Here Come the Girls (23 page)

Eric was making some small talk about wine with Nigel and having a ‘Have you tried the South African Merlot?’ conversation.

‘How come we have an officer at our table?’ Olive quietly asked Frankie.

‘They join passengers sometimes. And he’s not just an officer, he’s the Captain.’

Olive’s eyes sprang open to their limit. ‘No! I thought that short bloke posing for photos the other night was the Captain.’

‘Apparently not – he’s the Deputy Captain. This guy is the big cheese.’

The starter arrived. One thing about this cruise dining, thought Frankie, they didn’t have to wait more than five minutes for the food to arrive.

Ven was very well-behaved through her starter. Her friends had just begun to relax when her mouth revved up again.

‘I don’t know why I ordered duck.’ She nudged Nigel with unintended force and knocked a prawn off his fork. ‘I think they look much better swimming about on a river than carved up on a plate.’

‘Is she okay?’ Roz mouthed at Olive.

Nigel gallantly humoured her. ‘The same cannot be said for prawns. Ugly wee fellows.’

‘They’re blue, aren’t they, in real life? So much better pretty pink.’

‘I think we might have to take her out and upstairs for a sleep,’ Roz whispered to Olive. ‘She’s going to die when she remembers this in the morning.’

‘We had some lovely ice creams today in Cor-flu,’ said Ven, trying to contribute something to the conversation which made her sound in control. ‘I didn’t eat much of mine, sadly,’ she confided in Nigel. ‘I didn’t feel all that brilliant. And you know what Greek toilets are like.’

‘Shut her up, will you!’ Roz barked at Olive.

‘I had to mime in the chemist,’ Ven went on.

‘Okay, that’s it,’ said Frankie, standing and grabbing Ven’s handbag.

‘Ven, how many of those tablets have you taken now?’ said Roz.

‘I took another couple before I came out tonight. The farmer said four, didn’t she? So that’s what I took.’ Ven’s eyelids were drooping now.

‘I’m not so sure you should have taken any at all now,’ said Roz, turning then to explain to Nigel about the Greek tablets and the non-English-speaking pharmacist.

Nigel prepared to stand. ‘Let me help you take Venice to the sick bay. We’ll get those tablets checked out with Pierre Floren.’

‘It’s okay, I’ll take her,’ said Frankie decisively. She was going for damage limitation now. Ven would be so embarrassed about this as it was; being helped out of the restaurant by the Captain might have her throwing herself overboard with shame.

‘I’m not going anywhere before I’ve eaten my duck!’ Ven protested, trying to sit down again, but being stopped by Frankie’s short – but full – might.

‘Yes, you are. Come on.’ She turned to Olive and Roz. ‘You two stay here and carry on with your evening. I’m okay. I’m tired anyway, after all that sun. It won’t do me any harm to have an early night.’

Roz’s lip curled. Who was she kidding? She was doing this for brownie points. Saint bloody Frankie of Barnsley. Miss ‘Holier-Than-Thou’, Miss Butter-Wouldn’t-Melt! She threw a big mouthful of wine down her throat in anger.

‘Sorry folks, excuse us,’ said Frankie to the rest of the table, who were making lots of noises of concern. ‘Have a lovely evening.’

‘Where am I going, Frankie?’ asked Ven.

‘For a little lie-down, love,’ said Frankie.

‘Then goodnight, good people,’ said Ven with a wide, sloppy arc of a smile. ‘Goodnight, Mr Ocean Sea.
See
you around. Geddit –
see
!’ She laughed at the pun. Frankie gave her a tug and steered her to the nearest exit with enough skill for anyone to think they were just two very sober ladies off to the loo.

‘Oh dear,’ said Irene. ‘I do hope she’s all right.’

‘She will die tomorrow if she remembers this,’ sighed Olive. ‘Ven is just the loveliest quietest person. It has to be those tablets which have sent her loopy.’

‘Poor girl,’ said Irene softly.

‘Well, she will be looked after in the capable hands of Dr Floren,’ said Nigel.

‘I know,’ said Olive. ‘Frankie had sea-sickness on day two. She met him and his magic needle then.’

‘Terrible thing, sea-sickness,’ said Nigel in his soft deep burr. ‘I have only ever suffered from it once when I first started my career, and the sea wasn’t even that rough. I sometimes think I was given that bout so I’d know how bad it was for my passengers in the future and be able to fully sympathise.’

The mains finished, it was time to pick sweets.

