Chapter Twenty-Four
The secret at sea to living the life of your dreams, is to start living the life of your dreams.
Joy sat in her cabin and placed her book to one side.
Turning to a mirror, she stared at her reflection.
The smile she’d worn all through the previous evening had inwardly faded the moment Henry mentioned Audrey during dinner with Leticia and Jim.
Despite enjoying every moment of his company, she knew that his heart was elsewhere.
Henry spoke of Audrey often and with a softness that told Joy everything she needed to know.
Whoever the woman was, Joy could only hope she understood how fortunate she was to have the affection of such a kind and endearing man.
With a sigh, she began to prepare herself for the Christmas lunch, knowing that Henry would be at their table, surrounded by crackers and Christmas cheer.
How would she manage to be herself and relax, feeling comfortable in his company?
Sleep had offered no escape, and all through a restless night, Joy’s dreams had been filled with glimpses of his smile, and the deep sense of safety and warmth in his presence.
How she longed to rest her weary head on his shoulder again.
This is ridiculous! Joy suddenly snapped to and reached for a brush to stroke firmly through her hair.
She was acting like a teenager and couldn’t understand how someone could occupy so much space in her heart, so quickly, and after so little time.
Did she crave affection that badly? Was Joy so starved of love that any kind word from Henry felt like sunlight on her skin?
‘Stop it!’ Joy said out loud. She told herself that she was far too old to have feelings of this nature and must put all thoughts of a relationship with Henry aside. If he really knew her, she thought, as she brushed for the umpteenth time, she doubted that he’d want to be in her company.
Rising, she went to her wardrobe to find something suitable for Christmas Day. But when her mobile rang, Joy paused.
‘Hello, Mum!’ Susan trilled. ‘Just thought I’d call to wish you a happy Christmas, since you’ve clearly forgotten my number.’
Joy sighed and sank onto the edge of her bed. Susan had been at the sherry; her voice had a lilting slur. ‘Hello, dear, are you having a lovely day?’ Joy asked.
‘Yes, still sweating away over the hot stove. I’ve never stopped and am expecting the in-laws at any moment.’ Susan’s voice was heavy. ‘There’s so much to do, and it would have been good to have you here.’
Joy was tempted to remind her daughter that it was she who’d insisted that her mother come on the cruise, but she refrained.
Susan was playing hostess, and the irony wasn’t lost on Joy.
She’d spent more years than she cared to remember working hard over Christmas lunch for Susan and her extended family of Hugh’s parents, her brothers and sisters-in-law and their hordes of offspring. Joy couldn’t ever remember a thank you.
‘Well, it sounds as though you’re going to have a lovely house full,’ Joy said kindly.
She knew that Susan, who’d never wanted to have children and barely tolerated them, would be horrified by the arrival of toddlers with sticky fingers and loud voices, leaving smudges and crumbs all over her cream-toned designer interior.
The thought of ice-cream on her velvet cushions or toys scratching polished wooden surfaces would have Susan emptying the barrel of sherry by midday.
But husband, Hugh, also a lawyer, who Susan worshipped, was the apple of his family’s eye.
Hugh loved having their house filled with his family and if Hugh said, ‘We’re hosting Christmas,’ Susan plastered on a smile, poured another drink, and ordered everything in from Fortnum’s.
‘I’m sure it’s not too tedious to reheat and arrange nicely on platters,’ Joy commented on Susan’s trick of having it all pre-made and delivered.
At least Joy didn’t have to explain the method behind perfectly prepared sprouts, honey-glazed parsnips, or how to stuff and roast a succulent turkey.
Susan had never shown any interest in cooking, not even as a child.
Joy often wondered if Susan deliberately rebuffed her mother’s talents, as if acknowledging them would mean conceding some unspoken, generational rivalry.
Growing up, Susan had always been demanding and self-absorbed, showing no curiosity about Joy’s career or accomplishments.
Joy suspected the roots of it ran deeper.
Perhaps a quiet loyalty to her father, who had never offered Joy praise either.
