‘I don’t suppose you can.’ She smiles and leaves to get my gelato.
I eat it slowly, wondering what the hell I can do to help this girl. There’s a special place in hell for women who bully other women.
As I’m about to leave, I grab the attention of the maître d’, who’s greeting guests by the entrance.
‘Owen, isn’t it?’ I ask, using a voice that implies that I’m an intelligent, commanding woman who also happens to watch a lot ofBridgerton. I just hope he didn’t see my makeshift bib.
‘Yes, madam, how can I help you?’
‘I just wanted to say that the young woman who served me tonight was wonderful. Lola, I think her name was. A real credit to your team.’
He beams. ‘That’s very kind, I’ll certainly let her know.’ He turns to welcome a group of diners.
‘I mean, so professional,’ I continue, my voice a touch louder. ‘Even after I heard that woman verbally shame her for having to change her sanitary wear during work, she—’
I quite enjoy seeing the panic in his face at the mere mention of feminine hygiene products in a fine dining setting. He swifty ushers me to one side, signalling for someone to take over.
‘Maybe we can have this conversation somewhere a little more—’
‘Appropriate?’ I suggest. ‘Private? Surely that young girl should have been afforded the same courtesy?’
He nods. ‘What exactly did Lola say?’
‘Absolutely nothing,’ I reply. ‘As I said, she was completely professional. If I hadn’t overheard the conversation, I’d never have known. Of course I didn’t mention it to her, she’d be more humiliated than she already is.’
‘Of course,’ he replies, still trying to manoeuvre us further from the entrance. I think Owen would be happier if we had this conversation under the sea. ‘Can I ask what you overheard?’
‘I overheard a senior member of your team, short hair, pointy chin– ’
He glances over at Anne. Maybe everyone calls her pointy chin.
‘– tell a junior that she didn’t care what the reason was. She was warned not to take time to go to the bathroom, despite the fact she had her period. It’s just beyond the pale. Do you want your female members of staff just bleeding all over the restaurant willy-nilly?’
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself laughing. I’ve never said willy-nilly in my life.
‘Of course not and I apologise for the behaviour you witnessed,’ he replies. ‘Please be assured that it will be dealt with.’
‘Thanks very much,’ I reply. ‘Keep up the good work.’
I smile sweetly and casually walk away from the scene I’ve just created. I feel almost triumphant, ready to take on the world. . . or perhaps something less global and more ship-based. I open my phone and swipe the cruise app to plan the rest of my evening.
Chapter 36
The evening entertainment section on the app is long and varied. Everything from comedy and live music to dance classes (I’ll pass) but one event in particular catches my eye. There’s another singles’ mixer later this evening at 8.30 p.m. Right now it’s 7.30 p.m., so that would give me enough time to put on something fancier and zhuzh up my hair. But after last time, do I really want to put myself through that again? I could quite easily just sip cocktails in the atrium bar. With the couples. And the friend groups. And be no closer to meeting someone. I decide to give it one more chance.
There’s no sign of white jeans man as I enter the Chill Lounge for my second attempt at the singles’ mixer. I also don’t see Harper or Jess, which is perhaps a blessing given that I’m twenty years older, with the sparse eyebrows of someone who overplucked in the nineties. I did, however, change into my emerald-green, Audrey Hepburn-style swing dress and I’m loving myself right now.
It’s not nearly as busy as it was last time. I wonder if everyone has already paired off. Have they levelled up to a different lounge, where they serve actual orange juice and not that watered-down shit they have in the buffet?
I notice that there are fewer women than last time, and the men notice that too. Some stand around quietly surveying the area while others flit between women, casting their line, praying that at least one will eventually bite. All the dating events I endured in London combined were less painful than this. However, as much as I choose to believe that I’m above all of this, the truth is that we’re all looking for the same thing. A connection.
Bellini in hand, I take a seat near the entrance, planning to drink up and be anywhere else. It isn’t long before I’m approached.
‘I’m Colm. Can I buy you a drink?’ he asks. I’m tempted to remind him that it’s all-inclusive, but I don’t want to piss on his chips. Besides, I’ve already inadvertently upset thecome here oftenguy so I’ll play nice.
‘I’m fine,’ I reply, holding my bellini. ‘But thanks.’
He sits down beside me and places his own drink on the table. ‘Did I see you at the beach yesterday?’ he asks in a strong Northern Irish accent. He’s not bad-looking. Older than me but that doesn’t bother me. What does bother me is the gold jewellery around his wrists, his neck and his earlobes. I’m just not into gold chains resting above unbuttoned shirts or tight, chunky man bracelets I just know are getting caught on his abundant arm hair.
