Page 4 of The Cruise Club

Two days later and the early morning easyJet flight from Manchester to Kefalonia was delayed by an hour. Passengers, already tired and cranky after rising in the middle of the night, had been told to move through the terminal to a newdeparture gate. Loaded with hand luggage, they wearily displayed their boarding passes. To everyone’s dismay, a coach waited at the base of the jetway steps, and despite torrential rain, passengers were instructed that in order to board the plane, they were to be ferried across the tarmac to the aircraft’s boarding steps.

Comedian and cruise ship entertainer, Dicky Delaney, dismounted from the coach and stood in a queue as the rain bucketed down. His spirits were as dampened as his clothes, as heavy drops fell with a furious intensity. The air was thick with the smell of jet fuel and passengers voiced discontent as they waited for their ordeal to end and to be allowed into the comfort of a dry aircraft cabin.

‘This is no way to start a holiday,’ a man with a thick Yorkshire accent called out.

Dicky nodded his head in agreement. It was no way to begin the start of his working stint on theDiamond Star, and he silently cursed Clive, his London agent, who’d organised his travel to the ship. Years ago, Clive would have insisted that Dicky travel first-class with a chauffeur to hand on both sides of the journey, but Clive had still not forgiven Dicky for an incident with a theatre manager’s wife in a seaside town where Dicky had a summer residency. It had resulted in Dicky’s contract being abruptly cut short and Clive losing his agent’s commission. Dicky had also done a runner on a recent Benidorm gig, and the memory of Clive’s furious, red-faced tirade, punctuated with veins throbbing at his temples, was still fresh in his mind.

‘You’ll travel with the masses and no arguments,’ Clive growled down the phone from his Soho office. ‘Youmay have redeemed yourself on the Caribbean cruise at Christmas, but you’ve still got a long way to go.’

The aircraft door suddenly opened, and smiling cabin attendants greeted the bedraggled passengers. ‘Welcome to easyJet,’ they said to the crowd climbing the steps and cramming into the doorway.

‘It’s good of you to arrange a complimentary shower before the flight,’ a woman commented as she was directed to her seat. Her perfectly styled holiday hair, which hours ago had been set in curls and waves, now clung to her head in soggy strands.

‘Is this a new water ride feature?’ the Yorkshire man asked. ‘I didn’t know we were off to Splash Mountain.’

As Dicky entered the cabin, he was tempted to ask if standing in the rain for fifteen minutes was an innovative easyJet spa treatment. Instead, he flashed a toothy grin at the prettiest attendant and made his way down the aisle. Listening to the disgruntled northern holidaymakers, Dicky whipped out his notebook. Their remarks were comedy gold, and he wrote down a comment from a man in the seat behind, who asked his wife if he should be looking for a seat in a lifeboat, not a plane. Overheard gems of wit often made their way into Dicky’s stage act.

The cabin crew checked seatbelts, and the flight took off. As it soared over the sodden sight of Manchester and arced gracefully into a turn to leave behind the rolling Cheshire plain, Dicky stared out of the window. They rose into marshmallow mountains of cloud, and he watched the play of light as the flight glided through a soft, ethereal world suspended between heaven and earth.

Dicky thought about the last few months which he’d spent in Spain. With a gig at a well-known club in Benidorm, arranged by Clive, he’d enjoyed a relationship with a pretty woman named Anne, whom he’d met on the Caribbean cruise. Their plans of starting a new life together had soon come to an end when Anne caught Dicky backstage with one of the dancers. As she packed, Anne’s rage knew no limit, and Dicky, knowing when it was time to bow out, to Clive’s fury, had also left town in a hurry to head back to his ex-wife in Doncaster.

‘Women…’ Dicky sighed as he watched giant cotton wool balls of cloud. He couldn’t live without them, but he sure as hell couldn’t live with them for very long.

Dicky had hoped that Anne was The One. But it turned out she was just another plot twist in his own romantic comedy. Back in familiar territory, his ex-wife’s reception had been as chilly as an arctic blizzard, making it quite clear that he was no more than a passing shadow in her now well-ordered life. Dicky had stayed for one night only before heading to London to beg an angry Clive to find him work.

