Follow a Star (7 page)

‘Thank you,’ she purred, releasing him at last.

‘The pleasure,’ said Bill, grinning from ear to ear, ‘was all mine.’

‘Paige!’ someone roared from the deck high above them. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing!’

Glaring down at them, the skipper was not a pretty sight. With his grisly skull-like face topped with spiky yellow hair he had the look of a man who owns one nightclub too many.

‘Don’t talk to me like that, Thunder!’ Paige returned shrilly. ‘Can’t you see this poor man has been injured!’

‘What’s that, babe?’

‘Deaf as a post,’ she told May, shaking her head.

‘INJURED!’ she bellowed. ‘Looks positively ACTIONABLE to me!’

‘Nothing we can’t sort out over a few stiff ones I hope? Get him over here now.’

The skipper’s neck retracted into the black offshore jacket that marked him out from his crew. He reminded May of a sporty tortoise. Did they head off to warmer places for the winter, she wondered, or did Paige paint his name on his back, pack him in straw and leave him in a box at the back of the garage? But, wait a minute, May screwed up her eyes to get a better look at the man on deck. Her heart sank as she realised she hadn’t misheard: the woman standing next to them really had called him Thunder. It was definitely time to make herself scarce.

Bill couldn’t help grinning at May’s frosty expression. ‘Forget about it,’ he told the woman pouting her luscious lips at him. ‘I was happy to help.’

‘Let me, at least, put something on those hands for you,’ his Florence Nightingale purred, with a look that suggested she might like to put something in them too.

‘I’ll go off for my shower, then, shall I?’ May huffed.

Bill turned an interested gaze on her. Surely her cute little nose hadn’t been put out of joint because the lovely Paige was flirting with him?

‘But darling,’ he protested – and immediately got her full attention – ‘you know how prone I am to fainting when I feel pain. You’d better come with me.’ He hooked hold of her arm before she could escape and leaned forward to hiss in her ear, ‘Come on, it’ll be fun. I want to see what you get for your money inside a yacht like this. It’s an Oyster and they don’t come cheap!’

Despite the earliness of the hour, the skipper was initially too busy pouring himself a drink to take much notice. Bill took no offence as it gave him plenty of opportunity to gawp at all the American oak joinery and blond faux suede upholstery lining the saloon. Besides, he had some sympathy for the skipper; he’d need a drink too if he’d narrowly avoided writing off such a valuable yacht.

Cecil would love hearing the story later. He only wished his uncle could have been there to see it too as it would certainly have perked the old boy up. Though not, he thought, feeling his eyebrows raise, quite as much as the sight of Paige casually discarding her wet weather gear to reveal a tiny pair of white shorts and a hot pink polo shirt, which was at least a size too small and was unbuttoned to show a lot of tanned cleavage as she leaned over him with a first aid kit.

Taking no notice whatsoever of this fleshfest was a young man with his head obstinately stuck in a car magazine.

‘Thunder’s son, Blaise,’ Paige explained, following his puzzled glance. ‘Bit of a petrolhead. Adores anything with wheels.’

‘Pity I don’t like you, then,’ snarled Blaise, sotto voce so that his father couldn’t hear. ‘You’re always taking Dad for a ride.’

Reminding them of why they were assembled, the luxury yacht rocked with the impact of the next gust outside.

‘Blast!’ complained Thunder as most of his drink landed in his lap.

‘Yes, sweetie,’ said Paige, dabbing at his crotch whilst Blaise pulled a look of disgust. ‘But it should blow through soon. Let me get you another one. Anyone else?’

Coming to at last, Thunder straightened up and suddenly noticed May who was poised for flight at the other end of the settee. ‘Sorry to cause you so much trouble, babe.’ He smiled, which made him look slightly more human than reptile. ‘I hope we haven’t held you up. When are you and your bloke hoping to get away?’

May, who was still clutching her shower bag, gave him the ghost of a smile in return. ‘I don’t think any of us are going anywhere just yet. And he’s not my bloke.’

‘I see,’ he nodded.

They fell silent. May’s gaze roamed over the spacious saloon flooded with light from twinkling ceiling lights and generous windows. It lingered on the sensuous curve of the wood, the pale blue silk cushions adorning the deep seating areas, the pop-up plasma screen TV and entertainment centre. And while May studied the boat, its skipper was studying May.

Bill wasn’t sure he liked the way this encounter appeared to be going. Maybe his initial instincts about May were sound? Perhaps such a conspicuous display of wealth suggested a better alternative to a further voyage on
Lucille
? But then May didn’t look anything like Paige; her hair was naturally tousled in that sexy messed-up-in-bed way, her face was endearingly pink from the sun, not the colour of fake bake and, he couldn’t help but notice, as she went back to dressing his hands, the perfect bowl-shaped pertness of Paige’s breasts rather suggested that her assets weren’t all thanks to Nature’s bounty. May’s charms were all her own; she wasn’t Thunder’s type, surely?

