Love a Sailor (3 page)

We reach Clara’s cabin and I stop and
say, “This is the one, Kate’s looking after Sukey in our cabin. Clara was too
sick.”

The Captain tightens his hold on my hand
and draws me closer. “I have to let you go, Merry, before I get drawn in too
far with you. I am too old for you—”

“But you’re not,” I protest. “Twelve
years is nothing.”

“My dear, when you are eighteen and I am
thirty, twelve years is the difference of a generation. You deserve to have fun
with boys your own age.”

“But—”

“Merry, trust me. I am too old for you,
too experienced, too promiscuous even. I am a constant target for the predatory
women who take our cruises because they are bored with life ashore. Don’t get
me wrong. I’m happy to get what comes my way. I’m no saint. But that’s not for
you. You would be hurt, and my reputation would be worse than it is.”

I snatch my hand out of his. “You just don’t
want me because I have no sexual experience. That’s it, isn’t it? Well, you can
keep your precious reputation and your middle-aged whores. I shan’t bother you,
Captain.”

And with that I enter the cabin, feeling
cheated out of something I hadn’t realized I wanted in the first place. My
angry flounce lasts until I’m in bed when I realize I have behaved like the
child the Captain says I am.

The
storm died down
during the night and so did my angry disappointment at the way my
special evening with the Captain ended. I didn’t expect to hear from him today,
not after what he said to me, and I haven’t. The childish way I behaved will
only have reinforced his decision to stay away from me.

We are now sailing south, down the coast
of Portugal, and the calmer weather this morning brought the other passengers
out on deck. I couldn’t imagine what the vast ocean must seem like to a child
of three as I took Sukey for a walk along the promenade deck, but she seemed
happy enough as she skipped along beside me, laughing back at the people who
stopped to say hello to her. Faces were wan and drawn, but everyone was glad to
be able to stretch their legs and take part in the on-board tradition of
walking a mile around the deck.

Everyone except me, that is. Rolling away
to the horizon in a perfect circle around us, the oleaginous gray swell
underlined my feeling of gloom at the Captain’s decision to stay away from me.
Even Kate couldn’t cheer me up. She spent the day with us, having recovered
quickly from her bout of seasickness, but not so Clara, who kept to her bed
under doctor’s orders to take it easy, and stay in the warm for another day. On
his second visit to her this morning, Dr Jenkins, who is a tall young
thirty-something with untidy brown hair and soft gray eyes behind heavy-rimmed
spectacles,  said that it was rare in these days of stabilizers to find anyone
so affected by the motion of the sea. Clara replied that it was a first for her
and she, too, had been taken by surprise at the violence of her illness.

After his visit, Clara said that by
default she would take care of Sukey this evening, to allow me to attend the
Singles Night, but on condition that I take note of any promising candidates
for her attention during the voyage.

When Clara first proposed that we all go
on the cruise together, we discussed what to do about looking after Sukey.
During the daytime she’d be able to go to the children’s Playroom, and if the
first two days are anything to go by, that is an idea popular with Sukey. She
loved it yesterday and today. So many toys. So many new children to play with.
As for the evenings, Clara said most people leave their children alone in their
cabin in the evening once they’ve put them to bed. She thought this would be
fine if the door was locked and we checked on Sukey periodically.

“I’m not sure that’s enough,” I said.
“You’ve seen “Titanic” … and then there’s what happened to the
Costa
Concordia
recently. We’d never forgive ourselves if the ship went down, and
we couldn’t get to Sukey to rescue her and take her up on deck.”

Sharp daggers of pain were tightening up
my stomach at the very thought of the waters rising, the staircases tilting and
the lights going out, leaving our precious little one all alone in the dark,
and so I continued, “I’ll be happy to babysit her every night. It’d be a good
opportunity for me to get some of my pre-course reading done.”

Clara gave me a hug. “Oh, you silly girl.
If you feel like that about it, we’ll take it in turns. You need to be out
there meeting people and having fun, but I must say I would like the chance for
a social life on board as well.”

*

Kate and I tart ourselves up for the
singles night, eager to have a good time after two years of hard study for our
‘A’ levels, Kate more enthusiastic than I am. As usual, she has to coax me into
playing the part of a fun-loving teenager. Suitably clad in jeans, skimpy tops
and more make-up than I feel comfortable with, we make our way to the night
club at the aft of the ship, one deck above the sea.

