‘I’ll talk to him. What did you say his name was again?’
‘Stewart, sir, apparently. But he won’t answer it, sir. We’ve had the phone ringing pretty well constantly, now. No good at all, I’m afraid.’
‘God Almighty. Well what do you think, Alan? Mad, is he?’
‘I just can’t fathom it, sir. He can’t possibly hope to gain anything from this. Maybe he’s just, I don’t know – depressed, sir.’
The Captain looked at him. ‘Depressed. Yes. Quite possibly. I don’t feel terribly elated myself, Alan, just at this very moment. So OK – what’s the position? What have we got?’
‘Well, sir – guard at the door, obviously, and, um – well, not much more to be done, I’m afraid, sir. Sort of have to, I don’t know – starve him out, I suppose …’
The Captain’s expression of total bemusement was reflected in that of his Number Two.
‘Good God. Right. OK, then, Alan. That will be all. Keep me informed, of course.’
‘Of course, sir. Good night, sir.’
‘If you say so, Alan.’
Captain Scar stood at the centre of the empty room and clenched his fists and jaw and any other part of him that could be deemed clenchable. Oh dear Christ, why this? Why this now? We’re barely twenty-four hours from New York, and I have on my hands here what our American cousins refer to, I believe, as a ‘situation’. The situation being that my Assistant Cruise Director, whatever the bloody man’s name is, has abducted two passengers … dear Christ … has taken two passengers against their will and has them holed up in his office, totally incommunicado. And according to next of kin – at gunpoint. Excellent. Quite perfect. And if our friends from the Press get hold of this little lot …? Maybe I should set course for those icebergs and keep on bloody going …
He moved to his drinks cabinet and poured just a tonic water into a heavy crystal glass, added lots of ice, and then threw in a quarter lime. And by way of an impassioned afterthought, filled it to the brim with gin.
*
It reminds me of something, all of this … and David was quite amazed to find himself thinking it, as he slowly ambled (well Christ – where was the fire?) the endless length of the padded and silent corridor. Amazed, I suppose, because at least it is a thought, yes? The result of a mental impulse which hadn’t actually come about as a result of some fresh-probed and now no longer dormant anxiety (it is stirring again – flayed and tender) and nor the deep gut-shriek of stripped-back fear. It was simply the fact that the passage was piled now with trunks and packing cases bound with wire and rope: some other vast sorts of chest – looked like wardrobes on wheels … which, thinking about it, yes, they well could be. These all belonged, David had only just now and very slowly worked out (and God, it wasn’t difficult), to the long-haulers, the globetrotters, the seen-it-all-before World Cruisers; this whole week – the duration of the entire prime time and big league crossing for us little Englanders – who maybe were more easily satisfied – would have seemed to them no more than last knockings, tail endings … and yes yes yes: that’s it. Yes, of course – that’s what all this recalls to me, now: End Of Term. In that terrible place they packed me off to, my people – far too young, I was, to have been just sent away, like that. I still, even now, remember only the cold and the clatter – the noise and the desolation. There must have been fun times, I suppose … and my mother, oh – so many years later, she kept on urging me to recall them … more, I think, to make her feel better about it than me. Oh come on, David, she’d go – there must have been fun times! It can’t all have been as drab and fearsome as you make out, can it, David? Well – maybe there were, maybe there had been fun times, I really couldn’t say. Certainly I recall no such moment – not even one single second when the chill across my heart was suddenly warmed by the realization that now, right now, I am having a real fun time. No. I just remember (because I can’t forget it) being barked at and jeered and hit and gated and forever cold – and always starving amid the eternal clatter. My father and she, my mother told me sombrely – as if uttering a prayer – had gone without and worked so hard for the money to make all of this possible. I made no comment then – and now, now I very definitely have nothing at all to say on the matter. There had been just this one gleam – a faint respite – when one or two days before the end of term, the main hall and the passageways leading away from it were jammed high and haphazardly with all our trunks: proof that soon one would be out of there.
And here was, again, that very air. A pent-up excitement – and the barely stifled fizz of moment: the knowledge that soon there would be more, and different. And yes, during this crossing, there have been fun times – but now, to me, this ship seems to be simply a place I must very soon leave … leave, yes, and leave behind me for ever. On to the next thing. Which will be better, yes? More sound. And it will not trick me.
