Page 7 of The Cruise Club

Fran was excited as she took Sid’s hand, and they went from their cabin to the Terrace Restaurant.

Throughout the day, Peter, the entertainment director, made announcements informing passengers about the Greek evening, encouraging them to dress in the theme, adding that the onboard fancy dress shop had plenty of available options.

As Fran and Sid waited for the lift to take them to the event, a couple wearing matching white togas joined them.

‘I like your outfits,’ Fran said as she noted the silky white gowns, worn off the shoulder and fastened with matching belts adorned with a small pineapple brooch.

‘Good evening,’ the man said. ‘I’m Colin Scott, and this is my wife, Neeta.’

‘I’m Fran and this is my hubby, Sid,’ Fran said, ‘did you join the ship today?’

Fran gazed at Neeta’s cleavage and thought that it dwarfed the Grand Canyon. Studying the woman’s wrinkle-free face and plumped-up lips, she wondered if Neeta’s best friend was a cosmetic surgeon.

‘Yes, we arrived on the Gatwick flight.’ Neeta’s glossy lips bounced like two balloons and as they stepped into the lift, she swirled the hem of her toga, showing a long expanse of tanned thigh.

‘We’re very excited about the cruise,’ she added, flicking her blonde hair to one side.

‘My husband is a retired airline pilot, and cruising is such a welcome change from flying now.’

‘We’re frequent cruisers,’ Colin added proudly. ‘Flying was great, but there’s something about a ship that feels… well, grounded.’ He smiled, clearly pleased with his wit. When he spoke, his teeth gleamed against the glow of his tan.

Sid, dressed in one of Fran’s tunics over his shorts and belted at the waist, wore his faithful old leather sandals.

Circling his head, he had a crown of plastic laurel leaves which Fran had found in the pound shop at the shopping centre in Blackpool.

Fran, meanwhile, had fashioned a toga out of a sarong.

She’d wound a length of braid that she used to identify their suitcases into an armlet and interspersed it with silver bracelets.

As they waited for the lift to ascend, Fran glanced at Sid’s feet.

She wasn’t sure the ancient Greeks wore white sports socks with their sandals but decided to let it pass.

‘Here we are,’ Fran said.

As the doors opened, her eyes sparkled with excitement as they stepped into the restaurant’s reception area.

The lively strains of bouzouki music, played by the band from the quayside, filled the air.

Soft white lighting shifted to a serene blue, while servers in striped shirts and cotton trousers welcomed guests.

As members of The Cruise Club, they were offered a selection of complimentary Greek wine, ouzo and cocktails.

‘Don’t mind if I do,’ Fran said as she took a Santorini Sunset.

Colin and Neeta sipped on Athenian Mules, a drink combining ouzo, ginger and lime juice.

Fran’s eyes popped at the potency of her own drink. ‘This has got a kick,’ she said, as fiery vodka, peach schnapps and grenadine hit the back of her throat.

They were shown into the restaurant, and when asked if they would like to join a larger table, the two couples happily agreed. Fran settled beside a woman who introduced herself as Carmen, with her mother, Betty, alongside.

‘I saw you arriving today,’ Fran said, ‘have you settled in?’

‘Yes, thank you, our rooms are lovely,’ Carmen nervously replied.

Fran made more introductions to a couple from Yorkshire who told everyone their names were Don and Debbie.

Don owned a successful construction company, specialising in building new homes.

Debbie’s makeup, in dark shades, covered most of her face, and in her hair she’d pinned numerous plastic snakes.

Fran thought that Debbie’s rather scary look was an interpretation of Medusa, while Don, wearing a cape and carrying a helmet and plastic sword, told everyone that he was a gladiator.

Fran noted Don’s cricket pads, improvised as gladiator shin guards above his Sketcher’s walking sandals.

‘And this is Colin and Neeta,’ Fran said, ‘we met them in the lift. Haven’t they got gorgeous outfits,’ she added.

‘Toga-ther forever,’ Don quipped as they studied Colin and Neeta’s flowing white gowns.

‘My daughter and I don’t go in for all this dressing-up nonsense,’ Betty announced.

Fran watched Carmen wince and grip her mother’s arm in a gesture to prevent further comment. But Betty was in no mood to be silenced.

Staring at Debbie, Betty said, ‘I didn’t realise we’ve paid good money to watch folk make fools of themselves.’

Wearing a formal dress with a row of pearls at her throat, Betty picked up a napkin and shook it over her knees.

