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Chapter 1

Cast Adrift

Geoff Varley did not possess a diversity of gifts, but he had two: an appetite to write and a faithful marriage which was now entering its third decade. At the start of his second day in Southampton on board the luxury cruise liner Eros, he felt he had placed both at risk.

Breakfast was served in the staff canteen. Nigel Jackson, the Purser, was sitting at a table with him.

A paroxysm gripped him. Two crusts lay on his plate uneaten and he held his teacup in both hands. Geoff attributed this sudden pain to the stress of his newly found reality.

‘Pass the salt, Geoff.’

‘Sure, but easy on it. Too much is bad for you.’

‘Yeah, you’re right. I’ll have a continental breakfast like you tomorrow to redress the balance! ’

Geoff grinned, ‘I never thought I had powers of persuasion. Not any more.’ He spotted a floating tealeaf and removed it with his teaspoon, placing it on his saucer.

‘Busy day ahead?’ enquired Nigel.

‘Hard to say. It’s not like your job. There must be a satisfaction in the variety of matters you deal with each day. Never a dull moment, I imagine. As for me, it’s an unknown quantity. Right now all I see is a very blank page.’

‘Getting you down?’

‘Suppose so.’

‘Not just the separation from home?’

‘Mmmmm …. could be that too. After all, as you well know, it’s my first time working at sea. Cast adrift from my routine, that’s what’s happening. Being my own boss for a change too but no home to return to at the end of the day. Takes some getting used to, you must agree.’

‘You’ll settle in.’ Nigel reassured him.

 ‘The lifeboat drill yesterday. Really brought it home to me. Life at sea. I tell you it will be a challenge.’

‘Treat it as I do.’

‘How’s that?’

‘The Purser is just a hotel manager. That’s what I’d do if I were land based. But this offers much more variety. The weeks fly by and then it’s home again. Six weeks at home and we’re both, that’s Sally and me, ready for another sailing. Suits us. It’ll suit you too.’

Nigel pushed his greasy plate aside and poured another cup of coffee.

‘Sea air makes you hungry. You’ll eat more than usual. Just wait and see.’

‘I hope not. That’s what the passengers are meant to do, isn’t it?’

‘They sure do. Have any approached you yet?’

‘No. It’ll take time. They probably think I’m a passenger too! …I’ve done a piece for the Echo Sounder though.’

‘They’ll like that. The rag keeps them informed about our progress, events and venues for activities. It’s like a daily paper for them. So, what’s your angle on it then?’

‘ I’ve placed an advert to raise some interest.’

‘Good idea.’

‘I’ve also said I’ll be in the library at 10 a.m and at

5 p.m. each day.’

‘Sensible hours but you’ll find passengers trying to get hold of you at all hours of the day once they get their writing going. Hey listen, why don’t you tell them to leave any messages at my Purser’s desk for you to pick up outside your set hours?’

‘That’s a good idea.’

‘Remember Geoff, we’re crew. If you need to chat, just come and see me, ok? After all, you’re the new boy.’

Geoff looked up, and smiled ‘I know I can count on you. Thanks, Nigel.’

Geoff returned to his cabin, taking a walk along the open deck as he did so. He listened to the accents of the passengers finding their sea legs. Definitely a cosmopolitan complement. That pleased him.

As he opened his cabin door, he noticed that the morning Echo Sounder had been slipped under. He unfolded it and turned it over to see his announcement:

“Do you wish to write a diary of your voyage? A poem perhaps or a short story? But first, why write? Well it increases self-confidence, discovers and explores what you think, shares experiences, unravels thought-tangles, it’s fun to see the word in print and above all it’s creative! Remember ‘I hear and I forget. I see and I remember’ said Confucius. So, what form of writing? Well you choose! Unwrap your RAP or dream of being a best seller? Why not?

Let’s talk. Let’s meet in the library on deck level 4

 5p.m. on 7^th March.”

Geoff Varley.

Writer in Residence.

The Eros.

If this announcement raised no response he wondered if the project would be terminated, cast adrift? He would be flown home presumably from the next port of call. Well, even if that was to be Madeira, it would be some sort of experience, he concluded. A real cocktail party non-event story to tell for months to come. He could see the funny side of it all, but he also hoped it was not to be such a failure.

