S.O.S. (52 page)

‘Yeah – yeah I guess … like maybe it's enough already?'

And Dwight just suddenly thought of David.

‘Amen,' he said, so quietly.

*

Aggie and Stacy just stood there, now – Aggie so grey and exhausted following the ragged expiry of her first night within living memory without Nobby by her side: as she had groaned in her creaking cabin, knocked this way and
that – and not just by the toss of the sea – she had attempted to cope with her amazement at knowing that he, her Nobby, was being
held
somewhere – and by
Stewart
, of all people in the world. And he hadn't got his pills, you know – that alone was worrying enough: but could he be
eating
properly? That was just one of the points on which she craved really any sort of reassurance from this frustratingly calm and methodical Captain seated before her. What, she had repeatedly pleaded, was actually being
done
at all? But before the Captain could answer (or at least deflect the worst of the thrust) a jabber-lipped Stacy – hardly less frantic – had broken in with the first anxiety to force its way up through all the others and break and splatter to the surface.

‘And how in God's name did he get that, oh my God –
gun
? I mean –
how
, for Christ's sake? How is that
possible
?'

Aggie quailed: she had tried not to think of the gun. Tried and failed. The very
word
, it made her tremble.

‘It is not, I can assure you of
this
,' responded the Captain (thank Christ – sure ground here, at least), ‘one of ours. We have very few firearms aboard and all are registered, locked away and very closely monitored. None has been signed for by authorized personnel and none, repeat none, is missing. I can only assume if there
is
a gun – '

‘What do you –?! What are you –?!' Stacy was near apoplectic, now, and cursing her lips for just not pulling themselves together and helping her
out
, here. ‘Are you suggesting we both
imagined
it? How on earth else do you – '

‘I am not suggesting anything. I merely – '

‘
Listen
. How do you think he's keeping my Mum in that bloody room? Force of
personality? Card
tricks? Look – I'm telling you. I know my Mum. If there was no gun, Christ – she would've killed him with her two bare hands, by now.'

‘Or,' put in Aggie, ‘Nobby would have overcome him and tied him up.'

‘Look, ladies …' sighed the Captain. ‘I understand your distress. All I can repeat is – '

And suddenly Aggie was sobbing unnaturally – and she nearly screamed at the Captain:

‘Because he
is
, you know – he's very good at
knots
…!'

Stacy put her arm around her – she felt so frail, and her bones were leaping.

‘It's OK, Aggie – it'll be OK. They'll be safe. Promise.'

‘I'm sure this is true,' said the Captain. ‘The New York police have been alerted, as I said. If this situation is not resolved, they will board the moment we dock. I have insisted there will be no violence. At the very latest you will all be reunited by tomorrow, soon after dawn. Look … it's a terrible thing that's happened, but there's really nothing more we can do. We were hoping that food, or something, would be requested, whereupon my men could have rushed him, but … well, no call has been received.'

And the Captain very much regretted saying just any small part of all that. The silence was sobering, as people retired to within themselves and thought their thoughts. Stacy was feeling across her shoulder the spreading warmth of Aggie's seeping tears, as she clung to her so tightly. Is my Mum being hurt? Is she? Because he looked mad, that bastard, you know. If only there was just some small form of communication … if only she could know just what in God's name was going on in that bloody little
room
…

*

‘Does anyone,' asked Stewart, quite mildly, ‘want this last cream cracker, at all? Or there's still some Quality Street there, pretty sure. Maybe only the hard ones, now.'

‘Oh God
Almighty
, Stewart!' bellowed Jennifer. ‘I'm absolutely
starving
. Can't you for Christ's sake at least get us something decent to
eat?'

‘No…' said Nobby, quite thoughtfully. ‘He really
couldn't do that, Jennifer, if you stop and think about it for a minute. You see – '

‘Oh my
God
…!' wailed out Jennifer. ‘This has to be all my bloody worst nightmares come together to drive me
crazy
! We're stuck in this airless bloody storeroom with our smile-a-minute Assistant Cruise Director waving around a, Jesus – bloody
gun
 – and then I've got
you
, Nobby, haven't I? Haven't I? Hm? How
many
, Nobby – can you recall? I mean, we've been in here how long, now? Sixteen hours? Eighteen hours? Something like that?'

