Page 35 of The Cruise Club
It was a sea day on the Diamond Star and, with no shore excursions, many passengers rose a little later before having breakfast and heading off to the day’s onboard activities.
The Deck Café was busy, and those who sat at tables in the shade of overhead canopies stared out at an endless horizon where a golden sky melted like honey into the sea.
Sid stood by a railing, marvelling at the panorama, while Fran sat at a nearby table, sipping an orange juice. They’d enjoyed a cooked breakfast with softly poached eggs, buttery mushrooms and sizzling bacon, followed by slices of toast.
Returning to his seat beside Fran, Sid patted his chest. ‘I think I’m overdoing it,’ he said, reaching for a glass of iced water.
‘Tummy too full?’ Fran raised her sunglasses and reached out to stroke Sid’s arm.
‘Aye, with that big dinner last night and now this breakfast, my heartburn feels like a dragon is breathing flames in my chest.’
‘Oh, love, have a drink of water.’ Fran raised her eyebrows in concern.
‘I think I need to go easy today.’ Sid grimaced and rubbed his stomach.
‘But food is one of the highlights of a cruise.’ Fran smiled. ‘After all, it says in the glossy brochure that one must enjoy the culinary voyage and savour every flavour.’
‘It might be the sales pitch, but we’re not used to so much gorging.’ He thought of the porridge that generally started his day.
‘Have an antacid,’ Fran said, reaching into her bag to unwrap a foil-covered tablet. ‘This will calm you down.’
‘I’ve been chomping them all night,’ Sid frowned, ‘but I don’t suppose another will do any harm.’
‘Why don’t I order a nice peppermint tea to soothe your tum.’
‘That’s a good idea. I want to feel okay when we sail past Stromboli. I’m looking forward to seeing an active volcano.’
‘Talking of eruptions, ‘Fran whispered, ‘here comes Don.’
‘By heck, Debbie looks the worse for wear,’ Sid observed.
‘Morning all,’ Don said as he strode purposefully to Fran and Sid’s table, ‘is there room for two more?’ Don’s electric blue Lycra sportswear hugged his stomach, emphasising his comfortable relationship with the culinary voyage.
‘Help yourself,’ Sid said and pulled out a chair. ‘Are you all right, Debbie? You look a little bit peaky.’
Debbie wore fluffy slippers and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and her hair, generally styled with care, resembled a bird’s nest. As she removed her sunglasses to squint at Sid, he wondered if she’d been in a boxing bout, the dark circles around her eyes giving her a haunted expression and the crumpled pantsuit she wore looking more like rumpled pyjamas.
‘Have some coffee, love,’ Sid said, reaching out to pour Debbie a cup.
‘My wife had a drop too much last night and is paying the price this morning.’ Don frowned at Debbie. ‘I’ve told her that fresh air and a good fry-up will soon buck her up.’
Sid noted that Debbie’s skin had turned the colour of custard. Instead of bucking up, she looked like she was going to throw up.
‘Bit of a tummy upset?’ Fran moved closer to squeeze Debbie’s shoulder. ‘My Sid hasn’t been feeling too well. Perhaps you’ve both eaten something that hasn’t agreed?’
‘More to do with an excess of cocktails and too many tequila shots.’ Don shook his head. ‘I’ve told her that she should have joined me for Kyle’s Sunrise Senior Splashdown. A session of exercise and fresh air would soon sort things out.’
Debbie groaned and, flinging an arm in Don’s direction, swung her hand at his head. But Don, clearly used to ducking and diving, swerved away. Debbie closed her eyes and sipped her coffee, then sucked gratefully on the antacid tablet that Fran had produced.
‘Did you have a late night?’ Sid asked. He noted that Debbie never got a word in edgeways, Don being the undisputed champion of mouthpieces, with a black belt in talking over his wife.
‘Yes, it was in the early hours before I managed to get Debbie safely back to our cabin,’ Don said, picking up a menu. When a server appeared, he ordered breakfast.
‘Fran and I turned in not long after the evening show in the Neptune Theatre,’ Sid said. ‘It was a great night with Melody Moon and the Diamond Star dancers entertaining us with an evening of Broadway hits.’
‘Aye, we caught that too,’ Don acknowledged. ‘Did you stay for Dicky Delaney’s late-night comedy and karaoke?’
‘No, but I’m sure it was good.’
‘It certainly was, with passengers joining in and the best singer turned out to be a welder by day and Neil Diamond by night.’ Don grinned, ‘It was a laugh a minute until Debbie took to the stage for her karaoke version of, “I Will Survive”.’
‘And did she?’ Sid asked.
‘Not for long; she shook her hips so hard we thought she’d dislodged a disc. It took me, Dicky and a stage assistant to lower her back into the audience.’
‘No wonder she needed a drink, poor girl,’ Fran interjected.
‘Oh, that was at the party.’ Don picked up a napkin and tucked it into the edge of his vest. ‘Cocktails flowed like a waterfall.’
‘Party?’ Fran raised her eyebrows.
But before Don had time to answer, Debbie sat up and suddenly changed the subject. ‘What time do we sail by the volcano?’ she asked.
Sid looked at his watch. ‘In a couple of hours, I think.’
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, their surface 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 she was 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.
The Diamond Star sailed 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.