He narrowed his eyes as Thunder opened his mouth and turned back to May.

‘You don’t half look familiar, babe,’ he said, searching May’s face. ‘I swear we’ve met before.’

‘Right that’s it,’ Bill said, leaping up. ‘We need to see how
Lucille
’s doing.’

Waving away Paige, who now that she had got hold of him seemed reluctant to discharge her patient, Bill clung on to May and pointed her in the direction of the companionway.

‘Talk about the cruise from Hell!’ groaned May when they were safely out of earshot.

Unwinding the bandages that made him feel like an extra from
The Mummy
, Bill paused to throw her an amused look. ‘Comfortable surroundings and a sugar daddy to pay the bills … sure you wouldn’t like to swap boats?’

‘If that’s supposed to be a joke, it’s not remotely funny,’ May said hotly. ‘I’ve told you before, I needed a break, I was in a hurry to get away and I certainly didn’t mean to raise poor old Cecil’s blood pressure so desperately.’

He was about to come back at her with a withering retort when he noticed her eyes were brimming with tears. Flip! This wasn’t turning out as he’d intended, it was just that seeing the hideous Thunder come on to her like that with all that guff about being sure they’d met before had made him feel … he struggled for the right word … protective of her.

‘May?’

She fanned her face with her hand and shook her head. ‘I’m going for my shower, then I’ll see if I can find the laundrette. I might as well get on with something useful if we’re here for a day or two.’

‘Good idea,’ he nodded, thankful for the reprieve. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘Yes,’ she said, so vehemently he took a step back, ‘you can cut me some slack.’

The constant frapping and jangling of rigging lines against the metal masts of stranded yachts knelled an end to their passage plans; even in Ramsgate’s all-weather harbour, little
Lucille
still bounced around like an egg in a cauldron of boiling water. May concentrated on channelling her energy into getting everything shipshape so they’d be ready to set off as soon as conditions were even halfway tolerable. Keeping herself out of trouble by dealing with the pile of washing was easier than defending herself against Bill’s grubby accusation, since she had no wish to explain what lay behind Thunder’s sudden sense of déjà vu. The only dirty linen she had any intention of making public was the load going into the coin-op machine in front of her now.

She shook her head. However brave she tried to be, thinking about Aiden was still like probing a fresh wound; every time she poked around to see how the new tissue was coming along she made herself bleed again. The washing was beginning to blur and not just because it was spinning. Rather than shed more tears for Aiden, May decided that once she’d bundled the washing into a drier, she’d set off for a spot of retail therapy.

What she found was that like so many tired seaside places, shunned in favour of more exotic destinations, the town reflected years of steady decline. It wasn’t shopping temples that were keeping the pubs and restaurants open, but towering turbines, the development of offshore wind farms and the construction work that came with them which were creating regeneration. An ill or good wind, depending on your point of view. Perhaps it was passing a shop selling the same sort of new-agey knick-knacks her mother stocked that had set-up some psychic connection, but, whatever it was, it was both a comfort and a surprise to May when her phone rang and she saw it was her mother calling.

Most of the time Cathy pretended to be far more laid-back than she really was. Although, the fact she’d screeched, ‘For fuck’s sake May, have you thought about the risks?’ at a level only dogs could hear when May had told her about her sailing trip showed she was still capable of being shocked, even if it hadn’t been quite the reaction May had hoped for. Not only that, Cathy had been topless sunbathing at the time and had tugged on her tie-dye top so furiously she’d nearly yanked her silver nipple ring from its mooring.

Listening to her now, she could imagine Cathy in Soul
Survivor with the blue door open and cannabis-scented joss sticks, at least she hoped it was joss sticks, streaming into the warm air. She’d be sitting by herself at the counter wearing a pair of cheap reading glasses which always slipped down her nose. A gossip magazine – left, she always said, by a schoolgirl customer – would be spread in front of her and, as she bent her head, a fine white seam along the parting of her ferociously dyed jet hair would show.

‘I’m fine, Mum,’ she assured her, picturing her face, always gentler in repose, assuming its harder, angular proportions as she rattled off another question.

‘No, we won’t go anywhere until it’s safe. Then it should be one passage, a long one admittedly, to Little Spitmarsh. When? Depends how quickly the storm blows over. Another couple of days, I reckon. Yep. Love you, Mum. Mum?’

