Ten Word Game (4 page)

We’d left Gloria’s purchases at the mall’s security desk. The service is free to shoppers. Gloria still
hadn’t
emerged so I went to collect our shopping. I
didn’t
intend to vanish with the expensive clothes Gloria’d bought, honest. But thoughts of escape were on my mind. If I hopped it, I’d save on sad goodbyes. I was hurrying out to the taxi stand when Gloria caught me up.

“Leaving so soon?” she asked sweetly.

“Just being useful,” I lied. “Taxis are hard to find at this hour.”

Gloria looked at the eighteen taxis queuing for
custom
. “And you found one! What were the chances of that?”

“Lucky me,” I said weakly.

We loaded up. As we left the mall, I was sure Miss Lacy Trimble was walking casually along the
pavement
, a blue saloon car drawing alongside. She was wearing dark sunglasses – in drizzle? – and smiling to
herself. Pennel was by the public telephones fumbling for a coin. Nice place, Southampton, but goodbye.

On the way back Gloria made the driver pause at a leather place, and bought her brother a set of
suitcases
and a travelling satchel. I envied him. At least he’d look legit even if he was an ex-con. I wondered what he’d been in for.

The
Melissa
was still boarding. I’d heard Tez say she sailed later today, something to do with tides. I
wouldn’t
be here to wave her off. I’d be over the hills and far away like in the song. Except, I remembered uneasily, that ancient ditty was about lads leaving for some impossible wars where they were to die. I carried Gloria’s shopping upstairs, and went to help Tez with his loading. The blue saloon parked across the road, Miss Trimble inside talking into a mobile phone while her bloke stood on the kerb looking at the weather. As secret as Derby Day.

We stopped work for a cup of tea. I worked out how much money I’d got. I had digs round the corner, but it would be daft to nip back there. I only had an old raincoat, one extra pair of underpants and a plastic razor-blade. I usually nick soaps and shampoos from bed-and-breakfast places. This time I’d have to go without, in the interests of speed. I’d left my lonely cottage with my passport, little money and no credit.

Half-three, Gloria called me. I shouted up that I was loading with Tez, ready in a sec. She was
evidently
on the phone. I heard her say, “Yes, well, our new man can wheel you on board. Are you there now?”

Frollie came to me, Tez in his lorry ticking the
documents
. She embraced me round my middle. Frollie could have gone into a pint pot. “Look after yourself, Lovejoy.”

“Thanks, love.” Was it so obvious I was leaving?

“If you’d asked me, I’d have … well, you know?
Maybe another time, eh?”

Gloria called down, “Ready, Lovejoy? That old lady wants you to wheel her aboard. She’s in the Terminal.”

“Why me?” I called, trying to disengage Frollie.

“Do as you’re told!”

Women make you respond to orders. “I’d best get over there,” I told Frollie.

“One thing.”

“Yes?”

She looked so sad. “Here.” She gave me a piece of paper with a phone number. “Nine o’clock, any evening. My chap’s always at the pub. I know I’m nothing to look at, but I’ll help if I can.”

What could I tell her? I couldn’t say I was going to keep on running in case they left me floating in some dark canal, could I? Maybe I’d shacked up with the wrong woman, Gloria instead of Frollie? Except Tez was tougher than I’d ever be. Look at the way he
shifted
crates. Mistakes about women can never be altered. I’ve learned that.

“Ta, Frollie.”

“Just push her through the Terminal,” Gloria was shouting.

“What about your brother’s things?” I called back.

“Tez will bring them on board.”

So her brother was actually going on a cruise? I didn’t blame him.

“Right.” I stepped to the door and lied half-
heartedly
, “Be back in a minute.”

“Tara, love,” Frollie said, sorrow in her voice.

Hurrying across to the Terminal I joined the throng. I don’t know if you’ve ever been among
passengers
boarding a cruise, but it’s a rugby scrum. I’d never seen so many different shapes and sizes. One or two were already swigging hard at the bar, some
definitely
reeling, the rest greeting friends with
“Remember the last cruise when we…?” to shrieks of laughter. I found my old lady attended by a squat annoyed nurse of cuboidal shape.

“You’re late!” the nurse snapped. She shoved me at the wheelchair and marched ahead.

“You?” I said to the old dear in the wheelchair. It was the lady who’d bought the garden illuminators from Benjo’s Bargain Emporium. “You’re going on a sail?”