‘Oh, Lord, look,’ said Olive with a heavy sigh. ‘What a shame. Coffee profiteroles, that’s Ven’s absolute favourite. She loves anything coffee-flavoured.’

‘The waiters will get you a portion to take up to her,’ said Nigel.

‘I don’t think she’ll be in a fit state to eat it,’ Olive replied. She was feeling guilty about picking out desserts whilst Frankie had the responsibility of sorting Ven out and said to Roz, ‘I think I might skip pudding and go and see what’s happening.’

‘If Ven thinks she’s ruined any more dinners, she’ll be upset. We’ll go later,’ said Roz, stopping her. She wasn’t being selfish; she knew how Ven’s brain worked.

Olive was torn, but she accepted that Roz was right. So she picked a trio of chocolate desserts and a coffee to follow and remained at the table.

‘How many times have you cruised then, Captain?’ Eric was saying to Nigel. It seemed he just couldn’t resist asking.

As soon as dinner was over, Olive made straight for one of the many phones around the ship and rang Ven’s cabin. Frankie’s voice answered straight away and told them that Ven was sleeping like a baby.

‘It was definitely that medication she bought in Corfu,’ she went on. ‘The doctor said that it’s far stronger than would ever be allowed in the UK, and the side-effects can include severe confusion and even hallucinations. No more than two are supposed to be taken within twenty-four hours, and under no circumstance should they be mixed with any alcohol. Ven, however, had a large port and brandy when we were scoffing scones.’

‘Oh God, will she be okay?’

‘She just needs to sleep. She nodded off as the doctor was talking to her. She had to be wheeled to her cabin by one of the crew.’ Frankie laughed. ‘Oh poor old Ven. Listen – I’m going to stay with her this evening. I don’t mind at all. I’ve got to a good bit in my book so I’m happy enough. You two go and have a nice evening.’

‘I don’t want to if you’re stuck in a cabin all night,’ said Olive.

‘Don’t be daft,’ Frankie said. ‘One early night on a dream cruise is no hardship. Go enjoy.’

So Roz and Olive went to see the comedian who was performing in Flamenco. He used to be on the television in the eighties and was always one of Olive’s favourites. She only had to look at him and his daft hairstyle and his pained-with-life expression and she was laughing. Then Roz suggested going for a bit of fresh air out on deck. She was drinking her fourth large glass of wine which had only served to amplify her earlier feelings of annoyance with ‘Saint Francesca’. As usual with Roz, her anger was mostly with herself, but warped to target someone else. Roz knew deep down that Frankie’s motives in staying in to look after Ven were purely selfless because Frankie was always the most kind and considerate person. Roz hated that their friendship was over – at her own insistence. Not once had she let anyone try to explain to her what had happened that night; she had judged and damned and slammed her heart shut on her friend but more times than she cared to remember since, she had fought against swallowing her pride and asking what had led to the two people she loved most in the world falling from their pedestals.

Roz looked over the back of the ship and watched the sea churning and foaming. She imagined pushing Frankie and her stupid short white hair and big fake tits over into it. Then an annoying unbidden vision came to her of Frankie at school, laughing, jollying her out of every bad mood. They had been inseparable –
Froz
– and if Frankie ever died early, Roz had made her a solemn vow that she would somehow break into her house and throw away her Rampant Rabbit and furry handcuffs which she kept in her bedside cabinet before her mum and dad spotted them – a duty only the most intimate of friends could be trusted with. Roz took a fierce long drink from her glass to drown those thoughts.

‘Gorgeous out here, isn’t it?’ said Olive. Really, there was nothing but dark to see. But pin-prick lights from small boats in the distance could have been stars for all they knew – giving the impression they were sailing in the sky rather than on water. ‘Pity Ven’s missing tonight. I really enjoyed that comedian. Mind you, he’s doing another show in a few days so she’ll catch him then. Frankie would have enjoyed him as well.’

‘Saint Frankie, you mean,’ huffed Roz.

Olive didn’t dignify that with a reply. Instead, she said, ‘Frankie looked a bit tired as well tonight, I thought. I don’t think I’ve ever slept as hard or as long in my life. I wonder what they put in this sea air?’

But Roz was in the mood for some Frankie-assassination and wouldn’t be dragged away from the subject. ‘Frankie wasn’t tired,’ she scoffed with a bitter tone to her voice. ‘She just wanted to look self-sacrificing. You watch – tomorrow there’ll be a spring leaking out from where she sat at dinner. All the people in wheelchairs will come to it to be healed. Saint Frankie and the new Lourdes.’

‘Give over, Roz,’ said Olive tightly.

