S.O.S. (54 page)

‘Come on, mate!' shouted out one of the sailors. ‘Put the bloody gun down, you arse. You're not going to
escape
, are you? Hey?'

Jennifer saw, almost dazedly, a sudden and massive splattering of tiny glittering lights to the right and left of her: a huge and slender skyline was silently emerging from where before had been only so much empty distance. She looked at Stewart, and saw there only tiredness and resignation.

‘My
name
…' he sighed out, so yieldingly, ‘ is Stewart. I'm not your ‘mate'. I'm
Stewart
…'

And then – as if all his bones had suddenly walked out on him – he crumpled down to the deck. Just before the sailors were wading in to pinion him down, he looked up once and howled like a stricken creature – this so startling as to jerk the breath out of everyone. He pointed the gun towards the sky, and let it have it: (it's only a low-voltage thing – mild S.O.S. – but it makes everyone really jump when it goes off – and then this rather pretty cascade of gold sort of stars and circles fizzes right up and then floats down slowly, just like a lit-up fountain: star turn – always do this at the end). For an instant, everyone on deck was transformed into an excited huddle of open-mouthed children, awed and bedazzled before a sparkling bonfire. The three men moved in fast, and then they had him.

‘
Doc
!' bawled out a voice from somewhere close to Jennifer. She turned abruptly and gasped when she saw Aggie and a ship's officer crouched over Nobby, who was just lying there. ‘Get the Doc –
pronto
!'

Jennifer could only be astonished as the vast great hulk of the ship was gently gliding beneath the quite colossal arch of a suspension bridge – the lights of cars were zipping like fireflies: she could almost smell the hum of the city. Another man, now, was running towards them fast – skidded to a clumsy halt, and now was kneeling over Nobby. He carelessly brushed aside Aggie's rigid and imploring hands, and urgently pressed his fingers into Nobby's wrist. Then he started pumping down hard on his birdlike chest – pausing to listen – pumping down again. He pinched closed Nobby's two cold nostrils – blew with force into his gaping mouth. Once more the man thumped hard Nobby's uncomplaining chest – listened intently – thumped him yet again. And then he relapsed into stillness and silence: his face looked old and weary in the stark and bright morning light. He bowed his head briefly, glanced to his side at a stricken Aggie, and softly he muttered to her that he was sorry, very sorry: I'm afraid it's all over.

*

‘I don't think,' sighed out Jennifer – grinning broadly and hugely replete – ‘that I've ever in my life eaten so much breakfast. Three eggs – '

‘Four!' laughed Stacy.

‘Was it four? OK, then –
four
eggs, bacon, sausages, toast – '

‘Tomatoes. Mushrooms – '

‘Yeh – didn't really too much
go
for the mushrooms, actually. Bit bitter.'

‘Why did you eat them, then?'

‘Oh God because they were
there
. I'm telling you, Stacy – I've just never
been
so hungry. Nearly drove me crazy. Christ – nearly two bloody days on crackers and fucking Quality Street leftovers …'

‘And no booze.'

‘Well
exactly
. No bloody booze at
all
 – not even so much as a
drop
. God – it tells you everything you really never wanted to know about the silly little man, doesn't it? Hm? I mean – not even a bottle of Scotch in the bottom drawer, or anything. I looked – believe me, I looked. It was just full of things like, oh –
hairspray
and, Christ –
bronzing
gel! Do you think he's mad? Do you? It wouldn't surprise me. I mean
Jesus
, Stacy – what sort of a person wants to spend his whole life on some big boat organizing all these crappy shows and parties?'

‘He cried. Did you see? When he saw Nobby like that, he just burst into tears. What do you think will happen to him?'

‘Don't much
mind
, do I? I just wish they hadn't carted him off so bloody quickly, that's all. I was well up for busting his jaw.'

‘I would've done it for you. Oh yes – didn't tell you: I fixed that horrible American kid for you, you know. Earl.'

‘Fixed him? What do you mean you
fixed
him, Stacy?'

Stacy smiled, shrugging it away.

