‘Now listen to me, you little faggot. As long as there is still air in your lungs you’ll remember who is in charge. Got it? You might have killed that poor fucking girl but you don’t frighten me.’
Susie and I remain in our seats, powerless to interfere.
Seconds later Sam is laughing hysterically and Frank, who is confused by the reaction, lets go, stepping back and looking at Sam as if he’s gone mad.
‘What the hell is so funny?’ Frank asks, looking less certain of himself. But Sam doesn’t answer and just keeps laughing.
‘Now he’s lost his fucking mind too.’ Frank spins round to face Susie, looking for confirmation. As he does, Sam suddenly straightens and hurls the mug of hot coffee at Frank.
It all plays out in slow motion.
The white plastic cup bounces off of Frank’s egg-shaped balding head and dark, steaming coffee splashes against his skin and clothes, splattering against the walls and ceiling before the mug drops to the ground and rolls underneath the table.
As his face fills with as much shock as pain, Frank turns around to look at his attacker.
By this point I am standing and decide I need to leave the room. The atmosphere is too much to bear and the irate men are frightening me.
Scrabbling for the door I stumble into the corridor and start to yell for help. I can hear Susie a few steps behind me as the distance between my body and the fighting extends.
When I am certain we are far enough away from Sam and Frank, I stop to catch my breath. Getting away from them has taken all my strength and I sink to my knees, trying to fight the dizziness I feel.
Susie slips to the ground next to me and rests her head on my shoulder. I can feel she is shaking. We are both scared.
‘He’s really lost it,’ Susie whispers. ‘What if one of them is the one killing people on board?’
‘That was scary.’
‘What are we going to do?’ I can hear the helplessness in her voice and wish I were strong enough to be able to offer some comfort. But I can’t. I’m too weak and an emotional wreck myself.
‘I saw Luke earlier,’ I admit, ‘and he had the weirdest look in his eye.’
‘We can’t stay here with these madmen.’
‘What choice do we have?’ The situation is hopeless.’
‘We need to go find Fiona and Anya. Power in numbers.’ Susie is beginning to think straight.
‘Okay.’ I hear the word leave my mouth but it sounds foreign.
‘Come on.’ Susie stands up and tries to pull me off the ground. ‘We need to get moving.’
In contrast to my weakness, I am impressed with her sudden surge of strength. She doesn’t look like she could hold her own but she has been a rock throughout this nightmare and I wonder how I would have coped without her.
‘You’re right. Fiona and Anya. We must find them.’ I get to my feet and try to ignore the flood of nausea. ‘Let’s go.’
24
Child
Mummy had no idea Nick was coming into my room most nights to give me those special hugs, and I remembered what he’d said about not telling anyone, so I didn’t. But I didn’t like the hugs at all. Not one bit and I wished that he hadn’t come into our lives. I would swap his attention for Mummy’s anger if I could.
The funny thing that did happen was that the noise from Mummy’s room stopped happening so often and, as a result, she returned to being cross most of the time, like before.
To keep myself away from the house I would I walk for hours sometimes, never knowing where I was headed. The temperature and the weather didn’t affect me. I didn’t mind the cold. I just put one foot in front of the other until I had quietened the rage inside. Sometimes I would walk from dusk until dawn, in the holidays, but I always found my way back home.
During that autumn I spent much of my time wandering across the fields around the outskirts of my village. I felt like a stranger in my home and to my mummy.
When I was that age, I used to wish I had a sibling. Now I am grateful I did not. Being alone taught me so much about myself and made me stronger.
School was awful. I hated every minute of it. I spent my nights crying into my blanket, trying not to let Mummy hear my sobs. She would have been so disappointed.
The teachers were strict and unapproachable. No one bothered to take the time to understand me.
The buildings were old and crumbling. The main building was built of red brick and had tall windows. The thought of it still daunts me. Standing beneath the vast imposing structure made me feel extremely small and vulnerable. I suppose I was. To an eleven-year-old it was intimidating, which I now realise was meant to be. The buildings themselves demanded respect. There was no running, no shouting and no disobedience.
I was easily bored and I was lonely. None of the others liked me and I was bullied year after year until I was old enough to leave.
The older children would corner me and beat me as I cowered beneath my coat for protection. Often, I would discover dead worms on my desk and once they left poo in my locker. The smell lingered for weeks. But I didn’t complain. You didn’t tell tales and I couldn’t rely on Mummy to help me. I just had to accept it and do my best.
Sometimes after a beating I would end up wetting the bed. That only added to my problems. Mummy would scold me for being so revolting and as my confidence retreated, the other children continued their barrage of cruelty.
Having Nick come into our lives made things so much worse and I felt angry with Mummy about it.
One Christmas, when I was eleven, I asked Mummy if I could go to a different school. She told me to go to my bedroom and refused to discuss it. I did what I was told, just like I always did, and it was never mentioned again. In the New Year I was back at that school and as miserable as ever.
Apart from the bullies and the buildings, the other thing that stands out for me in my memory is the food. At best it was inedible. The worst thing was that the lunch monitors took great pleasure in forcing us to finish every last mouthful. Some of the children had gotten wise to this and would sneak in tissues in which they would wrap up their food and smuggle it out, dropping it in a bin where it belonged. I was always too frightened to do this. Getting caught would mean real trouble.
