Page 7 of Old Girls on Deck
To start off with, I chatted with the driver about other people he had driven: had he been on a cruise, did he like driving, had he had anyone famous in the back? And then we settled down a bit and talked about what we were hoping to see when we got onto the ship.
Craig put in one AirPod, having been reassured that we were warm enough, comfortable and didn’t need any more bottled water. He should know better than that; to keep offering water to a couple of sixty-year-old women is asking for trouble.
According to the digital display on the satnav screen, he was listening to a podcast on the Mayan civilisation, which occasionally provoked a chuckle. I wouldn’t have thought there were many amusing things to know about human sacrifice and the Spanish conquest of South America, but he seemed happy enough.
We had a brief comfort stop at a service station halfway to our destination. At that point, Craig disappeared for a bit into a back room full of truck drivers reading battered newspapers and eating bacon rolls, while Diana and I bought the sort of glossy magazines we usually ignored and drank indifferent coffee out of cardboard mugs.
‘I haven’t done this for such a long time,’ Diana said as we set off again, ‘I’m getting really excited now.’
‘Good. That’s great to hear.’
At last, Craig pulled the car smoothly up outside a large terminal building and helped us out.
The Avanti was berthed in front of us, its sleek hull tethered with cables and roped to the quayside. We stood for a few minutes admiring her.
Elegant yet relaxing. Stylish yet familiar.
Diana sighed. ‘How many times have I stood like this, looking up at a ship, knowing my husband was on the bridge flicking switches or whatever it was he did. I’d always felt so proud. Although there had always been a twinge of doubt that I had remembered the right shirt or paperback he had asked for. And what sort of mood he would be in.’
There were a few men in high-vis jackets with fork-lift trucks trundling metal carts loaded with something – probably food – into the bowels of the ship and a couple of young women in sharp navy-blue trouser suits and cute red berets, holding clipboards, directing people to the right queues.
‘Thank you so much, Craig, you’ve been absolutely marvellous,’ I said as he got our baggage out of the car and loaded it onto a wheeled trolley.
‘My pleasure,’ he said.
Diana rummaged in her handbag for a notebook and pencil.
‘I shall mention you to the organisers, Craig. And tell them how professional you have been. What an excellent driver.’
‘That would be kind of you,’ he said, ‘always nice to get good feedback.’
‘Now then, what’s your full name?’
‘Colin. Colin Stevens,’ he said.
Diana looked puzzled. ‘Not Craig then? Are you sure?’
‘Positive,’ he said with a polite smile.
‘Well, I do feel a fool, we’ve been calling him Craig for three hours,’ she muttered as we followed him trundling our luggage into the terminal building.
We passed safely though security and customs and at last we reached the end of the covered walkway.
There were a lot of other equally excited people around. The Avanti might have wanted to attract a younger clientele, but by the looks of things they hadn’t quite managed it yet.
And then Diana paused.
‘You must step onto the ship with your right foot. Casper said it was lucky.’
We both did so with great ceremony, while behind us, the press of other travellers banged into each other and muttered with annoyance.
As we entered the ship there was an archway of red, white, and blue balloons to welcome us, and an attractive couple of crew members in fancy dress; white uniforms with sky-blue neckerchiefs and jaunty matelots hats with red pompoms. They stood either side of us, smiling broadly and a tall man with an impressive-looking camera on a tripod took our welcome picture.
‘Oh God, do we have to? I’m sure I look a wreck,’ Diana said.
She’d fallen asleep in the car for the last half hour, probably worn out by a sleepless night and the excitement. She patted her hair, hoping to smooth it into some sort of order.
We went to wedge ourselves underneath the balloon arch and Diana tripped inelegantly on a length of cable, duct-taped to the floor.