Vodka, Martini Bianco, Galliano, Blue Curacao
‘Was the Titanic the ship that couldn’t sink? Contrary to popular belief it was never claimed so at the time. It was, however, possibly the most beautiful, most sumptuous ship ever built, where every last detail was of the highest quality and life was luxurious. Unless of course you were in steerage and had to share two bathrooms between seven hundred people. Your journey was far less enjoyable and in fact even your chances of survival were less certain. If you were a woman in steerage you had only a twenty-five per cent chance of survival. If you were a man you had little chance at all. In fact more men travelling in first class survived than third-class children.’
‘Cheery,’ India muttered next to me.
‘Imagine sharing a bathroom with three hundred and fifty people,’ I muttered back.
‘It’s bad enough sharing one with you.’ India looked round the theatre rather obviously. ‘So where’s Gabriel this morning?’
‘No idea, I’m not his keeper.’
‘Perhaps he’s tending to Marnie Miller’s needs.’
I bit down the swell of annoyance this caused me and tried to look indifferent.
‘You’re trying to look indifferent, aren’t you?’ India said.
‘I’m not trying to look anything!’
At this point the woman in the seat in front turned and glared at us.
I nudged India’s arm off the armrest between us and we had a bit of an undignified scuffle.
Down on the stage, the speaker – a very tall, gaunt man with glasses and a hunched posture that spoke of many years ducking under low doorways – was still going on about the Titanic. Behind him was a picture of the ship as it steamed away from the Irish coast towards its doom.
‘The ship was due to dock at New York on April 17th 1912, but, as we all know, she never arrived. She struck an iceberg three hundred and seventy miles south southeast of Newfoundland and sank in two hours and forty minutes. The exact location is believed to be forty-one degrees north, forty-nine degrees west. We will be passing this spot at approximately midday today.’
He clicked a remote-control device and the picture behind him changed to the iconic photograph of the ghostly bow of the Titanic bathed in an eerie blue light. He paused for dramatic effect and stared out at the audience. There was a collective gasp from a large party of Americans and even the sound of restrained sobbing from someone. It seemed a bit of an excessive reaction to me; it had sunk over a hundred years ago. A bit late to cry about it now?
‘And why does the Titanic provoke such interest, all these years later?’ the speaker continued, pacing the stage. ‘It wasn’t the first disaster at sea. It wasn’t even the greatest loss of life although 1,517 people perished. In 1865 a Mississippi riverboat exploded killing 1,800, but could you name it?’
‘So are you going to see him again?’ India whispered.
‘Who?’
‘Gabriel? Are you going to see him again?’
I shrugged.
‘Well, don’t let me stop you. I’m off to see Peter and Paula later to learn how to foxtrot,’ India said. ‘And no, I won’t be flirting with Liam or anybody else for that matter. If you want to spend the afternoon shagging each other’s brains out then feel free.’
The woman in front turned and glared at us again. I held out an apologetic hand and pressed my lips together.
‘We know John Jacob Astor and Benjamin Guggenheim died, but so did one-year-old Gertrud Klasen in third class, and two-year-old Helen Allison in first class.’
The theatre was filling up with people shuffling along the rows towards the middle so they could see the slides more easily and appreciate the scale of the disaster, the remains of which were apparently 12,500 feet beneath them. Or at least they would be later that morning when everyone was enjoying coffee and bagels in the food court and had already forgotten about Millvina Dean who had survived the disaster aged three months.
‘Spotted him yet?’ India whispered.
‘I’m not looking for him,’ I said, ‘I’m just looking around.’
‘Perhaps he’s looking for you? Wanting to drag you off again to slake his untameable lust.’
‘I’m not going to respond to that on the grounds that it might make me want to clout you with my seagull-decorated notebook,’ I said.
‘Ha! So you do care? All that bollocks about just having fun. You fancy him!’
‘Of course I fancy him, India. Or I wouldn’t have had sex with him, would I?’
‘The water temperature that night was minus two degrees Celsius. Few would have survived more than fifteen minutes. But the ship’s baker was rescued after two hours, claiming his survival was due to whisky.’
‘So are you going to, y’know?’
‘I think that comes under the category of mind your own business,’ I snapped.
‘I told you about the handcuffs and the blindfold,’ India said crossly.
‘And Milton Hershey of Hershey Chocolate had reservations to sail but cancelled them at the last minute. In fact the tragedy could have been worse. The ship was equipped to carry three and a half thousand passengers but there were only two thousand two hundred on board that night.’
