S.O.S. (53 page)

‘Well
this
time, Nobby,' said Stewart with care, ‘the answer is
yes
. As soon as I'm sure it's safe, I'll show you both the quickest way down. I am all,' he concluded, ‘in favour of ambition.'

‘
Me
?' piped up Jennifer, scrambling to her feet – rubbing at some bits of her, twisting back into shape one or two more. ‘
I
don't want to go. Bloody freezing up there, telling you. But listen – does that mean you're finally letting us
out
, then? Seen sense? Yes, Stewart? The game's now over, is it? Oh God I'm so bloody
hungry
…'

Nobby was checking his watch. ‘About two hours now, my reckoning. And then we should be docking. Always a golden moment.'

‘No you
must
go, Jennifer,' said Stewart, with gentle insistence. ‘I have to know where you both
are
, you see. There are two more caramels left, if you're interested …'

Jennifer was just about coping with the nearly half-light. She glanced at the now quite girlishly excited Nobby, and then quickly over to the near-maniacal Stewart … and whatever form her latest howl of protest might have taken, she simply let it die. No point, was there? It was time, now, to humour the loonies.

*

Captain Scar was uneasy, if you want him to be honest. It wasn't simply the presence of civilians on the Bridge – no no, this sort of time there were always those (VIPs and so on). No, what is quite frankly, I think, putting the fear of God into me – and no matter that we've all been through this a thousand times before, docking a ship of this size is anyway constantly just that little bit anxious – no, what is rather getting to me is the nature of the
mix
of this particular straggling band of gawpers and hopefuls. It's still dark – just about five a.m. – and out on the uncovered wings, still bloody cold. So far all was well: little knots of disparate people all with scarves and macs and so forth wrapped about them (the first-timers already wide-eyed and excitedly fingering their tiny silver cameras). A voluntary more or less silence prevailed – not much of anything for anyone to do, and absolutely zero in terms of visibility; except for that clutch of Japanese men, way over to starboard. All chattering at the same time and laughing their bloody heads off, for some damn reason or another: been doing it non-stop from the moment they arrived. Something high up in Sony or one of those, I think they are, Alan was telling me: I try not to get involved, all that side of things. Leaves me cold.

To be perfectly blunt about it, it's these bloody
journalists
who are worrying all sorts of hell out of me. What's-her-name's family is up here, of course – what was she called? Nicole (yes – I haven't forgotten). Well – I couldn't change my
mind
, could I? Not simply because it did, in fact, oh God
– turn out that that friend of her daughter's really bloody
has
done a jumper. Oh Christ. So far we've kept an airtight lid on that one – so let's just pray it stays that way. And then there's … oh Christ – and this one is really my fault, you know. Maybe I shouldn't have gone along with this one at all, but God – they were so damn shrill and insistent, those two … what're they called?
Stacy
, yes – whose mother is, well – you know … and Nobby's wife, Aggie. Still not a whistle out of our little locked-room mystery. Cut off the phone now, it appears (and where in Christ's name did that bastard get a
gun
?). Anyway – they were going on and on about the police, when we docked. NYPD, yes? And how they didn't want them just charging on board with their bombs and machine guns like they did in the films. Well – you can imagine: I felt sick at the very
thought
. What – they think I
do
want that? End of my career, I'm telling you, if there's anything of that nature. So … I tried to reassure the both of them, didn't I?
Honestly
, I begged them, you really must
believe
me. I have received confirmation that two strike vehicles will be positioned precisely on the quay awaiting our approach. They have strict instructions to report to me personally up on the Bridge the minute they board – only then will some plan of action be agreed upon and implemented. Well – walked right into it, I suppose. Stacy seemed to be the official spokesperson, now (and poor old Aggie, poor old thing – she's practically gone to pieces over all of this, you know … and let's be frank: who can bloody blame her?). Anyway, this Stacy person was going on and on about Well if that's really the
case
, then we want to see them – we want to be with you when they actually arrive. And all my I Do Assure Yous just weren't going to make it, were they? In the face of this. So
yes
, I said: fine, OK – if that's the way you want it: fine. Yes. So. They're here too. Not actually in anyone's
way
, thank God – but here all the bloody same. Yes. Anyway. The fine upstanding members of Her Majesty's Freeloaders are over on the port wing,
passing around a hip flask, looks like: wouldn't mind a couple of swigs out of it myself. So. Play it by ear, shall we? Nothing else I can really do. Get myself back inside now, I think. Be a sailor again.