Could valuing her mother, even in the smallest way, feel like a betrayal of that bond?
Who knew? Joy thought as she pasted a smile and listened to her daughter complain about the absurd pressure of Christmas.
‘At least you’re spared all of this,’ Susan said with a theatrical sigh. ‘You must feel like Lady Bountiful being waited on twenty-four-seven.’
Joy heard the faint chink of a bottle and wondered how much sherry Susan had put away. ‘Yes,’ Joy said evenly. ‘I’m fortunate.’
‘Have you made any friends?’ Susan asked, ‘I hope you’re keeping away from that H … Henry,’ she hiccupped.
‘You’ve no need to worry, dear.’
‘Well, I must dash, can’t stay here chatting when there’s a massive meal to serve up. Have a good Christmas, Mum. Toodle-oo!’
‘Toodle-oo …’ Joy echoed.
As the call ended, she glanced at her watch. ‘Goodness,’ she murmured. She’d idled the day away, and it was almost time for the Christmas meal.
Crossing the cabin, she reached into the wardrobe and pulled a hanger from the rail.
The garment, an impulse purchase as she was about to leave the boutique, shimmered faintly.
She’d intended to return it. It was too bold, and Joy knew that Susan would shake her head and frown, and Tom would turn in his grave.
But why shouldn’t she wear it? Joy thought as she stared at the soft fabric, Tom was gone, and Susan was a zillion miles away. With a swift motion, she held it against herself and could almost hear Leticia whisper permission.
‘Then I will …’ Joy gave her reflection a firm nod and began to change. ‘After all, it’s Christmas Day.’
Henry was dithering. He didn’t like to dither and much preferred decisive action.
In his teaching years, there were no grey areas; his lessons had clean lines and solid instructions.
In retirement, his life was structured around regular social activities and a predictable routine.
But as the days of the cruise passed, he found himself faltering and not following the pattern he’d expected.
The planned lectures, attendance at activities, and the things he’d intended to experience had, at times, gone out the window.
And the reason for that was Joy.
Henry paced around his cabin until he stopped by the doors to the deck. Leaving the polar night of Troms? behind, the ship was sailing into a world where daylight lingered briefly, stretching from around ten in the morning until three in the afternoon.
He held a mug of tea and stared out at the vast white mountains that looked like soft meringues floating on a dish of cold blue glass.
It had been years since anyone had unsettled him in this way, and even then, he’d soon sorted himself out.
Now, Joy was complicating everything, and he felt completely disarmed.
Was it wrong to have feelings at his age and for these to happen so quickly? Surely, he was past all of this.
Henry looked out at the endless fjord and remembered their moments.
Closeness at the Sámi evening, shared laughter at the soirée, glances that lingered, and silences that felt safe.
Now he felt confused. Yesterday, as he seemed to step closer, Joy had stepped away.
Had he said something to upset her, or had he said too much?
One explanation, he reasoned, might be that she was still mourning Tom, and her hesitation wasn’t about Henry at all but how she carefully navigated this new world without the man who had shared it with her for so long.
He wished he could discuss his feelings with Audrey and wondered if he might call her, but it was Christmas Day, and he knew that she would be living it up.
In Henry’s absence, Audrey had bought forward her annual festive event and was hosting a Misfits & Mulled Wine party surrounded by her merry gang of LGBTQ pensioners.
The rainbow wrinklies enjoyed re-enacting scenes from It’s a Wonderful Life and judging who looked best in sequins.
Audrey made much of the occasion that Henry had looked forward to in the past.
No, Henry decided. He couldn’t possibly trouble Audrey with his dilemma.
As he continued to take in the majesty of the mountains, he sensed that Joy was holding back, almost as though she were afraid.
Her humility was humbling, and he was blown away by her MBE.
She’d achieved so much professionally yet was so unassuming.
Joy hardly mentioned her personal life, and Henry knew little of it.
Was there something else that she was hiding?
