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“LOOK AT THE TIME,” I heard Ashanta say. “We’re going to miss breakfast.”
“What’s the weather like outside?”
“I haven’t been out. The forecast’s good.”
“Switch the radio on.”
She flicked the switch above the dressing table where she was combing her hair. I threw my legs over the side of the bed and looked at my watch. Eight-thirty.
“And I just like to say a very happy birthday to Marjorie Reynolds,” Midshipman Collins said on Aurora FM. “Eighty-four today. Here’s wishing you many happy returns, Marjorie, and do pop in to Passenger Services when you’re passing: we’ve something here that should make your special day that extra bit more special - if you know what I mean.” He chuckled.
“What do you think they’ve bought her?” I asked.
“A crack pipe.”
“Do you know her?”
“No, do you?”
“No.”
“A message to all our passengers now. We’ll be arriving in the Falklands in just over two hours’ time. Don’t forget to sign up for the excursions. There’s a set of lists in the Services office. Something for everyone. And of course you know what they say: don’t be a poop, get with a group.”
“The Falklands?” I said. “That was quick. I didn’t expect us to arrive for at least a couple of days yet.”
She turned to me. “Just what I was thinking.”
“Ashanta?”
“Yes?”
“Will you marry me?”
She was about to answer, but paused.
“What?” I said.
“I - I’ve got this amazing feeling you’ve already asked me that. How ... weird.”
“And, er, what did you say?”
She came over with a bright smile and wrapped her arms round me and kissed me. “Oh, of course I said yes. Yes, yes, yes.”
“You weren’t – climbing a ladder at the time?”
She did a double-take. “Climbing a - ? How did you know?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. She sat on my knee and kissed me again. “If we’re having the same dreams, we really must be made for each other.”
“I didn’t dream about that. I dreamt about the fishes ... again. I seem to be having more and more dreams about those bloody fish.”
“Poor Hugo. We’ll have to get you to a doctor as soon as we get back. Don’t want you going doolally.”
“Maybe I should go and see Dr Tomlinson.”
“Like he’s going to be sympathetic. ‘You’re a junkie, my boy, you deserve everything you get.’”
“It wasn’t heroin.”
“But you know what they’re like.”
Midshipman Collins butted in. “And now it’s time for a little light music. Here’s a rarity. An atonal version of John Barry’s The Man With the Golden Gun, recorded in Vienna in 1985 by the Austrian National Zither Orchestra. Bela Rahn conducts.”
At this point, I’d normally have resumed the conversation, but what came out of the radio was so distressing I couldn’t remember what we were talking about. Ashanta got up and switched it off.
“When you say, will you marry me,” she said, “how soon do you mean?”
“I mean asap.”
She laughed. “What about our parents?”
“I’ve thought about that. The way I see it, we’ll be doing them a favour. Do you know what the cost of the average wedding is nowadays? Not to mention the family fallout from us even mooting the idea at our age.”
“I suppose we could renew our vows in St John the Baptist’s when we get home.”
“Exactly. And if they want to take photos and wear hats, so be it. But there won’t be the same pressure. It’s for their own good.”
“Shit alive, I love thee.”
“In that case, I’ll call into Passenger Services and get Midshipman Collins to ring ahead to the Falklands, buttonhole a vicar.”
“Make sure he’s a rabid Anglican. If we can’t get the Book of Common Prayer, I may have to reconsider. And don’t forget, everyone on board thinks we’re already married.”
“Like it’s not an open secret that we’re the world’s biggest liars. I don’t expect anyone to show surprise.”
There was a knock at the door. I opened it to find a steward without a hat holding a huge bouquet of flowers.
“Compliments of the captain,” he said.
“Er, thank you,” I replied.
Ashanta and I exchanged quizzical faces. I took the flowers, closed the door and removed the card.
Many congratulations on your engagement. I showed it to Ashanta. Her eyes grew till they almost burst. She gestured at the door. Within a few seconds we were both in the corridor.
“How does he know?” she whispered. “He must have the room bugged! We were right all along!”
“There must be some other explanation. If he was up to something shifty, he wouldn’t just show his hand like that.”
“You’ve only just proposed. We hadn’t even left the room. What other explanation can there be?”
“Maybe we should ask him.”
