by J. S. Law
‘It’s OK,’ he replied, without looking at her. ‘Before I came to Tenacity, when the Old Man took me on as his steward, I hated going into the mess-deck too.’
She watched him as he took the seat in front of her, his eyes never leaving the green painted deck.
‘How long have you been with,’ she paused, ‘the Old Man?’
He finally looked at her, picking up on her pause. ‘All captains of submarines are called the Old Man,’ he explained. ‘They’re usually the oldest anyway, but it’s just what we call them.’
Dan nodded.
‘I’ve been with him for over a year,’ he continued. ‘We met a few years before that. He had me transferred across from Trafalgar to work for him.’
‘Is that normal?’ asked Dan, genuinely interested.
‘Some commanding officers can pick their own crew, not many nowadays, though. He’s had the Coxswain here for years. We’re so short of qualified submariners that we all bounce around from one boat to another a lot of the time anyway. The Old Man’s like a talisman, though, that’s why the lads love him so much. Everyone knows that Tenacity gets all the good run ashores, stops over in good places and stuff. We do the hard sea-time too, though, but the Old Man always sees us right.’
Dan waited, letting the silence prompt Ben to continue.
‘But, yeah, the Old Man gets most of who he asks for and most of us are glad to get on Tenacity; she’s a good boat.’
Dan nodded again and looked at her clipboard.
‘Everyone seems excited about this trip, because it’s the Old Man’s last one. Why is that?’
Ben shrugged. ‘Decent stops, I guess. That’s what everyone likes, a good run ashore.’
‘So, you were on board during the last trip to Fujairah? Is that right? That was the last stop before you arrived back into Devonport?’
Ben nodded and then looked back down at the deck.
‘Was that a good run ashore?’ asked Dan, trying to get back to the casual way that they had been conversing a few moments ago, trying to keep the flow going as he had seemed to be opening up and chatting freely.
She could see that his breath was getting deeper, his hands fidgeting.
‘Steward Roach,’ she said. ‘Ben? Are you OK?’
He looked up; his teeth were chattering and Dan leaned back away from him, unsure what he was going to do.
‘Ma’am,’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘Why are you here, as in, why you? Everyone says you’re Kill team. Is it true you’re here because of a murder?’
Dan tried to hide her anger at hearing the product of the rumour mill – a product for which she had sown the seed – repeated back to her. She clenched her jaw tight as she thought about her careless slip when she had first spoken to the Old Man and how much more difficult her job had likely become because of it.
‘Because we all thought that you were just here to talk about Whisky and what happened with him.’
Dan made sure that her voice sounded calm. ‘The Kill teams work with all crimes involving loss of life, including suicide, Ben,’ she said. ‘And we always investigate a suicide until we know exactly what happened and hopefully why. So, yes, I just want to talk about Whisky.’
‘But you’re a straight-up murder police. Everyone knows who you are. They’re not going to send you for just a suicide, right?’
Dan waited, letting the words settle and watching him closely. ‘Why would that bother you so much, Ben?’
‘Whisky was my friend. It’s bad enough that he topped himself …’
Ben was silent and Dan let it continue for a short while.
‘Ben,’ she started, using his name to coax him into eye contact. ‘I would like to ask you where you were over the weekend, but it’s all routine stuff for when someone commits suicide. We try to figure out where they were and who they were with in the days and hours leading up to it. How they were acting and why they might have done what they did.’
The sailor’s hands were shaking now and his eyes were glued to the deck.
‘What’s the matter, Ben?’ she asked, leaning in and trying again to make eye contact. ‘Is something bothering you? Is there something you want to tell me?’
He started nodding his head slowly. Then he looked up at her and his face drained of all colour.
‘Ben!’ said Dan, the difference in his demeanour stark enough to make her recoil from him again.
But he wasn’t looking at her.
Dan turned, following his eyes, until she saw a figure standing at the end of the bomb-shop.
‘Get out!’ she shouted, immediately standing up and striding towards the figure. ‘There’s a sign forbidding entry to this compartment.’
