cheek. ‘Well done, Ianto. We’ve a recent memory. Anything more?’ Jack had steered him down to the Boardroom. He signalled Gwen over.
Ianto’s eyes started to cloud over just slightly, and a thought happened. ‘I’m starting to remember something. Oh yes.’
‘What?’
Ianto shuddered. ‘Hen night.’
2. LUCKY DEBBIE’S DUTY-FREE PURSUIT OF LOVE
IANTO IS HAVING A FLASHBACK
It is last Friday night. Ianto is on a ferry. Ianto is alone at the bar. Ianto is a man. Which, at the time, isn’t surprising, really. But thinking about it now… Anyway, he’s there on the ferry, pulling out of Cardiff Bay, and there’s a little cabin with orange curtains and a stranger snoring in the top bunk, so he’s at the bar. He’s asked them to make him a coffee to keep him alert, and he’s not liking any of it. The beans were burnt, over-diluted, and it’s been sat in the coffee-maker since February. He thinks he may stop being so silly. He’s supposed to blend in, but here he is at the bar in a suit drinking coffee from a tiny cup and saucer and all around him is noise and formica and laughter and music from every nightmare wedding disco in his life.
He’s keeping an eye out. Someone here. Several someones. Someone must be a patient. Someone must be ill. Does anyone look ill? Or out of place? Who are the patients? Who are the doctors? There’s a hen night over there, dressed as nurses, but they’ve also got on devil horns, angel wings and some tinsel. Perhaps it’s all a double bluff? Ah. Cunning.
He looks over at them a bit more. They seem happy and very drunk. They’re all so young and so loud and keep yelling out for Lucky Debbie. He guesses Debbie is getting married.
‘Hello, sailor!’ says a voice at his elbow.
He looks around. She’s quite drunk but very pretty. And wearing L-Plates.
‘Hello.’ He smiles.
‘I’m Debbie,’ she says. She’s trying to attract the attention of the bored bar staff by waving a handful of notes.
‘As in Lucky Debbie?’
She smiles. ‘Yeah. And you?’
‘Ianto. Not lucky at all, really.’
She makes a boo-hoo face at him. ‘Well, we can change all that, you know. Clearly, I’m spoken for – not that that’s gonna stop me licking whipped cream off the nipples of a Chippendale tomorrow night – but lots of my friends are… well, you know… Hen Night. Come on, join us. Hey!’ This to a barman, who appears to be twelve and entirely covered in acne. ‘Four jugs of Screaming Orgasm, One Shitting Whippet, a rack of Zambucas and a pineapple juice.’
‘Pineapple juice?’ asks Ianto.
Debbie leans forward, a bit confidential. ‘There’s a reason why I’m Lucky Debbie. And a lot of it’s to do with pacing myself when I’m around those screaming whores. God, we have a laugh, but sometimes it all gets a bit much. And when you’ve picked vomit out of your hair on the bus home once, it’s kind of… a sign. You want anything?’
‘I can be tempted.’
‘Oh, then you’ll love my friend Kerry. She’s quite formidable when you first meet, but easier than a GCSE.’
‘Ah. I see. Um. Just a diet coke please.’
Debbie laughs. ‘Seriously? The booze is dead cheap on here. It’s not like flying.’
‘I know,’ says Ianto. ‘But, I’ll let you in on a thing. I’m a secret agent for an organisation that’s beyond the Government, above the UN. And I’m on a mission. So I’m not drinking, see.’
Lucky Debbie’s eyes wander away erratically, watching the barman pour skimmed milk over a jugful of ice. The sound system starts to play ‘You’re Beautiful’.
‘Awww…’ says Debbie. ‘I hate this song. But love it at the same time. You know what I mean? Like, I can’t stand hearing it, but I would love someone to sing it to me. I tried explaining this to Phil. My Phil. Lucky Phil, if you like. But he thought I was asking him to do Karaoke. Sad, really. You know what I mean?’
Ianto nods, sipping gratefully at his drink. ‘I dunno,’ he says eventually. ‘I’ve always had time for sincere music.’
Debbie tilts her head on one side. ‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘Help us carry over these drinks and join in the party. With that suit they’ll think you’re a stripper.’
‘Why thank you,’ says Ianto.
Ianto doesn’t know it yet, but he is being watched. He’s trying to blend in, he’s trying not to arouse suspicion, but he is. He noticed that there were two people standing in the shadows of the dock as he got aboard the boat. There was something odd about them. Two men, dressed like sailors out of a perfume commercial, just standing and watching people get on the ferry, smiling blankly.
Oddly, it’s not them who are watching him.
Later, Ianto is sat at a table in the ferry bar. He’s quiet, but he’s watching the room. Around him are the girls. Including Kerry, who keeps giggling and nudging his arm, which just makes Ianto feel a bit bashful. He’s sipping his drink, and he’s watching the girls. They’re having fun. Simple, really drunken fun. It’s been ages since he’s done this. He’s feeling a bit… not left out. Just… sad.
He remembers the last time he went for an evening out. Tosh got tiddly and danced like a dervish. Owen tried not to break anything coming back from the bar with drinks. Gwen was laughing cos she’d recognised her first boyfriend from school (‘Bloody hell, he’s gone bald!’), and Jack – Jack had looked at everyone else in the room then suddenly, on a whim, turned to him and smiled the widest smile in the world. Then Tosh came staggering over, laughing out loud at the word ‘Kajagoogoo’. She tugged at his elbow, insisted he dance.
But Tosh is gone now, and there’s Kerry.
The bar staff are bringing more drinks to the table, somehow managing to keep the tray stable while the room tilts from side to side.
Ianto isn’t feeling sick, which he finds remarkable. And Kerry keeps asking if he wants to dance. He carries on observing the room. An old couple come in and take a glass of wine each to a small table. He watches them. They’re a possibility. There’s another man sitting alone – he’s wearing a terrible jumper and drinking beer from a jug, so possibly Norwegian.
The girls all start to sing along to the music. Ianto thinks, ‘I may be undercover, but no. There are some things I cannot do.’ So, after a wan smile, he leaves them to sing about their umbrella.
The cold night air really, really clears his head. He takes a walk around, heading down a flight of stairs and into a long corridor. It’s quite an old ship and there’s a lot of it that’s like his childhood – full of browns and oranges and formica. There are lots of narrow passages. It’s an old Norwegian ferry, and so there are signs scattered around in English, Norwegian (he guesses) and Welsh. Apart from the bar staff, the crew are spookily absent, so there’s no one to go up to and ask, ‘Excuse me, have you seen any alien technology?’
He passes a few doors marked ‘Staff Only’. But they’re not locked, and just lead to boring corridors without even lino. The ship is lurching alarmingly, and Ianto is finally feeling a bit sick. He can sense the sweat pricking under his clothes. He makes his way to a railing and breathes, breathes, breathes.
He’s got a night on the boat, a day in Dublin, and then a trip back. What if it’s all like this? It’s oddly like an airport departure lounge at sea. Completely anonymous, faceless, the perfect cover. Everyone’s a stranger, everyone’s nobody.
He passes a sign advertising events on the ship. It is, gloriously, an old-fashioned velveteen board onto which little gold block letters have been pinned haphazardly. It tells him that there’ll be some poker in a function room. It mentions that there’s a small private party for someone’s wedding. It welcomes a car dealership who are on a trip. And it says that the cinema, in addition to screening some films from last year, will be showing a ‘health
