Page 63 of The Cruise Club

The server returned with Don’s order and placed a plate of fried eggs, bacon and sausages before Debbie. ‘Would you like anything else?’ he asked.

Debbie stared at the plump glistening sausages, theirsurface split open and juicy fat oozing out. ‘I’m going to be s…’ Debbie exclaimed, thrusting a hand over her mouth and bolting from the café.

Fran pushed back her chair. ‘The poor girl,’ she said, and ran to help Debbie.

Don stared at Debbie’s breakfast, then looked at Sid. ‘Be a shame to waste this,’ he said, picking up the plate. ‘Fancy a sausage?’ he asked.

‘Gawd, no, not for me…’ Sid frowned and rubbed his chest. ‘My heartburn is already doing the cha-cha-cha.’

‘Nowt beats a fry-up.’ Don began to tuck in. ‘That’s what I tell the lads working on my sites, that and starting the day with a mug of builder’s brew.’

‘Well, bon appetit,’ Sid said, sipping his peppermint tea. ‘Here’s to our first sight of the volcano.’

Carmen was returning from her session with Ruskin. As she wandered through the ship, she heard an announcement that informed everyone that they would be passing Stromboli in approximately two hours. Those wishing to enjoy the sight of the volcano should stand on the starboard side to watch the fascinating sight.

‘I think Mum might enjoy that,’ Carmen said to herself as she headed down the stairs to her cabin.

Depositing her bag and removing her laptop to place it on the desk in her room, Carmen sat down and felt tempted to continue with her novel while ideas spun in her head. That morning, she’d been immersed in the new ideas shewas creating, and the outline of the current plot was starting to improve.

Ruskin insisted that she dig deep with character profiles, telling her that they had to come to life in her head. ‘If you know them inside out, they will guide you through the story,’ he’d said.

Eating a silent breakfast, Ruskin sat on his balcony, staring out to sea as he munched through a bowl of muesli, and Carmen began her morning pages.

The session was intense, and Ruskin was a tough teacher.

‘What are the stakes?’ he demanded. ‘Is your protagonist achieving their goals? What do you think of your writing?’

‘I thought it was pretty good.’ Carmen bit her lip and immediately regretted her words.

‘Pretty good doesn’t get published, Carmen,’ he snapped, ‘it gets buried beneath a thousand submissions.’

Carmen’s cheeks burned. Today, Ruskin had a way of stripping her confidence with his blunt instructions. Was he suddenly pushing her hard to get the best possible outcome in the limited time available? He paced like a caged lion as they worked, and his critiques were severe as he analysed the current chapter, tearing it apart before teaching her how to build it back up and make it better with every sentence. He illuminated cracks she’d never noticed and her head was spinning.

Determinedly immersed in her work, Carmen had no time to watch Ruskin, but he crept into her thoughts. She longed to breathe in his cologne and touch the warm flesh of his hand when it came too close, then feel the whisper of his breath on her neck. But he’d passed no pleasantries by the time the session ended.

Ruskin walked her to the door of the suite. ‘You must make the very best of your talent and work harder, Carmen. Stop holding back.’

Carmen flinched as though struck by a blow as the door slammed in her face. Did Ruskin know how cruel he’d been? She wanted to brush it all away and not show her feelings, but the sting in his words lingered.

Carmen knew she ought to be grateful that he had no romantic interest in his student. This was a mentorship, nothing more. Reminding herself of that would make her ridiculous crush so much easier to bear.

‘CARMEN!’

Betty’s stick was banging on the adjoining wall. With all thoughts of writing dissolving with each bang, Carmen pushed back her chair. ‘Coming, Mum!’ she called out and, after taking a last lingering look at her laptop, hurried out of the room.

TheDiamond Starsailed majestically through the shimmering waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea, with its course set to include a scenic route past the Aeolian island of Stromboli, a volcanic archipelago situated off the northeastern coast of Sicily. This allowed passengers to admire the volcanic island from the water. The weather was perfect, and with safety considerations relating to volcanic activity observed by Captain Bellwood, the ship travelled along the side of the island to get the best view of Sciara del Fuoco, a steep slope where lava often flowed into the sea.

Sid and Fran held hands as they stood on the ship’s starboard side, gazing at the jagged land that rose dramatically before them. Fran wore a bright cotton dress, the floral skirt full, billowing around her legs. Clustered at the base of Stromboli, they could see a smattering of whitewashed buildings, and Fran pointed out the spire of a church.

‘People must live on the island,’ she said, reaching for her phone to take a photo.

‘Aye, it says in the guidebook that it has a population of around four hundred folks,’ Sid commented, ‘and they are geared up for tourism. Stromboli is a popular travel destination.’

‘I’m not sure I’d like to live so close to a volcano,’ Fran shook her head.

‘There are eruptions every ten to twenty minutes, but all low-level apparently.’ Sid gazed ahead, hoping to see a burst of lava flow down the side of the mountain. ‘It’s known as the Lighthouse of the Mediterranean, and you can visit Stromboli by ferry. There are beaches of black sand, and guides will take you on a hike to witness the eruptions safely.’

‘That might suit Don. He has an adventurous spirit.’ Fran grinned as Don and Debbie joined them.

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