Читать книгу ELVIS SAILS AGAIN - DAVID J CHRISTOPHER - Страница 5

The idea had come to Elvis at breakfast whilst he chewed his toast and marmalade staring at the rain splattering on the window. In the background, the presenter on Radio 4's Today programme was as usual battering some poor interviewee over the head.

"Do we have to hear all this grim news?" Elvis asked rhetorically.

Inflation was up. The recession unceasing. War continued in various hotspots in the world affecting the price of oil. The aftereffects of Brexit reported as catastrophic. Elvis sat, half listening to the radio, half reading his morning newspaper, also full of bad news.

"At least you didn't die," said Naomi. "Last night I mean, you know from your supposed heart attack. What did the nice lady on the telephone tell you again?"

Fortunately, last night's "heart attack" had turned out to be merely a bad case of indigestion. The diagnosis had been made by the businesslike operator manning the NHS health line with the bedside manner of a Russian shot putter. She had quickly ruled out a coronary, before asking about the patient's diet in the preceding hours.

"So, let me get this straight," she barked at Elvis, "today you've had a fry up for breakfast, steak pie, a double portion of chips plus a Spotted Dick and three pints of beer for lunch. This evening you've had an Indian takeaway with a bottle of red wine."

"Don't forget to tell her about the mid-morning donut and the afternoon biscuits," called Naomi.

"I heard that," the woman continued. "With respect sir, my diagnosis is that you are a glutton. Take a couple of Rennies tonight. In the morning you will feel better and just might want to examine your diet and lifestyle."

"It's a sign from upstairs," Elvis told Naomi, "which I ignore at my peril."

As Elvis waited for the Rennies to kick in he pondered what he had been told. When he woke in the morning, pain free, he thought about it some more.

"I've been given a wakeup call to change my life, and that's exactly what I intend to do," he told Naomi at breakfast.

"Lovely darling. What a good idea. But don't forget we've got Marjorie and her new man coming for supper tonight," chirped Naomi, as she fluttered around the kitchen tidying up Elvis's mess.

"Is that tonight?"

"Elvis, you know it is. I'm not in the office this morning, I've got time after tennis to pop to the High Street and pick up some steak and things." She paused to think. "Maybe salad for you though. Anything healthy you want in particular?"

"Marjorie to cancel," said Elvis morosely, "otherwise no."

"Think positive thoughts darling."

Marjorie was Naomi's oldest friend. They had met at primary school and kept in touch ever since through senior school, college, jobs, and Marjorie's various disastrous marriages. She had recently completed the divorce of husband number three, and for the last six months had been relentlessly searching for number four.

In her capacity as best friend, Naomi was delegated the task of scrutinising the various potential suitors who were paraded before her for approval or rejection.

"Is this one off the internet too? I hope he's less morose than the last one. What was his name? The Irish one?"

"Jim. He was a little quiet."

"Quiet? I thought he'd died between dessert and coffee."

Elvis sighed heavily at the thought. He realised that he had much to be thankful for. He had a loving wife, and a lovely home. He drove the car of his dreams. He had a boat tied up at one of the local marinas. He had a business that even now, in these difficult financial times, was keeping its head above water.

"So why do I feel so flat?" he asked himself. "Like I'm trudging through treacle all the time. There must be more to life than this."

He needed some excitement. He wanted to feel alive again like he had done when he and Naomi had first been together on the boats in Greece.

"Boats, Greece, Sunshine," he said. "My God of course!" Why hadn't he thought of it before?

Elvis had been training to be a mechanic before he first went to the Ionian at the age of twenty. He had started an apprenticeship with the local Ford dealer, leaving through boredom but mostly the cold. He spent a few weeks after that learning about boat engines while working for a marine engineer in Southampton. But that job was even more boring and even colder. One day he had opened the evening paper and seen an advertisement offering an opportunity with his name on it.

"That sounds like the ticket," he exclaimed loudly to the surprise of those sitting near him in the public library.

Funsail were expanding their Greece operation. They wanted trained mechanics with sailing experience, who could lead their flotillas around Corfu and the West Coast of Greece's mainland. Each flotilla would have one mechanic and one hostess who would be responsible for looking after the boats and the holidaymakers.

"Sunshine, sea, and probably sex too," he told his mates at his local. "I'm definitely checking this out."

"Does it matter you haven't been further than the Isle of Wight?" someone quipped. "And that was on the Red Funnel."