There was time to send some pictures of the 290 metre liner to his wife back home, via his laptop. He made sure he also had views of his oak panelled cabin and his balcony to send and one that focused on his bedside table. Jo, his wife, was framed there.

It ought to be a day of preparation. But his spirits were down. Suddenly he seemed unable to cope with the departure from shore without his family support, in this new role. Yet doing very little in reality gave him some comfort. A lull before the storm perhaps. He tried to convince himself he could take it all in his stride. A siesta that afternoon was his solution.

He slept soundly releasing the tensions in his body. When he awoke shortly after 4p.m, he found he had sufficient motivation for his self-imposed invitation. He brewed a cup of tea, rehearsed his opening lines then checked himself in the mirror. Cometh the hour, cometh the man, he thought and he responded.

A few passengers browsed at the bookshelves and CD collection while a handful sat on the rows of chairs Geoff had arranged with the help of the librarian late that morning. His moment of truth had now come. Just what this post would entail still remained a blank page in his mind even as he took centre stage. His only hope was to show some verve in his projects and hope to enthuse the group. That way he might ignite the work he had envisaged on that autumnal day at home in Dumfries last year. Mustering a smile while summonsing Minerva, the Roman God of wisdom, he stood before the gathered passengers and made his inaugural announcement.

‘Good Afternoon Ladies and Gentlemen. My name is Geoff Varley and I am the Eros Writer in Residence or, Writer Afloat, just to remind you ……as we’re all at sea!’

A few recognised the vague humour in his opening remark and gave a comforting smile.

‘I’m pleased to see such a good number here and I hope as the word gets out we may have even more in due course. Let me say from the start that this is not an intensive tutorial, far less a class, but a happy venture where spelling should not deter anyone and whatever you want to write can be achieved. We’ll have a few competitions too during the voyage. There will be prizes for the best poem, the best short story and the best article – all of which will be published in our daily briefing note, the Eros’ Echo Sounder. Now just to gauge what might be your interest, how many of you are planning, or have indeed already started, a diary of this voyage?’

The vast majority raised their hands.

‘I see, yes, of course. I’m sure you are well into day three now! As I suspect you will have no doubt started with the arrangements to kennel the cat or dog before you embarked on board. Well, let’s see, how many of you are considering writing some poetry?’

Five hands sheepishly went up.

‘Excellent. Now who’s considering a short story or a full length blockbuster of a novel?’

‘I am,’ an American voice declared. ‘I’m Bee. In fact I am a published Author already. I’ve had four books published and they have all had rave reviews all over the States. I write one a year and I can’t miss the opportunity of making this four month voyage part of my next novel.’

‘I see, Bee. Looks like you won’t need me at all!’

‘Quite the contrary Geoff. Authors, as you know, like to compare their styles. How many novels have you written?’

Geoff realised he was now skating on very thin ice.

‘Novels have not been my background to date, Bee. I’m more of a short story writer, with the occasional published poem, a journalist in fact. But you have raised an excellent point in that we all have a lot to gain from each other.’

‘Oh, I thought a Writer in Residence would have been a more established personality. Especially on a cruise ship like the Eros.’

Bee’s cutting remark gave Geoff a dry throat. His rescue came from the rear of the room.

‘Seems like JK Rawlings had to start somewhere. In an Edinburgh café I think it was. So did John Grisham, selling books from the boot of his car. But that did not make them poets. Seems like Geoff is encouraging us to follow a number of writing avenues, and that suits me.’ The Tyneside accent was unmistakable and most welcome in what he said. By the nodding of heads, Bee was being sidelined as a troublemaker and Geoff realised his work was taking on a more challenging pace.

‘Quite right…. Len, isn’t it?’

‘Aye. That’s me. I think we’ve all got something to learn.’

An elderly woman raised her hand. ‘Excuse me Geoff. I was thinking of making a scrapbook.’

There was a murmuring of derision that Geoff was quick to squash.

‘Excellent idea and there’s a lot of material apart from the daily news sheet and your own photographs. Yes that’s a great idea and you can create headings and sayings to match the texts. I like that.’

‘Ok. So we’ve got a few ideas going. Anyone concentrating solely on poetry?’