‘So, Alan. Everything all right?'

‘Steady as she goes, sir. Glimpse of dawn through the glasses.'

‘Uh-huh. Tugs in place?'

‘All in place, sir. And, um – police also confirmed, sir.'

‘Good,' said Captain Scar. Oh yes, he thought:
great
.

‘Get you something, sir? Cup of something?'

The Captain was quite seriously mulling this over (I've got a sudden yen – isn't it unbelievable? – for some bloody pea
soup
, of all things on earth) but Alan was forced to break abruptly into his thoughts, now, as he held the binoculars steady and said quite urgently out of the side of his mouth:

‘Sir? Sir – I think I just saw something.'

‘Saw? Saw something? How do you mean, Alan? Well?
What
…?'

‘Sorry, sir … gone, whatever it was. Can't see a thing, now. Sorry, sir. Shadows, maybe.'

‘
Christ
, Alan. This is all quite tense enough without you bloody
seeing
things. I mean –
God
. '

Alan was abashed: not often the Old Man got like this. Things on his mind.

‘Sorry, sir,' he said, hushed and truly contrite.

But the Captain had waved away all of that, and wandered out now to the port wing (say something nice to someone, I suppose I'd better had). But oh. Oh: what's this now? It's Nicole, that's what it is.

‘Oh do
listen
, David – this young man's from
The Times
. How terribly exciting. Well yes we
have
, since you ask – had a perfectly
lovely
crossing, haven't we, David? Rollo?'

They both of them shifted a bit, and shuffled around. Rollo managed a
Yeh
; David (Christ my head is splitting)
just peered away into the mist that was around him, and wrapping him up.

And the Captain was moving quite quickly, now, because this little shit from
The Times
had rapidly turned his attention towards, oh Christ – what's her bloody name? Daughter of the other one:
Nicole
, blast it …

‘And you?' the reporter wanted to know. ‘Pleasant trip? No complaints?'

‘No,' said Marianne, quite flatly.

‘No … what?' checked the
Times
man. ‘No it
wasn't
pleasant? Or no you haven't got any, um – complaints?'

‘
Well
, ladies and gentlemen!' boomed the Captain, at his most cocktail party affable – rubbing together his hands as if a feast was in store. ‘Everything all right? Any moment now, I think, and we'll get a bit of light. Everyone got their cameras ready? Some unbelievable views. Promise you.'

‘What I meant was,' said Marianne, simply, ‘no I didn't
like
it at all because my friend committed
suicide
by, oh – jumping off the
ship
…!'

And as yet more hot tears were somehow wrung from her, Nicole was already clucking, and rushing to enfold her. And all Captain Scar could do was groan so softly as his stomach hit the deck – watching quite helplessly as all the journalists suddenly were clustered and eager to every side of Marianne (rather like, he just about thought, flies to a cowpat). It was then that he was aware of his sleeve being plucked – and just that one thing, now, was driving him
mad
.

‘Oh what
is
it?' he hissed, as he turned to find out. ‘Oh it's
you
, Alan …'

Alan was not much more than whispering.

‘Needed on Bridge, sir. Immediately.'

And the Captain didn't even have time, now, to wish he was dead; he hustled away in the wake of Alan, smiling like an idiot into any face he met along the way.