Christ, I feel wiped out; had a terrible night, just the worst. Didn’t get a wink. Storm’s blown over, anyway: I heard it die, not much before dawn. And I’ve heard all about poor Marianne, now. Nicole told me. It just goes to show, though, doesn’t it? How right bloody royally and deep-down hopeless I am? In the light of all this? I mean to say – was I remotely aware that Marianne had formed some sort of attachment to someone? No. Far too busy drinking, drinking with, oh God – Dwight (my ex-best buddy) and plotting to buy off Trish (my ex-best woman) and then just cutting dinners and teas and parties because there was cherishing to be done with, um – as it turns out (and oh please don’t make me go under the great hot red flush of so much shame – not again, not again) … with the girl who does, in fact, turn out to be, er … oh my God you finish it, you do it: I just can’t.
Anyway. When I heard from Nicole (And you are listening to me, David, are you? Not in one of your trances? … and I wasn’t actually listening much, no – was in a bit of a trance, in truth: well, wouldn’t you be? Didn’t really focus on paying attention until the gist of the thing became clear to me – that Marianne, my little girl, was in pain, here. And then I had to get Nicole to say over to me again just practically the whole of it, which pissed her right off, as you might, I suppose, expect). So when I had finally assimilated that this new friend of Marianne’s had – oh God, it’s just so faint-makingly terrifying to even think about this (have you seen this sea? Have you seen it?) – gone over the side, Christ … well of course my impulse was to go to her, talk to her, take care of her (but not, now – because I can’t ever really use the word again – cherish her in any shape or form … Oh Dwight – oh Dwight: I really am so very sorry. I know you won’t ever let me tell you that – because I’ve tried, of course I have, I’ve tried and tried – but maybe in some way you will know that I feel it). But then I thought Yes but look – I’m no good at this, am I? I mean tell me – please do tell me the last time I helped, oh – just anyone in any way whatever? You can’t, can you? No you can’t because I don’t. Ever. Help. I just take hold of a thing and then I fuck it all up.
But so many times I nearly rang her. Picked up the phone, put it down again. Because what do you say to a daughter in pain? And then she rang me. Marianne, I went: how are you? I mean – not too, um …? Look – I was just going to call you! And she said – sounded so small and lost and impossibly distant – Yeh, Daddy, sure: I know you were. Which made me feel, oh – just how good? Can we, she said – my own little girl – talk a bit …? And I said Oh my God of course we can, course we can – of course we can, Marianne. And so I’m now on my way to meet her. She said her cabin. But I said No – Black Horse. And she said Oh Daddy …! And I said I know, I know – but trust me, it’ll be better there. And it will, it will – it won’t be great (because face it: what do you say to a daughter in pain?) but it will be a bit better because it isn’t so enclosed and when I dry up completely there might at least be other noises. Plus I can get a drink, which I will probably (there is no probably about it) need.
Marianne’s already here: of course she is. Christ – poor little
kid: she had a night like mine, by the looks of her. I’m signalling Hi. She’s held up her glass – that Cola stuff she drinks, looks like – so she’s sorted, at least, in that department. Get myself a, um – Scotch, I think: bit fed up with Bourbon, now. Which looks like it’s going to take a while. God Almighty – yesterday there was no one here serving at all, and today there’s the two of them over there and all they seem to want to do is huddle up at the other end and bloody natter. I suppose in their eyes, it’s all over. Docking tomorrow, and be damned with everyone. Oh look – miracles will never … Yes yes I do want a drink, yes, since you ask. Why I’m standing at the bar and bloody staring at you, point of fact. Christ – tell you …!
‘At least,’ said Sammy – watching the back of David, now, as he stumped away (he had swallowed half his drink the moment Jilly had set it before him) – ‘I won’t have to put up with all the rude old drunks, any more.’ And then he turned his wet and vanquished eyes, heavy with hurt, full on to Jilly, who was – as always, now, it seemed to Sammy – just looking down and saying nothing. ‘I am trying,’ uttered Sammy, ‘to find a silver lining. But there isn’t one.’