On the way I wonder if the Captain will
be there to welcome us all but, of course, he isn’t. I relax a little when I
see forty or fifty people of all ages crowded into the small club. If I find my
own age group too threatening, I can always team up with one of the older women
for camouflage.

Kate must have read my mind for she says,
“Oh no, you don’t,” and links her arm through mine pulling me alongside her to
the bar. “We have to get a couple of drinks down you, quickly.”

As we approach, a group of people of our
age parts to let us in. Kate breaks the ice all round, introducing herself and
me. They are a friendly bunch, chatting with a mixture of accents, mostly
British and Australian. As far as I can see, I’m the only American of our age
there. That makes sense. The Brits and Aussies travel backwards and forwards
between their sister countries, whereas any Americans and Europeans on board
will be retirees, definitely not in our age group.

“What’ll you have, girls?” calls out a
loud Australian voice.

Kate nudges me. “Is he hot or what?”

I have to agree. Over six foot, well
built, sleek black hair down below his shoulders, heavy eyebrows raised over
what look like dark hazel eyes in the dim night club light, and a smile to
charm the panties off any girl.

“I’m Tony, by the way, Tony Dawson, en
route home to Perth.”

Kate pushes me slightly to the side.
“We’ll have two margaritas, thanks mate. And you are?” she asks, turning to the
couple standing beside Tony.

The girl looks a bit taken aback at the
brusqueness of Kate’s question, but the tall guy beside her with tawny spiked
hair, blue eyes and a squared chin, answers, “ Pete Johnson from Nottingham,
and this my younger sister, Doreen. She’s seventeen and I’m a mature
twenty-two.”

His sister gives him a dig in the ribs.
“Can’t say you’re always that mature.”

I can see the likeness, but her hair is
long, a much lighter blond, and she has delicate bones, like a medieval fairy
princess.

Pete carries on, “We’re emigrating — the
whole family, plus dog — to Perth. Our dad wants to get away from what he calls
the urban decay in England, and our mum wants to follow the sun. A bit of a
midlife crisis, if you ask me.”

“What about you?” asks Tony, handing us
both a drink, but looking at me.

Kate explains that we are on the round
trip.

“Just for pleasure?” He raises those
heavy eyebrows, shooting a devastatingly sexy glance full of innuendo my way.

Again Kate answers for me.

“Ah, traveling grill class?” he asks.

Kate nods.

“I smell money,” he says. “What a pity I have
to get off the ship in Fremantle. Want to dance?”

“Me?” I say.

He takes my glass out of my hand and puts
it on the bar. “Who else?”

“Oh, I can’t dance.”

He looks me up and down. “You don’t look
as if you have a broken leg.”

I appeal to Kate for help, but she is
miffed because he isn’t asking her, and ignores me.

“I’m fit all right. I play tennis for our
county, but I have no sense of rhythm.”

Taking my elbow firmly, he guides me onto
the floor. “Look around you. All you have to do is jump about and fling your
arms around. No one’s going to notice whether you land on the beat or not. Just
have some fun and let yourself go. Like this!” And he launches himself into a
wild stamping, clapping his hands over his head in exaggeration of the beat.
“Go on! Try it!”

He gives me a shove nearly knocking me
off my feet. I have to
dance
back to keep my balance. Everyone around us
is going nuts, leaping about and twirling around. It’s infectious and I find
myself giving it all I have, and forgetting that I can’t dance. Maybe I can.
Maybe I can do lots of things I’ve always thought I couldn’t.

At the end of the set we rejoin the
others at the bar. Everyone is red and sweaty and in need of a rest and so,
with Tony taking pole position and towing me by the hand behind him, we push
our way through the crowd of silver heads bobbing about at the edge of the
dance floor, to a table right up against the full height windows, which are
closed against the wintery night air.

Tony drops down into a low-slung leather
armchair and before I can settle myself in the chair next to his, pulls me down
onto his lap and encircles my waist with his burly arms. I’m so hyped by all
the exercise, endorphins flowing freely, that I don't pull away. Anyway, he’s
having fun, not threatening me. He’s like a big brother. It feels good being held
so tightly by such a gorgeous man, especially as Kate is looking daggers at me.
Several other people join our group of five. The drinks flow. Whose tab is
taking the hit I have no idea but I just hope it isn’t mine. Clara will not
approve, but we are having fun. I feel carefree for the first time for ages.

