S.O.S. (13 page)

‘Upper and Quarter,' she said, with the smug pride of the school swot.

‘Correct, Captain Honeybunch – you can't ever catch her out, hey Aggie? Ask her anything. Go on. Anything. Here, love – tell our two friends what is the overall breadth –
breadth
, mind, of Sylvie? Listen up, ladies.'

Aggie's face was near splitting with pleasure. Stacy's was held as if in a trance, or was maybe stranded amid the initial and irreversible stages of rigor mortis. Jennifer's face might well be imagined – but overlaid across the signals indicating the likely collapse of all internal organs, rage and a plummeting heart were each flagged up by purplish and then palish dapplings.

‘One hundred and five feet and two-and-a-half inches.'

Nobby cocked his head and winked three times (one for every man jack of you ladies).

‘Which
is
…?' And his bulbous eyes were egging her on.

‘Thirty-two point oh-six metres. Precisely.'

‘There you go. What a marvel. Isn't she a marvel? Be
honest. You're a living marvel, Aggie – Jennifer and Stacy think so, and I know I do. So yes, as I say – Upper and Quarter, as Aggie has informed us – and where we now in fact find ourselves situate. And from hence on down it's simply One to Seven decks, as you well might expect. We're on the same deck as yourselves, as it happens. We never pay the prices for the larger cabins, oh no – not us. We love every inch of her, so why trouble? Hey? Why trouble? Which
means
, of course, that we are down to dine in the selfsame restaurant.'

‘It's very good,' simpered Aggie, as Jennifer and Stacy's eyes were drawn and fused, sensing something awful.

‘It
is
,' allowed Nobby. ‘It's
very
good. And better still – it's all Harry Freemans, barring the shandy to which Aggie is partial – and my glass of Guinness, of course.'

‘I'm starving, actually …' muttered Stacy, plucking at Jennifer's sleeve.

Jennifer was immediately standing.

‘
Yes
,' she rushed. ‘We have to – '

‘Ah well
yes
,' agreed Nobby. ‘In fact we have arranged for you a little surprise, haven't we Aggie?'

Aggie nodded. ‘Little surprise.'

‘I know the head waiter quite well, obviously – we both go way back – and he's rigged us up a nice little table for four by the window: round job. Maiden voyage – don't want you two being lonely. They can't actually just shove the tables together any old how, you know. Oh no. All bolted down, you see – and let's hope you don't find out why! Although me – I don't much mind a bit of pitch and toss. More authentic. You really feel you're all at
sea
. So then – will we be off?'

Nobby and Aggie led the way: Jennifer and Stacy were clustered behind them, and clinging closely.

‘I'm
not
,' husked out Jennifer – and her eyes were imploring, and nearly tearful. ‘I … just …
can't
…!'

‘
Food
, Mum –
food
. Just think of the
food
.' (It's odd, but for
all Mum's front, she sometimes gets like this, and when she does, you just have to take charge – look after her. I'll always look after my Mum.)

‘But I'll be sick. I'll kill him. I'll be sick – and I'll kill
both
of them …'

Nobby was back and …
taking their arms
!

‘Can't have you two
maidens
dawdling about on their
maiden
voyage, can we? Get it?
Maiden
, you see. We don't actually know the full origin of that particular term, if we're talking gospel. Ships of course are
ladies
, and I suppose it seemed natural to refer to an
untried
one – no offence – as a maiden, see? Here we are – lovely restaurant, you'll love it.
Arnold
, my dear old mate – are we well? Are we well? But listen, Jennifer – listen to this, Stacy, you'll be very interested in this. Harry
Freemans
, yes? You heard I said that? Short while back? Now here is a popular misconception. People generally assume it's simply a play on the word ‘free' – as in ‘gratis', follow? But nothing could be further from the truth. No no no – Harry Freemans was very much a real live living person, and he sounded a very nice cove, to boot.'

‘He sounded lovely,' said Aggie. ‘Jennifer – you have the seat by the window. See all the waves.'