‘You’ll get a job,’ said Jilly, quietly. ‘Back in England.’
‘Maybe. Depends on the reference. Won’t be glowing, will it?’
‘You’re a good barman …’
Sammy nodded to that. ‘But not very good for anything else, it seems …’
‘Oh please, Sammy – please. Not again. Not again. I just can’t go through it all again. Can’t.’
‘Oh please, Jilly – please. Please change your mind and come back to me. Won’t you? We could be back in England by tomorrow night …’
‘Yeh and then what, Sammy? I go back to my parents and try to explain why I’m not on my way to bloody Jamaica and you don’t have anywhere to live at all and … oh, it’s just hopeless, Sammy. It’s no good. You’d only keep chucking it all in my face – yes you would, Sammy, you would – I don’t care what you say now, I just know that you would. And I’m not – I’m just not cut out for the sort of life you’re after. Am I? And I’ve said all this. I’ve said and said and said it. If we were together any more we’d just never ever talk about anything else. Driving me mad …’
‘So. Well. You’ll be with him, won’t you. In New York.’
Jilly hissed out her exasperation.
‘I won’t be – with him, no Sammy. I mean – he’ll be there, yes, and I’ll be there too. I’ve never been to New York, Sammy – and I want to see it, OK? Which is what I’ve been saying all along. God …’
‘What I don’t understand,’ said Sammy – biting on his lip, and trying to be wise and strong about this – ‘is that you – you, Jilly, are the one who has done this to us – ’
‘Jesus …!’
‘No listen – it’s you, Jilly – it is. You’re the one who’s done all this and all you do is shout at me. I’ve lost everything, here – and all you do is shout at me.’
‘I’m not … shouting. Look, Sammy – hear me. For the ten thousandth time I’m sorry, OK? I can’t undo things, and I can’t be, oh – someone I’m just not. So please. Let’s just get through this – last day … and stop all this.’
Jilly just walked away from the bar and out of there, then – leaving Sammy to tend his wounds and batten down the wildest of his flailing grievances: come to terms with so much astonishment.
‘Good God,’ muttered David, as Jilly swept past their table, leaving just the after-rush of her swishing behind her. ‘She’s in a bloody hurry to get out of here. Jesus – if you don’t like working in a bar, why take the job in the first place?’
Which he had said quite uncaringly – only did it to fill in a gap – gap, yes: another of those. Because all that has happened so far at this little pow-wow is that Marianne very quietly asked him (and she’s been crying, you know, my own little girl – look at those sad sweet eyes: she’s been crying, yes) – asked whether Mummy had told him …? And David had said Yes, she – mm, bare bones anyway, yes she did. And Marianne had nodded quite solemnly, and said Oh – if only he’d talked to me more: explained to me exactly just how wretched he was feeling … And that was followed by a gap, David really needing another drink right now, but reluctant to leave the table after such a short while (which would betoken evasion? Might well do, might well do – but all it is is I need another drink). Then Marianne looked at David, and the eyes of both of them dissolved at once. David had to look away – and Marianne said to him or maybe not to him at all that she had grown really quite fond of Tom: really very … fond … and now I have to live with him being gone from me. And David nodded (gap) and could only think I hope, Marianne, I do so hope that this is the first and only time in your life that you are left alone: me – I’ve lost track completely. Will you, one day – leave me alone, Marianne? I suppose you will. I suppose you must do.
David was agitating his empty glass, now, really quite energetically – up and down the ridges his thumbnail was click-click-clicking. Glanced with venom how many times at the bloody idiot kid behind the bar, but Christ – looks like he’s in a bloody coma, or something. Oh Christ – maybe I’ll just go up and get myself a refill. Not doing any bloody good hanging around Marianne, am I? Haven’t even said to her a single bloody word. So maybe I’ll just – oh hey look, that’s – it is, just walked in – it’s Dwight! And the leap of hot pleasure and the balm of relief at just the sight of old Dwight was immediately and hissingly extinguished as he remembered, saw again, with appalling clarity that no, no no – Dwight wasn’t, was he, any more a friend of his? They could not laugh and drink, not now. They would not work, side by side.