‘I think you’re scared, that’s your trouble. For some reason you prefer to latch on to the losers and wankers like Tom and Ryan. And remember that idiot Chris? The way he mucked you about? Anyone else would have kicked him into touch after five minutes but you put up with him for six months. And you never did get those vinyls back, did you?’
‘He said someone nicked them.’
‘Sure they did. He flogged them on eBay you mean.’
‘Oh, shut up.’
India snorted. ‘You know I’m right.’
Down on the stage the speaker had found a laser pointer and was indicating the fatal flaw in the Titanic’s design. Something about bulkheads and the water getting in over the top.
I nudged India. ‘Chris was a loser. You’re right about him and he was rubbish in bed too.’
‘Well, there you are then.’
‘He called me by his ex-girlfriend’s name on more than one occasion and he had a thing about whipped cream that wasn’t always convenient. Good job I wasn’t dairy intolerant. Ryan was reasonable, but he liked to watch the football over my shoulder while we were having sex. That was a bit off-putting.’
‘Good grief.’
‘And I have the sneaking suspicion Tom was bisexual; he was very interested in my make-up’
India snorted into the sleeve of her jumper and shook with silent laughter. Eventually she calmed down and took a deep breath.
‘And Mr Gorgeous?’
I sighed.
India giggled. ‘That good, eh?’
I sighed again. ‘Brilliant. Some men know what they’re doing and some don’t bother trying. Some of them are better at other things perhaps?’
India pulled a face. ‘What, like servicing the car or peeling spuds? Who cares about that?’
‘I’m trying to be fair,’ I said.
The woman in front of me turned round again, exasperated, and I realised that most of the people around us were quite blatantly listening in to our conversation.
‘I’m trying to listen to this man talking about the Titanic,’ the woman said. ‘I don’t want to know what Chris or Tom did in bed.’
Someone further along, a woman with extravagantly coiffed blonde hair and evidence of several face-lifts, made slightly annoyed grumbling noises.
‘Well, I was interested,’ she said. ‘I was hoping to pick up some tips.’
‘The whipped cream?’ her neighbour said.
‘My second husband always wanted to do that but it’s full of calories. I said no, Burl, there’s diabetes in both our families. Not unless there’s a low-sugar version.’
The annoyed woman in front of us gave a strangled scream and stood up, edging her way along the row past a lot of people’s knees and handbags.
Down on the stage the speaker looked up, shading his eyes from the spotlight.
‘Sorry, is there a problem out there? Can’t you hear me?’
*
After we nearly fell out of the theatre giggling, there was a brief lull between activities and we went to find some lunch in the wine bar up at the top of the ship where Gabriel had taken me. I half hoped he might be there but he wasn’t. There were a couple of men already on the bar-stools: one with a Stetson and tooled leather boots to identify him as a Texan, the other in a Boston Red Sox T-shirt. They were steadily working their way down a bottle of Sailor Jerry and, by the backslapping and laughter, had clearly been doing so for some time.
India perused the cocktail list and decided, in view of our recent public disgrace, that we should have a Dirty Martini to celebrate. It was jolly nice too, very bracing. I was beginning to see the wisdom of a cocktail that was alcohol mixed with alcohol. It wasn’t pretending to be anything other than a stiff drink. It saved time.
We went to sit in a corner away from prying ears and anyone who might have witnessed our rapid exit from the lecture. Once the waiter had left us with our cocktails and a bowl of peanuts we relaxed.
‘Seriously. This Gabriel. What are his intentions?’ India said.
She took a handful of peanuts and started crunching, her expression alert to what information I would let slip. She looked clear-eyed and very pretty and far healthier than her alcohol intake over the last few days should have allowed.
‘His intentions? You sound like an outraged maiden aunt, not a woman who’s had carnal knowledge of her fiancé while he was dressed as a high court judge in Batman boxer shorts and no trousers, and while she was handcuffed to the bed. I still can’t get over that.’
‘Well, you wanted to know. You shouldn’t have asked. Seriously, what’s going on, Al? I know what’s going to happen – you talk the talk and can’t walk the walk. You’re saying it’s just mindless sex and no strings and you’re having a bit of a fling but you’re not like that. We both know it. You go all soppy and fall in love. By the time we get off the ship in Southampton you’ll be planning the wedding and then there will be tears. It’s taken you long enough to get over that shit Ryan. I don’t want you getting hurt like that again.’
