Page 20 of The Cruise

‘A whole day at sea – what are we going to do today?’ Kath asked. She’d selected fresh fruit salad from the breakfast buffet and, peeling the lid from a pineapple yoghurt, spooned it into a bowl.

‘I’m going to buy a book and sit by the pool,’ Anne said as she nibbled on a croissant. ‘My tan needs topping up.’

‘Just add another layer of St Tropez mousse, it’s far healthier than exposing yourself to the harsh Caribbean sun,’ Jane said as she poured honey over a bowl of mango and began to tuck in. She hated sunbathing and avoided exposing her flesh to the sun.

‘I always wear lots of sunscreen and I’ll wear a hat, and lather factor fifty on my face,’ Anne replied.

‘I’ve never really been a fan of sunbathing,’ Kath mused. ‘Jim wasn’t one to sit on a beach.’

‘But you always looked tanned in the summer months,’ Anne commented, remembering how healthy Kath looked when she sat behind the counter at the Garstang Building Society.

‘Oh, that was from gardening. I spent all my spare time working on the vegetable plot – Jim liked to have everything fresh with his meals – and of course, there are the lawns and borders to take care of too.’ Kath licked the creamy yoghurt. ‘Jim was always busy at the office and tired when he got home. He liked the garden as an area of relaxation, and said it was an extension of the house and should always look pristine.’

Anne gave Jane a sideways look and rolled her eyes. They knew that Kath’s husband had been too mean to employ a gardener. As well as running the home and working full-time, their friend had been expected to transform into Monty Don whenever she had a spare moment.

‘But he spent a lot of time on the golf course,’ Jane said, ‘and you were a golf widow several times a year when he went away.’

‘That was business. He always said the golf course was the best place to meet clients.’

‘Hmm, and lovers in Barry’s case,’ Anne added. She sighed as she reminded them of the endless rounds of golf her husband put in with the Lady Captain.

‘I didn’t mind,’ Kath continued, ‘a garden is a very peaceful place. Nature is clever. New shoots spring up and become something purposeful.’ She sighed. ‘But I’ve made my mind up to get some help. It’s too much for me these days, and I prefer to potter about and not worry about the hard labour.’

Anne reached for a slice of toast. As she spread a thin layer of apricot preserve across the crisp granary bread, she noticed that Bridgette had finished her breakfast and was hurrying from the café. ‘You should go and listen to Bridgette this morning,’ she said, holding up a copy of theDiamond StarDailyto read the activities. ‘It says in the programme that Bridgette is hosting a talk entitledHow Does Your Garden Grow – On a Cruise Ship.’ Anne looked at Kath and smiled. ‘You’d find it interesting.’

‘I’ll come with you if you like.’ Jane forked bacon into her mouth.

‘I hadn’t really thought about all the plants onboard,’ Kath said, ‘but I suppose there are hundreds to attend to.’ She looked around, suddenly aware of the small bowl of cacti on their table and troughs of lush greenery at the edge of the deck.

Anne continued to read from the programme. ‘There’s lots of things to do, from a creative writing class to a cookery demonstration, and tonight, there’s a group playing in the Mermaid Theatre, they’re called the Marley Men.’

‘Sounds like a reggae group, I can’t bear that sort of music.’ Jane dabbed at her mouth with a napkin and took a slurp of coffee.

‘It will be fun, something different,’ Anne urged, ‘we might be able to have a dance too.’

Jane groaned. She would be happy to relax in their suite. There was a gorgeous shop that sold handmade chocolates and Jane intended to treat herself.

‘Well, whatever you decide.’ Anne glanced at her watch. ‘If you are going to Bridgette’s talk, you’d better get a move on if you want a good seat, it’s bound to be busy.’

‘You’re almost as bossy as Bridgette,’ Kath said and pushed back her chair, ‘but I’d like to hear what she has to say. Are you ready, Jane?’

‘If I must.’ Jane grabbed an iced pastry and wrapped it in a napkin. ‘One for the road,’ she said and tucking it into her pocket, followed her friend.

* * *

In a quiet corner of the library, a group had gathered for the creative writing class. Selwyn sat by a window, his pen poised over the blank page of a notebook. The tutor had set a ten-minute task whereby students would write a letter to a loved one, which, he said, would stimulate their creative flow.

Selwyn’s creative flow was stimulated by staring out at the distant horizon, where the sun shone rays like golden highways on an infinite blue. He wasn’t in the mood to write a letter, and as his mind drifted, Selwyn was fascinated by the sea. The ebb and flow of cresting waves reminded him of the elaborate coiffured hairdo that Flo styled on special occasions.

Flo had been a great letter writer. She refused to engage with the internet, claiming it to be the devil’s work, spreading folk’s secrets globally. The World Wide Web would create a worldwide war, in her spirited opinion. Selwyn remembered how Flo regularly wrote to friends and distant relatives in Jamaica and across the globe. But now, since her passing, Selwyn’s short emails announcing Flo’s death replaced the blue airmail envelopes that bulged with updates of the Alleyne clan. All that had ceased, for Selwyn had no intention of continuing with correspondence.

He turned away from the window. His page remained blank, unlike Flo’s. She spent hours sitting alone at their walnut table with a pot of tea to hand, her meaty fingers wrapped around a ballpoint pen, spewing out news to extended family, second-generation cousins, and anyone she’d met on holiday. Her round-robins at Christmas were legendary, and Selwyn often wondered if anyone bothered to read the monologue of their life in Lambeth.

Suddenly, Selwyn felt that he needed to get out of the room. Memories were too powerful and were upsetting his mood. Taking a plastic pouch from his pocket, he glanced around. No one paid him any attention, and heads were lowered over notepads. Selwyn reached out and scattered a handful of Flo’s ashes into the soil of a nearby plant. ‘Write to your heart’s content, my dear,’ he whispered.

He stood and, apologising to the tutor, hurriedly left the library.

As Selwyn walked through the lounge, he saw that Kath and Jane were approaching. Dressed in bright clothes, they were impossible to miss.

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