Women and Children First by Gill Paul Read Free Book Online Page A

in beside the diners without them feeling as though he were in their space. He must never touch or lean over them. His exhalations of air should not brush their cheeks. He should be in and out before they even noticed he was there. It was an art, and he reckoned he was pretty good at it.
    He started out working on Mediterranean cruise ships, and when they were given shore leave in Gibraltar or Genoa, Nice or Naples, the other lads would go to a local knocking shop, but Reg never joined them. He and John discovered a mutual love of swimming, so whenever there was time they’d go for a good splash-around in the clear blue-green waters. If it was too cold, or it wasn’t a good spot for swimming, Reg would go for a long walk, getting his bearings in the town and watching the people who lived there. He liked imagining what their lives were like: what they ate for dinner, what they did in their spare time, whether they loved their families.
    ‘He’s an odd fellow,’ the lads said about him, but he didn’t care. He didn’t even care when they hinted he might be homosexual. Let them say what they liked, he’d decided to wait until he fell in love before having sexual relations. He wanted it to be nice, not sordid. He wanted to find someone he loved and stay with that person for the rest of his life. When he worked in steerage on transatlantic ships, there were women who’d offer themselves to him in the corridors: earthy-smelling, dark women with huge soft bosoms and missing teeth. One had lifted her skirt and pressed his hand against her mound.
    ‘Get me a souvenir from first class, love? An ashtray, or a cup and saucer? I’ll make it worth your while.’
    He grabbed his hand back. ‘Sorry, ma’am. We’re not allowed.’
    The other lads did it, though. He’d come upon them in storerooms, trousers round their knees, panting as they thrust into some fleshy creature who was pinned against the wall. It disgusted Reg. He didn’t like to mix with those sorts.
    When he met Florence, he knew straight away she was different. She didn’t flirt with other men. When he kissed her it felt nice, not sordid. He couldn’t imagine swapping her for anyone else, especially not these first-class ladies with their airs and graces, who flirted with him as though he was their personal plaything. It was no way to treat another human being. There was a term for it nowadays. They called them flappers: young, mischievous, impetuous types who flirted with anyone who took their fancy. The girl on the boat deck was a flapper. So was Mrs Howson. Reg didn’t like either of them. They were dangerous. If you knew what was good for you, you’d keep out of their way.

Chapter Eight

     
    The stewards were free from the end of lunch service, at around three o’clock, until just before dinner began at six. They ate a meal in the mess on E Deck, usually whatever was left over from the third-class dinner, then had a couple of hours free. Reg liked to walk around the ship, exploring. He folded a white tea towel over his arm so that it would look as though he was engaged on an errand, but in reality he was spying. He liked to watch the passengers and see how they chose to spend their days, trying to imagine what it must feel like to be them.
    That Saturday, he started up on A Deck where, on the first-class promenade, he overheard a group of passengers discussing whether they might see a pod of dolphins. ‘On our last crossing they followed the ship for ages and they were simply divine creatures, so intelligent.’
    Reg didn’t interrupt to tell them that the North Atlantic was far too cold for dolphins in April. They were intelligent enough to be sunning themselves down in the Caribbean at that time of year.
    He walked the length of A Deck and into the first-class smoking room, where there was already a card game in progress. Men’s heads were bowed in concentration and a blueish fug of cigar smoke hovered above them. In the Verandah and Palm Court