Tony draws me back against his chest and
nuzzles my ear, and I don't jump out of my skin. It’s just more of his fun. The
conversation turns to what we’re all doing on this luxurious floating old age home,
what we have achieved in life to date and what we hope for from the future, if
anything.

Kate gives a brief résumé for us both.

Tony lets out a fake gasp of horror.
“Wow! Oxford, Merry. Clever as well as beautiful. I shall have to watch my
step.”

He tells us he has just completed a
Masters in Mineralogy at Plymouth University and already has a job lined up
south of Perth at the Boddington gold mine. “My secret vice is surfing—”

“I guessed you were into something
sporty,” Kate butts in, “With that body. I bet it feels good, hey Merry?”

I wince, and to cover my embarrassment
ask, “Didn’t you miss that while you were in England?”

“Hell, no. One of the reasons I chose to
do my masters at Plymouth was to be able to get to the north coast of Cornwall
for the great surfing there. At Newquay. It’s only fifty miles away. During the
breaks I temped at a surf school there and helped out with the lifeboat
station.”

“But was it as good as the Australian
surf?” asks Pete.

“It was different, but still good.
There’s a beach there with enormous waves.”

I sit up and ask, “And now? I thought all
the surfing was on the eastern side of Australia.”

“Naw! There’re some great beaches south
of Perth. There’s one at Margaret River that’s fantastic. In the top ten in the
world. That’s why I tried for the job at Boddington’s. I could live without
many things, but not without my surfing.”

Pete agrees. “You seem to have it made,
mate. Good job, all the surfing you can handle.”

“Everything except this,” Tony says,
slapping my thigh in a proprietary manner. “But there’s plenty of time. I’m
only twenty-three and I don’t suppose it’s easy to get a woman to live near a
mine. Eh, Merry?”

“Not a chance,” I say, and take the
opportunity of climbing off his lap to sit next to Pete and Doreen until the
music starts up again. We make a circle on the floor which has cleared as the
older passengers have made their way to bed, and we bounce ourselves silly till
the club closes at two o’clock.

Chuckling and giggling, according to
gender, and all tipsy, we make our gaggling way up to the promenade deck with
the idea of cooling off before turning in. It’s chilly out here in the January
night off the coast of Portugal and so someone suggests we have races up and
down the deck to warm up. It’s just as well that the deck railing is as high
and as sturdy as it is, our drunken stumbles risk taking several of us over
into the cold deep Atlantic.

After several races, we all collapse in
an exhausted heap, shrieking with laughter. Call it delayed reaction to the end
of our respective exams.

“I know guys,” says Doreen, pulling
herself out from under Tony and Kate. “Let’s have a three-legged race to finish
off the evening.

With much pushing and shoving and a few
tiffs about partners, we sort ourselves into unsteady couples. Amid loud calls
of “strip, strip” from the guys, we girls shed our bras to serve as bands for
our legs. And we’re off, bumbling and stumbling around the deck. Tony has a
grasp of steel around my waist. His greater height and strength are almost pulling
my free leg off the ground. We have a lead of five yards and shoot round the
corner onto the fore-deck, into a heavy collision with a dark shape coming
towards us. He has the advantage of sobriety and doesn’t lose his balance, but Tony
and I pile up in a tumble of silliness at his feet.

Polished black shoes, navy serge pants.
My eyes travel upwards. Only one type of man wears navy in the evening on board
a luxury cruise ship. A ship’s officer. Oh please, no!

He bends down and, taking me by the elbow
and hand, tries to pull me to my feet, but Tony is a dead weight at my side,
holding me to the deck. While Tony rolls from side to side laughing his head
off, the officer squats down to loosen the band tying our legs together, and
the light from the deck below shines up through the companionway to show the
Captain’s grim face.

“Meredith, what the hell are you doing
out here on an open deck at this time of the morning with next to nothing on. You’ll
catch your death, to say nothing of being as drunk as a skunk?”

Tony tries to brush the Captain’s hands
off me. “Leave my girl alone. We’re just letting our hair down.”

I hold my breath. What is the Captain
going to think when he gets the band free and sees it’s my bra? He will be
disgusted, and will he tell Clara?