I smile at the woman behind the counter. People don’t call me madam enough. Or at all. I like it.
‘I’m fine,’ I reply. ‘Just looking.’
As I see red shorts glance in my direction, an idea springs to mind. This man obviously likes watches so much, he wants to buy two. Maybe this is a good opener. I sidle up to him.
‘Excuse me,’ I say, ‘I’m looking for something for my. . . brother.’
Confused, he looks down at his attire, then back at me. ‘I don’t work here.’
Despite his snippy tone, I laugh. His Australian accent is quite charming. ‘Of course, but I’m sure you could help me anyway. It’s my brother’s birthday and, well, I’m just not too sure what he’d like.’
Red shorts stares at me like I’m an idiot. ‘Well, if you’re not sure, how wouldIknow what your brother likes?’
This Australian man has a point. I should have thought this through more. It was a great idea until I opened my mouth. I smile politely. ‘Sorry, no, I just meant, it’s a gift and I thought another man might be able to point me in the direction of something cool. Not too stuffy.’
Red shorts sighs and looks at the display case. ‘Hmm, for a basic watch, you can’t go wrong with a Tag or Longines. For more premium, I’d go with Omega.’
I glance down. There’s a Tag for £1,950. £1,950 is basic? They have three Omega watches, none of which has a price tag. How is that even legal? I don’t know whether to snort or march my middling salary arse right out of the store. I can see the saleswoman hovering nearby. If I don’t move quickly, she’s going to start making me touch the merchandise with my big man hands.
‘Thanks,’ I tell him. ‘I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe shop around a bit.’
‘Right. Good for you.’
He turns his back and waves the assistant over. The only thing this man is leaving with is a second watch and the knowledge that I’m a moron.
I back up to the exit and continue along the shopping mall, wondering what other male shopping stereotypes I can come up with. The only other male-focused shop appears to offer suits and tux rentals. Why would I be in there? To buy a suit for my fake brother? Rent a tux for my dead father? What if there are no customers besides me and I’m set upon by commission-hungry salespeople? I decide to get a drink and rethink my plans.
The bar at the end of the mall isn’t too busy and I’m surprised to see that it’s a pub. Inside it looks like a smaller version of The Duck and Ivy near the office. Outside, there are tables and chairs; inside, a classic brown bar, wrapped around the back of the room, with barstools in front and a huge selection of bottles behind. There are several round tables inside with padded beige chairs, a dartboard and two large TV screens showing football without any sound. Unlike The Duck and Ivy, there isn’t an old drunk in the corner, six pints in, having a fight with himself.
I take a seat at the bar and despite it being seconds after 12 p.m., I order a rum and Coke. The staff behind the bar are British, which I’m sure will be a great comfort to those who complain that their foreign holiday is full of foreigners, and they don’t serve Heinz beans or chips. After the watch fiasco, I’m starting to feel a little foolish. The whole point of undertaking this ‘365 days of yes’ challenge was to throw myself into different situations where I might meet someone, not try and force men to help me choose a gift for my fake brother. Why do I keep inventing family members? Next, I’ll be claiming to have five nephews and a talking horse.
‘I think you dropped this.’
The man beside me holds up a room card. I reach inside my pocket to find my credit card and some crumbs from the cookie I grabbed from the buffet last night.
‘God, thank you! I didn’t even notice.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ he replies, in an American accent. ‘I expect plenty of these will be lost before we even get to the next port.’
‘Really? Good to know. That makes me feel less of an idiot.’
I slip it back into my pocket. If I were alone, I’d slip it into my bra for safe keeping, the same place I keep my keys, my earbuds and occasionally the remote control. Naomi keeps her vape and her mobile phone in her bra when she’s out in the garden. As great as pockets are, they’re not quite as reliable as a Marks and Spencer DD cup.
The man next to me is attractive, only this doesn’t fully register with me until he finishes his drink and gets up. I’m somewhat grateful, otherwise I might have asked him to help me choose a drink for my imaginary friend, cementing my idiot status. He has black hair, deep brown eyes and a small amount of stubble, which leads me to believe that, just like me, he didn’t bother grooming before breakfast.
‘Have a nice day,’ he says, pushing his empty glass to the back of the bar.
‘Same,’ I reply, ‘and thanks again!’
I try not to watch him walk away but my eyes refuse to look elsewhere. My urge to follow and make conversation is strong but in no universe is this man single. He most definitely has a girlfriend on board with him. Possibly a wife. Maybe both.
I turn back around and finish my drink.
Chapter 24
Returning to my cabin, I begin to feel a slight buzz from my rum and Coke. Not enough to make me start singing Adele in public but enough to almost make me forget that I just made an utter tit of myself in a watch shop. It’s only 12.45 p.m., I should pace myself.
I naturally gravitate towards the balcony and step outside. The sun is out in full force and it’s glorious but instead of breathing in the sea air, I’m instantly hit by the smell of cigarette smoke. Clouds of it just ready to absorb into my clothes and unwashed hair. As I look down, it becomes clear that my cabin is directly above one of the ship’s smoking areas. My heart sinks. Is it going to be like this for the rest of the trip? I close the door again, trying to keep the smell outside. People are absolutely entitled to smoke if they want to but fucking hell, do I have to be right in the line of fire? Eau de ashtray isn’t the alluring scent I’m going for. Maybe later the wind will blow in a different direction, and it’ll be someone else’s problem.