I looked at her in surprise. This was very unexpected.
‘Good God, India, when did you start to care about the state of my heart? You’re serious all of a sudden.’
‘Well, maybe I am. I’m getting married soon. Who’s going to look out for you then?’
‘Yes, I do know you’re getting married soon; you remind me on a regular basis. And when did you ever look out for me? I was always the one looking out for you,’ I pointed out with strangled outrage. But India just shook her dark hair over her shoulder and waved her hand.
‘I mean does he even know where you live so he can send you flowers? Does he even know your surname so he can google you? Did he wear a condom so I know you didn’t catch any diseases or get pregnant?’
‘That’s definitely mind your own business. Would you tell me if Jerry did?’
‘Well, of course he doesn’t, but then I’m actually trying to get pregnant. Or was.’
It took a moment for this comment to register. I put my drink down suddenly, feeling shocked. What?
When had India jumped from weddings and twinkly table settings to serious thoughts about children?
‘Oh. What do you mean was? I didn’t know that,’ I said, feeling even more removed from my sister than I had before we got on the ship. We used to tell each other these kinds of things – the big things – and she hadn’t even mentioned this. This was huge.
‘Well, I don’t tell you everything, any more than you tell me,’ she said. Suddenly she looked away. ‘I’m not pregnant by the way – before you ask. I wouldn’t be knocking back all this booze if I was. And it’s looking like it might be harder than we thought.’
‘Have you had tests? I mean – you know?’
India looked out at the sea and then shrugged. ‘I expect we will. I’ll be sure to let you know when Jerry goes to give his sample,’ she finished a bit waspishly.
I knew my sister well enough to know she was seriously upset. I reached over and rubbed her arm and she ducked her head towards me to show she appreciated the gesture.
‘Seriously, India, if there’s anything I can do?’
‘Oh, you know, we’ll sort it out. I’m sure we will.’
It was suddenly blindingly obvious why my sister was so obsessed with the minutiae of her wedding. It was giving her something to focus on, so she could avoid dwelling on the other, far more significant matter.
She picked up her Dirty Martini and gave me that look that said please don’t ask me any more questions. So I gulped mine back too and had to suppress a coughing fit. Then I stuffed the last of the peanuts in my mouth.
‘I suppose we should be going to the dance classes soon,’ I said, searching for another topic of conversation and not peppering her with questions I was desperate to ask. I could see she’d already spent enough time worrying about this. She needed something normal, to have some fun, and I could help there. ‘It’s one o’clock already.’
India smiled at me then and picked up the cocktail menu.
‘Well, there’s time for another quick one, don’t you think? Let’s have a White Lady.’
‘What’s in that?’ I asked, relieved she had moved into safer waters and we were still okay, or as okay as two sisters who were trying to mend their relationship could be. One day at a time. One cocktail at a time.
‘Just a little bit of gin,’ she said with a wicked twinkle. And I gave a laugh. It was going to be lethal, but maybe that’s just what we needed.
The ship gave a sudden definite lurch as India went up to the bar. The weather was worsening. Outside we could see spray drenching the windows and, beyond, the lowering grey skies. The waiter laughed and made a grab for an ice bucket that was sliding towards the edge of the bar.
‘Whoa there, the forecast said it was going to be a bit bumpy once we headed out. Batten down the hatches!’
I had always thought of myself as a good sailor. I’d even coped pretty well with a gale in the Bay of Biscay, but then I’d never been on the Atlantic. This was going to be interesting.
We went to Peter and Paula’s class after lunch in the ballroom. Two cocktails or not, the weather was getting rougher. This time the dominant colour for our dance masters was turquoise. A turquoise satin shirt for Peter and matching sequins and ruffles for Paula.
‘The foxtrot!’ Peter declaimed, spinning Paula round in front of him. ‘And not just any foxtrot – we are going to teach you something called the American foxtrot. As with so many things, America took a good idea and improved it.’
‘What, like turning chips into curly fries or pasta into mac and cheese?’ I said.
India nudged me. ‘Sssh!’
Peter was still talking. ‘You’ve all heard of slow, slow, quick, quick, slow? Well, here is where you use it. It’s simple, effective and easy to learn. Promenade twinkles, fallaway twinkles and closed twinkles with a promenade-closed ending can all come later. For today we are back to the basic steps and the sway and glide of one of the most versatile of dances.’