“Be quick or I shall miss the boat.” This set her off into peals of laughter. “Did you follow my pun? Miss the boat?”

“Very humorous.” I shoved her to the gate.

“Just give the officers the folder. Follow the nurse.”

I complied. Embarkation is a grubby, shop-soiled business. You’ve to mob successive desks while
uniformed
aristocrats, very snooty, talk of luggage and tickets. The nurse did all that, thank God, while we were waved through. They wanted my passport. I obliged, some security thing I supposed. I was
honestly
glad to leave the hubbub of the departure lounge.

A uniformed officer greeted the old lady,
obsequious
and smart. He gave her priority. It actually crossed my mind, but very fleetingly, that if the old lady had so many people willing to shepherd her through the various gauntlets and barriers, why on earth was I there? I was too thick to realise something was wrong.

“I can’t,” I explained when this officer geezer
gestured
me through the gate. “I’m waiting for someone.” Gloria hadn’t got here yet. I’d done exactly as she said.

“Good to see you, Lady Veronica,” he said to the crone, taking the folder. I asked after my passport. “Returned when you leave the ship, sir,” he said. “Go through.”

I pushed the wheelchair under an arch thing. There
was a lass with a camera, just my luck.

“Smile, please!” In time, I looked to one side and hurried on past. However Miss Veronica’s snap came out, my photo would be a blur.

“This way, please!” A stewardess wafted us through a corridor and into a lift. We seemed to be priority.

“Have I got long?” I asked nervously. “I’m due back any minute. When does this thing sail?” The previous day I’d imagined escaping on this very ship. Now I had visions of my picture on TV News At Nine with zany newspaper headlines,
Stowaway Forger Caught in Typhoon At Sea.
I stood a better chance back where I belonged, in towns with railways stations and cars where I knew my way about.

“Very soon, sir.” The stewardess couldn’t help glancing at my dishevelled appearance, which narked me because I’m always clean underneath, even if Benjo’s Emporium smudged me up a bit. She could keep her rotten ship and her posh white outfit.

“State Room 1133,” Lady Veronica chirped.

“Here it is, your ladyship.”

We made a door that opened onto a spacious room with an unbelievable spiral staircase and a balcony overlooking, it seemed to me in that instant, the whole of Southampton’s docklands. A piano, a lounge, a
dining
area leading off, and three other doors standing ajar. I was surprised. I’d thought ship’s cabins were just closets with a bunk bed and a shared loo. I noticed a beautiful pair of pedestal vases, each as large as a breakfast bowl. Only decorative, but the most
gorgeous
pair of Blue John rarities I’d ever seen. The two together would buy a sizeable freehold house or a Grosvenor Square rental for life. Fourteen types of Blue John exist, eight of them from Derbyshire, although not all kinds are gem quality. Blue John is called that from the anglicized old French for blue-yellow,
bleu-jaune,
its principal colours, the best from the Castleton mines if you’re feeling lucky.

My palms itched. The thought didn’t honestly cross my mind, of nicking them and scarpering ashore. I tore my eyes away. Posh ship, this.

“Now, young man, you deserve a drink!”

“I am Marie,” said a small uniformed lass, taking over from the welcome party who dashed away to bring yet more folk aboard. “Drink, your ladyship?”

“Cocktail of the day, Marie, please, and a beer for this restless soul.” Lady Veronica’s bright eyes gleamed up at me. “Isn’t that what you require?”

“Haven’t time, I’m afraid.” I was supposed to be helping Gloria’s brother with suitcases. “Ta, though. Have a pleasant, er …” French bits in our lingo always sound pompous when I try to say them. I can manage cul-de-sac, but “
Bon voyage
!” sounds made up, and names of wines are death. I always go red and never believe what I’m saying. I nearly told the old dear to have a pleasant flight. “A pleasant sailing,” I finished weakly.

She twittered, “We always have a drink on arrival. It’s tradition, isn’t it, Marie?”

“It is, m’lady,” carolled the slim lass, busy with drinks at a grand-looking bar. I guessed Filipino, maybe Indian.

“I’ve not got long,” I said. “They’ve still got my passport.”

“Gloria will call for you here. You like our Blue John vases?”

“Er, yes.” Cunning as ever, I added casually, “Is that what they’re called, Blue John?”