Back in the hushed and comforting sanctity of the Bridge, all seemed blissfully ordered. Capped and blazered officers all at their posts, their faces only barely lit by glowing green and amber lights, winking out from the dials and screens. But before Captain Scar could ask someone here if they wouldn't mind telling him what in hell is going
on
, Alan had passed over to him the binoculars and was energetically pointing through the still opaque windshield down to the deck below, and onwards towards the bows. The Captain snatched up the glasses, and peered. Soon he was lowering them again – and he found himself uttering in total disbelief:

‘What in God's name …?'

‘See to it, will we sir?'

And the Captain snapped out of it.

‘Absolutely. Right
now
, Alan, Christ's sake. Before anyone else – '

But it was too late, clearly, for any of that. Suddenly this Stacy was right by his side: she let out one yelp, and flew right out of there.

*

‘You'd better be quick,' Stewart was urging, ‘if you're still really up for this, Nobby. Light's getting up. Bound to spot us soon.'

Nobby didn't answer. His heart and throat were stopped up with excitement as he carefully and with grim-set determination groped his way forward amid all this dark, uncharted space. Jennifer had more than once now tried on with Stewart all sorts of variations of stuff on the lines of
Look
, you guys – I'll just wait around for you here, OK? Or – Tell you
what:
you two go on and I'll keep a look-out, yes? But he wasn't having any of it. Kept on jabbing the barrel of his gun into the small of her back and pressing her onward. And tell you – if Jennifer was actually destined to get out of all this more or less in one piece (because OK, Stewart was
acting a
bit
more sanely now, yes OK, but what does it take to make one twitching nutter jerk back on a trigger?) – well if she came out a survivor, then she was quite decided that the first thing she would do was bust his jaw, just for starters. Oh Christ – what am I
doing
here? Oh God I'm so
cold
… can't even remember if I'm hungry any more. Getting faintly lighter now, at least. That's something. Surely they'll see us, won't they? Soon? God I bloody hope so. But maybe they won't – because people often only see what they
expect
to, don't they? They're all intent on looking out for the first signs of New York, or whatever it is they do. Not combing the decks for a frozen woman and a luminous crazy with a gun in his hand – not to say the fucking little gibbering idiot that is
Nobby
.

Now that they were practically there (he could just make out the very apex of the bows) Stewart was really loving all this. He was with Nobby on this one – never ventured this far forward: never even remotely occurred to him to do so. But what was so terribly liberating about, oh – just
all
of this, really, was the fact that the three of them were here on his, Stewart's, say-so. Yes indeed – Stewart, your Assistant Cruise Director, is calling the shots for the first bloody time in his entire life on earth: this – understand it – is my
design
. (But for how much longer will they let it stand?)

‘Quick, Nobby – be quick. Do what you have to do!'

And Nobby knew exactly what: how many times in his hot and untamed imagination had he magicked into being this breathtaking scene? He bundled Jennifer forward – didn't even hear her yelling at him to take his fucking little greasy hands
off
her – and then he lifted out her arms. And here she was! The spreadeagled and awesome figurehead at the bows of Sylvie, his wonderful ship! And Nobby was aware of a clattering, now – a still distant but worryingly insistent drumbeat, rapidly closing in, and intent on closing him down. He feverishly gripped hold of Jennifer around the waist and pressed himself against her – she could hear
his panting, and now – much to her unspeakably profound disgust – she could feel him bucking himself into her – ah ah ah! – like a slack-tongued dog on heat. Almost immediately they were surrounded by sounds – rough, strong hands were pulling harshly at Nobby and Jennifer squirmed around and away from him and with a rush of amazement fell right into the arms of, oh God –
Stacy
, my baby, my angel, oh
sweetheart
!

‘Are you OK, Mum?' Stacy was gasping – tears were dashing all over her face.

Jennifer just nodded and held her as she dumbly gazed upon the extraordinary things taking place all around her. The light had suddenly come up and swept over them – the sailors glowed incandescent in the gleam of a broad and horizontal searing orange band that was striping the vast and steely sky, just touched now by blue. Three of the men were circling with caution a moon-faced Stewart, his wide and frightened eyes as well as his gun darting to each of them in turn, and away again. Jennifer and Stacy just clung to one another, unable or unwilling to move.