No answer. Cathy had gone, but it made May smile just to know her mum had been thinking of her. She was surprised that her mother had sounded so delighted when she’d picked up, as if she was genuinely missing her and sorry she wouldn’t be home soon. It was unusual for someone who’d never shown signs of Empty Nest Syndrome to sound even faintly clingy. Yet beneath the aggressively black hair and smoky eye make-up was an insecure woman who had struggled to find her own niche in the world.

For all Cathy’s feigned indifference, she loved her daughters, but because of her own upbringing found it hard to express her feelings. Rick, of course, she adored. May always had the feeling that if something ever happened to her dad, her mum would find it difficult to carry on without him. Considering the pair of them had been in their mid teens when they’d met, she sometimes wondered how they’d managed to stick together. For all the lean times when money had been scarce and with faults on both sides, somehow their relationship worked. How had May managed to make such a mess of her own love life?

Consoling herself with a double scoop of Italian ice cream and a totally superfluous chocolate flake, May parked herself on a bench overlooking the harbour to juggle with the problem of trying to soak up as much sun as she could whilst making her ice cream last as long as possible. Even then, the gusty wind imprisoning them in the harbour was against her, snatching strands of her hair and whipping them across her mouth. As she did her best to fight it and see off the threat from a couple of interested gulls wheeling above her head watching her with beady eyes, she barely registered the footsteps coming towards her until it was too late.

‘I’ve been looking for you, babe,’ said Thunder, sliding on to the bench next to her. ‘Paige wanted to get her nails done, so I took a stroll into town with her and saw you go by.’

May braced herself for what she knew was coming, but at least Bill wasn’t around to witness Thunder’s epiphany.

‘It was doing my head in wondering where I knew you from,’ he said, searching her face, ‘and all of sudden, it came to me! Of course, you look different without the stage gear and the fancy lighting – but, it is you, isn’t it? You’re Ch—’

‘Ah, May. This is where you’ve been hiding, is it?’ said Bill, towering over them and making her jump. He pulled something out of his pocket and dangled it under her nose. ‘By the way, you left these behind.’

May could have kicked him. Of all the pairs of knickers spinning round in the drier he’d ignored her industrial-strength comfy old faithfuls and picked out one of the few pairs that didn’t give you a visible panty line because there was no panty to see and which she only wore when all else failed.

Bill raised his eyebrows as she snatched back her knickers and glared at him.

‘Easy, man,’ said Thunder, hastily withdrawing. ‘The little lady and I were just having a chat. I didn’t realise you two were an item.’

‘We’re not!’ May insisted. What the hell did Bill think he was doing? However timely his intervention, she was blowed if she was going to let Bill Blythe play Big Brother with her life.

‘We may not be an item, May,’ Bill ground out, his eyes glinting. ‘But we do have some unfinished business.’

Growing paler by the minute, Thunder turned to May. ‘Now look. If you two have got stuff to sort out I’ll leave you to it.’

‘What the hell has it got to do with you anyway?’ she exploded as Thunder beat an unflatteringly swift retreat. ‘Who do you think you are, sneaking up on me like that!’

‘Whoa! Steady on now. In twelve hours’ time,’ Bill said, pointing at his watch, ‘we can get on our way again. The wind’s dropped sufficiently, but there’s still a heavy swell out there and we’ll need our wits about us.’

‘Are you trying to tell me I’m incompetent?’ May snorted.

‘Let’s just say your mind’s not on the job,’ Bill said pleasantly. ‘Well not the job of preparing to go sea, anyway. It was your choice to do the laundry, so I thought I could rely on you to complete the task. If you can’t even get through a pile of washing without getting distracted, how do I know you’ll concentrate when we’re sailing?’

‘Shape up or ship out? Is that what you’re saying? Fine. That suits me just fine. I’ll just collect my belongings and then you can find someone else to deliver your bloody boat.’

‘Not my bloody boat,’ Bill shouted after her as she marched off in the direction of the harbour. ‘Cecil’s. And she’s no good to him if we lose her at sea.’

Keep walking, May told herself; it’s not your problem, he’s Bill’s uncle, nothing to do with you. Except for the fact it was her who’d replied to his e-mail, built his hopes up and agreed to deliver his boat … She stopped and waited for Bill to catch up.

Bill rewarded her with a grateful smile. ‘Look, I’m sorry if I came on too strong, but I’ve just spoken to the hospital …’

He broke off and swallowed hard. May couldn’t help but touch his arm seeing how he was struggling to contain his emotions.

‘What’s happened?’ she asked gently.

‘Oh, hopefully nothing too bad,’ he said, ‘but Cecil’s developed a chest infection which is giving slight cause for concern. They can’t operate on him until he recovers.’