There seemed to be a shortage of male partners this time. There was certainly no sign of Liam.
India and I did what we could, grasping on to each other’s elbows and treading all over each other’s feet, but it was increasingly difficult to glide and sway attractively when the ship was ploughing through what felt like quite significant waves.
‘And glide and glide, feet relaxed and rocking. Walk through the music and glide, and glide and slowly, slowly,’ Peter hollered over the music.
After a few minutes of stumbling around and treading on each other we gave up.
‘Wow, I don’t think I should have had that White Lady,’ India said as we made our way to the edge of the dance floor. ‘I think I need a sit-down.’
We sat down on a couple of the gilt chairs that surrounded the dance floor. India leaned her head in her hands and groaned a little.
‘But this ship has the most sophisticated stabilisers anywhere on the high seas,’ I said, paraphrasing the ship’s publicity literature. ‘You can’t be seasick?’
‘Okay, I’m not. I just need a rest. Don’t you feel it?’
‘No, not really. Just a bit of movement.’
‘I think we need to go up to where I can see the horizon, don’t you?’
‘Okay, if you think it will help.’
We made our way up to the promenade deck and went outside into the fresh air. This in itself was not straightforward. The doors to the deck were very heavy and were being kept closed by a force seven gale outside that wanted them shut; one of them swung back, making me rock even more.
Eventually we made it to the sheltered area at the back of the ship where we could see the angry grey waves crashing away behind the ship. There were also an outdoor pool and a hot tub there, both of which were roped off with ‘Danger Do Not Enter’ signs on them. They seemed a bit unnecessary to me. We watched mesmerised as the water in them slopped and crashed about with the motion of the ship, spraying the contents over the side. It was very impressive. Anyone even considering going in would have to be certifiable.
‘I think I need a cup of tea,’ India said rather weakly.
This in itself was startling; India never drank tea.
We struggled with the doors again to get back inside and found her a cup of tea and a piece of cake that she couldn’t eat.
‘Are you sure you’re not pregnant?’ I said.
‘Definitely not; I think I’m seasick.’
There were lots of other people with the same suspicion. Even some of the diehard food court regulars were sitting looking steadfastly out of the window with only a glass of water for company.
I left her there, clinging on to the table, and brought back some seasickness pills.
‘The pharmacist says either stay up and look at the horizon or go to sleep,’ I said.
India took her tablets and finished her water.
‘Bed,’ she said. ‘I think that would be best. I’m going to bed.’
‘Do you want me to come with you?’
‘Not unless you feel ill too?’
After she’d gone I sat and finished her piece of cake – always tidy, that’s me. Then I went off for a wander. Even after all this time there were parts of the ship I hadn’t seen yet, including a spa, a casino, a gym and a cinema. Marnie was due to give another talk tomorrow morning but the only thing going on now in the space between afternoon tea and cocktails was a talk in the smaller of the two lecture theatres on the ship’s catering. Well, at least it would mean a nice sit-down. I went in and found a seat near the back. A stout chef in his whites was already talking.
‘The Champs-Elysées restaurant routinely serves seven hundred and fifty covers per sitting. The ship has its own bakery and pastry departments. I am the executive chef and one hundred and two chefs work under my supervision …’
I was aware someone was edging along the row of seats towards me and I looked up with a polite smile. It was Marnie Miller and she was smiling too but in a rather odd way.
She sat down next to me and crossed her legs elegantly.
‘… the ship loads dry and frozen goods every ten days. Dairy products and fresh seafood every week. There is a permanent provisions team of nine people who load and distribute throughout the ship’s galleys and bars …’
‘Hi,’ I said.
‘I’m glad I caught up with you. I want to talk to you,’ Marnie whispered back.
I didn’t answer. Something about this – I wasn’t sure what – made me feel very uneasy indeed.
‘… the ship has nine bars and eight different places to eat. Every day seventy pizzas, three hundred English scones, and two thousand canapés are consumed. On this transatlantic crossing we expect to use over thirty tons of fresh fruit and vegetables, twenty thousand litres of fresh milk and over thirty thousand eggs …’
That answered the egg question then. I would have to tell Gabriel next time I saw him.
‘I need to have a quiet word,’ Marnie repeated, her voice hissing serpent-like in my ear. ‘It’s in your own interests. I think you should listen. It’s about Gabriel Frost.’