Page 42 of The Cruise

‘Are you going to have a swim?’ Selwyn asked, noting that Bridgette was wearing a poppy-patterned, skirted swimsuit.

Placing her hands on her hips, she glanced up and down the beach, ‘I’d rather hoped to get to the naturist section, but I’m not sure I can manage the Captain all that way.’ Bridgette stared further down the beach where the shoreline curved, and the trees were lusher. Like Lowry’s matchstick men, darkly tanned sunbathers milled around.

Selwyn turned to look at the group of passengers he’d travelled with from the ship to the beach. Bridgette had insisted that the Captain have a day out. She was determined to get him off the ship and away from the bar. Now, the old boy sat on a deckchair under the shade of a tree and waved his stick at everyone passing by.

‘You’re very kind to have accompanied him,’ Selwyn said. He thought of Bridgette’s care when demanding that a wheelchair be made available for her to transport the Captain from the ship to the coach. Selwyn had assisted.

‘I’m very fond of him. We’ve had fun over the years on cruises. He hasn’t always been so absent-minded and was hugely entertaining in his day. Quite a Romeo with the ladies too.’ Bridgette looked thoughtful, as she raised her hand and the Captain waved his stick. ‘He’s always supported my talks, and when Hugo came with me they’d chat for hours in the bar.’

‘You must see a big change in him?’ Selwyn asked.

‘Of course, ageing is cruel, and would you want to be stuck on the ship all the time, when there is so much beauty everywhere?’ Bridgette looked around. ‘In fact, I think a sea bathe would do the Captain good – will you help?’

And that is how Selwyn found himself carrying a slight, eighty-eight-year-old man across a crowded beach and lowering him gently into the water. Harold, wearing minuscule trunks, was drinking beer at a nearby bar and strolled over to assist. Nancy, cosy in a capacious kaftan and sipping a pina colada, looked on.

The Captain lay on his back in the sea. He wore Union Jack swimming shorts that floated like a flag around his withered body. Selwyn and Harold each held his hand while Bridgette swam with dainty breaststrokes, circling the trio.

‘Sharks!’ The Captain called out, kicking his legs and splashing before hooting with laughter.

‘He’s enjoying himself,’ Bridgette said as she paused to catch her breath. ‘The swim will be so beneficial for him.’ She moved towards the Captain. ‘I’ve got him.’ She took the Captain’s hand and shooed Selwyn away. ‘Off you go and have a swim too.’

Selwyn dived beneath the surface and powered away from the shore. His strokes were rhythmic, and he felt a sudden sense of freedom, almost a weightlessness of both body and mind. Years of denied holidays and pent-up frustration gave him energy in the silky warmth of the water. Swimming was such an excellent exercise, he thought as he surfaced and looked back at the beach. His early morning swims at Brixton Leisure Centre didn’t compare with the calm Caribbean Sea. Still, they kept him fit, as did the open water pool at Brockwell Lido, where he spent many hours in the summer months. Flo had never gone with him unless it was to sit in the café drinking tea and eating cake. He’d never been able to persuade her to take swimming lessons, and she refused to put any part of her body in the pool. Beach holidays had been out of the question.

Selwyn turned to float and stared up at a sky as blue as his mother’s eyes. How much Flo had missed in life … and how much had he missed too? Her life revolved around the church, Pastor Gregory and the congregation, and Selwyn had allowed it. Perhaps he should have been firmer and insisted they break out of life in Lambeth. But in his heart, Selwyn knew the only way out would have been to leave Flo, and for their daughter’s sake, it was a route he’d never chosen to take.

Reaching into a pocket, Selwyn removed a waterproof pouch. Holding it up, he lay back and watched Flo’s ashes catch on a wisp of breeze, twirling heavenward like smoke. He smiled as he watched the grey cloud disperse. ‘Fly high, my dear,’ Selwyn whispered.

An image of Jane dancing in Spirit’s bar came into his thoughts. She’d twirled her body and moved freely as though a key had unlocked her inhibitions. Selwyn wondered why Jane disliked herself so much, for, in his opinion, she was a fine, independent woman. But somewhere along life’s highway, she’d lost her confidence. How could he help her to find it? As he lingered lazily in the water, it was an enjoyable problem to ponder. Selwyn remembered Bridgette’s quote,‘You can never cross the ocean unless you have the courage to lose sight of the shore.’Would Jane ever cross her own ocean?But his dalliance with improbabilities was short-lived as he heard Bridgette’s voice. Turning to face the shore, Selwyn could see her waving.

‘Give me a hand?’ she yelled. Her little body bobbed about, and together with Harold, she clutched hold of the Captain’s hands. The old boy was upright, his wispy white hair plastered across his head.

In moments Selwyn was by the Captain’s side. ‘Now, sir,’ Selwyn said, ‘if you’re all ship-shape and ready, it’s time to get you back on board.’

‘Whales!’ The Captain called out as Selwyn lifted him into his arms, ‘marooned, get help!’

Selwyn safely crossed the beach with his fragile consignment.

‘Fancy a livener?’ Bridgette asked Selwyn as she finished towelling the Captain. She placed a T-shirt over his head, pulled it onto his body, then settled him comfortably in a shaded spot by the beach bar, where Christmas calypso songs played.

‘Beer for me,’ the Captain told no one in particular as his cloudy eyes started to close.

‘My round,’ Harold said and went to order. ‘Another one of those, Nancy?’ he asked as he danced to the music and jigged across the sand to rejoin his wife and point to her empty glass.

Selwyn helped Bridgette onto a stool. The crowd at the bar seemed companionable. Most of the drinkers were from the ship. Familiarity flowed as fast as the drinks, and the conversation became lively.

‘Have you read that comedian’s book?’ Nancy asked as she took a cocktail umbrella out of her pina colada and bit into a cherry.

‘Which comedian?’

‘You know, the one who’s broken out in orange spots.’

‘He was on the front page of theDiamond StarDailytoday,’ Harold added.

‘Oh, you mean Dicky Delaney.’ Bridgette nodded. ‘No, I haven’t, is it any good?’

‘No idea,’ Nancy said, ‘but we got a copy of it for half the price you pay in the shop.’

‘How did you manage that?’ Selwyn asked and took a sip of his beer.

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