‘Safety rounds have to be conducted as required, ma’am,’ said the Chief Stoker. ‘The Old Man asked the Coxswain to remind me about it just a few minutes ago.’
‘Get out,’ she repeated, stopping a short distance away from him.
He looked around the compartment slowly, his eyes pausing when they fell on Steward Roach. ‘I guess I can come back and finish up later.’
He climbed the ladder with practised speed, leaving the compartment as silently as he had entered.
Dan turned back towards Steward Roach, who sat hunched on the stool with his head in his hands.
She walked back slowly, giving the steward time to think as she did so.
‘So anyway,’ she began, trying to make her voice as chirpy as she could. ‘Any good dits from that run ashore in Fujairah then? I gather you’re pretty much restricted to the hotel complexes out there?’
Ben didn’t answer; he just shook his head.
‘You can talk to me, Ben,’ she said, reaching out to him, but then thinking better of it. ‘Anything you say to me goes no further, not on this submarine, not anywhere. Information from this interview is handled in the strictest confidence; I swear it. No one here will ever know what you’ve said.’
He shook his head again and Dan knew he was lost to her.
She watched as a tear landed on the green painted deck, making a small dark patch.
‘Can I go now please, ma’am?’ he asked without looking up.
Dan felt her shoulders drop forward and let out a sigh. She considered pushing hard, laying down the line and seeing where that led. But, after a moment’s thought, she just said, ‘Sure, Ben, I’ll need to talk again, though.’
The steward said nothing as he walked towards the ladder. As he reached up to grab a rung, he turned back to her.
‘I was bullied on board my last boat,’ he said. ‘Everyone hated me, until the Old Man brought me here.’
Dan nodded, not sure what to say.
‘I’ll leave your scran in the same place for tea as I did at lunch,’ he said, and was gone.
Chapter 19
Sunday Afternoon – 28th September 2014
After Ben Roach had climbed out of the bomb-shop, Dan counted to ten and then clenched her fists and grabbed a pillow, holding it tight to her face as she screamed, ‘Fuuuuuuccccckkkk!’ She was sure that the pillow, and the sound of the bloody air conditioning, would hide her frustration. She took the pillow away and looked at the interview chair that was facing the ladder. Then she threw her head back as if to look upwards and beg for strength. As she did, she banged the back of her head hard against a pipe, immediately bringing tears to her eyes. Recoiling forward in pain and clutching both hands to her head, she pressed her arms over her ears, elbows forward, as though she was struggling to do sit-ups. She turned to look at the pipe, rubbing her head at the spot where she had bumped it.
‘No, no, no,’ she said to herself. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’
She kept on saying the words over and over again, desperate to contain her anger. She walked over to the chair and turned it sideways, so that she could see the ladder from the corner of her eye and the interviewee had a less direct view.
‘Ma’am?’ a shout came from the hatch.
Dan looked at her clipboard; the next interviewee
was here.
‘Just a moment,’ she called back as she grabbed the baby wipes and wiped her face and eyes.
She knew it would look as though she had been crying; her pale skin and auburn hair gave her a complexion that would turn bright red for hours afterwards. Another curse formed on her lips. It would be one more joke when word got round, one more sign of weakness in an environment where she already felt completely stripped of support.
‘Fuck ’em,’ she whispered quietly, throwing the wipe onto her bunk. There wasn’t enough time for any to be wasted; she had to keep moving through the interviews. ‘Come down, please,’ she shouted, and readied the paperwork on her clipboard.
‘Hey, Dan,’ said Aaron, as he climbed down through the hatch immediately after the final interviewee of the day had left. ‘You coming for dinner?’ he asked, not waiting for her reply. ‘I thought we could head along for second sitting. We missed Saturday Steak Night yesterday because we had only just sailed, so we’re having Saturday a day late this week.’
He smiled as though that made perfect sense and then made a ‘nom nom nom’ sound.
