S.O.S. (12 page)

I went up too far. I was looking for Upper Deck, right, but somehow I came out on to what they call the Boat Deck (which is pretty nuts, isn't it? I mean – they're all
that
) and the view there, God – totally amazing. Well – that's the odd thing, really: I say
view
, but of course there's nothing actually there to look at. I think the weirdest thing is the constant horizon. I mean – we're all used to horizons at the seaside, right? There's the sea – boat or two, buoy maybe – and it touches the line of the sky. Then you turn back to the town and there's the pier and the traffic and the front and the noise. But it's not like that here: the horizon goes all around
you. All you ever see is the deep flat grey of the ocean, and the slightly brighter sky coming down to meet it. And nothing else at all. I even thought I saw everything dip down at the corners of my eyes: I was sensing the actual curvature of the earth – it's like we're on a tiny, so litary island amid a liquid wasteland. I tell you – if this ship weren't so bloody big and solid, it's quite a scary thought. The distance – that's what makes you realize. I mean, we've been at sea for what, now? About three, four hours, I reckon – and here we are apparently in the middle of this vast world of nothingness; but we're
not
in the middle, are we? We haven't even started – there's another six
days
of this. Tell you: scary.

I wonder who all these people are. I can't decide if they're a real mix of types, or not. I mean, what I suppose I was absolutely dreading is that everyone around would be just, like, totally
ancient
 – like you keep hearing people on these cruise things are. Maybe crossings are different from cruises; of course, this is just the tail end of a simply
eternal
cruise for a lot of them: they've spent whole
seasons
on board. And I heard the steward or whatever he is just say to that couple behind me that the more expensive, the grander the suite, the less likely they are to actually ever get off the ship at any of the amazing places they stop at. Mad or what? It's almost as if they're just waiting to die, and only feel safe in very posh places. But there seem to be youngish people too, and quite a few families, which I didn't expect. Hee – there was this little boy here earlier with his mother, looked like, and she was going, Oh
Timmy
(or whatever he was called) – just look at your
hands
! What have you been
touching
? We'll have to go down to the cabin and wash them. And then the little boy – all big eyes and really standing his ground, you know? He goes Oh
no
 – and the mother says Oh
yes
, young man – right now. And the boy comes back with No
listen
 – if we all sit down and wait, my
hands will both come clean all by their
own
. Sweet. If you like kids, and stuff.

It's actually pretty cool, just sitting on your own and listening in. You don't want to
look
like you're listening, of course; I've been stirring and stirring the dregs of this orange for ages – looking right into it so people will think I don't have any ears; and no – I don't dare order another because Mum keeps banging on about the
money
thing – and anyway, all I really want to do is
eat
and that's meant to be free so where on earth
is
she? (Well – not on earth, of course: at sea.) Another thing I heard – that table over there (don't look now), just by the piano. See it? Well – the white-haired woman –
truly
one of the wrinklies, amazingly old, looks about a hundred plus – she said to whoever the other woman with her was in a quite restrained maybe Texas accent (I think it was Texan – not very good on American accents: Texan is the whiney one, yes?) that in all honesty – mah
dee-uh
 – she had been homesick now for thirty-nine-and-one-bit days. God. It's so
weird
that Mum and me are on this ship – it's so un-
us
. But she's got this thing about flying, see – which amazes just everyone when she tells them: no one feels Mum could be afraid of
anything
 – and she was just so adamant that we get to this wedding. I know, I know – you don't have to remind me: Mum is totally down on marriage, yeh I know – but this is her only sister (my Auntie Min) and well, I don't know what she's thinking … maybe she's going out there in a last-ditch effort to change Min's mind and carry her back to England, in triumph. (Auntie Min's only in America at all because she met a New Yorker in London and married him and went with him and then she, yeh, divorced him.) All I can think about now is
food
. Oh Lord – where
is
she?

‘
God
!' Stacy could at last exhale. ‘At
last
 – I've been waiting for simply – '

‘God Almighty, Stacy, where on God's earth have you
been
?'

And Stacy just sighed a bit and wagged her head and went on stabbing at the warm and rotten end of her long-dead orange. It's just typical, this: I've been hanging around for bloody
years
, and so of
course
it's my fault, isn't it?

‘I've been here all the time. Where've
you
been – that's more to the point. Doesn't take that long to change a pair of tights. Did you run into James Bond, maybe. Mum? That it?'

‘Need a drink,' huffed Jennifer, flopping down beside her. ‘What's that funny music? Oh God look – there's someone on the
harp
. What an extraordinary sound. Need a gin. Where's the bloke? And for your information, Stacy – and if you had eyes in your sweet little face you would've already
seen
 – I'm wearing my rather smart black trousers, yes? Bought in the Harvey Nichols sale for half their original price which was still nonetheless about four times the amount of money I currently possessed. How foolish is that? Think of it as an investment. Oh thank God – here's the bloke. Evening, yes – large G and T, please. Thanks. Stacy? You OK with that?'

Stacy shrugged. ‘Whatever you want.'

‘Well it's not what
I
want, is it? Do you want another orange, or what?'

‘Well …'

‘Too much orange is not at all good for you. Acid. Also, it discolours the teeth. Just the gin, thank you.'

And when the waiter had left, Jennifer leaned forward across the table and informed Stacy with huge accusation:

‘I don't seem actually to have
packed
the bloody tights, which is a total and utter pain in the arse because if they
do
sell them on board they're bound to cost an absolute fortune. The odd thing is I distinctly remember putting them
in
. I got two Boots multipacks and I could have sworn I bundled them in with the Tampax and the Ambre Solaire.'

The gin arrived and it tinkled to Jennifer's profound satisfaction: she ate a good half of it quickly.

