by Peter Hey
The captain knew Hood’s vulnerability, but Chief Petty Officer Knox did not. Stoker 2nd Class Dye certainly didn’t. Hood’s battle was short, her end dramatic and sudden. The shocked official enquiry concluded one of Bismarck’s shells had penetrated Hood’s armour plate and reached an aft magazine, igniting tons of cordite. When the catastrophic explosion ripped her apart, the captain stayed at his post on the bridge. Knox and Dye had no choice. The lights went out and they were hit by a wall of water that threw them across the room. Dye remained conscious, though totally disoriented by the rushing, icy, salty blackness that engulfed him and pinned him upside down against the hot steel of a boiler casing. Some instinct told him to breathe, to let a quick death flood into his lungs, but he resisted for as long as he could.
Within three minutes the great vessel had slipped beneath the waves. In the forward part of the ship, furthest from the conflagration, men still fought for their lives in the twisting, tilting, tearing, collapsing darkness. Some escaped the hull only to be dragged back as millions of gallons of seawater were sucked into its voids. The steel mistress they’d served and loved refused to let them go. Out of 1,418 crew, only three survived.
Leicester Square underground
The train pulled into King’s Cross station just before noon. Jane Madden hadn’t been in London since she’d moved back to Nottingham three months previously. When making the journey in the opposite direction, visiting her childhood home and her grandparents, she’d always driven. Now, a two hour train ride seemed infinitely preferable to battling against the capital’s traffic and to the hassle and expense of trying to find somewhere to park.
As she walked through the station concourse, she realised she hadn’t been there since its refurbishment. The opening had been extensively covered in local news broadcasts at the time, but she found herself disappointed when she looked up at the curved lattice of white steel that swooped organically up and out from a central trunk to form the semi-circular canopy roof. In photographs it looked breathtaking; in reality it somehow lacked scale and drama. She sensed a wave of disproportionate melancholy rolling towards her but she chastised herself. ‘New start’, she said out loud and the mantra made her back straighten. Though the area was crowded, no-one seemed to notice the tall woman in the bright-green coat talking to herself.
She’d agreed to meet him in a Leicester Square pizza restaurant. It was part of a large chain and catered primarily for families and tourists, but its expansive premises had personal history. Jane and he had first gone there for what they called their ‘homework’.
When she emerged from the underground the sun had come out. The pedestrianised road leading to the square itself was crammed with people who by their dress, language and ethnicity appeared to have come from every country on the planet. Though she was 15 minutes early, Jane made her way through to the restaurant as quickly as she could. As she’d expected, he was standing outside waiting for her. He was looking down at the ground and didn’t notice her until she spoke.
‘Thompson Ferdinand! You’re looking well. It’s been so long. I’ve missed you.’
She put her arms around him and gave him a hug. He reciprocated, though somewhat awkwardly.
‘Jane, you look well too. You look… yes, you look well. I mean, I guess the move to Nottingham must be doing you good. And I like your coat too. It’s very, erm, green.’
‘I’m going through a colourful phase, Tommy. Might dye my hair this colour next.’ She knew he didn’t always recognise when he was being teased but she couldn’t resist. She raised her eyebrows and grinned to give him a hint, but he just looked slightly worried.
Tommy checked his watch. ‘We probably ought to go inside and see if we can get a table. I’m concerned it might be full up down there. There seem to be so many people about.’ His troubled expression seemed to have deepened.
Jane shrugged her shoulders. ‘If it is, we’ll just have to find somewhere else. It’s not exactly wonderful in there. It was just somewhere we both knew. No biggie, as they say. Or maybe they don’t anymore?’ She grinned again.
Jane’s taking charge seemed to smooth the furrows on Tommy’s forehead. They descended the narrow flight of stairs and were soon guided past a short queue of larger groups to be squeezed into a small table for two, next to a column at the far side of the extensive, windowless basement. Though busy with families talking loudly, the Babel-like cacophony was strangely deadened. The decor and fittings conformed to corporate standards, but special attention had been paid to the lighting in an attempt to avoid the fluorescent hardness of a hospital or classroom. The success had been limited.
The restaurant was geared to high throughput and they were served quickly. Neither of them needed to dither over the menu, and when they had placed their order, Jane re-started the conversation.
‘Talking of hair – as we were, five minutes ago anyway – I love the Afro. Really suits you.’
Tommy reddened slightly. ‘I just haven’t had it cut for a while. I’ve never enjoyed going to the barbers. All that, “Have you been away this year, sir?” small talk stuff. It’s a lot easier just letting it grow. I think Afros are back in fashion, but that’s not really my thing.’
‘Well, it definitely looks cool. And you were okay coming into central London today? It’s not a problem anymore?’
Tommy’s eye line became fixed on the table. ‘I don’t get into town much, I must admit. Most of my social interaction is still online, I guess. But I can do it if I need to. It was obviously easier knowing I was going to meet you.’
‘To think there was a time when we were both scared to leave our front doors.’
‘I think agoraphobia was always a bigger problem for me. You weren’t ever really frightened – you just couldn’t see the point.’ Tommy briefly looked up before dropping his eyes again. ‘And I’ve always suspected you pretended a bit, about that at least, so you could help me out.’