‘I think you all look lovely,’ Fran soothed and smiled at Carmen. ‘That’s a beautiful dress you’re wearing.’

‘Oh… thank you.’ Carmen ran her fingers over the fabric of her plain navy dress. ‘But it’s quite frumpy in fairness. I only booked the cruise last week and didn’t have time to shop for more appropriate clothes.’

‘Nonsense, the colour is lovely with your gorgeous hazel eyes.’

Fran wondered what Carmen would look like if she removed her thick heavy glasses.

She also wanted to ask if her mother was always so rude, but she could see that Sid had encouraged Betty to sample a Santorini Sunset.

Fran hoped that a good slug of alcohol might soften the elderly lady into a warmer mood.

‘Cheers, everyone!’ Fran called out and held up her glass. ‘Here’s to a wonderful evening.’

Food was served, and the Greek-themed menu was a hit with the guests.

Don was ecstatic over the moussaka and despite discovering that one of Debbie’s snakes had come loose and fallen into his dinner, he told Debbie she must make the recipe when they got home.

Colin and Neeta meanwhile, raved over plates of souvlaki, spanakopita, and tzatziki.

Betty picked at a Greek salad but brightened when she tasted a sweet baklava dessert. She ordered more then turned to Sid: ‘And I want another of those orangey Santorini drinks.’

The head chef, Jaden Bird, appeared. Wearing neatly pressed whites, a colourful bandana and a starched apron tied at the waist, guests applauded his creative ice sculpture display of the Parthenon. Sid placed his fingers to his lips and whistled his praise.

‘The chef is from Trinidad,’ Sid explained to Fran, ‘they say he’s travelled the world.’

‘Very nice.’ Fran nodded as the chef stood beside his creation.

‘Why did the ice sculpture refuse to come to the party?’ Don asked everyone. ‘Because it didn’t want to melt under social pressure!’

As Don began to belly laugh, Debbie jabbed her elbow into his side.

At the end of the meal, Fran turned to Carmen. ‘We’re heading to the show in the Neptune Theatre,’ she said. ‘Would you like me to keep a seat for you and your mum?’

Carmen looked at Betty, and Fran noted a look of relief when they realised that Betty had fallen asleep. With arms folded, Betty’s head rolled as she released a loud snore.

‘As good as a knock-out drop,’ Fran nodded to Betty’s empty glass.

‘If I’m quick, I’ll soon get Mum in bed,’ Carmen said, ‘and I can meet you in the Neptune Theatre for the show.’

‘In the bag with a bow on top.’ Fran stood. ‘Sid will give you a hand to get your mum to her room.’

Sid pushed back his chair and saluted. ‘At your service,’ he said.

He insisted on helping Carmen negotiate the route, and once inside Betty’s room, Carmen removed Betty’s shoes, and they carefully lifted the slumbering, slightly inebriated Betty onto her bed.

‘It would be a shame to wake her; she’s had a long day.’ Sid said as he left Carmen to tuck a blanket around Betty and settle her for the night. ‘I’ll get off and see you in the Neptune Theatre.’

Carmen tidied Betty’s room and a short while later, sighed with relief as she crept out. Closing the door she moved with an almost happy abandon. That Santorini Sunset was a lifesaver!

With any luck, Betty would be out for the count until breakfast time.

Fran had secured front-row seats in the Neptune Theatre. She was aware that the entertainment was about to begin and hoped that Carmen would be in time for the start of the show. Sid, sitting alongside, was chatting with Don.

Swivelling her head, Fran was delighted to see Carmen by the top of the stairs. ‘Cooee!’ Fran called out, and standing, she waved her hands. ‘We’re over here!’

Carmen dipped her head, conscious of onlooking guests. ‘Thanks,’ she whispered and sat down.

‘This is exciting, isn’t it?’ Fran gave Carmen a nudge and, digging deep into her enormous bag, produced a bag of sweets. ‘Grab a handful of these,’ she said, thrusting a mound of jelly babies into Carmen’s hand. ‘They’re my favourites.’

Carmen wondered how on earth Fran could continue to eat after the enormous dinner she’d put away.

Tucking into each course, Fran had sampled all the dishes on offer, finishing off with two helpings of dessert.

The jelly babies felt warm and with nowhere to subtly dispose of them, Carmen slowly began to chew.

The velvet-lined rows were packed and there was a buzz of anticipation as everyone waited for the start of the show. Background music began while latecomers searched for empty spaces, and people craned their necks as the house lights dimmed.

