The Kids Wanna Rock

Granny-P is ready to face her audience; the lyrics for ‘Material Girl’ start up on the karaoke screen and as the music begins, she jumps up onstage urging the audience to give her a round of applause: ‘Come on boys and girls, like the advert says, I’m worth it.’

She starts singing along, camping it up as much as possible, and as you can imagine that’s to quite a high standard.

‘She’s like a woman doing a man doing drag,’ whispers someone on my table.

Patty finishes the song and then starts her act.

‘Where’s the daft bunch who turned up to an eighties costume party as the cast from Grease?’

A cheer goes up from a table on the left.

‘Did you learn nothing in history? Nineteen seventy-eight, I was a mere babe when it first came out,’ she scolds.

Scornful heckling rises.

‘Mind you, I’m still a babe now,’ she continues.

Wolf whistles from the audience; this woman can work a room. She finds the couple who came dressed as Danny and Sandy and cajoles them on to the stage.

‘Your punishment for not knowing your seventies from your eighties is that you can go first. The good news is that you get to pick who goes second. Music, maestro.’

She’s chosen ‘You’re the One That I Want’ for them to sing and the night kicks off. This crowd love nominating each other, so the night flows well until Patty closes her first act of the evening.

‘That was bloody awful,’ she says, ‘but points for trying. If you want to see it done properly, we Granny-Okes are up next, so fill your boots and come back cheering.’

We’ve sailed into our final destination, St Peter Port, tonight and we’ll spend our final day visiting Guernsey tomorrow before getting back to Southampton. So there’s an end-of-trip buzz about the evening and everyone is in the mood to party. Tonight we have an evening of soft rock with a Bryan Adams tribute headlining; Alan is going to love that, ‘Summer of ’69’ was his ‘once more around the block’ song. I think everyone has one, the song you drive once more round the block for and you won’t get out of the car until the track finishes.

Tonight isn’t fancy dress but a few of the guys have dressed up and are sporting 1980s rock-star wigs; they’re reliving the days they had long hair and are having the time of their lives. You can tell when someone is having a nice time and when someone is having a brilliant time. I wonder how long it is since any of these guys got the chance to let it all hang out to rock music? Their kids would die of embarrassment if they could see them now.

Patty’s set is quite short tonight and of course she ends with Bon Jovi and the Zimmer-frame air guitar, which Sheila brandishes to wild applause and cheering. In a triumph of rock-star frenzy, she throws the Zimmer frame into the audience and there’s an unreal scramble for it. I have a moment of terror when I think Patty is going to attempt to crowd surf but to my great relief she doesn’t, although the thought flickered across her face; I saw it.

Mind you, if she had, this crowd might well have caught her. In a couple of days, their lives will be back to washing the car and cutting the grass, but tonight they’re partying as if they never had to grow up.

The star act comes on to the stage and Alan, with the be-wigged guys at the front, goes wild: head-banging, jumping up and down, barging into each other. I fail to see how this drunken performance is any different to my karaoke session. If I’d put this online and called them Grandad Rockers or something he’d have no right to question my sanity. Maybe there are always double standards when it comes to men and women.

I spot Alan right up at the front pumping his fist in the air; he always adored Bryan Adams and Bruce Springsteen. I look but can’t see Amanda anywhere.

The heat in this room is now overwhelming and I need to get away from these sweat-soaked walls for a minute or two. I step out on to the deck and at the first blast of cool night air, I sigh with pleasure.

‘Bliss,’ I say to no one in particular as I look out on to the night lights of Guernsey.

‘Only improved with a chilled glass of Pinot.’ Patty sneaks up and hands me a glass of just-what-I-needed.

‘Could you do this every week?’ she asks.

‘I don’t think so; I think I’m a landlubber or whatever they’re called. What about you?’

‘I wasn’t sure,’ she says, ‘but Ang, they’ve asked me to stay on and do the karaoke act for a few weeks, until they replace the magician. Do you think I should?’

‘Do you have enough knickers with you?’ I ask.

‘They’re upgrading me to a room with a sink and washing line,’ she boasts.