‘Nineteen hours and forty-six minutes,' replied Nobby promptly, and with a fair degree of delight. ‘If we're counting. But I fail to
see
, dear Jennifer – '

‘Shut up! Shut up! Hear me? I am
not
your dear Jennifer, you see Nobby – I can't be, can I? Because I hate you. I've always hated you. I hated you from the very first moment I ever set
eyes
on you, bloody Nobby. And see if you can answer me: how many
terms
have you come up with now, Nobby? Hm? How many nautical bloody
terms
 –?!'

‘Well,' mused Stewart, ‘if nobody wants the last cracker, I think I might have it myself.'

‘But Jennifer,' protested Nobby, ‘we've got to talk about
something
, haven't we? Keep our spirits up. Like being down a bomb shelter, many ways.'

‘I'd prefer the bloody
bomb
. Jeeeesus!
Look
, Stewart – enough is enough, OK? Why are you
doing
this? I mean you've had your bit of
fun
, yes? Now God's sake just open the door and let's get out of here, hm? Yes?
Pleeeease
?'

Stewart unstuck a cracker crumb from the corner of his lower lip, and shook his head.

‘Can't be done, I'm afraid. And Nobby's quite right about the food, you know. If I opened the door, they rush me. Open a porthole, they might use gas. No … stuck here, I'm afraid. But to answer your question – I don't
know
, Jennifer, why I'm doing this. I don't even remember how it all came into being …'

And at that point, Stewart looked glummer than anyone.

‘Got us over a barrel …' said Nobby, quite idly.

Jennifer eyed him sharply.

‘
Don't
!' she warned. ‘Even if it is one – just
don't
!'

‘But it's very interesting, this one, Jennifer. In the old Royal Navy – '

Jennifer had rammed her palms over her ears and was drumming a tight tattoo with the heels of her feet, not at all in time with the frenzied and nasal succession of discords that now were warbling out from her lips.

‘Not listening! Can't hear you! Not listening! Doo-bee-doo-bee-doo-bee-
doo
…!'

‘Why don't you,' suggested Stewart, quite kindly, ‘lie down for a while, maybe?'

And Jennifer heard
that
all right, over the tail end of this throwaway and impromptu bout of busking.

‘Oh yes very
funny
, Stewart! Lie down! What – like we all did last night, do you mean? All snug and cosy? There's no bloody room to stand
up
in here, is there Stewart? Never mind lie
down
. Hm? Last night I was slumped against a cutout of Clint bloody
Eastwood
with a packet of balloons for a pillow. Every pitch of the ship, my head bashed into that
mirror
ball, there. Nobby was on the
ironing
board – '

‘Wasn't great,' muttered Nobby. ‘But it's like a bicycle – you learn to adapt …'

‘ – and
you
, Stewart, where were you? Remember? Yes, that's right – you were sitting on the lavatory in that horrible bit at the back – all bloody
night
, weren't you? And who had to hear it? Who had to bloody
smell
it?'

‘Yes, I – um: sorry about that. I think it was the Boeuf Stroganoff …'

‘Well you're bloody
lucky
, aren't you? I didn't have time for any dinner because I was bloody
kidnapped
, you see …!'

Jennifer blinked once and just looked at the man. Her voice became softer (oh God look – I've done my best with shrill, so let's just see where softer gets us):

‘Stewart. Listen to me. Listen – yes? Why are you going
on
with this? Hm? Tomorrow morning we're in New York – right? What can you gain? You've
got
to let us out tomorrow, haven't you? So why not just put down the gun and do it now? Hm? What's … what's wrong, Stewart? Do you not feel well?'

Stewart was screwing up his eyes and touching one temple.

‘I … suddenly … feel a bit … be OK: get this, sometimes.'

