Page 1 of The Cruise

ChapterOne

On a damp December evening, the class of ’74 from Garstang Grammar School for Girls Reunion was in full swing at the Dancing Bear, a stylish 16th-century coaching inn nestled in the heart of the Lancashire town. Women who hadn’t seen each other for many years packed the lounge bar where a fire crackled in a wood-burning stove and wine flowed. Outside, driving rain pelted the steamy leaded glass windows, but the atmosphere inside the inn was jolly. Long-held memories of school reminded the chums of lighter days when youth was taken for granted and the future for the post-war baby boomers looked bright.

‘Isn’t that Sylvia Adams?’ Jane Bellwood nudged her two companions. The three women turned to look around the packed room where a female held court at the adjoining table. Tall and willowy, she shook her perfectly styled hair, the sleek blonde locks falling on shapely shoulders. A glass of chardonnay nestled in one hand whilst the other made exaggerated movements to emphasise the joke she was making.

‘Yes, it is,’ Anne Amberley replied and stood to get a better view. ‘Don’t you remember we used to call her Snobby Sylvia at school?’

‘I remember the nickname we gave her. She was always superior and looked down her nose at me.’ Jane poured wine from a bottle she was sharing with Anne and stared. ‘How on earth can anyone of our age look that good? I’d love to know her secret.’

‘A rich husband and cosmetic surgery,’ Anne said and toyed with the collar of her dress as she watched their former school acquaintance. No stranger to the enhancing effects of anti-ageing treatments, Anne ran her hands down the sides of her svelte body and pursed her pearly pink lips.

‘She’s a double-barrel now,’ Kath Taylor said. Kath sat in the corner of the bar and scowled through heavily framed glasses as raucous laughter burst out from the crowd surrounding Sylvia.

‘More than one double-barrel,’ Anne added, ‘she’s doubled and tripled so many times I’ve lost count.’

Kath adjusted her glasses, picked up a list on their table, and then checked the reunion attendees. ‘She’s currently Mrs Adams-Anstruther.’ Looking up, she stared at the mature version of the Sylvia Adams she’d known at school.

‘Double A in her surname, she must have chosen her husband on purpose.’ Jane gulped down her drink and ran fingers through her closely cropped hair. ‘She always got A grades at school, and I loathed her.’

‘You still do by the scowl on your face.’ Anne giggled.

‘Do you remember PE lessons?’ Jane asked, ‘Sylvia used to place a pencil under her boobs then let it fall to the floor, just to prove that her boobs were pert and upright.’

‘I remember that.’ Kath shook her head. ‘It was torture and my pencil always got stuck.’

‘You were lucky. Sylvia made me put a bulging case under mine.’ Jane tugged on her bra straps to hoist her ample chest. ‘My boobs drooped so badly the case never budged and Sylvia announced that I was officially saggy at sixteen.’

‘I hear she’s celebrating her latest divorce,’ Anne said.

‘Celebrating?’Jane shook her head. ‘Crikey, how does she do it? I haven’t got one wedding ring on my finger, unlike the jewellery shop she’s flaunting.’

Jane tugged on Kath’s cardigan-clad arm and pointed to the diamonds that sparkled on Sylvia’s fingers. Shimmering droplets hung from her ears and matched a large heart-shaped pendant necklace.

‘Why don’t you ask her?’ Kath said. She gripped her knees and clasped both hands around a cumbersome tote bag. ‘Look, she’s coming over...’

They watched as Sylvia slipped away from her group and, fixing her catlike green eyes on the three friends, headed in their direction. Kath shrank back, and Jane shuffled her cumbersome body. But Anne stood as tall as her sixty-three inches allowed and thrust out a hand. She gripped Sylvia’s arm and stood on her toes to air-kiss both cheeks.

‘Sylvia Adams, we were just saying how marvellous you look,’ Anne exclaimed. ‘What a gorgeous dress.’

‘Harvey Nicks, Diane Von Furstenberg.’

‘But you’ve added to the Adams with yetanothersurname.’ Anne glanced at the list on the table. ‘You’re now Mrs Adams-Anstruther.’

‘Double-A, for short, darlings,’ Sylvia said as she towered over Anne. ‘Goodness, I hardly recognised you all. It’s Kath and Jane, isn’t it?’ Tilting her head, she fluttered false eyelashes, ‘To think we were all at school together.’ Sylvia studied Jane’s shapeless tunic and wide, baggy trousers before treating Kath to the same critical gaze.

‘Not in the same class,’ Anne said, ‘but you were an A-stream girl, like me.’

‘Yes, I remember.’ Sylvia looked at Anne. ‘We A-streamers have certainly looked after ourselves.’ Her bright red lips curved into a smile, and she nodded with approval as she studied Anne from the top of her neat side-swept updo to the tip of her animal-print kitten heels.

She turned to Kath. ‘You were in the B stream and always won a prize on sports day for hockey. A goalie as I recall?’

Kath gripped her bag. Her lips were pursed as she listened to Sylvia.

‘I remember your unflattering padded shirt, belted trousers and steel-capped boots. Not a glamorous outfit.’ Sylvia grinned. ‘Unlike Anne and me, who wore short, pleated skirts and neat navy knickers as we sped around the pitch.’ Sylvia turned to Jane, a puzzled expression barely cracking a line on her smooth forehead. ‘Jane,’ she began, ‘you never progressed higher than the D stream, rarely played hockey and always came last in the sack race.’

Kath felt Jane shuffle forward. Her legs were planted wide, and her chair creaked. Tugging on Jane’s tunic, Kath managed to stop her friend from rising to her feet. If Jane had a hockey stick in her hand, Sylvia would be on the receiving end of a forearm swing.

‘So, tell me, ladies, what are you up to after all these years?’ Sylvia looked from one to another.

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