirty minutes of Pirates of the Caribbean before a fight* broke out.
*Actual fight did not happen, but popcorn was used as a projectile.
Sophie