Here Come the Girls (16 page)

Her wish came true as they filtered into the theatre to watch the vocalist/impressionist after dinner. She caught a fleeting glance of his ponytail against the back of his tuxedo. He was fingering his collar as if it was trying to cut his head off. Frankie smiled at the sight of him trying to conform and not having a cat in hell’s chance. He looked like one of those men who are happiest covered in oil and grease, like Manus.

After the act had finished, they went to the Vista lounge for an Irish coffee, but by half past ten the four of them were almost nodding off and decided to call it a day. Never had doing nothing been so tiring.

D
AY
3: A
T
S
EA

Dress Code: Semi-Formal

Chapter 27

Frankie was up and dressed by nine-thirty the next morning. She opened the thick curtains on a cloudy but calm sea, thank goodness. There was no sign of life from her friends’ cabins, so she took herself down to the Samovar, the coffee shop on deck five, and picked up one of the ship’s daily newspaper leaflets – the
Mermaidia Times
– to read with an espresso. It gave a précis of world and UK news, international city temperatures, sports results and share prices. It made for miserable reading – another soldier killed in Afghanistan, a teenager stabbed, the death of a famous actor . . . Frankie put it back down. She didn’t want to know what was going on in the world outside the ship. She didn’t want to hear any bad news on here.

She was determined, however, to find out who ‘Dorothy’ was. The third copy of
Mermaidia Today
had announced that there was yet another meeting in the Planet room for ‘Friends of Dorothy’ at ten-thirty. She would just go up, take a quick look to satisfy her curiosity, then have a late breakfast, or a brunch – or possibly hang on for lunch.

Frankie walked up the stairs to deck sixteen, vowing to get at least some exercise whilst she was on holiday. There was a buzz of people inside the Planet room. Frankie walked past, tried to look casually inquisitive rather than downright nosy, but she couldn’t see much of what was going on, apart from the ‘Friends’ holding cups of tea and one or two of them eating pastries. Pretending to be looking for someone in the Vista, she walked through the bar and full circle back to the Planet room, just as a familiar figure in jeans and a denim jacket was walking up the stairs.

‘Good morning,’ said Frankie with a ready smile. ‘And how are you today?’

‘Oh, good morning,’ said Vaughan, mirroring her expression. ‘I’m very well, thank you. That sea-sickness injection worked wonders, didn’t it? It gave me the munchies a bit though. And yourself?’

‘I’m great, thank you.’ Someone laughed in the Planet room and Vaughan rubber-necked inside.

‘So, are you a friend of Dorothy?’ asked Frankie.

‘Me?’ Vaughan’s eyes twinkled. ‘Do I look like a friend of Dorothy?’

What an odd question, thought Frankie. What did friends of Dorothy look like? Did they have some kind of distinguishing costume?

‘I don’t know if you do or not.’

‘Are
you
a friend of Dorothy?’ Vaughan then asked.

‘Me? No.’ Frankie beckoned him closer and whispered, ‘Who is she?’

A light seemed to switch on in Vaughan’s head. ‘Ah,’ he said in a low, conspiratorial voice. ‘Didn’t you know? She’s a girl with a dog.’

Frankie’s eyebrows arched in confusion. ‘I didn’t know you could have dogs on board. How come she’s had a party up here for the past two days?’

Vaughan studied Frankie to see if she was winding him up. It amused him to see that she was deadly serious.

‘She’s a popular girl,’ he said.

‘Is she very rich? Or famous?’ Frankie bent her head around the door but could only see a mingling group of men and two elderly women.

Vaughan opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. ‘No, I can’t do this to you,’ he said. ‘It’s so tempting, but I won’t.’

Frankie hadn’t a clue what he was talking about. He pushed her gently into the Vista, away from the Planet-room doorway.

‘Friends of Dorothy. As in Dorothy in
The Wizard of Oz
. Judy Garland.’

‘Judy Garland’s dead though, isn’t she?’ puzzled Frankie, still no wiser. What was he talking about? Judy Garland couldn’t be hosting a party. Not unless it was via a Ouija board.

Vaughan shook his head and laughed.

‘Judy Garland,
gay icon
?’ he went on.

‘Yes, I know she was . . .’ Then the penny dropped. ‘Oh, there’s no Dorothy!’

Vaughan clapped his hands. ‘It’s a meet-up for gay people.’

‘I am so thick!’ said Frankie. ‘And a bit deflated actually. I was hoping for a Hollywood actress or someone really grand dripping in diamonds and holding one of those big cigarette-holders.’

