Olivia Joules and the Overactive Imagination Read Online Free PDF

though it might topple over.
    Across the way, a small crowd of people was gathered on a patch of grass, a group of taxis parked alongside. Olivia made her way over. She counted the decks: there were fifteen of them, lines of portholes, then layer upon layer of balconies. There were people sitting out on white chairs at tables, eating breakfast. She glanced around at the crowd. Some of them were clearly passengers, taking photographs with the OceansApart in the background, dressed in the garish and bizarre outfits which seem to go with the cruising life. Olivia smiled at the sight of a lady with a bright orange face and red lipstick, which had missed her mouth, wearing a little white boxy jacket with epaulets and a captain’s hat, and an embarrassed husband in pastel, infantilized cruise gear beside her, posing while a taxi driver took their photos.
    “Excuse me, love.” It was a northern English accent. Olivia turned to see an old couple, the auburn-haired lady in an elegant green dress with a cream handbag and matching cream shoes. The cream shoes made Olivia think of holidays in Bournemouth. The man, who was only slightly taller than the lady, and stockily built, was holding her jacket. It was sweet the way he was smoothing it proprietorially, as if he was proud to be holding it for her.
    “Would you mind taking our photo in front of the ship?” The lady held out a disposable camera.
    Olivia smiled. “Where are you from?”
    “Leeds, love. Just near Leeds.”
    p. 27 “I’m from Worksop,” said Olivia, taking the camera.
    “Ee, ’ecky thump,” quipped the old man. “You look out of breath. Have you been running? Don’t you want to get your breath back a minute?”
    “No, I’m fine. Closer together,” said Olivia, peering through the viewfinder. “Ooh, hang on. I’m going to have to move back a bit to get it all in.”
    “Don’t bother, love. Just get a bit in. We know what it is, don’t we, Edward?” The lady was a charming mix of elegant looks and broad Yorkshire accent.
    Olivia clicked the camera, looking at the beaming couple through the viewfinder. It suddenly felt as though all the scariness and bad things in life had receded, and she was in a lovely granny-and-grandpa world of biscuit tins and doilies. To her horror, she felt tears pricking her eyelids.
    “There you go. Souvenir of Miami,” she said slightly too cheerily, handing back the camera.
    The lady chuckled. “Running. It makes me feel jiggered just looking at you. Do you want a cough sweet?” She began to rummage in her bag.
    “So, love,” said the old man, “what are you doing so far away from Worksop?”
    “I’m a journalist,” said Olivia. “I’m trying to get my magazine to let me write something about the OceansApart. ”
    “Eee, right fair. A journalist. That’s grand, that is.”
    “We can tell you all sorts about the ship, love.”
    “Do you live on it?”
    “Yes!” said the man proudly.
    “Well, only part of the time,” said the lady.
    “That’s our cabin. Look, halfway up, in the middle, with the pink towel,” said the man, pointing.
    “Oh yes, looks nice. Lovely balcony. I’m Olivia, by the way.”
    “Elsie, and this is Edward. We’re on our honeymoon.”
    p. 28 “Your honeymoon? Have you known each other a long time?”
    “Fifty years,” said Edward, proudly. “She wouldn’t have me when she were eighteen.”
    “Well, you started courting someone else. What did you expect?”
    “Only because you wouldn’t have me.”
    Olivia loved people’s stories. Scratch the surface of anyone and you’d find something strange and complicated going on.
    “Do you want a lift anywhere?” said the man. “We’re taking a taxi to South Beach.”
    “Ooh, yes please,” said Olivia. “As a matter of fact, I’ve made myself a bit late.”
     
    “So, carry on with the story,” Olivia said as the taxi pulled out onto the highway.
    “Well,” said Elsie, “anyway, he thought I weren’t interested, and