‘I've got some Rennies,' volunteered Nobby.

‘No – it's my … oh God, I don't know what it is. Could be a brain tumour.'

‘Ah
no
…' came back Nobby, brightly. ‘You don't want to worry about
that
. Very fashionable, isn't it nowadays? Worrying about all that sort of thing at the slightest twinge. Friend of mine, not long ago – we share a half at the Legion, most Wednesdays –
he
said that to me: convinced, he was, he had a brain tumour.'

Stewart was nodding with care, maybe needing more.

‘Yes …?' he ventured. ‘And …?'

‘Well
telling
you,' insisted Nobby. ‘Nothing to worry about at all. Turned out it was all in his head, see?'

Jennifer's eyes turned up to the ceiling.

‘Any straitjackets among your boxes of tricks, Stewart? That gun of yours – it is
loaded
, I presume? Why don't you just shoot me? Hm? It would be
kind
. Kinder still – shoot fucking
Nobby
, let me go and then as soon as we're in America you can sling your hook. How's that sound?'

‘Ah!' interjected Nobby, with energy. ‘Now that's a good one – ‘sling your hook'. This goes back to the days of
hammocks
, when – '

‘
Stewart
!' screamed Jennifer. ‘Please have mercy on my
soul
. Give me the gun –
I'll
kill him – I'll do it
now
…!'

But Stewart didn't seem to be listening. He peered with not much curiosity through the misty porthole.

‘Sea's fairly calm again,' he said without expression. ‘Be dark quite soon.'

*

Nobby had, in his stockinged feet, softly padded the very few paces it took to get to her. He was about to apply the very lightest pressure to her shoulder, and hope to rouse her – but he was momentarily arrested by the pale-lit vision of the soft plains and hills of her upturned face – the darker valleys – touched as they were by moonlight. He had never before seen her in repose; usually, I find with this woman, she seems to be constantly snarling. Pity she hates me. I think she's lovely. Sorry, Aggie, but I do. Shame to disturb, but I really am wanting a quick word – and Stewart, he was ages nodding off (and lying on a palette in front of the doorway, there – that gun across his stomach – who can really blame him?).

There were brief and uncertain flickerings about Jennifer's nose and eyelids, as Nobby with reluctance continued to stir her – and then more discernible signs of a growing realization, and the sick despair that came with that. Nobby's face just hung before her. She moaned and closed tight her eyes and opened them again of a sudden, but no, no no – it was no good at all: Nobby's face just hung before her.

‘I just wanted to
say
,' he launched in quite hurriedly, and whispering darkly (if I pause for breath, she'll only abuse me), ‘that when I said to you that time I
liked
it, yes? When I said-'

‘Oh Nobby …' sighed Jennifer, ‘why is it you just can't
die?
Hm? Christ my back is – ah! – bloody killing me …'

‘No listen – hear me out. When I said I liked your
jacket
, yes? You must recall. I didn't so much mean I
liked
it – although I am sure it is in itself a very fine
garment
 – '

‘Oh God oh God oh God oh
God
…'

‘ – but what I really hoped to convey – didn't, obviously – is that I
recognized
it, yes? Because I saw you, you see. On the video. That night. Late that night when you and someone went right up to the bows.'

‘Oh,' said Jennifer. ‘That.
Video
? What video?'

‘Doesn't really matter. Suffice it to say that I would have given
anything
to have been that man … the man who was with you. You are a very handsome woman, Jennifer, and – no no, please, please just let me finish – and I have never ever been to the bows of this wonderful ship – not once, ever. Always wanted to – asked to do it, oh – so many times, but no. Stewart would tell you that, if he was awake. It's my great ambition. But they always said no.'

Jennifer shrugged. ‘Should've just gone. Like I did. What's the bloody time? Oh God my
legs
… I can't move. I'm so
starving
… and don't bloody call me ‘handsome'.'

And both Jennifer and Nobby started quite badly when a new voice, now, cut through the just-grey light, and into the hush.