‘Or rather “Whore-des”.’

‘Oh for God’s sake, leave her alone,’ snapped Olive. ‘We’re on holiday!’

But Roz was on a roll now. The alcohol was weakening the holds on all those thoughts and questions which she was constantly having to push back into their boxes – such as why were Olive and Ven even friends with someone who could do that to one of their own? And why did Roz always feel that
she
was in the wrong whenever she mentioned what Frankie had done behind her back? Wasn’t she allowed to feel pissed off that her so-called best friend tried to shag her boyfriend?

‘Well, I just find it funny how you’re both on her side,’ needled Roz.

‘What do you mean?’ said Olive, thinking that she really was fed up with the whole Roz and Frankie thing. Four years with no sign of a let-up. She decided on a diversionary tactic. ‘Let’s go down to Samovar and have a hot chocolate.’

‘Why do you always want to shut me up whenever I talk about Frankie trying to cop off with Manus?’

‘Because it’s ancient history,’ sighed Olive. ‘And everything that could possibly have been said about it has been said.’

‘Maybe in your book, but it hasn’t in mine!’ spat Roz. ‘I tell you this: if Ven had tried it on with your David, I wouldn’t have ever spoken to her again. It’s called loyalty.’

Loyalty?
Olive almost laughed, but it would have been a very hollow sound. If Roz only knew it was bloody
loyalty
that had got them all into this mess in the first place.

‘Drop it, Roz. I’m going down to the Samovar; are you coming or not?’

‘Actually no, for once, Ol, I won’t drop it,’ said Roz. She was like a heat-seeking missile. Once she trained her sights on something, she couldn’t let up.

Olive tried to take Roz’s arm to persuade her inside, but she pulled roughly back.

‘Why is it that I always felt you sided with Frankie over me? Why didn’t you have a go at her for being a total bitch to me?’

Olive chewed on her lip. This was getting dangerous now. And she’d had a couple of wines herself. ‘Of course we said something to her,’ she said crossly.

‘Yeah, course you did. What did you say? That if she lost weight, got some false tits and dyed her hair blonde that she might have more chance with Manus because she’d look more like me then? Too bad she couldn’t grow a foot taller as well, but you can’t have everything, I suppose.’

‘Roz, you’re talking stupid,’ said Olive. She was a gentle woman with vast reserves of patience, but after four long years of this, Roz had used them all up.

‘You see, you still won’t say anything against poor little Frankie who’s lost her job and her boyfriend and sold her house to buy some new tits. Nice to know who your friends really are.’

‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ said Olive, opening the door to the inside of the ship. But Roz slapped it shut again.

‘There you go again. Avoiding the subject. Why can’t anyone give me a fucking straight answer, because I don’t get it?’ Roz had lost volume control as well now. She was totally off the leash – wild, and incapable of reason – and Olive was trapped in a cage of so-called
loyalty
with the lock strained and on the brink of springing. ‘What is it, Ol?’ Roz’s face was a rictus of frustrated smile. ‘Just tell me, will you, what pretty, wonderful, fabulous, sweet little Frankie Carnevale had that made her so fucking precious to you?’

‘Cancer, Roz. That’s what Frankie had. That’s what made her reach out for someone – anyone – and it just happened to be Manus that she found first!’ Olive screamed back in her face. There, it was out – that word that Frankie had forbidden them to mention, but it couldn’t be snatched back and swallowed now.

‘What?’ said Roz, almost inaudibly with the hint of an unsure laugh in her voice.

‘You heard,’ said Olive with a rare vicious edge to her voice. ‘Cancer. Frankie had breast cancer. No one gave Frankie a harder time than we did when she told us she’d kissed Manus. And yes, Ven and I did give her both barrels about it, for your information. She was disgusted with herself, didn’t even try to give us an excuse; she didn’t tell us she’d been diagnosed until a few days later. She rang us up and asked if we’d go and see her and that’s when she told us why she fucked up with Manus. She went up to your house that day to tell you – YOU – that she’d just been told she had it, but you weren’t in. Manus was, though, and she just wanted someone to put their arms around her.’ Olive fought back the angry tears that were threatening to spill. This was a time for strength, an overdue time.

‘Manus didn’t know what was up with her, before you ask, and he still doesn’t. He could see she was upset about something and he put his arms around her and you know the rest. He didn’t know what was going on in her head, but he did know that kissing him wasn’t the right way to sort out whatever it was. But Frankie was prepared to take everything you threw at her because she felt so shit about what she did.’