‘A very nice cove
indeed
,' went on Nobby. ‘Stacy – you happy here? Yes? Prime. Yes – owned a warehouse out Tooley way, you know? Near Tower Bridge, yes? Any seaman who called there with his load was sure of a foaming tankard of finest ale. So free beer, you see, became known as a Harry
Freemans
.'

‘It's a nice story, isn't it?' said Aggie, tucking her napkin into her neckline and scanning the menu. ‘Ooh
look
, Nobby – they've got
sardines
as a starter.'

‘And
then
, of course, it came to mean free
anything
…'

Nobby made quite a business of settling himself down at the very little table, right up close to Jennifer; and then he patted her frozen hand.

‘Mm …' he said with appreciation. ‘I like a nice sardine.'

 

Dwight had that feeling, you know? You ever had that feeling he's meaning? Like, when some outta-the-way and big-deal event has finally come a-knocking at the door and still after, hey – how long knowing it was coming? You just ain't in no kinda state to be taking it on. Like, back home, any of the goddam get-togethers Charlene keeps on fixing – Welcome Home parties, when the kids come on back from college; We Just Wanna Say
Hi
parties for any new guys to the neighbourhood – plus all the clambakes, cook-outs, cocktails and come-as-you-ares, or maybe just having the Reverend come call. Sometimes, Charlene she hits me with these, jeez – munce back. Sometimes I don't know nothing about it till the drive's fulla cars. Either which way, boy, I just feel it done snuck up on me and all I wanna do is high-tail outta there. Sump'n special's going down, then listen up – I wanna be someplace real plain and homey. I'm done up in a tux and we're in the rental stretch and going to some goddam five hunnerd bucks a plate benefit dinner (is there any guy in America I ain't yet benefited?) then what I want is just maybe to slip into jog-pants and a sweat and maybe shoot some pool and have a few beers down at Joey's, you know – kick around stuff with Barney and Harry and the rest of the guys.

And right now in this lousy stateroom or whatever the hell, I got this feeling all over me. Passed that kinda English pub on the way up here – like the Green Man I never got to see in the Harrods store? And I thought yeah – there I'd like to be, sat up real close to the bar, bowla pretzels, maybe (could be get the lowdown from a fellow American how the Nicks're doing back home, you know? You get outta touch: on a cruise, you get no nooze). And what am I instead? I'm jammed up against this here wall, baby: seats is all around,
but we're all standing up and holding a glass and everyone's goddam mouth is open and yapping at the same goddam time. Charlene, she's talking to the Captain, and she ain't about to let him go, not for nobody. How many women I seen come up now? All with that pap they put on their eyelids, you know? In the same goddam colour as all the crazy, chi-chi, how-in-hell-much-that-cost-their-husband dresses (just like Charlene – about this I know) and they all come a-sidling up and the Captain, he makes with the glad-hand (and jeez – what kind of a life? Huh? I mean, why in hell don't he kick his ass upstairs and drive the goddam
boat
, stead of jerking around with this massa broads?) But does Charlene
give
a damn? No siree – she'll let 'em kinda slide in a whiles, and then they're back outta the circle afore they know what's hit 'em. Like that maybe is she English woman right this second – look at her go. Guy behind her – he's just
gotta
be the husband, right? Looks like he wants to up and plug just either one of 'em.

I'm sweating like a hog, and ain't no liquor in my glass. And get this – I'm wearing my Brooks Brothers button-down, here (Charlene ain't never gonna get me into one of them British, is it
German
Street, shirts with, like, bones and French cuffs), but what I can't deny no more is that one more time, baby, I just went up a size. How many times this happen to me in the last couple years? Soon there won't be no shirt in the world that's gonna come close to buttoning around this lardy neck I got – but maybe by then, with the good Lord behind me for guidance, I'll be dead and buried.

Oh boy – now it's the tanned guy with the blond bouffant coming right at me:
Hi
, there, Mister Johnson, he's gonna go …

‘
Hi
, there, Mister Johnson! Doing OK?'

‘Hi, Stoo. Yeh yeh.'

And Stewart smiled broadly and then he turned away and his face hooded over and he thought Bloody rude and ungrateful
sods
.