An announcement sounded, and Simon’s voice could be heard, informing passengers that in the brief daylight, they were about to sail past the Seven Sisters, a range of steep peaks, shrouded in folklore.
Henry placed his mug down, picked up his camera, and slid the door open.
Stepping onto the promenade deck, he leaned on the railings and listened to the legendary tale as he gazed at the seven magnificent snow-covered mountains.
Condensing the story, Simon explained that seven beautiful troll sisters, determined to escape their overprotective father, had set off on a moonlit night.
But as dawn broke, they were caught by the light, and in an instant turned to stone, forever frozen into the mountain range that guests could see today.
Taking his camera, Henry adjusted his lens and focused on a panoramic image.
Perfect! Audrey would love that shot.
He was about to take another photo when the sound of pounding boots alerted him on the starboard side.
Later than usual for their daily laps, Jack and Judy were striding purposefully towards him, their expressions set.
In their wake, a pack of determined Deck Milers came hot on their heels, Santa hats bouncing, legs striding and arms pumping, like athletes visualising a victory.
‘Eyes right!’ Judy yelled, momentarily allowing everyone a glimpse of the towering mountains.
Unwilling to get involved, Henry hastened back to his cabin. Closing the door behind him, he turned when he heard an overattentive knock rattle the door.
‘Mr Henry!’
It was Jennifer. Henry froze and contemplated bolting back onto the deck, but the choice of being caught up in a sea of cagoules and brisk-footed hikers lost out to his kindly housekeeper.
‘Coming,’ he called out.
Jennifer stood in the doorway. She wore a poinsettia bloom tucked behind one ear, and on her earlobes, tiny bells tinkled. ‘Happy Christmas, Mr Henry!’ Jennifer’s smile was as wide as a harbour on a bright summer day. ‘I got you gift,’ she beamed, and produced a card.
Henry stared at a hand-drawn and brightly painted picture of a Filipino nipa hut nestled under lush green palm trees, the fronds swaying in the twilight sky.
Star-shaped lanterns hung from bamboo poles, and two children dressed in traditional Filipino barong, their beautiful little faces alight, reached for colourful bibingka cakes from a wooden table.
Inscribed neatly across the top of the card, like a string of festive bunting, Henry read the words, Happy Christmas, Mr Henry.
‘Jennifer,’ he whispered, ‘it’s beautiful.’
‘You like?’ Her pretty face beamed. ‘I make for you.’
‘You painted this?’
‘Yeah, my hobby.’
‘And the children?’ Henry’s fingers traced the charming faces of the boy and girl.
‘My beh-bees.’
Henry noticed the absence of adults in the painting and couldn’t help but ask. ‘And their father?’
‘No dada.’ Jennifer cast her eyes down.
‘Oh, my dear …’ Henry was lost for words. He instinctively knew it was wrong to accept a gift from a staff member, but her kindness made it impossible to refuse, and he felt an unexpected swell of gratitude. ‘But who takes care of your beh-bees?’
‘Nanay, my mama. She old, but …’ Jennifer shrugged.
‘I will treasure your gift,’ Henry said. ‘It will have a place in my home each Christmas.’
‘Jennifer!’
His housekeeper suddenly turned. ‘My boss,’ she said. ‘I gotta go.’
Henry closed the door quietly. Despite his gratitude for Jennifer’s thoughtful gift, he couldn’t help but feel relieved that she was called away.
The mental image of Jennifer and her children bustling into his life made him shudder.
Goodness, had he encouraged her? He considered this with a troubled frown and instinctively knew that he had to tread carefully.
‘You are hopeless with the female sex!’ Henry berated himself.
He checked his watch and realised that he needed to get a move on. Bill Zhang was hosting a talk in the Mermaid Theatre about the coronal aurora, which Henry very much wanted to hear, and this would be followed by Henry’s attendance at table twenty-eight for the lavish Christmas meal.
Undecided what to wear and trying not to dwell on the hope that Joy would be at the meal too, Henry moved into action. ‘Enough dithering!’ he admonished himself.