‘A pretend Saturday night at sea, on a Sunday. How can you say no?’ he continued. ‘And you’ve gotta know that Steak Night is the premier food night. It’s a submarine tradition: onion rings in runny batter, partially cooked chips and,’ he paused, his eyes wide as though there was even more excitement to come, ‘we’re opening a brand-new bottle of sweet chilli sauce. It’s guaranteed to mask the flavour of even the cheapest and most overcooked pusser’s meat.’
He sniffed, inhaling deeply and exaggerating the act as he closed his eyes. ‘You can already whiff the smoke of burned cow-flesh and be fairly sure that the smell will be reported to Ship Control in the very near future.’
As if on cue the main broadcast drowned out his final words.
‘ALL COMPARTMENTS. SMELL OF BURNING THROUGHOUT THE SUBMARINE, ALL COMPARTMENTS CHECK ROUND AND REPORT TO SHIP CONTROL.’
‘Idiots,’ said Aaron, with a resigned smile. ‘They know full bloody well what it is. We only serve steak one way – cremated. Anyway, you coming?’
‘ALL COMPARTMENTS. THE SMELL OF BURNING IS COMING FROM THE GALLEY.’
Dan heard a small cheer from the forward bunk-space. ‘I’m not all that hungry,’ she said.
He paused and stepped towards her, looking at her more closely.
Dan felt herself start to shuffle on the spot and didn’t know exactly why.
‘What’s up?’ he asked. ‘Don’t let that nonsense last night get to you; rise above it. I spoke with the XO and the rest of the wardroom last night and their behaviour was—’
‘Aaron,’ she cut him off. ‘I’m a female in the Royal Navy. I have spent almost eighteen years “rising above it” and “just ignoring it” and “not letting it bother me”.’
She waited, thinking before she spoke. ‘It’s a very different thing to “rise above it” when I make that choice, when I decide that I’m happy to ignore it. This is different. Here I’m just being undermined. I’m being forced to rise above it, because I don’t have the support to do anything else.’
‘What do you mean? If there’s an issue then we’ll deal with it. The Old Man has really strict policies on bullying and harassment, and he’s a real stickler for the naval rank structure. If you think that someone’s not showing you the correct respect, then tell me and I’ll speak to the Coxswain; I assure you they’ll be taken to task.’
Dan raised her arms in disbelief. ‘Were you in the wardroom yesterday?’
‘That’s different,’ he retorted, looking like a petulant child. ‘They were treating you no different to any other unqualified person on the submarine, male or female, regardless of rank or rate.’ He paused and smiled at her. ‘And you gave as good as you got too, right?’
‘Aaron, you weren’t there when I was waiting outside for you, you didn’t hear what I heard. And since then, one member of your ship’s company showed me way more than just the proper respect.’
He stepped back, his brow furrowing as a deep frown spread across his face. ‘What do you mean? Who? When?’
Dan shook her head. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll “rise above it”. It’s exactly what I expected from a trip on board a long black tube filled with one hundred and twenty-nine chauvinist bastards, all united under Napoleon the Pig.’
He scratched his head, ruffling his blond hair. ‘Napoleon the Pig? Don’t think I’ve seen that film,’ he said.
Dan rolled her eyes. ‘For the love of God.’
‘What? I’m a nuclear engineer,’ he protested. ‘I know it saves time if everyone just assumes that engineers know everything, but sometimes, in truth, we don’t.’
‘And they let you take charge of a nuclear reactor?’ Dan was shaking her head.
Aaron looked at her in mock hurt. He was good at it too and the exaggerated pouting of his lip brought a reluctant smile to Dan’s face.
‘See,’ he said. ‘We’re not all bad. Richie Brannon won’t hear a word against you,’ he continued. ‘He’s doing a criminology degree, or something like that, and I think he has a crime-crush on our celebrity detective. So, you going to let me take you to dinner?’
She shook her head slowly. ‘Honestly, I’m not—’
‘You know,’ he said, cutting her off. ‘This isn’t the first time I’ve tried to feed you and been knocked back.’
Dan frowned.
‘You don’t remember?’ he asked. ‘I thought you were just being polite and sparing my feelings. You know, the opposite to what you did outside the burger wagon in Torpoint.’