‘This plinky-plonky harp actually rather gets on your
tits
,
doesn't it? After a while. And no I
didn't
, since you ask, encounter anyone
remotely
similar to Mister Bond, and don't please think it was for the want of looking. All the men around seem to be short and fat and more or less bald – or else sort of papery
old
. Sometimes all three. Four. Except for the waiters, who seem quite sweet – but I've heard they're all of the homosexualistic persuasion. Anyway, they're too poor. Also – painful-looking pimples.' Jennifer slurped again, and her eyes now gleamed at the memory of the next lot: ‘Talking of
Bond
, though – did I ever tell you about all that business with
Simon
? No? I did, didn't I?'

‘Which one was Simon? Was he the stockbroker one?'

Jennifer looked at her daughter as if she was mad. ‘
Stock
broker?
Simon
? No of course he wasn't a stockbroker. How could
Simon
be a stockbroker?'

‘Well
I
don't know, do I? How should I know? I don't actually
care
, do I?'

‘Stephen. You're thinking of Stephen.
Stephen
was the stockbroker. In all probability, still is. No – Simon was in advertising.'

‘Right. Great. So?'

‘Well, it's just that he had this thing about James Bond, you see – liked to play out scenes from the films. Are you
sure
I've never told you all this?'

‘No. You haven't. And I'm not sure I actually want to
know
, Mum, OK? Look – I'm starving. Why don't we go and eat?'

‘I might just have another little drink …'

‘Jesus.'

‘
Anyway
 – one day … well
night
, very probably, can't really remember …'

‘
Please
, Mum …'

‘We'd already done the
train
scene – Russia With Thing, pretty sure, when the woman's drugged and in a nightie. We actually embellished on that particular vignette just a
little. In the film, Bond sort of slaps her about a bit to wake her up, but the way
we
did it – '

‘Oh
God
…'

‘The way
we
did it – don't keep on interrupting, Stacy. I can't quite seem to catch that waiter's eye. He
must
be of a homosexualistic tendency. We did it that I slapped
him
around, you see, and then he had to teach me a lesson I wouldn't in a hurry forget. Ah me.
Anyway
…'

‘I just don't believe this. You are quite disgusting.'

‘Child. You'll learn.
Anyway
 – that's when he brought up
Goldfinger
, you see. Asked me how I'd feel about being
painted
.'

‘Painted? What – you mean, when she – like in – ?'

‘Yup. And naturally there wasn't anything to
worry
about because of course we both knew about leaving a patch of skin and all the rest of it.
Pores
, or whatever. And anyway, when men are painting, they always leave out bits all over the place, don't they? I was, I confess, just slightly concerned about the
sheets
, which is why I insisted we go to his place. Ah! You've come back to us. One more of these, please – G and T, yes? And Stacy? Yes? You OK?'

‘Whatever.'

‘Right. Just the one gin. Did I say large? Thank you so much.'

Stacy watched the waiter's retreat – and though she hated herself for doing it, now said:

‘
And
…?'

‘And what? Did you see? Did you
notice
, Stacy? That waiter? Didn't so much as glance at either one of us. And your nipples, you know, are perfectly delineated against the tug of that silken camisole in which you have elected to flaunt yourself. More likely viscose, I imagine. Top Shop, is it?
Obviously
one of the homosexualistic brethren. Which is no doubt very nice for him. If he likes that sort of thing. Which he does, presumably …'

‘Look, Mum – either finish the story or let's for Christ's sake go and
eat
, OK?'

‘Can't go now – ordered drink. Oh yes – the story. Well in the end, we didn't go through with it.'

Stacy held her gaze.

‘Right,' she said. ‘Great
story
, Mum …'

‘Well I
would
have,' protested Jennifer, ‘but then he talked of sanding
down
, do you see. Told me quite seriously that preparation was nine-tenths of a perfect job. And then when he produced a tub of filler and talked of making
good
, well, I just had to draw the line and say Now look I'm awfully
sorry
but enough is enough, you know? I think his eventual plan was to seal and varnish with three good coats of Ronseal and either sell me to Tate Modern or else utilize my various immobilized orifices for the storage of MiniDiscs. Finish. No pun intended. Didn't see him again. You know, just
thinking
about it, I don't actually think he
was
, you know …'

‘Oh God I'm so bloody hungry. Was what?'

‘Hm? Oh not Simon – I'm not talking about
Simon
. Stephen – yes? A stockbroker? I don't actually think now he was …'

‘You don't really
need
gin, do you Mum? Your mind's messed up to start with.'

Jennifer's new drink arrived, most of it surviving for not very long at all.

‘I think he was a rep for something to do with
toys
. Or maybe a wholesale butcher.'

The heart of Jennifer's easy amusement was now and immediately struck down dead. She glanced once and quickly at Stacy with large and fearful eyes, and these were now dragged with massive reluctance upwards and across to where the terrible noise had surely come from – rapidly blinking as if to deny or accelerate her arousal from the worst of nightmares.

‘Ah so you
did
locate the Piano Bar! Well done – ho ho. I
knew you would – Aggie was just a little bit on the worried side, but I for myself was unconcerned: no qualms whatsoever.'

Nobby was beaming as he drew up two chairs and settled Aggie into one of them – all but tucking her in and slipping her a barley sugar, for sucking on the journey.

‘How are you both faring, Jennifer? Stacy? Keeping well, I trust. Yes – you will already in this very short time have discovered how very
logical
and
pleasing
is the layout of this grand and beautiful vessel. The decks go as follows, starting from the top: Bridge, Signal, Sun, Boat – what's next, Aggie?'

Aggie grinned at Nobby, and then turned the full works on to both Jennifer and Stacy in turn. It was as if the four of them had then and there forged and anointed a secret pact, and soon they would be snaffling buns and cooling pies from an unsuspecting window sill.