‘Then I think you’re sorted,’ I say and click glasses. ‘Just do it, life is too short for regrets.’

She looks quite relieved, although I can’t imagine she was waiting for me to give her permission.

‘Shall we go and watch your ex make an ex-hibition of himself,’ she asks.

‘Yes and let’s take a video of him to post online.’ Which of course I won’t do.

We head back into the ballroom and struggle through the wall of heat just as the crowd are screaming for an encore. There’s Alan, wearing a freshly acquired wig that sits skew-whiff on his head. He looks exhausted with a face like a shiny red portside buoy.

Bryan comes back on and they go wild, they’re all chanting for the classic they haven’t heard yet.

‘Summer, Summer, Summer,’ bay the crowd.

The chords strike up and there’s a huge cheer. The crowd start leaping up and down and bellowing the lyrics; they all know ‘Summer of ’69’.

I take a picture of the band and crowd and then tour the room taking photos of the Mercurians enjoying the night, lots of happy faces to go into our next newsletter. I turn back to the crowd to get a close-up of Alan but can’t see him; he’s not in his spot at the front.

I skim the crowd and then spot him trying to get away from the masses. He must have had too much excitement for one night. No staying power, I muse.

I watch him and then realise he’s struggling; he’s holding his chest and trying to steady himself grabbing at people as he walks past. All they see is a sweaty drunk bloke and they brush him off. Then it happens, he falls to his knees clutching his chest while his face is paralysed with agony.

I dive in slow-motion speed to get to him, pushing the crowd aside as I go. No one seems to appreciate what’s happening here and I feel as if I’m in some awful nightmare. A room of people partying and someone dying in their midst yet they haven’t even noticed.

‘Get help, get a doctor,’ I scream but no one can hear me over the din.

I have Alan’s head in my lap and the people directly around me start to see that we’re in trouble. A Mexican wave of concern works its way around the room and then from the stage Patty’s voice. She’s been watching me and when I ran for Alan, she ran for the mike.

‘Get a doctor now, there’s a man having a heart attack,’ she calls out.

The band stop and the crew get the crowd out of the room. The ship’s doctor reaches us and places Alan in recovery position, then gives him oxygen. They transport him to the medical bay and I move to follow.

‘Are you his wife?’ asks the doctor.

‘Yes...’ I start to say.

Amanda comes rushing into the scene.

‘Alan, oh my word, what’s happened? Darling, can you hear me?’

‘I mean no,’ I sigh, ‘this lady is.’

I watch as they wheel him out on the stretcher with Amanda clutching his hand.

Patty puts her arm around me.

‘I told him to drop dead,’ I despair recalling my last words.

‘Well he hasn’t and he won’t. He’ll be fine now thanks to you,’ she says. ‘And well done with Amanda, I know that was hard.’

He’s still one of my guests and I have to be sure he’s looked after, so go to find out the options from the doctor and captain. Being so close to the mainland, the best option for him is to be flown to Southampton General. I explain this to Amanda and she agrees to it; I wonder whether I’d have insisted if she hadn’t agreed.

I would have no right to. I sit with them both while we wait for the helicopter to arrive and I witness the tenderness and affection between them. It’s taken a near-death experience for me to accept that they’re the couple now.

The coastguard crew are masterful; the backdrop of the night sky, the flashing lights of the helicopter and everyone knowing exactly what to do. I have permission to stay with the couple until they’re safely on their way and Patty stands with me.

The ship’s doctor supervises the move and then comes back to stand with us as the rescue team take flight.

‘You got to him in time,’ he reassures us, ‘he’ll be fine now.’

I turn to thank him for his help and am struck by what I see. Patty and the doctor standing side by side, not noticing each other as they both watch the helicopter.

As a couple, they’re bathed in the flashing lights of the landing area, the flashing red and orange lights which seem to focus their beam only on these two.

I discreetly take a picture of them.

‘Oh Patty,’ I think, ‘Cleo Castanello was right after all. And to think, you’re about to be stuck on a ship with this man for a few more weeks.’

‘Shall we go inside,’ says the doctor, guiding Patty.

If only she could see it too.