We went back inside and changed into our clothes. I shaved. When I came out of the bathroom, I noticed that the bourbon and the tequila bottles were in the bin. I took them out. Empty.
Ashanta shrugged. “Not me.”
“Someone must have been in here.”
Nothing was making sense. You wouldn’t break in and drink yourself stupid and leave everything untouched. That amount of alcohol, you’d probably pass out. And you wouldn’t send a bouquet of flowers the second you heard good news through an illegal listening device.
Ashanta sprayed herself with Chanel and we went out looking for Mason. First stop, his cabin, but he wasn’t at home. And he wasn’t at breakfast or anywhere on the deck. The salon, the cinema and the library also drew a blank. Which meant he must be somewhere in the crew quarters, out of bounds to us.
“If we’re about to dock, he’s probably on the bridge,” Ashanta said.
The Falklands had been visible for about an hour now. A group of passengers had gathered by the railings to watch them grow larger. Mr Endersby and Mrs Patel were amongst them, holding hands. Mr Endersby turned and looked at us. He dropped Mrs Patel’s hand and she also turned, as if in response to the sudden withdrawal of affection.
“Everything okay?” Endersby said. He made it sound more than a rhetorical question.
“We’re looking for Captain Mason,” I said.
“I hear congratulations are in order.”
“How did you know?”
“Derek Goulding told us.”
“How did he know?” Ashanta said.
“I’ve no idea. Is it meant to be a secret? I used to think you were already married.”
“I’m just puzzled.”
Mrs Patel smiled. She reclaimed Endersby’s hand and nuzzled up against him. “You two look like a slightly younger version of us,” she said quietly. “Don’t they, Paul?”
I felt Ashanta’s skeleton shudder. I doubled, she redoubled and for a few moments we had a trembling bidding war.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Nice to know you concur,” Mrs Patel replied.
We left them to canoodle and watch the Falklands while we went to the Passenger Services Office. The sky was heavily overcast now, and it felt like a storm was brewing. I’d almost forgotten what seagulls sounded like, but one landed on the guard-rail and reminded me. Midshipman Collins was on his way out as we went in. He stopped to shake our hands.
“I’ve just done you a shout-out,” he said. “Last thing I did before I handed over to Justin. Congratulations by Cliff Richard. I know you’re both young, but hey, some of his stuff’s simply timeless.”
“How did you know?” Ashanta said.
“Derek Goulding told me.”
“I don’t suppose you know how he found out?” I said. “We’re trying to track the leak to its source.”
“I believe Celia Soper told him.”
“Celia Soper?”
“I’m not sure I should be telling you this. But of course it is your business. She does something with cards. You’d be surprised by how much she knows.”
I drew my head back. “You mean, she’s gone round telling everyone we’re engaged on the basis of a Tarot reading?”
“It’s the sort of thing she does. Like I say, she’s very good.”
“I don’t believe it,” Ashanta said.
I saw we weren’t going to make any further headway. “We’re looking for someone to perform the ceremony.”
Midshipman Collins whistled and grinned. “You mean, today?”
“Ideally.”
“You do realise it’s just a myth that ship’s captains have the legal authority to perform marriages?”
“We weren’t thinking of getting Captain Mason to do it. We were hoping you might be able to use whatever contacts you have on the Falklands.”
“You’re looking for a registrar, right?”
“We’re looking for a Church of England vicar,” Ashanta said.
He silently gosh-ed. “I’m not promising anything. I’ve never sent out for a vicar before, but I’ll do my best. We should be arriving in port in about twenty-five minutes. Where will you be?”
“We’re going for a spot of breakfast,” Ashanta said, “then we’ll sit in the viewing lounge. It’s too cold on deck for my liking.”
“I’ll come and find you.” He crossed his fingers on both hands and held them up and shook them. He seemed as excited as we were.
Breakfast was a fried egg and three rashers, and porridge for Ashanta. Afterwards, we went and sat in the viewing lounge, but it rained and a mist fell, so there was nothing to see. We picked up a magazine each, Ashanta an old copy of Private Eye and me a New Scientist. The others were a mixture of car, fashion and celebrity glossies.