And now Dwight had seen him: his face went sour and his mouth turned down in open disgust. He turned and walked right out of there. And … do you know … even though I have my raw and wretched daughter right here before my eyes (cowed and cold, she looked now, Marianne) this has hurt me more, so much more than just any of all of it. He’s not coming back, is he? No, thought David, he’s not. He’s not.
Too fuckin’ right I ain’t: asshole’s lucky I didn’t waste him. Tries to tell me he’s sorry, the little shit. Oh yeh sure – I can see only too well how he’s just all broke up. Jeez – he’s done with screwing around with Suki (and Christ have I laid into that little prasty-toot) what he does is he goes on back to his other little sweet piece of ass. Mebby – just mebby, he been alone and looking real bad, I bleeve I just might’ve – hell, I dunno – talked with the guy … bought him a drink, mebby. But now: forget it. I’ll just go and take it out some more on Suki. She been trying to tell me it weren’t hardly nothing between them, just kinda necking and stuff – like what we used to call heavy petting? Oh yeah, I’m going – well that sure ain’t the take I got outta the bastard David. Who I really liked, you know? And hell – I’m being honest, here – I guess my little Suki done screwed her way round campus, like, three entire circuits and back again – but what else stand can I be taking, here? My daughter, right? Yeh right. So David gets froze out: it’s the way it’s gotta be. And Charlene – Charlene I ain’t even told the half of it, you know? Which is why, maybe, she’s shooting at me You just leave Suki alone, you hear me Dwight? It’s the David bastard’s fault, your shit buddy: she ain’t nothing but a baby. And Earl, he’s going Yeah, cool it, Dad – just back off, kay? And I’m going What hell you know bout anything at all in this whole goddam world, Earl? And why hell you got yourself a feather sticking outta your ear, boy? You fixing to fly someplace? I guess, put in Suki – who needed all the friends she could get, right? – it kinda musta gotten stuck on all this kinky new hair gel he’s taken to using? And hey – don’t ask – Earl just claws out the gummy feather, closes tight his eyes and says Yeh sure: right.
‘Shut hell up alla youse!’ Charlene is now yelling. ‘What typa vacation this turning into? Huh? Now let’s just chill out, here. Dwight – getchaself over to Julie and Benny’s, hear me? She can’t raise up Benny offa the can and he say
s he don’t want no stoords on accounta it’s private business. That’s Benny. Go figure.’
Dwight just wagged his head – and slowly across his face a smile seeped in from somewhere.
‘Hey, people – we all good’n ready to get back home?’
‘Sure am,’ said Suki. ‘And Dad? Sorry – kay?’
‘You bet,’ sighed Earl, and he was nodding quite briskly.
And Charlene too – she was nodding, and maybe turning it over.
‘Yeah – yeah I guess … like maybe it’s enough already?’
And Dwight just suddenly thought of David.
‘Amen,’ he said, so quietly.
*
Aggie and Stacy just stood there, now – Aggie so grey and exhausted following the ragged expiry of her first night within living memory without Nobby by her side: as she had groaned in her creaking cabin, knocked this way and that – and not just by the toss of the sea – she had attempted to cope with her amazement at knowing that he, her Nobby, was being held somewhere – and by Stewart, of all people in the world. And he hadn’t got his pills, you know – that alone was worrying enough: but could he be eating properly? That was just one of the points on which she craved really any sort of reassurance from this frustratingly calm and methodical Captain seated before her. What, she had repeatedly pleaded, was actually being done at all? But before the Captain could answer (or at least deflect the worst of the thrust) a jabber-lipped Stacy – hardly less frantic – had broken in with the first anxiety to force its way up through all the others and break and splatter to the surface.
‘And how in God’s name did he get that, oh my God – gun? I mean – how, for Christ’s sake? How is that possible?’
Aggie quailed: she had tried not to think of the gun. Tried and failed. The very word, it made her tremble.
‘It is not, I can assure you of this,’ responded the Captain (thank Christ – sure ground here, at least), ‘one of ours. We have very few firearms aboard and all are registered, locked away and very closely monitored. None has been signed for by authorized personnel and none, repeat none, is missing. I can only assume if there is a gun – ’
S.O.S. Page 37
