Chapter Four
Four
Arlo led the five of us up the ramp and onto the ship.
The engine continued to pump out clouds of diesel, while the propellers lurched and churned below.
I’d been on a fair few Excalibur cruise ships over the years, but Esmeralda was something else.
We walked through one of the lounges, which looked more like a floating palace than a boat, with its glossy white walls, lavender sofas and gold rugs.
Huge straw lightshades swung from the ceiling and a flowery scent had been spritzed all around.
I took a couple of snaps while the boat was empty, as we wouldn’t get this chance again.
The breakfast room was particularly impressive, with its precisely laid tables, bright blue tablecloths and gleaming silverware.
The chefs and serving staff were lined up in uniform, full of smiles and happy nods to greet us.
‘Good morning. Welcome!’
‘Ciao! Buongiorno.’
‘Hola!’
Leo gave one of the chefs a high five, then took a selfie with the whole line waving in the background. ‘Good to meet you guys. Pleasure to be here,’ he said.
‘The pleasure is all ours,’ a ginger tank of a man replied, his chef hat starched to attention. He could have been hiding a pint under there. Or a pineapple.
‘Great to see you again, Gus,’ Brooke called.
‘You too,’ he said with a wink.
‘We used to work together in Miami,’ she murmured as we continued down the corridor. ‘He can butter my biscuits anytime.’
‘You’ll get the full tour later today,’ Arlo said.
I was mesmerised by his moustache moving around like a little caterpillar as he enunciated.
An unusual choice for a bald man. We walked past one of the cabaret lounges and I couldn’t resist a quick nose in, even though the door was shut and covered with a curtain.
I opened it just a fraction, while the others went on ahead, and it was like peeking into a different world.
A stage with heavy crimson curtains either side dominated the space, with rows of velvet chairs laid out cinema-style for the audience.
A half-dressed drag queen walked the floor, lip-syncing to ‘Pink Pony Club’ and stopped mid-strut when she spotted me.
‘Stop the music, Dahlia. Stop it… STOP!’ she barked, in a broad Lancashire accent, glaring at a curly-haired girl with a headset. ‘There’s an unexpected item in the bagging area.’
‘What? Where? Sorry, Barb, I thought that door was locked,’ she said rushing over. ‘It should be.’
‘I know it should be. Are yer lost, love?’ Barb bellowed across the dance floor. ‘Guests aren’t allowed in here, I’m afraid.’
‘I’m not a guest – I’m staff,’ I replied. ‘Sort of.’ Heidi appeared behind me, then Brooke pushed past us both and Barb looked about ready to explode.
‘How many of you are there?’ she said, adjusting her hair net. ‘Pardon me, ladies, but “sort of staff” aren’t welcome, either. This isn’t a Tupperware party.’
‘Calm it, lady,’ Curly said, with sass. ‘Brooke? Is that you?’
‘Dahlia! Sure as hell is, sweetie-pie.’ They screamed and ran to each other for a hug.
‘Guys – this is Dahlia Jackson, our new head of entertainment and all-round legend. I managed to poach her from The Bellagio, and we go waaay back.’
Dahlia laughed. ‘Now, now. What happens in Vegas, remember…’
‘Yes, that’s as much as you’ll ever know,’ Brooke said with a mischievous grin.
Leo, Zach, and Arlo had followed us in and there were now six of us standing inside the door. It was decidedly plush with its polished floors and mirrored tables, and a cocktail bar that ran the full length of the room. Barb surveyed the situation from the stage, then pointed a pink talon at me.
‘You don’t work here. I’ve got a nose for the staff and I’ve sniffed them all. Explain yourself.’
‘We’re here with head office,’ I replied breezily. ‘We’re your PR agency.’
‘For now,’ Leo murmured, with a twinkle in his eye.
I ignored him. ‘And you must be this season’s star?’
‘Barbie Queue, at your service. Loves a good banger.’ She slut-dropped then twerked her way back up. ‘Singer, dancer, compère – you name it, they’ve got me doing it. For no extra pay, obviously.’
‘Queen of the Cabaret,’ Heidi said. ‘We’ll be cheering you on from the front row.’
Not another one. How many queens did one boat need?
‘NO PHOTOS!’ Barbie Queue shouted, as Zach clicked away. ‘Flamin’ ’eck! No one wants to see this Hokey Cokey abomination. One leg in and one leg out. Delete them right now and come back when I’m in full hair and make-up.’
‘Apologies,’ Zach said, raising his hand.
Arlo coughed politely to remind us he was waiting. ‘If I can show you all to your rooms? There’ll be plenty of time to meet and greet the team once you’re settled in.’
‘Sorry, Arlo, sweetheart,’ Brooke said. ‘Come on you lot, he’s got a boatload of people to onboard; we shouldn’t waste his time.