Jane ducked her head towards the table to try to enter his field of vision. ‘You helped me too, Tommy. You were a good mate when I needed one. Someone to talk to who understood at least some of what I was going through. Dave tried, bless him, but sensitivity was never his strong suit.’ Her expression became wistful. ‘God, he’d hate this place.’
The East European family sat to Jane’s left got up to leave. She shuffled over on the bench seat to allow the son and daughter to edge out between the two adjacent tables. The children were wordless, but their mother said, ‘Thank you’ on their behalf.
The interruption gave Tommy time to compose his words. ‘I was sorry to hear you and Dave had broken up. You always seemed a strong couple. I mean, there always seemed to be a strong bond between you.’
‘Me being ill took its toll. I was a total self-centred bitch sometimes, an absolute nightmare to live with. I don’t know if I’d have coped had it been the other way around. I alternate between understanding forgiveness and hateful resentment. I’m scared I’d scratch that woman’s eye out if I met her again.’ An iciness had entered Jane’s face. She seemed to gather her thoughts and it receded. ‘Shouldn’t have said that – you know I don’t mean it. Let’s change the subject. How about you? You’re a good-looking chap, particularly with the new hairstyle. Anyone in your life?’
‘No-one that I’ve ever met in the flesh. People are always dismissive about online relationships, but there’s at least one person I feel I know really well, that I get on with really well.’
‘What’s she look like?’
‘Hard to tell in the gaming world. We all tend to hide behind avatars, and if you do see an actual photograph, you’re never quite sure it’s really them. For all I know, Gabi1701 could be a hideous monster with green hair.’
Tommy looked up and smiled.
Jane grinned back. ‘I’m going to dye it now, just to spite you. But, anyway, why don’t you and Gabi1701 meet up?’
‘Well one reason is the distance. South America’s a long way away. Neither of us earns enough to
go jetting around the world.’
Jane nodded. ‘So tell me about this new job of yours. It sounds like you’re back working in IT?’
‘Yes and no. I briefly went back to programming, but it requires an intensity of concentration and effort that wasn’t doing me any good. I can’t switch off. Some people can stop work at 5pm on the dot and then do other things, relax. I like solving problems but I’m always working on the next one in my mind. I guess I’m scared of losing control.’
He paused meditatively before adopting a more upbeat tone, ‘So this new job… I work from home as a “search engine evaluator”. I’m a self-employed contractor for a company based in California. They employ people from all around the world on behalf of a mysterious client who is never mentioned by name. But, between you and me, that name probably begins with G. Followed by a couple of Os.’
He looked at Jane. She gestured her understanding and he continued, ‘Obviously everyone knows who it is, but contractually we’re not supposed to say, even to each other. Anyway, it’s continually developing its algorithms. Sample results get generated and they need real human beings to check them.’
‘Sounds interesting,’ said Jane with a hint of a question mark.
‘Sometimes. Sometimes it’s tedious and repetitive. Sometimes I haven’t a clue what I’m doing. The weirdest things get typed into search engines. You have to get into the head of some very odd people.’
‘You can be quite odd, Tommy,’ said Jane before guiltily adding, ‘Sorry, only teasing. Carry on.’
‘The good thing about it is I can work from home, and if I want to take time off, I do. So long as I complete a minimum number of tasks every month, my time’s my own.’
‘So you work nice regular hours?’
‘Sort of. Unfortunately they’re Californian hours. Tasks tend to come in overnight. The important thing for me is that if I’m not around, someone else will do them. I don’t get a backlog building up, so I’m not tempted to overdo it. I have time for things I enjoy – computer games, chatting on forums, that kind of stuff.’
‘Where does sleep fit in?’
‘I still have trouble sleeping. I’ve found a lifestyle that fits in with that. I catch the odd hour here and there. It’s enough for me.’
Tommy’s complexion was a rich caramel that reflected his mother’s Caribbean heritage, but Jane noticed the skin beneath his eyes was lined and appreciably darker, suggesting his assessment of adequate rest was flawed.
She decided not to comment and steered the conversation onto the reason she’d made the trip to London that day. ‘I was hoping you might go back to working for that genealogy website. After all, you designed and built most of it.’
Tommy shook his head dismissively and Jane pressed on. ‘’You were such a help when we were at the clinic. Tracing my mother’s family back kept my mind off all that negative crap I was thinking. Have you lost interest now?’
‘No, I still keep my hand in. I spend a lot of time chatting on genealogy forums and help people out if I can. I get a buzz from it. I get to solve problems without them being my problems. And it is just a hobby, after all. If someone can’t find their great-grandmother's date of birth, the world doesn’t come to end.’
‘Have you ever thought of charging people, Tommy? You know, like a consultancy fee.’
‘Of course not. It’s something I do for fun. If it became work I wouldn’t enjoy it anymore.’
‘But you were always amazing! You know so much and you have a real talent for unearthing connections and sources that no-one else would think of. I wasn’t exactly a novice when we met, and I’m not stupid, but you ran rings round me.’
‘I suppose that’s how my brain’s wired. Logic, patience, persistence. Lateral thinking. Obsession, maybe.’