“Castleton stone,” Lady Veronica said. “Especially rare. Do you like this suite, Marie?”

“Yes, m’lady.”

“Close the curtains.” Lady Vee accepted her frosted
glass. “I can’t stand brightness.”

Brightness? It was still grey and wet out there. I could hear a band. The old dear told me to be seated so I perched somewhere while tons of luggage arrived. Marie sent the cases through into a bedroom. No tips, I saw with awe, stewards smiling and cheery. Well, going on a cruise they would be happy.

Music drifted from hidden speakers. I sipped at the beer to be friendly though it gives me a headache. I’d have murdered a cup of tea. Marie fetched little cakes, the sort that barely fill a tooth. I wolfed them all except for a coconut thing Lady Vee got to first.

She began to speak wistfully of cruises she had known, ships she loved, parties and dances in tropic climes. The band outside played on. I felt lulled and safe. That should have warned me. A stupid they’
d-never
-find-me-here conviction seeped into my mind. I tried hatching plans to ditch Gloria on the way back to the Emporium, saying I needed the loo, dart to a taxi to reach the motorway, maybe get a lift north …

Lady Veronica was still yakking. I felt she ship rumble slightly. I caught myself almost humming along to the tune the band was playing.

“Champagne, m’lady? Sir?”

“Not for me, thanks.” I stood, placed my drink on Marie’s tray. “Better be away. Bon trip, love.”

“It’s traditional,” the old dear told me, accepting a champagne flute and raising it.

Lots of tradition on these ships. It came to me of a sudden. Too much, maybe? I walked to the curtain and pulled it aside.

The ship was rumbling all right. The shore was twenty yards away and gliding. People on the top deck of the departure building were waving, throwing coloured streamers and filling up with tears, like you do when a ship leaves harbour.

I swallowed, turned, looked back at Lady Veronica.

“Here,” I said, in a voice that tried to strangle. “The ship’s moving. I can’t …”

“Don’t be silly. What’s to keep you at that terrible old shop? Your cabin is F188, Lovejoy,” Lady Vee said, smiling. “I’m told it is quite acceptable. Not a suite like this, of course, but it’s best if appearances are maintained, don’t you think?”

“Cabin?” I looked outside, opened the balcony
window
and stepped out. The cabin’s height was
ridiculous
, miles in the air. I could see whole roofs below me, cars below and people waving. The band was hard at it, playing
Sailing, We Are Sailing
… Like the duckegg I am, I’d hummed along. I always miss clues.

For a lunatic moment I imagined leaping off the balcony, swinging from one of the derricks to a
gangplank
and making it to some night-running lorry on a fast run into Salford. For a mad instant I thought I saw Miss Trimble among the crowd, but surely that must have been imagination.

“You’ll find it all quite pleasant,” the old woman said amiably. “Never been on a cruise before, I take it?”

“Not really.” Hong Kong’s Star Ferry didn’t count.

“You’ll love it. Everyone does.” She smiled,
enjoying
herself, one up on the male of the species while that male sweated in fear.

My face felt grey and my skin prickled in terror. The ship was a floating prison. I could see that now. What had seemed a brilliant mode of escape was
nothing
more than a trap. Had she worked it with Gloria? Was Gloria on board? Who’d run the Emporium? And I’d been abducted.

“Will they put me ashore? Look, Lady Vee, this isn’t my fault. Will I get fined? Does the boat stop
anywhere
?”

“No more of those thoughts, if you please,” she said blithely. She was thrilled with herself. “We have to go to the lecture on life-jackets and ship safety. They will remind us never to jump overboard. Attendance is compulsory, isn’t that so, Marie?”

“Yes, m’lady.”

“Did Cal get left behind, then?” I knew pilots went ashore in a little boat once big ships got clear of, what, coral atolls, sand bars? My nautical lore came from pirate ship stories in
Boys Own
Annuals.

Or was Cal a copper, also after me? I realised you could easily lose a person overboard, if that person wasn’t very, very careful. I moaned aloud.

“You’re really not very bright, are you, Lovejoy?” Lady Veronica said testily. “There is no such person as Cal. It was a ruse. Please go to your cabin. I’ll send for you. How long do we have, Marie?”

“Thirty minutes, m’lady. Your steward and luggage are in your cabin, sir.”

“Thank you,” I said mechanically, then thought, here, hang on. Luggage? Cabin? Steward, for God’s sake?