He was watching her, a thin smile and a raised eyebrow as he waited for her to catch on to his meaning.
‘Oh my God,’ she said, the penny hitting the deck. ‘That was you?’
He nodded, his lips pursed and looking grim. ‘Guilty as charged. My acid house hoodie was a write-off.’
Dan’s mouth was wide open. ‘I remember now. I poured ketchup all down you.’
‘You did.’
‘Ah, but you were being bad,’ she said, the memory still coming back. ‘You wouldn’t leave me alone and you kept looking at my …’ she paused.
‘Butt,’ he finished for her, letting his shoulders sag and a look of terrible shame cross his face.
‘Yeah, I do remember you now,’ she said, scrutinising his face and trying to match what she saw now with the hazy and slightly drunken memories of so many years before.
‘I tried to feed you then too, if you remember,’ he offered. ‘I tried to buy you a burger, with extra cheese, by way of apology. I was always smooth with the ladies.’
They both laughed, Dan thinking back and cringing inside at what she’d been wearing – how little she’d been wearing – although it was the style at the time.
‘So, can I take you to dinner tonight?’ he offered. ‘Assuming you accept my apology now and don’t tell everyone who’ll listen that I was once sixteen and couldn’t hold the drink that I wasn’t even old enough to consume.’
Dan was still laughing, but she shook her head slowly, about to decline.
He cut her off again, his voice a little more serious than before. ‘You can’t survive without eating, Dan.’
He stepped towards her and put a hand on her shoulder.
Dan tensed beneath it and felt a tingle in her belly as his touch lingered. She knew that her cheeks were turning red, but she liked the feeling of his large hand touching her; it felt warm and soft. She pulled back quickly, looked away and then straight back at him.
He had taken a step back and looked awkward at her response.
‘I’m not starving,’ she reassured him, forcing a smile. ‘I’ve got an inside man who’s slipping me food on the sly.’ She winked. ‘It’s a shady arrangement, black market food changing hands right under the nose of the authorities and all that. I can’t say too much about it really.’
‘Ah,’ said Aaron, nodding his head. ‘Made yourself a friend in the galley, always a sm
art move when joining a submarine, or a prison.’
She nodded and laughed and it felt genuine.
‘And how does this black market exchange take place?’ he asked with a chuckle.
‘A police officer never reveals her sources, Aaron. I’m sorry, but the identity of my informants and dealers must remain utterly confidential.’
They stood and looked at each other for a short while.
‘I thought that was just journalists?’ he replied, and scratched his head. ‘Well, having been a non-qual on board a submarine once or twice myself, I imagine that the exchange takes place in, or around, the pantry area,’ he said, his finger and thumb gently resting on his chin in a pose reminiscent of Sherlock Holmes. ‘And, as that’s on the way to the wardroom, I offer to escort you to the exchange to ensure your food is delivered safely and the dirty deal goes down without incident.’
He finished and stepped back, swinging his arm towards the ladder in a grand gesture and saying, ‘Ladies first.’
Sighing, Dan relented and moved past him towards the ladder.
‘I promise not to look this time,’ he said, as she placed her foot on the first rung. ‘Being smothered in tomato sauce taught me my lesson.’
‘That would certainly be ungentlemanly,’ she said, with a raised eyebrow, and continued to climb. ‘Although there isn’t any tomato sauce to hand.’
‘Don’t look, mustn’t look,’ Aaron began to repeat, his eyes closed in mock concentration. ‘Don’t look, mustn’t look.’
She chuckled, and sighed again. Her legs felt heavy as she climbed the short ladder, her body drained of energy, and yet this moment, feeling relaxed and talking to someone in a way she hadn’t done for a long time, was proving to be the high point of an otherwise shitty day.
Aaron continued to repeat the mantra as he climbed up the ladder behind her.
Dan ignored him and stepped out onto two-deck.
He was up the ladder and standing next to her almost immediately. ‘Practice,’ he mumbled in answer to her shock at seeing him up so quickly.
He gestured for her to go before him, but smiling, she reversed the gesture. ‘No, no, after you,’ she said.