Fran gave Carmen a nudge. ‘Are you looking forward to it?’ she asked.

Carmen, her cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk, attempted to reply but only an unintelligible sound came out.

Taking to the stage, Peter stepped into a spotlight and the audience fell silent. ‘Good evening,’ Peter said, ‘have you all enjoyed our Greek evening, so far?’

There was a murmur of approval.

‘I want you to sit back and enjoy the Mamma Mia! themed show that our entertainers have lined up for you tonight,’ Peter smiled. ‘Please, put your hands together and let’s give them a big Diamond Star welcome!’ With an outstretched arm, which he swept dramatically, a band began to play.

The Neptune Theatre burst into a kaleidoscope of colour as dancers twirled onto the stage.

In a dazzling array of costumes in fiery reds, vibrant blues and sunny yellows, they whirled into lively choreography as they moved to the pulsating rhythm.

Wearing bell-bottomed jumpsuits with plunging necklines, the sleeves of the female costumes fluttered as they grooved in silver go-go boots.

Metallic belts caught the lights as male dancers in flared pants and matching vests stomped their platformed boots.

Fran dug into her bag and produced a neon headband and a pair of funky sunglasses. Waving her hands, she bounced in her seat to the beat. The energy was infectious, and soon the audience was clapping along, engrossed in the performance, which moved skilfully through a medley of tunes.

‘Eh, wasn’t that lovely,’ Fran said as the act finished.

The dancers gathered around Peter, who’d returned to the stage. ‘Everyone, please,’ he said, ‘let’s put our hands together for the one and only Melody Moon!’

Drums rolled, and a figure came into view at the centre of the stage. Fran gasped as she watched Melody Moon.

Wearing a jaw-dropping sequined gown that glittered when she moved and accentuated her traffic-stopping curves, Melody greeted her audience.

The shimmering gold hugged her hips, while the plunging neckline and exaggerated shoulders added drama.

At over six feet tall, a jewelled turban and heels of gravity-defying depth added height, and Melody’s wig cascaded platinum-blonde curls to her shoulders.

‘I wish I could do my face like that,’ Fran murmured to Carmen through a mouthful of sweets, nodding at Melody’s bold paint and powders.

Carmen stared at Fran’s makeup. Favouring bright shimmering blue eyeshadow, eyeliner and glossy peach lips, she’d done a cracking job of matching the artist on the stage.

Carmen straightened her glasses and touched her own pale face, aware that her hint of tinted moisturiser was vastly overshadowed by Fran and Melody.

As Melody began to sing, disco lights captured the spirit of ABBA’s heyday, and soon, the audience was swept up in the nostalgia and fun.

She launched into ‘Dancing Queen’ and nailed every note, enhancing her performance by moving in step with the dancers.

Between songs, Melody engaged with the crowd and her banter blended into a heartfelt tribute to the glory of ABBA.

She moved effortlessly from ‘Mamma Mia’ to ‘Take a Chance on Me’, and each number had its own choreography, which Melody improved with flourish.

Closing her act with a show-stopping rendition of ‘Waterloo’, Melody brought the audience to their feet.

‘Let’s hear it for Melody Moon!’ Peter called out as Melody left the stage to rapturous applause. ‘But don’t worry folks, Melody will be back on stage throughout your cruise to entertain you.’

Still clapping her hands, Fran fell back in her seat. ‘That was brilliant!’ she muttered to anyone within earshot.

Carmen took a moment to look around the room at the grinning faces. Momentarily freed from Betty’s clutches, Carmen realised that she was happy and turned to Fran, who returned her smile.

‘Would you like a drink?’ Fran asked, ‘Sid’s getting a round in.’

A server took their order, and as Peter announced the next act, Carmen sipped a creamy liqueur while Fran nestled beside her, cradling an Athenian Mule.

‘Don says he met the comedian earlier,’ Fran commented as the stage curtains opened. ‘He and Debbie had a chat with him.’

‘Did Don say that the comedian was funny?’

Fran slurped through a straw. ‘I’m sure he’ll be hilarious,’ she replied. ‘Hopefully, Don’s observations will improve once Dicky Delaney’s act gets started.’

‘Why, what did Don say?’ Carmen was intrigued.

Fran patted Carmen’s arm reassuringly. ‘Don is from Yorkshire,’ she explained.

Carmen was puzzled.

‘Don described Dicky as a joke book with the pages missing, a bit like watching paint dry.’ Fran stared ahead. ‘But I’m sure he’ll be good…’