And jeez! Did you get what that stoopid woman just said to the guy who could, I dunno, be the English dame's husband? Poor schmuck – he maybe dealt with it all in just about the only way a man can do:

‘I really love, actually,' the youngish woman was fluttering to David, ‘biblical names, you know?'

David stared at her momentarily, before behaving like an Englishman who had inadvertently glimpsed something not intended for his eyes, and immediately reverted his quite glazed gaze to the alluringly distant door: and there was longing in those eyes.

‘I mean,
real
biblical names – yes? I mean, your name –
David
, yes?'

David dragged back his whole skull and distantly focused on one of her ears. Was he really now meant to say
Yes
? I mean – was he
really
? She had just a minute before asked him his name and he had replied
David
, is my name: David, yes (at least the question hadn't been tricky), and now she was requesting verification. This must, then, must it, be what he vaguely recalled as chit-chat. Party gabble. Small-talk (a thing that always had defeated David – along, of course, with big talk too).

‘Yes …' he said.

‘
Right
,' the woman approved. ‘But I mean sort of – more
real
, you know? Obadiah? Yes?'

‘Mm.'

‘And, um –
Ezekiel
. That's biblical, isn't it?'

David felt panicked and wild. Got to leave, now. Can't think why I'm here. Got to now leave. I'll tug, will I, at Nicole? Will she kill me if I do that? Or shall I just go? No – if I do that, she'll kill me. I'll risk just touching her shoulder.

‘Well
I
think,' Nicole was gushing, ‘that the whole idea is ravishing – simply
enchanting
… ah, David. Captain – I'd like you to meet my husband. This is David. David – our Captain.'

Oh God, thought David – I'm in even deeper, now: I seem
to be about to talk to the man we came to see (which was never, I don't think, a part of my plan).

‘Hello.'

‘Greetings, David!' practically bellowed the Captain, most of the bits of his quite brown face eagerly cavorting all over the place in their efforts to please – to convey not just welcome and animation, David could only assume, but the sort of electrifying fascination that could easily leave one glassy-eyed and mute – a spent and burnt-out wreck. ‘Many congratulations on your stupendous prize – and welcome to the
Transylvania
. I hope you won't be disappointed. As I said to your charming wife, all my staff and crew are at your disposal. And now – do you good people by any chance happen to know what day this is?'

Nicole was momentarily thrown, but her ecstatic grin was still stuck firmly in place, baring the teeth, while behind her eyes the bell rang to signal the start of a rapid bout of wrestling.

‘
Tuesday
, isn't it …? David? Isn't it Tuesday? You so lose track …'

He doesn't, David was thinking,
look
much like a captain – let alone the Captain of a ship this size: his hair isn't white, and he hasn't got a beard. And nor, good God, is he gruff: I've seen more sullen people got up in a ginger fright wig and vast polyester loon pants (not, it again occurs to me, at all unlike Nicole's berth-lounging combo) twisting about squelching and sausagey balloons at a nine year-old's knees-up.

The Captain, maybe sensing that David was in a palsied or maybe even drunken state (God I wish!) rattled along with the gist of whatever this deeply tedious thing might turn out to be, while somehow even managing to notch up the delirium stakes a ratchet or two.

‘Ah yes
Tuesday
 – but not just
any
Tuesday!'

No, thought David with deep and gathering gloom – because we are still a part of, aren't we, this Day of All
Days? And those few large Grouses are wearing off fast, I can tell you that – and all they seem to be offering at this quite ludicrous party is all this endless champagne, and God it's gassy, that.

‘Not …?' tried Nicole – and even she was getting a wee bit tired of it, David could tell.

‘
C'mon
, Captain,' zipped in another voice. ‘Don't you be cheating on your lil Charlene, now! You just know you're my
best
man …'

Nicole was thinking
What
a rude woman. David was thinking Good God, how is it possible that anyone on earth can actually sound like that (unless they were earnestly vying for the part of the fan-fluttering saloon bar hostess in a remake of
Gunsmoke
)?