I enjoyed a delightful daydream for a few minutes, where I did just that, and came to live in this beautiful place in that gorgeous house, and friends came to visit me, admiring my choices and my courage. My newfound ability at interior décor. And then someone opened a window on the first floor and shook a duster. Hmm. Perhaps it wasn’t empty after all.
Maybe this was the sort of house that was disappointing and dull outside, but a magical and beautiful place within. There would be sophisticated furniture and sparkling chandeliers. Immaculate white carpets and an elegant couple, Imelda and Stefan, who lived there doing stylish things with their chic friends. Stefan would be a successful businessman and Imelda would paint delicate watercolours which would be sold by galleries throughout Croatia.
Stefan would never throw his dirty socks into the laundry bin and miss, and Imelda would never sit on the stairs biting her nails with worry because Stefan was late home and his secretary was a flame-haired temptress with eyes filled with secrets.
I walked on. In front of me was a tiny harbour with several small boats, bobbing in the water. Beyond them was a rocky promontory where the surf creamed against the rocks.
At last I came out to a wide and glorious view over the sea, where a white hotel stood proudly above me. By then I realised my feet were tired and I needed a rest, but more than that I wanted a glass of wine. That was the thing with going for a walk, the aggravation of having to walk back again, and I wasn’t going to do that without some reward for my hard work.
I went up some stone steps and out into a garden which was lush with foliage and flowers. In front of me was the most welcome sight in the world: a shaded patio with numerous little tables and ironwork chairs, and even better some menus on the tables and a waitress looking around to see if anyone wanted anything. Instead of dumping me on a table by the dustbins as had been done to me in the past, she showed me to a table with a fabulous view over the coast and sweetly recommended a glass of Pošip.
Having no idea what that was, I accepted and a few minutes later she brought it to my table, accompanied by a little china bowl of pistachios. My absolute favourite. I felt I was in heaven.
I sat there for quite a long time, as the sun dipped down towards the sea and the sky changed from clear sapphire to streaks of beautiful pale pink. There was going to be a lovely sunset.
The waitress came and asked if I needed anything else, and was I quite comfortable? It seemed she had a few minutes to chat. We agreed it had been a beautiful day, and she asked me a few questions about how long I was staying. She hoped I would return soon and then she went off again to her duties.
I looked at my watch. It was four thirty and it would take me an hour to get back to the ship. The old me would have panicked and hurried off, fretting about being late, which even I could see was unlikely unless I fell off the path into the water. The boat would leave at about seven thirty; there was plenty of time. And most delightfully, my time was my own to do with as I pleased.
At last, I finished my wine, paid the bill and left a generous tip in the empty pistachio bowl. Businesses always droned on about how we were important to them, but in reality it seldom felt like that. The waitress didn’t know but she had treated me as though I really was important, that she cared, even though I was on my own. Was this because she was a nice person, or was it that I was more confident in myself? Perhaps it was both.
* * *
I got back on board just before six o’clock. It had taken me longer because on the way I had taken advantage of some of the thoughtfully placed benches, and I’d sat looking at the view and the lovely sunset, which was glorious. It was a good opportunity to think, to consider the possibilities that were out there for me. And although I didn’t have a master plan worked out, I felt somehow I would not be the same timid, apologetic person any longer.
I went to my cabin and had a shower, this time without any problems, and then having remembered to take off the tags, pulled on the purple shift dress I had bought. It was a colour I never wore, and yet looking at my reflection, I could see it suited me. The jewelled embellishment around the neckline was pretty, and it reflected the sunshine and sparked little flecks of light against my skin. I felt quite the sassy lady. Imelda would have approved, I was sure.
* * *
When it was time to go along for the evening meal, the old me would have waited, hovering anxiously near to the cabins where my friends were getting ready. This time I didn’t; I went along towards the bar on my own, my footsteps echoing along the corridor, wondering where Jack was.
Don and Craig were already there of course, sitting on bar stools drinking whisky, their wives standing looking out of the window as the lights along the harbour began to glow in the darkening evening.
‘So pretty, isn’t it?’ Belinda said as I passed them. ‘I don’t know what I expected of Croatia, but this wasn’t it.’
‘Nor me,’ Dawn said. ‘It’s incredibly clean, isn’t it? The flowers have been playing havoc with my hay fever but on balance we’ve had a good day. I even had an ice cream, so I expect I will pay for that later. My innards can be very sensitive. I’ve taken an antihistamine and a paracetamol just in case.’
Don swivelled in his seat and saw me. ‘Ah, there she is, it’s Liz, isn’t it? One of the three glamour pusses from the top deck. Looking particularly elegant this evening.’
Slightly pleased to be called glamorous even if it was Don, who by the look of him had successfully maintained his alcohol levels throughout the day, I smiled.
‘Had a good day? I’ve had a lovely walk along the Lungomare. Absolutely beautiful, isn’t it?’
‘Certainly is,’ Craig agreed. ‘Now, let’s buy you a drink.’
‘It’s a free bar,’ Don reminded him.
‘So it is. Well, let’s get you a free drink instead. What’s your poison? A nice gin? Or a cocktail perhaps?’
‘Mineral water would be fine for now,’ I said. ‘It would be very easy to overdo things, wouldn’t it?’
‘That’s what we’re hoping, aren’t we, Donny lad?’ Craig said, elbowing Don in the ribs.
‘That’s very sensible,’ Dawn said approvingly. ‘People drink far too much wine. Not so long ago there wasn’t such a thing. And no one would call me a killjoy; I enjoy a sherry at Christmas and I really like a sip of communion wine. But that’s enough for me.’
‘I’m looking forward to a good meal, and a nice bottle of wine,’ Don said, ‘and there’s nothing wrong with that.’
‘Don, you were supposed to be getting me a Cosmo,’ Belinda said, ‘and an orange juice for Dawn. Have the bar staff failed to turn up this time?’