The drinks trolley was rattling in the aisle, and Dicky unclipped his seatbelt. When your luck ran out and your toast landed butter-side down, there was only one thing to do. He’d get back on stage, and during the cruise, push his autobiography. Dicky’s book,My Life in Showbusiness, sold well on a cruise, and, if he kept under the purser’s radar, there was always an opportunity to make an extra income on the side with the wealthy female passengers. Dicky had self-published his book after failing to reach the lofty heights of success he’d envisioned on the professionalcircuit with the big names in comedy. Unable to attract interest from a publishing house and take the traditional route, he forged his own path. Still, the book was engaging, and if he had embellished a few chapters here and there, no one seemed to notice.

‘Coffee and a Scotch,’ Dicky said to the attendant serving drinks.

Sipping slowly, he reflected on his career and remembered the highlights of performing on the comedy circuits at some of the largest clubs in the country. The thrill of the perfect punchline, when his timing was impeccable, and Dicky felt like he’d had the world at his feet.

But Dicky knew that those days were gone. Overshadowed by today’s successful comedians, who were international stars performing to vast audiences for unheard-of amounts of money, Dicky had a sense of frustration mixed with a sad acceptance. Now, the best gigs Clive could find for him were on cruise ships or clubs on the Costas, where only the mature guests understood Dicky’s age-old jokes. But despite the setbacks, Dicky clung to the belief that although he might be on the decline, he could still muster moments of brilliance that reminded him why he fell in love with comedy. He might not be the headliner he was in the past, but Dicky felt sure his journey wasn’t over and that he could capitalise on the right situation.

‘Maybe The Cruise Club on theDiamond Starwill be a new start,’ Dicky mused as he drained his drink.

Lowering the window blind, he closed his eyes. With the soft vibration of the aircraft engines his lullaby, in moments, Dicky was sound asleep.

Chapter Three

Carmen’s bag was bunched on her lap as she sat on the back seat of a coach taking her to board theDiamond Star, berthed on the island of Kefalonia. As they drove away from the airport, she adjusted her glasses and stared at low hills and a landscape dotted with olive groves. The driver negotiated the winding twists and turns of the road, and Carmen caught her first sight of clear blue waters. Taking a deep breath, she counted to ten and, exhaling slowly, began to curse her mother.

On the front seat, Betty was chatting happily with a middle-aged man. Despite Carmen’s insistence that she take a holiday alone, Betty had inveigled her way in.

‘I don’t understand why you wouldwantto go on holiday alone,’ Betty said when Carmen broke the news. ‘You know how much I enjoy spending time with you, and as you’ve been so busy with that silly little novel, it will be good for us both to get away together.’

Within moments, Betty had seized the brochure on the kitchen table, dialled the number and booked herself a place.‘Yes, that’s right,’ she told the cruise agent, ‘my daughter has already reserved her cabin, and I’d like one next door. I’m an invalid, you see.’

Betty’s cane had been flung to one side, and with the agility of an athlete, she’d crossed the kitchen to dig into her bag, produce a payment card and read out the number. With the reservation secure, Betty grinned, then flopped into a rocking chair and picked up the cruise brochure. ‘Just think, how nice it will be to have some mother and daughter bonding time,’ she said, slowly turning the pages. ‘You can take me on a shopping trip tomorrow, I could do with some new summer clothes.’

They entered the town of Argostoli, and Carmen gazed out of the window, wide-eyed with curiosity. She’d read about the devastating earthquake that had struck the town in the 1950s and knew the buildings she saw had been reconstructed in a neoclassical style, following the island’s traditions. As they drove, she took in the houses and monuments, noticing how Argostoli was nestled around a deep lagoon, with a narrow bridge spanning the bay to create a convenient shortcut.

The vehicle jostled along a cobbled road, and a cruise ship came into view. A representative from the cruise line stood up, turned to face the group, and picked up a microphone.

‘Hello,’ he began, his voice warm and welcoming, ‘and may I extend a heartfeltDiamond Starwelcome to you all. My name is Peter Hammond, and I am your purser and entertainment director.’

Carmen joined the polite ripple of applause that followed, smiling faintly.

Peter continued. ‘We are a small company, and personal service is something that the company prides itself on. You are now officially members of The Cruise Club on theDiamond Star, so feel free to come and discuss any queries you have with myself or my team.’

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