‘Sorry to disappoint,’ said Vaughan.

‘Curiosity killed the cat,’ sighed Frankie. ‘I should have left myself in blissful ignorance, believing that someone looking like Barbara Cartland was on board. Shouldn’t have been so nosy, should I?’

Vaughan chuckled again. He had a nice friendly laugh, which was quite at odds with his angry Viking-like appearance.

‘Well, I hope it hasn’t spoiled your holiday too much,’ he said.

‘I’ll try not to let it get in the way,’ smiled Frankie, betting that Vaughan was really a looker under all that facial hair.

‘Bye,’ they said together. Vaughan went off into the Vista, and Frankie noticed he was still chortling as he walked off.

*

Roz arrived at the belly-dancing class to see that a few had dropped out, but there were still enough there to constitute a fair-sized class. Gwen had brought along a case of scarves with tinkly metal coins sewed onto them, and little finger cymbals. Some of the women were rifling through the things and playing with them.

‘I thought we’d have a dressing-up session today,’ Gwen said. ‘I find it helps when your hips jingle. So, take a scarf, ladies, and tie it around yourself like this.’ She demonstrated how to put it on and broke into a hip wiggle. The coins rippled beautifully. The room was suddenly full of jangling metal sounds. It was amazing how the addition of a simple scarf moved their efforts up a notch.

Roz had beads of sweat on her brow at the end of the session. And her thigh muscles told of a good workout. There wouldn’t be a class the next day because they were landing at their first port – Malaga. She wondered if Manus had tried to ring her or sent her a text. She went back to her cabin after class and switched on her mobile phone only to find that he hadn’t.

Frankie bumped into Olive looking at books in Market Avenue.

‘Buy yourself a sexy blockbuster,’ said Frankie, coming up behind her and making her jump. ‘Find out what you’ve been missing.’

‘Oh don’t,’ said Olive.

‘Have you been for anything to eat yet?’ Frankie picked up the bonkbuster that she had been encouraging Olive to buy. She hadn’t been a great reader until she had to give up her job and ended up with too much time on her hands.

‘I’ve only just got up,’ Olive confessed guiltily. ‘I can’t believe it. How could I have slept so long? I haven’t done anything except sit around and eat and drink.’

‘It’s called relaxing, Olive. Your body is telling you it needs to chill.’

‘Talking of chill, it’s a bit nippy outside, isn’t it? I thought it would be warmer than this. We must be well past France by now.’

‘Dunno where we are,’ said Frankie. ‘Fancy going for some nosebag?’

‘If I must,’ smiled Olive. ‘Although I think I’m still digesting my meal from last night.’

They went up to the Buttery where brunch was being served on one half, and lunch on the other. A man in brown shorts walked past with enough food on his plate to stuff a Blue Whale and a portion of cheesecake on the side to finish it off, and trotting at his heels was his missus, with an equally loaded tray.

‘A full English
and
cake?’ Olive was nearly sick at the thought of eating all that food at once.

Frankie tutted. ‘I’m sure some people are determined to eat their whole body weight in one sitting because it’s “free”.’

‘How can you say that after those evenings we used to have in the “all you can eat for a fiver” Chinese buffet?’ laughed Olive. ‘I’ve never seen anyone shift more egg fried rice than you.’

‘Oops, I’d forgotten about that,’ giggled Frankie.

They plumped for baked potatoes with salad, which were delicious. Then, as Frankie got two coffees from the machine she spotted Vaughan leaving and felt a pleasant little tremor wriggle through her when he smiled and waved. She had just started to imagine him bare-chested in shorts when Olive nudged her.

‘Look, those greedy buggers have gone back up and are getting yet another tray full of food.’

‘They must be the Tray Twins,’ smirked Frankie.

‘Ronnie and Reggie,’ Olive laughed back. Then she waved at Ven and Roz as she spotted them wandering through the Buttery.

‘Been dancing?’ asked Frankie.

‘Yes, thank you,’ said Roz, not quite managing to keep the clipped tone out of her voice.

‘Guess what, I found out who Dorothy is,’ said Frankie, and went on to tell them the tale. Even Roz had a smile at that.

‘Fancy a swim this after noon?’ asked Ven. ‘In the . . .’ she referred to her pocket map of the ship ‘. . . Topaz pool?’

‘Isn’t it a bit chilly for a swim?’ asked Olive.

‘Maybe it would be in the open-air pools, but that’s the one with the big glass roof over it. Apparently when it gets hotter they pull it back.’

