Confessions from a Luxury Liner. Timothy Lea

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СКАЧАТЬ ruined my shoes,’ she says. ‘It’s the first time I’ve worn them, too.’

      ‘They’re lovely,’ I say. ‘I like that snakeskin pattern.’

      ‘That’s not snakeskin,’ she says. ‘That’s where you’ve been standing all over them with your rubber soles!’

      Before I can make further headway, there is a roll on the drums and Greasebonce, the MC, grabs the mike and leaps to the edge of the stage like he has plans to shove it up somebody’s jacksy. ‘Yes, folks. It’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for!’ he trills. ‘Let’s have you all on the floor. It’s time for our Elimination Spot Waltz!’

      I have a picture of couples circling round the floor trying to eliminate each other’s spots until the duo that has accumulated the biggest pile of blackheads is declared the winner and given a giant jar of Germolene. It is not the kind of thought you want to dwell on.

      ‘We don’t want to do this, do we?’ I say.

      ‘Oh yes we do!’ Natalie grips me tightly. ‘The couple last week won a colour TV set.’

      ‘They’re giving them away as paperweights at the moment,’ I say.

      Natalie does not reply. An expression of grin-and-bear-it determination has settled on her face.

      ‘Carry on dancing, boys and girls.’ I think Natalie fancies Greasebonce. There is a repulsive glint of desire in her over-made up eyes as she gazes upon his plum-coloured, braid-trimmed jacket and the yellow ruffles piled up on his chest like the overspill from a cracked boiled egg.

      I grit my teeth and concentrate hard. One, two, three - ouch! One, two, three - ouch! I am not too worried because we will soon be eliminated. I have never won anything in my life. Boum-ting! The cymbals dash and my hampton gives a nervous twitch – it always does when somebody bashes a couple of cymbals together. Greasebonce leaps from the stage and makes his way to the middle of the floor.

      ‘Everybody behind me—’ he pauses so that all the stupid birds can go, ‘Oooh!’ – ‘off the floor please.’

      ‘That’s us, isn’t it?’ I say.

      ‘No!’ Natalie clings to me with an intensity that I would be happy to experience in different circumstances. ‘Carry on dancing!’

      Now that half the people have left the floor it is much more difficult to hide and I begin to feel a right Charlie as the crowds build up to clock my diabolical style. Everybody else circles round us like Indians attacking a wagon train and Sid is there, rising and falling as if dancing on a switch-back. Gloria has her head turned over her left shoulder as if he has bad breath – knowing Sid, he probably has.

      Boum-ting! Surely, this time I will be delivered.

      ‘The first ten gentlemen to bring me a pair of lady’s tights or stockings!’

      ‘Ooh!’ Natalie whips up her skirts and starts undoing one of her stockings. She has a nice pair of legs, I must say. It is quite sexy, really, because all around me, birds are flashing their goodies. Sid is taking it very seriously because his bird is lying on her back and he is peeling her tights off in one continuous pull. ‘Come on!’ Natalie clearly thinks that I should be lending a hand so I start fiddling with one of her suspenders. I make a lousy job of it because I want to make blooming certain that we do not get in the first ten. Also, because I quite enjoy the feeling of her soft, silky flesh beneath my fingers and the thought that I am touching her up in front of hundreds of people. ‘Oh, give it here!’ She brushes my fingers away and pulls her stocking down to knee level as Greasebonce announces that he has his ten couples and that they have all been eliminated. Most of the blokes just picked their partners up and carried them over to him, so the striptease was unnecessary.

      I am now getting desperate. The floor seems as wide as Horse Guards’ Parade and I hear a burst of laughter as I try and do a turn and sock some bloke on the hooter with my elbow.

      ‘You’re dancing the wrong way!’ hisses Natalie.

      ‘I know I am,’ I say. ‘I’ve never been properly taught.’

      ‘I mean, you’re dancing the wrong way round the floor,’ she says. ‘That’s why you keep bumping into people.’ Amazing, isn’t it? I never realised it was like the dodgems. I do another turn and kick her so hard in the shin that she is dancing an Irish jig when there comes another bash on the cymbals.

      ‘Ooh we are having fun, aren’t we?’ says Greasebonce. ‘What are we having?’

      ‘Fun!!’ shout the idiots lining the floor.

      ‘That’s right,’ says Greasebonce. ‘Now, how many couples on the floor are married?’ Half a dozen hands go up. ‘You’re out! You’ve got your prize already. Carry on dancing.’

      ‘Why are you just standing there?’ says Natalie.

      ‘Everybody is looking at me,’ I say. ‘I’m making a fool of myself. Let’s get off.’

      ‘Don’t be stupid,’ she says. ‘We could win a prize. I’ll lead. You follow me.’

      I do not think that I have ever felt a bigger berk in my life than in the few minutes that I stumble round that floor. Natalie is trying to do the whole ‘Come Dancing’ bit and I am more flushed than the toilet in a prune tasters’ commune. I wish the floor would open and swallow me up. Why won’t the music stop? Why—? Boum-ting!

      ‘Oh! It’s exciting, isn’t it! What shall we do now?’ Greasebonce pretends not to hear when one of the band tells him. ‘Right! Who’s got a birthday in November?’

      ‘I have,’ I say.

      ‘Ssh!’ says Natalie. ‘He’ll have us off.’

      ‘Me, me!’ I shout. I am practically jumping up and down.

      ‘Anybody else?’ There is a long pause and then another geezer sticks his mitt in the air.

      ‘Right! We’ve got our finalists. Everybody else off the floor, please.’

      ‘Oh my gawd!’ I close my eyes.

      ‘Smashing! You are clever.’ When I open them again, Natalie is looking at me with something approaching admiration.

      ‘It’s nothing,’ I say. ‘I get involved in a lot of road accidents as well.’

      To my horror, I see that Greasebonce is approaching us with a couple of balloons in his mitt. ‘Right!’ he chortles. ‘One of these on each of your heels. The first couple to burst both the other couple’s balloons is the winner.’

      ‘I can’t stand it!’ I whimper.

      ‘Don’t be like that,’ says Natalie. ‘You’ve been stamping on my feet all evening. Surely a couple of balloons won’t give you any trouble?’

      ‘Couldn’t they just shoot me?’ I say.

      ‘Finalists at opposite ends of the ballroom, please.’

      ‘Good luck, Natalie!’ СКАЧАТЬ