‘Oh, you know – usual. Dumped a load of syrup all over him and covered him in feathers. Don't remember quite what made me think of it. He didn't
like
it, I have to say …'

‘Oh God I so much wish you
had
, Stacy! You're quite right – he was horrible. Very.'

‘But I
did
. Mum – I mean it. I really did. I just got so bloody
annoyed
. Hurting you like that …'

‘What, you –? You mean you – ?'

‘Yup. Tate & Lyle's Golden Syrup. About a ton of it. And a pillow's worth of feathers. I would've taken a photo to show you, but I thought from the noises he was making it was maybe time to go.'

Jennifer's eyes were glittering, as she beheld this daughter of hers.

‘You really
are
, aren't you?'

‘What,' laughed Stacy. ‘Really am what? Quite something? Dark horse? Nutcase? What?'

Jennifer smiled and shook her head.

‘My
daughter
,' she said. And then they both laughed.

‘Love you, Mum …' said Stacy, softly. And Jennifer had to look away.

‘I can't quite believe we've done these things …' she said.

Stacy sniffed, and seemed to agree. ‘It's this ship.'

Jennifer nodded, fairly idly. ‘Gorgeous day …'

‘Summer in New York City! It's really warm now, isn't it? I can't wait to get there. They say about an hour, now. Luggage comes off first, apparently. Makes sense. Anyway – looks like it's going to be all hot and sunny and things for Auntie Min's oh-so-special day, doesn't it?'

Jennifer nodded. ‘I do so care for Min, the silly bitch. Do you think
you'll
ever get hitched, Stacy? Please say not.'

‘Oh not
again
, Mum! I just don't
know
, do I? Shouldn't think so. Who would have me?'

‘Plenty. You're my
daughter
, aren't you?'

‘Exactly. That's the bloody trouble.'

‘But you can still you know – have
children
, and everything … I mean
I
did, didn't I? Have you.'

‘Do you ever think about him?'

‘Who? Your father? What's to think about? Hardly knew
him – as I've told you. Wish I had more to say. He just … came and went, really. I
might
have pursued him – I might have done. But as you know I was married at the time, and …'

Stacy smiled her smile (it's OK, Mum: I'm totally cool with it).

‘Listen,' she said. ‘I promised I'd go up and see poor old Aggie before we, you know – get off, and everything.'

Jennifer gazed at the distance. ‘Couldn't believe it,' she said quite gently, ‘when he just
died
, like that. Felt so weird.'

‘I've never seen anyone dead before. Really creepy. Poor Aggie. He was just everything to her, you know. Her whole life.'

‘I know. I don't for a second
understand
it … but yes. I know. He was. Well – OK, then, let's go up and see her.'

‘Oh –
you
don't have to come, Mum.'

‘I don't mind. Feel I should, in some ghastly sort of way. Can't explain.'

They found her sitting in the Captain's cabin, as Stacy had been told she'd be – silent, and apparently composed.

‘Ah
greetings
to you both,' said Captain Scar, as Jennifer and Stacy were ushered in to the room. ‘Yes well look – I'll leave you all to, um … look, Mrs erm –
Aggie
, who's here to
see
you. Yes? Well I'll just … if you'll excuse me. One or two things to …'

Yes, he thought, with a fair deal of bitterness, as he made his escape and left them all to it. One or two things to
see
to, haven't I? Oh yes. Very much so. And not just the
usual
end-of-crossing paraphernalia, oh dear me no. I've got to write a report for the New York Police Department, haven't I? Yes I have. Oh yes – and also, I have to prepare a statement for the, Christ –
Press
. About the, as one of them put it to me, three-on-the-floor sex romps in the Emperor Suite, yes. And the suicide. And of course the
kidnapping
 – yes let's not forget that too. Not to mention the subsequent and very public
death
. And somehow the bastards have got hold of all the
other
ones – the thirteen who died before (that'll be that fucking vicar again, shooting his mouth off: I've told and told him …). Yes but look you
get
that, I tried with them. Upwards of sixteen hundred passengers, after all: people
die
, yes? This is known. Not at that rate, they don't, said the
Times
sod. Yes but
Christ
, I was going: the youngest of them was seventy-nine – it's like a floating old folks' home, this ship. And then one of the bitches comes in with Ah – no
births
, though, And I said No, you can't have births because there's a
policy
about heavily pregnant women. We don't let them on board. See? Yes? Nah – they all just
looked
at me.