One child was beaten so badly one day after school when he didn’t finish his food, that he ended up limping for a week. He took a twisted pleasure in showing us all the cuts across the back of his legs. The stick the older kids had used had cut deep into his flesh, slicing his young, white skin like butter. I remember telling him to put some cream on it. The boy pushed me over and said he’d rather be beaten again than accept any help from me. All the children standing around us laughed. I did not.
During one spring my existence was made even more miserable.
Queuing up to get my lunch, I felt my heart sink as the dinner lady plopped a faggot onto my plate. Thankfully, this food is now out of fashion. Faggots are disgusting. They are large balls of meat, often made from pigs’ hearts, other offal and fatty meat, which have been minced together with breadcrumbs. No child should ever be expected to eat one. I think even a dog would turn it down.
There are times in life when you feel, in your bones, that something is brewing and that something important is about to happen. That was one of those days. Every day was the same dull, repetitive nightmare. At first, that lunchtime was no different.
So, I queued and waited for the food to be put on my plate just as all the other children did. As the slimy meat flopped onto my plate I felt my stomach hit the floor.
Trying not to look at the grey mass that rolled about on my plate, I managed to locate an empty seat in the lunch hall and sat down. It was the table that always housed the misfits. The strange ginger-haired girl, the Jewish child, the teacher’s relative and me. We never spoke to each other. There was nothing to say. But we knew that we were all outcasts and this was our table. That knowledge stopped me from feeling so isolated.
I did my best to stop myself
from looking directly at the misshapen ball of dog food that sat on my plate. I realised, as soon as I allowed my eyes to rest on it, that the vomit would come. It was bubbling before I even entered the food hall.
As the lunch hall emptied I felt the pressure building. The Jewish child had an out. The ginger girl managed to hide most of her lunch in a napkin that she smuggled in and the teacher’s pet disappeared while I remained stuck to my seat not looking at this alien food, refusing to let it pass my lips.
It was then that one of the prefects arrived and decided to have her fun.
‘Eat’. She stood over me, a big girl, nearly six feet tall, with wide calves and frizzy hair.
I stared up at her pretending to be foreign, pretending not to understand.
Her large flat leather school shoes banged down on the floor, echoing around the room.
‘I said, “Eat”.’ The few remaining pupils put their forks down and watched with their mouths open. The monster girl ignored them and continued to focus her anger and hatred on me.
‘Eat,’ she bellowed for a third time.
I just remember noticing the fine layer of hair she had on her cheeks. The golden-brown hairs coated her face and I was reminded of apes and how most of us had evolved.
The angrier she got the more the hairs on her face glowed like a halo.
Have you ever seen a piece of pork that came straight from the butcher? It has hair, fine, silky hair, sticking out of its skin. Well, that is what her cheeks made me think of. Pigs. Meat.
So the girl with the hairy face, fuzzy hair and bad breath, stood over me trying to intimidate me. If size had been the deciding factor, then she would have won. Even I expected to walk away the loser in this battle, but life has a funny way of throwing up surprises.
‘No.’ I sat back in my chair, folded my arms and stared back at her. ‘No. I won’t eat that.’
Then the bully did what bullies do.
The angry pubescent girl took hold of me by the back of my head and pushed my mouth towards the faggots.
She was too young to be a coffee drinker but I remember her breath, earthy and stale as she spat into my ear. ‘You will take a bite out of this or I will take a bite out of you.’
Surprisingly, I did what she requested. The mouthful of cold, rubbery, fatty, salty, meat hit my taste buds and instantly clashed.
Before I could warn her, the mixture of my porridge from breakfast and the curdled meat met in my throat and erupted all over the lunch hall, spraying everything in my path.
Yes, I did throw up all over the bully. Yes, I did stand my ground for once but it didn’t do me any good. I was shoved out of the lunch hall by one of the teachers; vomit dripping from my chin, the stench on my uniform. I was then marched to the head’s office, the wet, lumpy, sick still clinging to me, as I sat there waiting to receive my punishment.
I returned home late that night, because I had to spend time writing lines when everyone else was allowed to go home. Mummy didn’t notice I was late but she did notice my filthy uniform and the smell. So not only had I had a horrible day at school but I was then told by Mummy that she wouldn’t pay for another uniform so I’d better do a good job of cleaning it up myself.
I used water from the kettle and lots of washing-up liquid but never did manage to completely get rid of the smell.
When Nick came into my room that night I just lay there, as the tears rolled down my cheeks, and I didn’t say a word.
25
The Pica Explorer
Day three. Hour 17:00.
‘Where are they?’ Susie and I had searched one end of the vessel but there was no sign of either Fiona or Anya.
‘Maybe they went back to the living area. Or maybe they are dead.’
‘No.’ Susie shakes her head. ‘We would have passed them.’
We both stand there, cold and afraid, wondering what to do next.
‘I need the loo.’ Susie shifts on the spot.
