‘Thank you. That’s very helpful.’
‘Do you fucking mind?’ A muffled scream comes from within the horse head.
‘Okay. I’ll, erm, leave you guys to it.’ I close the door and hesitantly open the next one praying that no one else is in here shagging. Relief floods through me at the sight of cleaning products. I grab a mop and bucket and race back up to the bar to find that things have considerably wound down. The music has been lowered, and the two chefs are packing away the buffet.
‘Thank you,’ says the captain, approaching to give me a hand as I get to work cleaning up the mess. ‘If we don’t clean the deck then the seagulls will tear this place apart and tomorrow morning everything is ruined.’
I glance over to where Garry is slumped over a table, cheek flat against a plate of crisps, snoring loudly, and next to him, Tiffany is passed out, head back, eyes clamped shut, mouth wide open, her dark brown almost black hair trailing to the floor.
If Tiffany is here, then who…? My mind flicks back to the hair wrapped around Shaun’s hand. Caramel blonde.
Ah.That must be Shaunsortinghis women out.
14
The next morning, after what I imagine sleeping on a bouncy castle full of sugar-crazed toddlers feels like, I rise early. Both Tiffany and Astrid are asleep in their beds, fully clothed. I squeeze into our tiny ensuite bathroom to take a shower. I can barely move; the cubicle is so small. I’m nowhere near finished when Astrid bursts in, sinks to her knees and throws up in the toilet next to it. The number of times I’ve seen her throw up, I’m surprised her oesophagus hasn’t dissolved. A clanging sound startles her, and she appears to notice me for the first time. She stares at me, and I wonder whether she is going to mention ‘horsegate’(as I’m now calling it in my head) but she doesn’t.
‘That’s the bell for breakfast,’ she simply states, before hurling once more. ‘Garry doesn’t like anyone to be late.’ She pulls herself up, wiping her mouth on a towel (that I will now not be using) before dropping it on the floor and staggering back out.
I follow after her. ‘Do you think you need to cut back on the alcohol and the… erm (boyfriend stealing)… you know? What with us being a team and everything?’ I’m not even going to mention that I saw her putting toilet paper down the loo. I’ll just add it to my list of bugbears.
She swivels round to glare at me. ‘If you are referring to my chronic seasickness, it’s a medical condition, okay? And the Shaun thing? It’s complicated.’
Message received. Loud and clear.
Ten minutes later, I, along with a very rough-looking Garry, Shaun, Tiffany and Astrid, am being served a hot breakfast of what looks like a nest of spinach and seaweed with a runny egg on top, by the two scrawny chefs. One of them is systematically going around the table grinding black pepper onto each egg. Astrid instantly pales, scrapes back her chair and flies down the spiral staircase. We hear the slamming of doors and a roaring sound, like a bear giving birth to a pair of full-size elephants.
Tiffany seems delighted. ‘Serves her right for overdoing it last night. Doesn’t it? I’m not even sure she came to bed. Where did she go?’
A thick silence hovers over the table as Shaun and Garry inspect their plates with the concentration of medical students about to perform complicated hip replacement surgery for the first time.
I glance over at Tiffany. Is this where I admit to catching Astrid being straddled by her boyfriend in the linens cupboard? I mean, no one likes a cheater. It’s very reminiscent of Dillon and Denise, cheating right under my very nose. It presents an extremely difficult moral dilemma.
Shaun, I notice, is twirling his spinach around on his fork, refusing to meet her gaze, while Garry seems to be silent-retching, his shoulders jerking upwards as he peers robotically down at his runny egg. The captain approaches, looking remarkably bright-eyed and bushytailed as he announces that the guests will be arriving in two hours, and can we please ensure that the entire boat is sparkling from top to bottom and all the bedrooms are swept, beds are immaculately made up, toiletries are fully stocked, and complimentary welcome baskets are left in each room? He will be back in one hour, after he has cleared our sailing path with the local port authorities on the other side of the marina.
‘I’ll get started on the upper deck,’ blurts Shaun, keen to escape Tiffany’s questioning glare.
‘And I’ll…’ We look at Garry. His shoulders are hunched, his voice small, his eyes still glued to the egg. ‘I’ll just… sort all the paperwork,’ he says eventually, heaving himself up from the table.
Tiffany huffs. ‘Well, thanks to Shaun, I’m in a mood. I already woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, so now I’ll have to go back to sleep for another half an hour. Otherwise, I’ll be a pain in the arse. I’ll help after that.’
The captain’s jaw slackens as he takes in the untouched plates of food and me sitting alone picking at some seaweed. He shakes his head, muttering, ‘Every time. Every single time.’
The world-weary captain and I stare at each other. I’m nothing if not practical and conscientious. I’ll just have to roll up my sleeves and get on with it. ‘I’ll make a start. I’m sure we can get everything done by the time everyone arrives.’ I offer him my best professional smile and get up from the table.
* * *
After two hours, Shaun and I have just about managed to get everything done between us. Shaun looks about to collapse under the scorching heat as Tiffany eventually emerges from the spiral staircase and waltzes over to give him a kiss on his cheek, with a mere ten minutes to go before the guests are due. Astrid and Garry also emerge from the staff quarters. They both look freshly showered, they are wearing crisp, clean uniforms and they look miraculously energised. I’m infuriated as I look down at my filthy uniform, my dirty knees from bending down to mop under tables and beds, and my raw hands from scrubbing tables and chairs clean after the colossal amount of bird shit that covered them from only one night in harbour.
I just have time to scurry down to my room to shower and change when I spot a procession of black Rolls-Royces approaching slowly along the marina through the porthole window. The captain orders us all to get off the boat and line up on the dock ready to welcome our wealthy family on board. After a mad scramble we arrange ourselves in order of importance. I am elbowed to the last in line.
The family of adults spill out of the several cars, fussing and complaining. Chief moaner and by far the loudest is an elderly matriarch with, surprisingly, a British accent. ‘Who stole my gold watch? I bet it was that demon, kleptomaniac, hell-child son of yours.’
‘Mother, don’t be ridiculous,’ says the younger of two exceedingly glamorous women, ‘and can you stop calling your only grandson and heir a kleptomaniac? It’s just a phase he’s going through.’
The older woman blows through her lips, causing them to vibrate. ‘Wake up, Cassandra. He’s the spawn of the devil. Just like his father.’
‘Mother, I won’t tell you again. You can’t just… Hello there.’ She breaks off and shakes the captain’s hand. ‘You must be our captain… for what I’m sure will be your most demanding voyage on board a vessel yet.’ Cassandra lets out a tinkling laugh. ‘And this is my mother, Widow Twanky. Former Miss Blackpool. Fond of gin. Occasionally incontinent and should really be in a care home in Bournemouth and yet… here we all are!’
