Come Away With Me: The hilarious feel-good romantic comedy you need to read in 2018. Maddie Please
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Like everyone else we went up on to the top deck to watch the huge planes coming in to land and almost taking the funnels off the Reine de France.
We had booked the excursion to the town of Concord and enjoyed a nice snooze on the coach before being unloaded in one of the prettiest New England towns for our tour around Louisa May Alcott’s house. Having always been a particular fan of hers it was my idea of heaven. India trailed after me grumbling as I ooohed and aaahed at Roderigo’s boots and Beth’s piano and wondered which of the houses nearby had been the inspiration for Laurie’s.
Having tolerated this slight detour into culture, India wanted to shop. So we did the rounds of some of the dinky little stores in which Concord specialises, and bought some excellent knick-knacks and the palest pink cashmere sweater, which India couldn’t live without. Before long we found a place for a late lunch and ended up having more wine. And a bowl of fries. And ice cream. I mean really, how did that happen?
The trouble was the wine bars were so sweet and the staff so incredibly welcoming. Even the menu cards were cute in a retro, Disney-ish way. And everything seemed so reasonably priced. It would have been hard to stop at a cup of coffee when it came with a slab of cake for half-price. And it was damn near impossible not to have two glasses of wine and be given the rest of the bottle for free and a bowl of fries.
We decided tomorrow would definitely be a day of moderation and healthy eating. I mean, after all, we were going to have a whole day at sea, sailing past the coast of Maine that Gabriel loved so much. Who knew, we might sail straight past his parents’ house!
Tomorrow was also going to be the day of Marnie Miller’s first talk; eleven o’clock sharp. After that India and I would both be really enthused and motivated and would spend the rest of the day writing in a quiet corner somewhere, far away from other people or waiters or any food or cocktails. We wouldn’t stir except for some herb tea and perhaps a handful of quinoa.
Well, that was the plan.
*
Back on the ship India had reread the daily newsletter and discovered there were cream teas and a fine selection of French patisserie available in the Marie-Antoinette Lounge, courtesy of Juan Del Martino, the ship’s head pastry chef. Like a pair of Muppets we followed the herd and had even got as far as the doors to the place when I grabbed India’s arm.
‘We really don’t need this,’ I said.
Her face fell for a moment and then, as if she had been awoken from a trance, she nodded.
‘You’re right! What am I doing? I had cake in Concord only a couple of hours ago!’
Instead we went back to our cabin and had a little bit of a lie-down. This then deteriorated into a sleep that saw us waking up at eight-thirty.
‘I do not need a four-course dinner tonight,’ I said, feeling abstemious and full of good intentions. ‘I know I have it in me to be eighteen stone, but I’d rather not.’
‘Oh, all right.’ India sighed, although I’m pretty sure she agreed with me. She picked up the newsletter and put it into her handbag. ‘Let’s read about some of the things we can do over a salad in the food court. I mean we’ve been on board for days and hardly even tried anything – other than the food and drinks.’
‘Great idea.’ I had been completely captivated by the idea of activities when I was back home, listless and dreaming of my luxurious holiday, determined to make the most of every moment; and all we’d done was eat, drink and wander around picturesque towns. It was time to get down to business – maybe I’d find a new hobby, something I’d be good at … not like the time I tried to make a patchwork quilt and sewed it to my trousers.
In the food court we went to find a simple green salad and came back with lobster. In butter. With French bread.
‘So tomorrow,’ I said, once we were settled at a table by the window, ‘we have Marnie Miller in the morning. What else can we do?’
India pored over the paper. ‘Right, here we are. Dancing tomorrow afternoon at two p.m. Learn the waltz with Omaha dance champions, Peter and Paula. And towel folding at half past three with Jaresh.’
‘I can fold a towel already,’ I said.
‘Into the shape of a swan? Or a monkey? No, I thought not. Looks like there are some groups on board too. Dorothy has some friends and so does Bill W. I’ve noticed they always seem to have little get-togethers every afternoon.’
‘I think the Friends of Dorothy are single gay people and the Friends of Bill W are AA meetings,’ I said quietly.
‘Really? How marvellous! There’s a talk about Fabergé eggs and another one about whisky. There’s bingo and then at three p.m. there’s adult colouring-in.’
‘You’re joking?’
‘I’m not. There’s a talk about Halifax. On the Atlantic crossing we can do fruit carving, learn the foxtrot and go to a talk about the Titanic.’
‘Now you’re joking?’ I said.
‘Nope, not at all. Listen to this. That perennially fascinating ship and the voyage of doom towards its tragic end. Well, that’s what it says here. We’re missing the entertainment by the way. It was Tribute to Elton John Night.’
‘I’ll bite back my disappointment,’ I said.
‘Sarky. And of course we have Marnie Miller first. We will be stimulated, pissed, educated, be able to fold towels into unusual shapes and have dancers’ thighs. You couldn’t ask for more really, could you?’
‘I suppose not,’ I agreed, as I mopped up the garlic-butter sauce with my remaining bread.
‘Right, shall we go and have a nightcap? My round?’ India said with a grin as she pushed her cleared plate away from her.
‘I suppose so,’ I said. ‘What did happen at Laura’s party? You can tell me – I won’t mind.’
‘Oh, leave it!’
Absolutely Fabulous
Vodka, Cranberry Juice, Champagne
The following morning we woke late and had a leisurely breakfast of fresh fruit and plain yogurt in the food court. While we congratulated ourselves on our discipline and what India had heard was now called ‘considered eating’, it was a bit forgettable even if the strawberries were cut into cunning fans. We added a spoonful of some grain thing. It looked like something I might have fed to a budgie and tasted of burnt biscuits. It also killed any chances of conversation as we munched through it, jaws aching. We had decaffeinated coffee with skimmed milk and without sugar. It was thoroughly unsatisfying, I thought, but I didn’t say anything in case India was feeling happy with getting back on that healthy track.
We then had a brisk walk on the promenade deck that went around the ship, with encouraging notices telling us how far we had walked. Apparently three laps of the deck equalled one kilometre. Did that make me feel better? No, not really.
There were loads of people taking it very seriously though, who were striding out, chests like bellows, arms swinging. One man even shouted at his flagging wife as we passed them: ‘Come on, Tessa, keep up. Another two circuits and you can have that doughnut.’ It seemed a little harsh, as she was at least eighty by the look of her. If it had been me I would have waited until he strode ahead round a corner and sneaked off to get one without him, and had a hot chocolate too.
*
At eleven o’clock we made our way to the Ocean Theatre where Marnie Miller was giving her talk. There were already ten full rows of people waiting for it to start and Marnie herself was standing at the back of the room having what looked like a very quiet argument with her miserable assistant. On the stage a man in