‘Okay. Let’s go back to the sleeping quarters. There is a loo there.’ As we walk slowly, clinging to each other, the blue lights above our heads begin to flicker again and we quicken our pace, wary that one of the men could appear at any moment.
‘I don’t like this,’ I whisper.
‘Neither do I.’ Susie squeezes my hand.
As we enter the bunkroom we discover Luke sitting bolt upright on one of the beds, looking into space. He does not acknowledge us when we come in.
‘Luke?’ Susie and I remain in the doorway frightened by the blank, ghostlike expression on his face.
He turns his head to look at us slowly as a demented smile creeps across his face. ‘Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.’ His eyes are wide and staring. Then he begins again. ‘Row, row, row…’
‘He’s gone mad.’ Susie steps backwards, keeping hold of my arm and making sure that I back away with her as his singing grows louder.
In the corridor once again Susie pulls the door closed behind her, shutting Luke alone in the room.
‘Quick, look for something to secure the door,’ she says frantically, keeping hold of the handle as I scrabble about looking for anything that will do the job. From the other side of the door we can still hear Luke singing the song over and over again.
As I search high and low for something that could be used to keep the door propped shut, I try to fight the daze in my head and the pounding ache from the bump on my skull.
I know Luke could get up at any moment and try to get out. There is no way on earth that Susie could possibly hold him off.
Just then Frank appears. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ He is panting and sweaty.
‘Where is Sam?’ I look at Susie, not sure that we want to know the answer.
‘I gave the kid a slap. He’s feeling sorry for himself but he’ll be fine.’ Frank’s eyes sparkle with enjoyment. ‘I’ll ask you again: what the hell are you doing?’
‘Luke is in there. He’s lost it. He’s really lost it. I don’t think he’s safe for us to be around. I think it could be him.’ Susie’s grip remains firmly on the door handle and I see her knuckles are beginning to turn white. ‘Listen.’ She cocks her head towards the door and Frank moves in closer to get a better listen.
‘Is he singing?’ Frank looks bemused.
‘It’s not funny,’ I say through gritted teeth. ‘He’s really not well.’
‘And you think that you can keep him in there, do you, doll? For all we know he is the killer, as Susie said.’ Frank chuckles, running his eyes up and down Susie.
‘Do you want to try instead?’ she responds coldly, still entertaining the thought that Luke is the one responsible.
‘Move over!’ Frank barges her out of the way and wraps his large hands around the handle.
For a moment my heart is in my mouth and I think Frank is going to open the door but after a moment more of listening to Luke sing, he holds firm and the smile fades from his face.
‘There is rope down in the engine room. Get it,’ he barks at me, slipping back into director mode.
‘No.’ Susie puts her hand up taking control. ‘Zara can stay here. I’ll get it.’ She winks at me as she rushes off to get the rope, leaving me alone with Frank.
‘You shouldn’t go alone, Susie,’ I plead as she disappears. ‘Is Sam really all right?’ I ask Frank as I slide to the floor feeling dizzy.
‘He’s fine, doll. Go check if you like.’
Shaking my head I carefully take one hand up to feel the lump on the side of my head. It is tender to touch and I wince.
‘That looks nasty,’ Frank says, managing to almost sound sympathetic.
‘It hurts like a bitch.’ Getting to my feet I steady myself, determined to go and check that Sam is actually all right. As I do, the singing from the bunkroom grows louder still and my eyes meet Frank’s.
‘Fucking fruit cake.’ Frank hangs his head with disappointment just as Sam comes stumbling in.
&n
bsp; ‘See,’ Frank says looking up, ‘told you the little scrote was okay.’
‘Is that Luke?’ Sam’s cheek is red and his jaw looks swollen. He cannot bring himself to look at Frank.
‘Yes.’ I nod, relieved to see that Sam has survived his encounter with Frank.
‘Did they manage to fix the battery?’ he asks me, trying to ignore the maniacal sound of the nursery rhyme coming from next door.
‘We couldn’t find them. They’ve vanished.’
‘What?’ Frank growls.
‘While the two of you were tearing strips off each other, Susie and I went to try and find Fiona and Anya but they’ve disappeared.’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Frank spits. ‘There is no way off of this thing.’
I don’t have the energy to try and convince him that there is no sign of them and shrug instead.
‘Kid, come and hold this door. I’m going to get the rope myself and find those bloody women.’
‘No,’ Sam refuses, looking smug. ‘You’re the big man. You hold the fucking door yourself.’
I watch the rage starting to rise in Frank again and wish these two men would just stop fighting for one moment but before I can say anything, a sound comes rippling up through the sub and we feel it begin to tip.
26
Child
Some things you never forget, like your first kiss or the first time you taste alcohol.
During the summer of 1999 I spent much of the holidays roaming around the countryside. I’d go for long walks, often staying out until dusk. I was happy as long as I was away from the house and Mummy.
Nick had moved in with us but he and Mummy weren’t getting on very well. He still paid regular visits to my bedroom at night while she lay sleeping.
The best thing about where we lived was that I had lots of fields around to explore. Our cottage was at the end of a small village in the countryside.
Pressure: a dark and disturbing psychological thriller Page 11