‘I do that too,’ said Bee.

‘Well, the beauty of poetry is that you can do that anytime, wherever you are. You may be inspired by the pool or looking overboard. Make sure you have a pad of paper and a pen handy. The ship has supplies of these for you. Please, do help yourselves.’

‘Will there be any charges involved in any of this?’ asked Len.

‘No. Anything which is published on board will be free, albeit subject to the censoring of the editorial board. If on the other hand you complete a 100,000 word novel before we return to Southampton, well, I guess I’ll ask you to re-read it! We will not be publishing novels. That’s a dry land activity to follow up.’

‘So who’s on the editorial board?’ a voice from the back questioned.

‘I did not intend to make it out to be such a sinister sounding group. It’s Nigel the Purser, and myself. If we need an arbitrator then the Captain is asked in but we are keen for you to be the contributors. It’s your holiday. Make the most of it and I will help in any way I can. May I suggest that between the hours of 10 and 11 each morning and 4 and 5 in the evening, I will be here in the library to help you achieve your goal. At any other time, leave your message with the Purser and he’ll pass it on to me. So take your pads and start writing. We’ve begun a voyage in more ways than one. Any final questions? ….No? …..Well, that’s got us off to a good start. I’ll be here at 10 tomorrow morning. That leaves an hour before dinner. Perhaps the start of a poem or a gin and tonic! Then some food for thought to follow!

As the assembled group began to leave the library, an older man lingered. Geoff noticed his reluctance to leave and approached him.

‘Well, are you a poet or a story writer?’

‘Neither.’ he replied.

‘My name is Nick, Nick Harper. It was because I heard that you were on this ship, I joined this cruise.’

‘Really?’ Geoff was taken aback.…… ‘Because of me?’ He was intrigued.

‘Yes, well, actually not you personally Geoff, but because there was a Writer in Residence on board. You see my wife Sandra and I decided that we should share our last few weeks together on this cruise. What I am trying to say is that I’m afraid I have terminal cancer. The grandchildren don’t know it but the doctors have been blunt, at my request I might add. There’s no beating about the bush with cancer, Geoff. I know I won’t see Christmas this year. It sharpens the mind wonderfully I can tell you.’

‘Oh …..I’m truly sorry Nick….I really am. There is a good medical staff team on board, you know?’

‘Oh yes, they know me. I had to make certain that I had all my drugs available for this cruise and they have a full medical report from my doctor. I was grateful that I was actually allowed to come at all in fact. However when Sandra mentioned to me that the Eros had a Writer in Residence on board, I got to thinking. I thought I’d like to give my grandchildren an account of my life so that they would have something more than a frail old photograph to remember me by. A little selfish I know but I really want to write this damn thing.’

‘Not at all selfish. An excellent idea Nick. Have you made a start?’

‘Not really. I need a kick in the pants to get me started I suppose. After all it’s quite easy to write a chronological record of when and where I was born, where I went to school and what I did but I’d appreciate a bit of help on the more personal bits and one bit in particular.’

‘Certainly. You know Nick one way would be to record on tape what you wanted to say and then we could write it down, make chapter headings and themes, leading up to this cruise. How does that sound?’

‘I’m in your hands. I’m ready anytime.’

‘Well, let me get organised with the tapes and a folder. Why don’t we meet at 11am after the morning class tomorrow? You can come to my cabin suite. You will enjoy the balcony. That should be an ideal setting to get us started on your reminiscences’.

‘I’ve a better idea Geoff, if you don’t mind. Some of my past is murky. It’s time to come clean. I’ve a load to shed as it were. Will you join Sandra and me for dinner this evening?’

‘I’d be delighted, provided Sandra agrees.’

‘She will, of course. I think she should be in at the beginning of this. Shall we say the Peacock Bar for 7.30 and the Korley Lagoon Restaurant for 8 p.m.?’

‘Provided I pay for the drinks, Nick.’

Nick smiled, ‘I’ll not cost you much but maybe Sandra will!’

They rose and walked towards the library door. Geoff shook Nick’s hand firmly.

‘7.30 p.m. at the Peacock? See you then,’ he said.

Nick smiled sympathetically and nodded. They parted.

There was no going back now for Nick. His secret was about to surface.

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