We nodded and smiled modestly as though we had done something clever.
‘We’ve read your books; we really love them,’ India said. ‘And seen your series on Finding Love Without Fear.’
Marnie’s face creased into a gentle smile as though this was the most wonderful thing she had ever heard, although I bet every single person before us had said the same thing.
‘How kind of you. Thank you. Did you have a particular favourite?’
I thought about it for a moment. There were so many but then most of them seemed to blur into one.
‘I really loved Marnie’s Christmas Crafts,’ India said.
We’d spent several hours trying to make reindeers out of pine cones. I don’t think the end result was quite as polished as the picture.
Marnie looked thrilled. ‘I loved that too! I have a special place in my heart for that book. And you?’ She turned her beautiful turquoise eyes on me and my mind went blank.
‘There was one about getting a promotion at work, making sure you didn’t get passed over for other people. Was it called Don’t Stop Moving?’
Her smile faltered for a second. ‘Maybe you’re thinking of Don’t Stop; Keep Moving. I think “Don’t Stop Moving” was S Club 7.’
‘That’s it,’ I said, feeling pretty stupid.
‘One of my favourites,’ she said with a delightful crinkle of her nose.
‘Could we take a picture with you?’ India said, after giving me a not-so-subtle sharp look.
‘Oh, of course!’
Marnie turned and clicked her fingers and a small, worried-looking woman dressed in rather droopy clothes came and took India’s phone to take some pictures of the three of us. Marnie was smiling in an attractive and controlled way that made the most of her perfect, white smile and India and I grinned like maniacs.
‘So what are you doing on the ship?’ I asked, trying to regain some dignity. ‘Someone said they thought you were doing some courses?’
‘I am! Do say you can join me? Spring-Clean Your Life has helped so many people come to terms with their failures, and I know lots of people would like to write but maybe don’t know where to start so I’m doing a little thing called Write for Love. Everyone has a story to tell after all. Love, loss, new experiences, disaster, triumph – it’s all there.’
Well, yes, I supposed so, although I was still waiting for the triumph bit to be honest. I’d done a bit of the love and loss recently, with Ryan enjoying new experiences with a frankly grubby-looking girl from the building society as well as his mother’s Avon lady.
Bastard.
Perhaps if I went to Spring-Clean Your Life Marnie Miller would help me focus on the positive things in my life and hopefully clear out the negative. The negative list included: my inability to find a decent man; my terrible ex, Ryan, who I’d allowed to come between me and my sister even before we started working together; living in my parents’ granny annexe; and my non-existent social life. Maybe I should focus on the positives instead; it might be easier. My job, which I enjoyed, if you didn’t count my sister ‘not-working’ next to me. An amazing cruise, where I should be making the most of my last holiday with my sister before she got married. My parents, who were in excellent health and at that moment probably at Heathrow waiting for their flight to Sydney.
Spring-Clean Your Life: yes, that’s exactly what I needed to do.
India and Marnie were still laughing, talking about the books Marnie had written and what she was planning to write next. I couldn’t believe how calm India seemed, and I was still feeling a little out of my depth at being so close to someone so famous when Marnie reached out a little hand and patted my arm.
‘Oh, do say you’ll come along too, Alexa? India says you were quite good at English essay writing at school. Who knows, we could make a bestselling author out of you.’
Was I? That didn’t sound like India.
Bestselling author?
I had a vision of myself smiling modestly for the cameras at the Booker Prize awards evening; signing copies of my book in Foyles; travelling first class to Los Angeles and finalising a film deal.
Yes, that would be a triumph, wouldn’t it? Something to make Ryan regret his treacherous trousers.
‘Brilliant idea,’ I said with a smile, imagining Ryan’s stunned face. ‘Where do I sign?’
Marnie clapped her hands together in delight, as though having India and me at her talks was all she needed to make them a roaring success.
‘Then I will look forward to seeing you in the Ocean Theatre on Wednesday at eleven.’
She looked past me and the warmth of her smile faltered a little.
‘Ah, there you are, Gabe. I was beginning to worry.’
I turned to see who she was talking to and saw the man from the cabin next door. The victim of my champagne and pretzel accident. He was looking rather gorgeous in black jeans and a soft grey cashmere sweater that matched his wonderful eyes. He gave a rather tight smile and came to stand next to me, hands in his pockets. My entire body seemed to fizz. I swear I had never been more aware of any other human being in my life.
‘This is my dear friend Gabriel Frost,’ Marnie said, gesturing towards Mr Grumpy.
‘We’ve met,’ he said tersely
‘Have you? Hmm. Gin and tonic?’ Marnie turned and clicked her fingers at her assistant, who was back in her preferred place, standing behind her boss oozing anxiety. The girl leapt to obey and was back in a few seconds with a lovely-looking drink on a tray, which Gabriel took with thanks.
‘Gabriel is working very closely with me this trip,’ Marnie said, smiling up at him.
I blanched. Was he her significant other?
Had I been fancying Marnie Miller’s boyfriend? Life was sometimes monumentally unfair. For example, Marnie Miller had a successful career, looked a trillion dollars, was petite, sweet-natured, had probably never heard the words hangover or cellulite, definitely didn’t own a pair of magic knickers, and on top of all that had Gabriel Frost to keep her warm at night.
Bugger. Sod it. Arse. Rats. Bugger.
And other expletive deleteds.
Not that he was my type of course. I’ve never ended up with good-looking, well-dressed, educated men. I’ve always landed the scruffbag, moody ones who borrow money from me, sulk when they can’t watch football on my television and never remember my birthday. I wonder if I’ve been short-changed?
Breakfast Martini
Marmalade, Dry Gin, Triple Sec, Lemon Juice
We’d had a better time than I’d expected knocking back cocktails on deck, not arguing once, and for the first time in ages I remembered how much fun India could be. Then we got our second wind and went off to have dinner in the Champs-Elysées restaurant. This was apparently the budget option; the really posh people were in the Louis Quinze on the deck above us. From the pictures in our guide to the ship it looked as though everything up there apart from the food was gilded. Nothing was served without at least one edible flower on it and it wouldn’t have been surprising to learn there were people available to cut up your food for you.
We had been assigned a table with two couples, both of them American and neither of them