Within about five minutes, I found myself in the middle of one of the most mind-boggling articles I’d ever read. It discussed a University of London physicist called David Bohm who believed the universe was a hologram. Underneath our reality lay a ‘superholographic’ level which might contain things we couldn’t even guess at. I showed it to Ashanta.
“So who’s projecting this hologram?” she said, when she’d read it.
The door rolled back and Midshipman Collins leaned against the jamb. “Good news.”
We stood up together. The New Scientist fell at our feet, yesterday’s news.
“Subject to certain formal preliminaries, you’re to be married by the Bishop of the Falkland Islands himself at noon. In the southernmost Anglican cathedral in the world.”
Ashanta cupped her mouth and bent slightly. “Oh my God. A bishop and a cathedral?”
“What ‘formal preliminaries’?” I asked, as a way of not-so-fasting her.
“I believe he simply wants to reassure himself that you’re not a couple of flibbertigibbets. I told him of course you’re not, but you know ...”
“How soon till we disembark?” Ashanta said.
“Ten minutes.”
“We’ve got to get rings. Oh my God, Hugo, we’re going to be married!” She hugged me whilst bouncing.
Midshipman Collins turned to me and cleared his throat. “There is, of course, the problem of, er, who’s going to be your best man ...”
“The job’s yours.”
“Oh, fantastic-a-rooney. And I hope you won’t object to my asking Captain Mason to give you away, Miss Jones. He’ll expect a role.”
“It’d be an honour,” she said.
“I’ll get Tom to take photographs. He’s won awards. The bishop wants to meet you as soon as you land, of course. Once he’s satisfied you’re not What Happens in Vegas, he’ll flick the green light switch. Shouldn’t take more than thirty minutes. Then I’ll take you to the jewellers.”
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she said, laughing.
“I’ll let you get changed. I’ll meet you both at the debarkation point in - half an hour?”
“Make it twenty,” she said. “Not twenty hours, I mean - ”
“He knows what you mean,” I said.
We were ready in fifteen. We didn’t have too many clothes so we chose from among those we’d been wearing to the captain’s table. I wore a navy suit and pink tie; Ashanta, a cream and yellow floral print skirt. I polished my brogues; she refreshed her lipstick. We took ninety pounds out of the drawer for rings and another fifty for drinks and food. I hoped the best man and the bride’s proxy father would chip in.
Midshipman Collins had hired a car. He drove us to the bishop’s house, a sturdy granite box on a slope facing the sea, and waited outside. The housekeeper ushered us into the living room, where the silence was emphasised by the slow ticking of a shelf-clock on the mantelpiece. There was an open fire with two smouldering logs, a collection of sideboards and low tables and four armchairs with antimacassars. It looked like my grandma’s house.
The door opened, and the bishop entered in a cassock. He was about fifty with long grey hair and a long beard. A whiff of the Merlin.
“Good morning, good morning,” he said stiffly. The sort of tone you’d adopt if you thought you might be duty-bound to say no to someone.
We stood up. “I’m Hugo, this is Ashanta.”
“And you’re on holiday, I take it?” he said. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Thomas Soames.” He shook our hands. “Sit down, please sit down.”
Mrs Housekeeper came in with a tray of tea and malted milk biscuits.
Ashanta cleared her throat. “I understand you’re keen to find out how seriously we take the commitment we’re about to make.”
“I’d put it slightly differently,” he replied. “I’d call it understanding the seriousness of the commitment. Because it is a serious commitment, regardless of how one happens to view it.”
“I understand that I’m to take Hugo for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish and obey till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance. Is that serious enough?”
He smiled. “We don’t necessarily expect wives to ‘obey’ nowadays.”
“Honour, then.”
“Are you confirmed?”
“Is that necessary?” I asked.
“I’m simply curious,” he said.
“I’m not,” I replied. “Ashanta is.”
“Let’s concentrate on you then, Hugo. Are you a Christian?”
“I’m an agnostic,” I replied.
“I’m working on him,” Ashanta said.
“How long have you known each other?”
“Two years.”
“Are you living together?”
“No,” she said, “but to tell the truth, we have been having hot sex for a lot of that time.”
His teacup slipped. “I see. Do you feel the need to confess that to God?”