’ As if it wasn’t her faffing about and gossiping with Dahlia.
She gave her one last hug then ushered us back to the door.
‘This way, everyone. Out we all go. See you gals later.’
The corridor was pine-scented with a velvet pile carpet, soft and thick underfoot.
Everything was so shiny and new. Some might say untested.
I tried not to think of the Titanic again, but it was like trying not to imagine an orange elephant – the mind could be very annoying when it wanted to be.
I closed my eyes and tried to gather myself.
Panicking was pointless; I was here now and had to get on with it.
Besides, I’d be panicking a hell of a lot more if we didn’t win this pitch.
Arlo stopped next to a sign that said Suites and I was back to feeling excited again.
‘Ms Harris, you are staying in our presidential suite, which is in this lift, straight to the top floor and on the right.’
‘Thank you kindly, Arlo, that sounds about right.’
Brooke pressed the button and the lift doors pinged open to reveal a smiling bellboy in a white shirt and navy chinos.
‘Ms Harris? Welcome on board the Esmeralda,’ he said, with a quick salute. ‘Look after her and she’ll look after you.’
‘Why thank you so much, sailor. And you are…?’
‘I’m Oliver and I’ll be your bellboy, your butler, and everything in between during your stay with us.
’ The Aussie accent went perfectly with his windswept curls and dark tan.
There was a free spirit trapped in that staff uniform, and by the looks of his bulging arms and legs it was trying to get out.
Brooke glanced back at us and giggled. ‘This is me then. Off I go! Arlo will settle you all into your rooms.’ Oliver took her bags and she snuggled into the lift with him. ‘Let’s meet on the Sun Deck in an hour, shall we?’
‘Sounds good,’ Leo said.
Brooke was eyeing Oliver up, like a hungry polar bear. ‘Actually, make it two.’
Leo and Zach exchanged a look while Arlo sped us to our rooms. Now head office were taken care of, he was less concerned about the chilled vibe.
‘Here we are. Ten eighty-five for Amplify times two,’ Arlo said. ‘And ten eighty-six for you ladies.’
I’d foolishly assumed with such an enormous ship, we’d be on a different floor to the boys, or at least in a different wing. But no, we were next door to each other. All four of us. The neighbours from hell.
‘Pop over anytime,’ Leo called, as he disappeared inside with Zach in tow.
Arlo pushed our door open and waved us in.
I’d seen enough Jane McDonald documentaries to know what came next: a large suite with two double beds, a balcony overlooking the ocean, a Jacuzzi with champagne on tap.
I took a deep breath, ready to be wowed, then realised why Arlo had made us go in first. There wasn’t space for all three of us.
The room was the size of Mum’s old shed, with bunk beds, a slim wardrobe and a window I could just about see out of if I stood on tiptoes.
Not a butler or minibar in sight. A sliding door revealed a wet room with a tin toilet, and a shower head where you’d normally have a light.
‘Your en-suite,’ Arlo said, unashamedly. ‘Which is self-cleaning.’
He said it like that was a good thing.
‘There must be some mistake,’ Heidi said, eyeing it with horror. ‘This can’t possibly be for the two of us. Not for a fortnight?’
Arlo nodded earnestly. ‘These are the on-board staff cabins, which is all we had left when Ms Harris requested you join us. The rest of the staff quarters are below deck if you’d prefer to be down there?’
An image of peasants behind bars flashed through my mind, knee-deep in water. The Titanic-panic was back. Absolutely not.
‘We’d prefer to be in a guest room, Arlo,’ Heidi said patiently, as my heart raced. ‘We aren’t teenage holiday reps.’
Leo appeared in the doorway. ‘Little snug next door for me and Zach I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘We’re going to need separate rooms.’
Arlo’s moustache twitched involuntarily. ‘There aren’t any other rooms. The ship is fully booked and I’m sorry but it’s above my pay grade to—’
‘Don’t worry, Arlo,’ I interrupted. ‘You carry on checking people in and we’ll sort this out with Brooke.’
He scurried off as an impatient whistle sounded overhead.
The captain was getting ready to roll and there was no turning back.
I’d slept in nicer skips after a night out and wasn’t convinced I’d be able to squeeze into either bed – they were clearly designed for children, or yogis with full-body flexibility.
My breathing dropped and the blood rushed to my ears.
We were trapped inside a trap, inside a trap, and we couldn’t book ourselves into a hotel, like we usually would.
We were at the mercy of Brooke, who must have known this was all they had and was clearly looking forward to pitting us against each other.
‘It’s OK, Kat,’ Heidi said, holding both my hands. ‘They either find a room big enough for both of us or we’ll get one each.’
‘Amen,’ Zach called, out of sight. ‘There’s no way I’m sleeping in this mouse hole. It gets sorted or I’m getting off.’