"Can you actually swim?" asked another mate slapping him on the head.

Ignoring this negativity, he had arranged an interview the next day, and arrived at the company's HQ dressed in his best shiny suit, that normally only got an outing for weddings and funerals.

"So, you've completed your marine apprenticeship and so quickly too, impressive," said the interviewer, fortuitously getting the wrong end of Elvis' stick.

It felt disingenuous to correct him.

"Child's play, those maritime engines," he bluffed, "haven't found one yet I can't fix with my eyes shut."

Elvis couldn't believe his luck when he wasn't asked to provide character references and Funsail accepted what he told them about his mechanical skills without proof.

He was ecstatic when the offer arrived by post a few days later.

"There's one boring little detail," he told his mates. "The offer is subject to a suitable sailing qualification. I sort of bluffed this at the interview saying that I had loads of experience and had studied for my Day Skipper, whatever that is."

"How unsporting of a sailing company to want some sort of sailing qualification," a mate ribbed him.

"Don't worry Elvis, you're dream will not die," his friend Roland told him. "I know someone who can help."

Roland always seemed to know someone. He knew someone who could get any old heap of junk through an MOT without seeing the car. He knew someone who could get you a cheap BT extension at a time when BT had a monopoly. He knew someone who could sell you cheap tobacco and alcohol. He would surely know someone who could magic him a yachting qualification. And so it was. Before the day was out, Elvis was the proud owner of a Day Skipper certificate.

"Get a copy of The Idiot's Guide to Sailing," Roland suggested. "How difficult can it be?"

The job was his and Elvis gladly accepted the position. The wages would be rubbish but who cared. He had felt a million dollars.

"What is it darling?" said Naomi no more than half interested.

"Greece," Elvis shouted coming out of his daydream and back to reality. "Boats," he added as though this would make complete sense. "Sunshine!."

"Darling are you feeling alright? Greece, boats, sunshine? Yes, that's what we do. Says so in the brochure."

"But we don't. Can't you see, that's the problem."

Naomi was not a stupid woman. She was adept at keeping up with her husband's often disjointed thought patterns, but for now she was stumped.

"Greece was when we were happy, truly happy," Elvis went on enthusiastically. "Let's do it all again. Let's go back to doing what we loved."

"You are joking? Tell me you're joking, Elvis," replied Naomi.

The penny dropped like a boulder. The realisation hit her as sharply as if she had plunged her fingers into the electricity socket whilst standing in a puddle of water. Bernard had told her that two of the flotilla leaders had resigned and that there was an issue to resolve. He had also told her that he had the solution but as yet she was none the wiser. She hadn't given the issue any more thought, trusting that Bernard would sort things out just like he always did. Now her husband stood beaming in front of her like an overgrown, excited schoolboy. He had come to his own solution and Naomi knew she wasn't going to like it.

"You can't possibly mean what I think you mean, can you Elvis?"

"Why ever not? It's perfect. The company urgently needs two experienced flotilla leaders, like us. We need some excitement in our lives. It will be fantastic for us."

Naomi stared at her husband of thirty years.

"Give me one good reason why this is a bad idea," he challenged.

"One? One? I can give you five straight away. We are late middle aged. You are not in good shape. We don't know the area. We haven't actually sailed for about twenty years. Our experience is hardly recent. We are needed here."

"That's six," Elvis responded a sulky child's face having replaced the over excited one of a few moments earlier. "We're in our prime. You play tennis, I've got a gym membership and I'm only carrying a few extra pounds. They have satellite navigation on the water now, you know, nothing to it. We go boating as often as we can, motor or sail, what's the difference, it's all water based? The skills we had then never leave you. The company can manage without us, Bernard will be fine, and anyway it's only for a week or so."

Naomi sensed that the battle was already lost before it had been fought. If she stood firm she would have a sulking, brooding, moody Elvis on her hands and that was not pretty at all. His sulks could last for days, even weeks. In the end she would be worn down anyway. Perhaps they could both use a little sea and sunshine, and it would be useful to see the Nidri operation. Bernard could certainly run things at HQ, maybe even better without them.

"Say yes my darling," Elvis almost pleaded, sensing her uncertainty.

"Well," she sighed reluctantly. "I've got very real doubts, but I guess you do only live once."

"Oh Naomi, this is fantastic, you'll see this will be the best fortnight we've had for years," said Elvis almost jumping with joy.

"But Elvis, Marjorie is still coming to dinner," said Naomi.