Page 23 of Hook, Line and Single

‘Wow. Are we going to have time to fit all of that in?’

‘Yup. I’ve booked us on one of those hop-on, hop-off bus tours. If we get there on time, we’ll be able to get off and explore a bit, but even if the flight had been delayed, we’d have been able to see everything. I thought it was the safest option.’

She smiles. ‘Have you ever considered a career in the travel industry? You’ve got a nose for organisation.’

‘I’m quite happy with my bookshop, thanks.’

‘One more question. Have you got itineraries as detailed as this for every place we’re stopping?’

Now it’s my turn to smile. ‘What do you think?’

‘You know the cruise line organises tours, don’t you? We could just sign up for those once we’re on board.’

‘Yes, and if they’re better than mine, that’s what we’ll do. But I’ve been doing a bit of thinking about what Jono and my family said. What if we are the youngest people by a country mile? I don’t want to miss out on seeing things because we’ve got to go at a geriatric pace. You know what it’s like in a large group – you can only go as fast as the slowest person.’

She thinks for a moment. ‘Fair point. I did put you in charge of this because I knew you’d be the best at it, so I’ll leave it to you.’

I settle back into my seat. What Sam doesn’t know is that, somewhere beneath us in the hold, my suitcase contains a notebook with pages dedicated to every port. I’ve listed the attractions, the various options for getting to them, along with prices where they were available. I’ve also photographed each page with my phone, so I have a backup if my suitcase goes astray. I’ve even written down the names of cafés and restaurants that are off the beaten track but were recommended by the guidebooks, so we can hopefully leave the other tourists behind and have a more authentic experience. I’ve loved every minute of my research, and I’m confident that the reality will be even better. I close my eyes and, despite the strong coffee still sloshing around inside me, I’m soon fast asleep.

* * *

‘Bloody hell, it’s massive!’ I exclaim as the bus pulls into the port at Civitavecchia that afternoon and we get our first glimpse of the ship.

‘Said no one to Jason, ever,’ Sam quips beside me, causing us both to giggle and earning us a sharp look from the couple on the other side of the aisle. Although the other passengers on our bus could hardly be described as geriatric, we must be the only people on here under the age of fifty.

I’ve seen plenty of pictures of cruise ships online and on TV, but this is the first time I’ve ever been up close to one, and it’s genuinely huge. The hull is painted dark blue, withSpirit of Malmöin large white letters at the front. Above that is a row of bright orange lifeboats, topped by countless storeys of balconies, like a massive hotel. At the very top of the ship, a large purple funnel with the Scandia Cruises logo on it is smoking gently.

‘Actually, this isn’t that big, by cruise ship standards,’ Sam informs me. ‘Some of the really big ones take over six thousand passengers, whereas this one only takes three.’

‘That’s still a hell of a lot. Are there enough lifeboats, do you think? It doesn’t look like you’d get three thousand people in those.’

‘I’m sure there are. Relax.’

‘Sorry, I’m just a bit overwhelmed by it, I guess.’

The bus pulls up with a hiss of brakes outside the terminal building and we grab our hand baggage and climb down. When we get inside, we’re confronted with several long queues, and it takes us a moment to find the Commodore Class one. As we inch forwards, I take the opportunity to scan the other passengers, and it’s fair to say we are a diverse bunch. Although most of them are of a similar age to the people we were on the bus with, I’m relieved to see some faces closer to our age group, as well as a few families with children. There are even a couple of teenagers, scrolling boredly on their phones as they nudge their hand luggage forwards with their toes.

‘Good afternoon, and welcome to Scandia Cruises,’ the check-in assistant says warmly when we eventually reach the front of the queue. ‘Can I see your passports and boarding passes, please?’

We hand them over and she taps rapidly on her computer keyboard.

‘Ms Johnson, you’re in cabin 7.064,’ she tells me as she hands me a wristband. ‘And you’re right next door in 7.062, Ms Thorncroft. Once you get on board, a steward will direct you, so all you need to know now is that you’re on deck seven. Your cabin number is on your wristband, which you just need to hold against the pad on your door to unlock it. You’ll also use your wristband to pay for any onboard purchases. We’ve loaded on your initial credit, but we’d advise you to register a credit card with us to pre-authorise any purchases beyond that. Would you like to do that now?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ Sam tells her as we hand over our credit cards.

‘That’s all done for you,’ she tells us happily once we’ve entered our PIN numbers. ‘The ship’s currency is the US dollar, so that’s what you’ll see on your bill. I notice you’re also in the Friends of Marco Polo group, so you’ll want to head over to the Marco Polo desk once you’ve cleared security to pick up your information packs. Have a great cruise and we’re delighted to have you on board with us.’

‘What’s the Friends of Marco Polo group?’ I ask Sam as we join the queue for the airport-style security scanners.

‘Nothing. It’s just a way of keeping the single supplements down for the cabins, that’s all,’ she replies hastily, but I notice a shiftiness in her look that makes me suspect she’s not telling the complete truth. ‘Different groups go by different names on a cruise ship. It’s nothing to worry about.’

I’d like to press her, as I’m sure there’s something she’s not telling me, but we’re quickly embroiled in the business of clearing security. Although Sam and I make it through without any issues, we’re distracted by a bit of a fracas in one of the other queues. One of the security guards is holding aloft what appears to be a set of metal teeth, and the man in front of him is puce in the face.

‘I told you,’ the man exclaims loudly. ‘I wear them at night when I’m sleeping.Dormire,comprende?They stop me snoring. I’m not going to bite anyone with them.’

The security guard seems unimpressed, beckoning over a stout woman, who I’m guessing is his superior. After a bit of a debate in Italian, she shrugs her shoulders and the security guard hands the irate passenger back his teeth.

‘I hope he’s not on our deck,’ Sam remarks quietly. ‘I don’t think I’d sleep well at night knowing Jaws was on our corridor.’

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