“I just have,” she said. “Look, please, we’re not stupid. We know fifty per cent of marriages end in divorce but we don’t belong in that category. I know we don’t. We both know. Don’t ask me how. Just have faith in our faith. Please? We’re fed up to the back teeth of living in sin, if it’s any help. It was glorious for a while, but now we just want to get hitched.”
He smiled indulgently and nodded. “The service will be at noon. I understand you’re keen to use the 1662 Form of Solemnization.”
And weirdly, that was that. We talked about the weather for another five minutes. Apparently, it was often wet and windy here. Snow could fall at almost any time of the year. Gales were frequent. The odd thing was, as I looked out of the window at a flotilla of low-flying cumuli and a black sea, I was already in love with the place.
Midshipman Collins took us into Port Stanley to get rings. Then we went back to the cathedral, where Captain Mason was waiting. The four of us sat in the pews and Ashanta prayed on a hassock while I looked at my shoes. At twelve precisely, the bishop emerged from the vestry and Midshipman Collins and I went to stand at the altar. A few people I didn’t recognise – locals, I guess – came in to sit and watch. Ashanta took Captain Mason’s arm and came to stand by me.
The whole thing took about a quarter of an hour. Then we had a short Eucharist. Midshipman Collins and Ashanta took communion; Mason and I received a blessing. As we left the church, the ten or so people in the pews stood up and clapped. We kissed in the doorway and someone whistled, then we lined up for photos with Tom.
Afterwards, the five of us went for a drink and a meal in a pub called the Victory Bar. I had chicken in a basket and we talked about excursions. The three officers had to get back to the Aurora within the hour, but Ashanta was determined that she and I should begin our married life by exploring some of the smaller islands.
“I believe there’s an excursion tomorrow morning,” Mason said.
“When’s the Aurora weighing anchor?” she said.
“Four days.”
“At exactly what time?”
He laughed. “You’re not thinking of going it alone?”
“Much as I love and respect my fellow passengers,” she said, “I’ve no intention of allowing them to gatecrash my honeymoon.”
“So – what? You’ll hire a car?”
She shrugged. “Or some bikes. Or a rowing boat.”
He sighed and raised his finger in the direction of the bar. The landlord came over, a stubbly, muscular man in his forties, clutching a tea towel.
“Meal okay?” he said.
“Charlie, may I introduce Mr and Mrs Ellis, newlyweds? They want showing round the smaller islands. Anyone with a boat, a standing acquaintance with the best hotels and three days to spare.”
Charlie blew. “I can think of a few names. How about Uncle Barnard over at the bar?”
“I don’t know him.”
“He’s not actually my uncle. Or anyone’s, far as I’m aware. But he’s got a good boat, he knows the islands and the tides better than anyone. Knows where the mines are too. I can’t vouch for the hotels, mind you, but I’ve got a list.”
“Mines?” I said. “What mines?”
“Landmines, planted by the Argies.”
“How much does he charge?” I asked.
“Let me take care of that,” Mason said. “In my capacity as stand-in parent.”
“Much obliged,” Charlie said, leaving before I could argue.
Uncle Barnard looked to be between sixty and seventy with a close-trimmed white beard and a peaked cap that was probably once white but was now a mixture of greys and browns. The peak was the only thing about him that wasn’t crumpled and he got more crumpled as his body got closer to the floor, until his wellies seemed to say enough was enough, if we don’t stop it now we’re going to concertina. He had a pipe in his mouth whether he was smoking it or not. He only spoke to say ‘bastard’.
Over the next three days, he ferried us from island to island – most of them too small for names. We had speed-sex in the heather and watched the sun set and shivered and slept on the boat with our limbs entangled and washed in the sea. What I’d first felt when I’d looked out of Bishop Soames’s window became a passion. I loved this place. It was as if I’d been waiting my whole life to arrive. I wanted Ashanta and I to come back and rear sheep and have six children and grow old here. We discussed such a thing in whispers and, on one particular island so small the cartographers didn’t even know of its existence, we buried our wedding rings and swore to God we’d return to reclaim them and settle.
“That means you’re a Christian now,” she said.
I shrugged. But I felt the force of what she said. I was small. This was big.
“I told you, you were a farm child,” I said.
She grinned. We kissed. The next day, we went back to the Aurora.
Then she fell ill.
