‘I’ll do it,’ volunteers Shaun.
‘We’ll all take turns doing breakfast, lunch, dinner and bar duties,’ Garry says firmly. ‘Now, we just have to decide what entertainment to put on.’
‘Not that godawful cabaret show, please,’ begs Astrid. ‘It’s so fucking lame. I hate it. If I have to do that ridiculous dance to “Doop” wearing those scratchy wigs one more time, I’ll throw myself overboard.’
‘She’s right. And the masks are ridiculously suffocating and some of those costumes are horrendous,’ moans Tiffany. ‘Except my favourite St Trinian’s one which has gone missing.’
‘I did drop it off for you. I asked Banu to give it to clever clogs here.’ They turn to face me. ‘Did you bring it?’
I nod. ‘Yes. It’s in my case.’Crumpled, tattered, torn.At least that mystery has been cleared up. I make a mental note to apologise to Banu next time I see her. Being exhausted to my very bones should not be an excuse for ill-manners.
‘We’ll just fling some quizzes and mindless board games their way, so we’re not run ragged doing too much,’ scoffs Garry. ‘Dead Fly should keep them busy. Works like a charm on the 18–30 cruises.’
‘It’s where Garry yells “Dead Fly” at random times of the day and everyone on board has to drop down onto their backs and start waving their arms and legs in the air like a dead fly. No matter what you’re doing you have to join in otherwise you forfeit,’ explains Tiffany when she sees me looking baffled. ‘And you have to do something silly as a punishment.’
Dear Christ. As though behaving like imbeciles wasn’t punishment enough.
The captain looks perturbed. ‘You are not offering the fullLoveIt Holidaysexperience?’
Garry, seemingly oblivious, laughs off his concerns. ‘Gulet-y as charged, el capitano, me old mucker.’
‘This is very important family.’ Sounding slightly apprehensive, the captain hooks a finger to loosen his collar. ‘They are very wealthy. They expect the best. Including entertainment.’
‘No, seriously… everyone loves Dead Fly, plus we’ll do the drinking games, karaoke night and I’ll do my stand-up routine. It’s fucking hilarious, innit, you guys?’
Even Shaun fails to raise a smile for this last one. It all sounds very low budget to me. There follows some copious knocking back of shots, a full demonstration of Shaun’sHitman and Herdance routine from back in the day, and a think tank of showbiz options that won’t require a single modicum of effort on the part of the reps (yes, the very ones being paid good money to provide top-notch entertainment). Shaun crosses his legs, spins around full circle, dips down and undulates like a snake back to a standing position. It’s all positively underwhelming and he’s trying to convince us that he is practically a professional dance instructor and will offer lessons to the guests, before the captain leads us down to the outdoor dining area and a table laden with a sizzling hot buffet of Turkish mezze courtesy of two mute, scrawny chefs that never get introduced. We all tuck in with gusto.
* * *
After an hour of watching them all help themselves to the optics running the length of the curved bar, under the guise of practising mixology to create a signature Love Ahoy! cocktail for the guests, it is time for me to go to bed. I am shattered.
‘Be a love and mop this up before you clock off, Maddie.’ A drunken Garry is pointing down to a platter of recently spilt stuffed kofta skewers, in what looks like a tomato and black olive sauce, splattered across the decking at his feet, before looking back up at me, his outstretched arm wavering between me and a short distance to my left. ‘Are you two twins?’
I take in his inebriated, cross-eyed expression and inwardly groan. ‘Where are they kept?’
‘Where are what kept?’ Garry screws his eyes as though I’m trying to pull a fast one.
‘The mops?’
Suddenly this is news to Garry. ‘How would I know where they’re kept? I’m not on the fucking cleaning rota, am I? I’m the boss. How about trying the mop cupboard?’ This causes everyone to erupt into laughter as though he’s told the world’s funniest joke.
I back away slowly. They are all shitfaced. I’m not sure how I’ll manage this lot for a whole week.
I scurry down the spiral staircase, keen to get this over with. I peer down the softly lit corridor, small lamps dotting the walls. The first door I come to opens up to a plush, luxury bedroom suite. After wandering down the warmly lit spacious corridor with its decorative coving, brass lamps and numerous bedroom doors, I realise I have come down the wrong spiral staircase. The staff quarters, the kitchen and the ‘mop’ cupboard must be in the other part of the hull, away from sensitive guest eyes. I quickly spin round to retrace my steps and spot a door marked ‘No Entry’ and then in Turkish,‘PERSONEL’. I hope that means what I think it means and turn the knob. The adjoining doorway leads on to a brightly lit narrow corridor and at the end is the kitchen and off to the side is the other spiral staircase. I recognise it as our staff quarters. There are slim wooden doors with polished brass handles lining the walls. I glance at the metal plaques screwed onto them, but they are all in Turkish. I pull on the first one I come to, open it wide and gasp in shock.
Shaun, wearing nothing but a cowboy hat, has a mane of hair wrapped around his hand and is slapping the bare butt cheek of Tiffany who is… dear god… wearing a horse mask, while he takes her doggy style in an extremely vigorous manner. He turns to grin at me while not once breaking stride. ‘Next one along.’
Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.
‘Sorry?’
‘You after the mops cupboard, are you?’
Pound. Pound. Pound.
I’m transfixed.Each time he yanks Tiffany’s hair and yells ‘Yeeha’, she neighs loudly. I nod, speechless, rooted to the spot. He’s really giving her one, his hips slapping loudly against the back of her thighs in the confined space as he enjoys his ride. Her skirt is up around her waist, her knickers by her knees.
‘This is the clean linens cupboard. You want the one next door.’