Anyway – think that's all. Sums it up, pretty sure. Mm. Excellent. Quite perfect.
Right
, then – let's face the music (though I'm not, as you know, very much of a dancing man: no Fred Astaire, I have to say). And me? The future? Well – once this little lot hits the breakfast tables of every living soul in the whole bloody universe, I really wouldn't care to hazard a
guess
, would you? Suffice it to say, it isn't looking rosy.

*

‘Oh
God
, Aggie …' Stacy had managed to say. ‘What can I
say
…?'

Aggie shook her head, very slowly – and then, to Stacy's immense surprise, she began to talk very fast and with great animation – a flurry of urgency, as if at any given moment, she could well be gagged forever.

‘It was maybe meant. Heart, you know. Didn't have his pills. Anyway. He died in the place he most loved, after all. Everyone's been, oh – terribly
kind
 – they have arranged for an undertaker in New York to, um –
see
to him. Cremation. And then they say I can take another, one more … one last voyage and let him go. Release him. Set him free. Send him down to Davy Jones's Locker. To be at peace. That's the final resting place for people who die at sea, you know. If you're a sailor, or something, and you die on
land
, of course – well then you go to Fiddler's
Green
, which sounds a
terribly
naughty place: all rum and tobacco and dubious ladies. Some people think, you know, that Davy Jones was a Welshman, but there is another school of thought altogether that has the name down as a corruption of Duffy Jonah – duffy, you see, being the, um –
negro
, I'm pretty sure, word for
ghost
, yes – and Jonah, of course … well, I expect you know – that extraordinarily unfortunate person in the Bible. Yes.'

And then she stopped dead and looked back down. All her fingers were engaged in a terrible brawl, wholly beyond her powers of intervention. Her lips, Stacy could see, were trembling, now. Stacy glanced across to Jennifer, who raised at her a single eyebrow: what can you do?

‘Yes …' resumed Aggie, in so very small, now, and tremulous a voice. ‘Davy Jones's Locker …' She looked up – and stared at both Jennifer and Stacy, each in turn: her eyes were beseeching them both to
see
.

‘It is a
nautical
term … you know …?'

And as Jennifer and Stacy solemnly nodded, Aggie suddenly did so too.

‘Nobby was my guiding light. It's going to be so
odd,'
she said, ‘sailing on without him …'

*

Maybe just now would be quite a good moment, thought Trish. Now that Nicole is busy checking again all their hand luggage and fussing around those children of hers. David is just a little apart – just so slightly distant and gazing, thinking about… I've never really known what it is David thinks about, actually.

‘David,' she said.

David turned and nodded his agreement to that. Just like he nodded when they presented him with his on-board
expense sheet: nineteen hundred dollars, odd. How is this possible? Nineteen hundred dollars. God Almighty – this free trip has cost me dear.

‘So. Trish. New York, then. I hear you're, um – staying.'

‘For now I am, yes. Do you mind? You don't
really
mind, do you, David? I think it's maybe best.'

David glanced away to the other end of the ballroom, or wherever it was they were all just standing and sitting around, waiting for the off. It all seemed somehow rather, I don't know –
stupid
, now. All these vast and carpeted spaces, with no discernible function.

‘Maybe it is,' he said. ‘Dwight will take good care of you, anyway. More than I ever could. Which isn't saying much.'

‘I don't know what you must be thinking of me. I don't
like
him, or anything. You do know that, do you, David? But you see the
situation
…'

‘Oh I do, I do. You'll get to like him, I daresay. He's very likeable, actually. Very.'

‘He goes mad if I even so much as mention your
name
. Not
shouting
, or anything – he just goes all red and sort of simmers … Not because of
me
, is it?'