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‘You’re catching the sun,’ Selwyn said. He moved beside Jane and chinked his drink against hers. ‘It suits you.’

‘I look like an overcooked lobster,’ Jane replied. ‘I don’t tan very well.’

‘Why do you always put yourself down?’

‘Er … because it’s true?’

‘No. It’s habit.’ Selwyn smiled. ‘Accept a compliment, Jane.’

‘Well, er … thank you.’

‘And I like your hair.’ Selwyn touched Jane’s braids and caressed a bead between his fingers. ‘You look youthful.’

Jane sipped her drink, and as she heard Selwyn’s words, she almost spat it out.Youthful?She wondered what possessed him to call an overweight sixty-three-year-old ‘youthful’. Deciding that he was toying with her, she turned away.

More passengers joined the group and were encouraged by the crew to sing along with the Christmas songs. Several began to dance as Wham! and Mariah Carey whipped everyone into a festive frenzy.

‘We just need a visit from Santa,’ Jane suggested as Armani produced delicious warm snacks.

Jane was enjoying a conkie, a pumpkin- and coconut-filled parcel wrapped in a steamed banana leaf. She looked up to see a figure lumbering up the beach. ‘Blimey,’ she gasped, ‘Santa’s here!’

Santa was dressed in boots, a red jacket, trousers, and a hat, all trimmed with white fur, and his face was covered by a bushy white beard. He carried a bulging sack over his drooping shoulder. ‘Ho, Ho, Ho!’ Santa called out. ‘Merry Christmas, one and all!’

‘How wonderful!’ Anne jumped up and down, clapping her hands as the suited and booted figure approached.

‘He must be roasting with that lot on,’ Jane said as Santa swung his sack from his shoulder and placed it on the beach. ‘Who would be daft enough to play Santa on a Caribbean beach?’

Unbeknown to the group gathered around, ‘roasting’ was an understatement and Santa, alias Dicky Delaney, was about to expire. Cursing Peter for making him wear such a ridiculous outfit in thirty-degree heat, Dicky was tempted to grab a couple of Armani’s cocktails, but knew he’d probably get fired on the spot.

‘Have you all been good little boys and girls?’ Dicky sang through gritted teeth and reached into his sack.

‘We have!’ – ‘Most certainly!’ – ‘All year!’ the merry band of elves and sunbathers replied.

Dicky’s fingers felt dozens of Christmas-wrapped gifts, and with a sigh, he began to lift them out. There was no sign of Peter, who was probably sitting on an empty deck, feet up, sipping a Buck’s fizz, with a telescope poised to make sure Dicky was playing his part.

‘Happy Christmas!’ Dicky yelled and tossed his packages towards the guests.

Bridgette tumbled over Nancy as she threw herself into the air to catch with one hand. At the same time, Harold adopted a rugby-style tackle on Anne as guests shrieked with laughter and grabbed the gifts. Delighted with the unexpected treats, they ripped off the wrapping to findDiamond Starcaps and T-shirts amongst party poppers, glow sticks, and paper trumpets.

Dicky sighed with relief as he reached the bottom of his sack and stood upright, longing to find a towel and wipe his perspiring forehead. He couldn’t wait to rip the stupid suit off and, away from the guests, dive into the sea. But as he was about to wish everyone a merry goodbye, he heard Armani shriek and saw her run to secure the cool boxes with the other crew members.

‘What’s wrong?’ he called out.

‘It’s a plane!’ Armani shouted and pointed to the sky as she hastily packed beakers and bottles.

‘Looks like American Airlines to me,’ Harold said, his hand shielding his eyes, ‘and it’s a big one.’

‘No wonder there are no sunbeds,’ Anne yelled to Jane as the friends secured their bags and towels. ‘I thought you said there wouldn’t be any planes landing on Christmas Day!’

‘I didn’t think there would be, but it looks like it’s landing,’ Jane called back. ‘Brace yourselves!’

Like a monstrous bird, the plane made its descent and now, cruising at less than a hundred feet, began its final approach. The roar from the engines was deafening as passengers plugged their ears and crouched low. Dicky, who’d made his way down the beach, was suddenly engulfed by water as an enormous wave created by the plane’s back-blast surged over him. His hat and beard were washed away as he struggled to his feet. Spluttering and coughing, Dicky tried to regain his balance, only to be hit by a sudden gust of sand as the plane touched down on the runway.

Further up the beach, the windswept passengers were all safe and standing, staring at the bedraggled figure on the shore.

‘Oh, no!’ Anne cried out, ‘it’s Dicky!’

Wet sand clung to Dicky’s face and clothing as he struggled to summon his nearby water taxi.