‘Not for me,’ said Roz. ‘Because I’m going to do something I haven’t done in ages.’

‘What’s that then?’ replied Ven. ‘Have a potato?’ Roz’s fixation with the Atkins diet was a standing joke amongst them.

‘No, I’m going to have a nap,’ announced Roz. ‘Like a pensioner. I think it must be the sea air, but I am absolutely pooped.’

‘I’ll come swimming with you, Ven,’ announced Frankie.

‘Can I borrow a cossy?’ asked Olive.

‘No, you can’t. You’ll have to go skinny-dipping,’ said Ven. ‘Course you can. Come down to my cabin and pick one out.’

By the time Olive had chosen a costume from Ven’s huge wardrobe of clothes, Roz was already asleep, snoring softly on top of her newly made bed, courtesy of Jesus. Frankie had gone straight to the Topaz pool on deck fifteen but couldn’t find three sunbeds all together. There were quite a few around the lip of the pool with towels spread over them in a ‘reserving’ gesture. Frankie was annoyed and told the others as much when they arrived.

‘I’ve been here twenty minutes and no one has been to those sunbeds. I reckon the cheeky beggars come down first thing, chuck a towel on and then don’t bother to come back. Anyway, I’m giving it ten more minutes then I’m going to shift some and we’re moving onto them. They tell you not to reserve chairs like that in the ship’s newspaper thingy. It’s just selfish.’

True to her word, after ten minutes precisely Frankie strode over to three sunbeds, scrunched up the towels that were covering them and rudely deposited them in the nearby towel bin. ‘Come on, Olive, Ven!’

‘Do you think we should, really?’ Olive hovered nervously by.

‘Sit down, you coward!’ Frankie ordered.

Blimey, she hadn’t been as forthright as this for a while, thought Olive. It was strangely nice to see a bit of fire back in Frankie’s belly. She spread her own towel over the bed, lay back and looked at the glass ceiling above the pool. She could see that the sun had broken through the cloud, which was a good sign. And the clouds that remained in the sky were feathery and white and not grey and dumpling-thick any more. She was just closing her eyes when a waiter arrived with three tall fizzing flutes.

‘I took the liberty of ordering you a Champagne Cocktail,’ said Frankie in a pseudo-posh voice.

‘Drinking champagne at this hour?’ said Olive, taking a delighted sip and relaxing back. She calculated that, had she been at home now, she would be doing Mr Tidy’s upstairs. What a misnomer that was – Mr Tidy. He was a scruffy blighter, especially in the bathroom. She thought of scrubbing his toilet week after week and how he seemed unable to grasp the concept of peeing into the pan. And he always made her feel as if she was exacting monies by menace when he paid her from the little girly purse which he held up to his chest. He never opened it very far in case the moths made a bid for freedom. But today Olive Hardcastle was not scrubbing at stains on his Armitage Shanks, she was here, sipping champagne at half past one in the afternoon and doing bugger all but that and breathe. She dreaded to think what Mr Tidy’s bog would be like after nearly three weeks of not seeing any Toilet Duck.

‘Cream tea in two hours,’ said Ven, making them laugh.

‘You are the third Tray Twin, you pig,’ giggled Frankie, then had to fill Ven in on the gluttony she and Olive had witnessed in the Buttery. She adjusted her breasts inside her costume and caught the teenage lad a couple of beds down giving them a surreptitious look. She grinned.

‘I’m going for a dip,’ she said, stepping down the ladder at the side of the pool into the warm water.

‘No sly weeing,’ said Ven. ‘Remember where you are.’

‘As if,’ tutted Frankie. Her shoulders sank beneath the water and she gasped with delight. If this wasn’t bliss, what was? She did a couple of lengths, skirting round a little girl with armbands on. How lucky was she, going on a cruise ship at that young age? She was a lovely child, with dark curls and thick black eyelashes, just like Frankie had been when she was a baby. Like
her
baby might have been if she’d ever had one. Frankie ducked her head under the water to shock away thoughts like that.

‘We were just saying it’s semi-formal dress code tonight,’ said Olive, when Frankie climbed out of the pool and flopped on her sunbed.

‘What’s that?’

‘Not as dressy-uppy as formal but more dressy-uppy than smart casual,’ Olive replied.

‘Surprisingly, that makes sense,’ smiled Frankie. ‘What’s the after-dinner entertainment?’

Olive referred to her
Mermaidia Today
. ‘It’s the theatre company doing a celebration of Motown music in Broadway. Or we could go and see a film in the cinema or watch a cabaret double act. Or go to the casino, or—’