Jane had got her opening and started on the speech she had semi-rehearsed on the train journey down.
‘I’ve a confession to make. There was an ulterior motive in suggesting we meet up today. Obviously I wanted to see you again and catch up, but I wanted to run something, a business proposition, past you.’
Tommy looked up. Jane didn’t read the disappointment in his face and took the eye contact as a signal to carry on.
‘When my grandmother died, you know I inherited her house in Nottingham. That and my half of the London flat mean that I’ve got a level of financial independence, in the short-term at least. It gives me time to sort myself out, work wise. It goes without saying I can’t go back to the police force.’ Jane glanced away briefly before turning her focus back towards Tommy. ‘I tell people it’s because I hated working shifts and the sleazy lowlife you have to deal with. That’s true, but it’s not the truth. You know the real reason. I’m better now, obviously, but...’
Jane felt her emotions starting to freewheel but managed to apply the brakes. ‘Look, here’s my idea. You can make a living as a professional genealogist. There are lots of successful, well-off people who want to trace their family trees but don’t have the time or expertise to do it themselves. It’s easier to pay someone else. I’ve got a fair amount of experience now, as an amateur, and my USP – sorry, unique selling point – is that I’m a former police detective who knows how to rough people up when I need to get information out of them.’ She smiled. ‘Sorry, that was a joke. But I’m sure there are transferable skills I can bring to bear.’
Jane paused and gazed at Tommy expectantly. There was a palpable delay before he replied.
‘I always thought you had a talent for genealogical research, certainly compared to a lot of the people I meet online. And I’m sure you do have transferable skills, but I would have thought you’d need to be, well, an expert to do it professionally.’
Jane shrugged. ‘I know it would be taking a bit of a flyer, but lots of people learn on the job – it’s often the best way. And I can always offer some kind of no ancestor, no fee guarantee, at least when I’m starting.’ She stopped again and a tone of uncertainty entered her voice, ‘And I have a secret weapon. I hope.’
She scanned Tommy’s face for a sign of understanding. Finding it opaque, she laid out her proposition.
‘I really don’t know if it will take off, but I thought you could maybe help out on a consultancy basis. If I get stuck. I’d share the fees with you and maybe we’d end up with a nice little business. And then you wouldn’t have to try to get inside the head of weirdos and the dodgy things they type into Internet search engines. So, what do think?’
Tommy’s expression lightened. ‘I think you’re my friend, and if I’m honest, one of the few who exists in a non-virtual world. If that’s what you want to do, I’ll obviously try to help as much as I can. But I don’t want to be paid – I don’t want it to be work.’
Jane beamed with relief. ‘You’re a nice man, Tommy. I could kiss you. Look, we’ll see. When, and if, I’ve done a couple of commissions, we’ll revisit the whole question of finances and sharing the proceeds.’
The pizzas arrived. Jane watched Tommy pick up his knife and fork, and wondered whether he was one of her few real friends too. And whether she was exploiting him.
Pittsburgh proposal
It had arrived in her inbox in the early hours of the morning. That was when Tommy preferred to communicate, but this was from someone else. The corporate email address suggested a different time zone rather than an insomniac.
Tommy had built the website in an afternoon after Jane had spent a fortnight thinking about layout and composing suitable text. The focus was on a daily or hourly rate for bespoke, tailored services rather than off-the-shelf packages of the ‘three generations for £300’ variety. Jane stressed her willingness to travel as necessary and suggested her location in the ‘centre of England’ was ideal for visiting register offices around the country. She also spoke of an ‘office’ in the west London area close by the National Archives. Tommy seemed happy to be described in such terms and Jane felt occasional trips to the government’s riverside building in Kew would get him out of
the house and do him good.
Jane emphasised she was an ex-Metropolitan Police detective whose time at Scotland Yard had given her the ability to solve problems in a logical and thorough manner as well as strong interpersonal skills. Strictly speaking, she’d never actually been based in the Yard itself, but thought it might help with international recognition, particularly from potentially well-heeled American clients tracing their British roots. She made it clear that those interpersonal skills meant she was willing to interview potential relatives and other sources on a face-to-face basis. She was not a shy, retiring librarian-type, afraid to come out from behind her computer screen or to venture beyond the safe company of the dead and buried.
On balance, she decided it was important to have her photograph on the website. Initially, she sent Tommy a recent one of her looking serious in glasses but quickly replaced it. She told him that it made her appear too much the bookish researcher. In reality, she’d succumbed to the vanity she knew she’d inherited from her mother. When the website went live, it was adorned with Jane’s favourite picture of herself, which was taken a few years previously. It was shot from the waist up and showed a woman of athletic build with mid-brown, shoulder-length hair and wearing a smart summer dress; the only background was a warm blue sky. She had been on holiday with Dave before their relationship had fallen apart, and the happiness showed in her face and smile. The image was still a good likeness and only slightly flattering. As Jane looked at it for the hundredth time, she saw a passably attractive woman but one whose strong features must have come from her father; no matter how hard she tried, she could not find the delicate beauty of her mother. It seemed cruel to have her vanity without her looks.
