‘I’ll fetch them.’ Fiona gathers herself together again and sets off towards the back of the sub.
‘Are we going to freeze to death?’ Dominique is as pale as a ghost and her large green eyes look searchingly at Patrick.
‘No, that won’t happen. But we do all need to calm down and try and preserve the oxygen supply.’
‘What good is that if no one will ever rescue us?’ Sam spits, finally finding his backbone.
It is at this point that Frank storms out of the living area towards the control room. ‘I need some fucking peace,’ he shouts while stomping away. ‘I suggest all of you leave me alone.’
‘Should someone go after him?’ Susie looks like a deer caught in the headlights. Her thin slender neck supports a delicate head that is slightly cocked.
‘Leave him to it,’ Anya says, unfazed. ‘He needs time to calm down.’
Moments later Fiona returns with a supply of candles. ‘Here we are,’ she says, setting them up around the living area, ‘we must remember to blow them out when we go to sleep.’
‘Sleep?’ I turn to her in amazement. ‘Do you really think any of us are going to get any sleep?’
‘We need to conserve our energy and rest. We must think clearly.’
‘You’re on another fucking planet, darling!’ The look of disdain on Sam’s face makes him ugly for a moment.
‘Can everyone please stop fighting,’ Susie begs, putting her hands up over her ears like a child. Anya, sensing the rising tension, puts her arm around Susie and guides her towards the kitchen.
I am left standing with Dominique and Sam, neither of whom have anything to say. The real weight of the situation has now settled on each and every one of us.
‘We aren’t getting out of this alive.’ I slump down on the floor and let the wave of nausea course through me.
As I close my eyes I hear Sam and Dominique whisper to one another before footsteps fade, leaving me alone in the living area.
8
Patrick
Ever since I was small I’ve had an interest in science. As a boy I would collect bugs and study them. Then, when I was older, my parents took me to the seaside and I fell in love with the ocean.
I remember that trip to Weston-super-Mare like it was yesterday. We went during the Easter holidays. The sky was grey and the sea was angry. Big waves came crashing down onto the sand, pulling it back with watery claws and throwing it up again. I knew then that I wanted to live on the coast and when I went to university to study physics I did just that.
Southampton was a world away from where I grew up in Derbyshire. I’d lived in the countryside, in a small village called Over Haddon near Bakewell for most of my life, and the city was a new experience for me.
My parents were extremely proud when my teacher told them I was university material and they worked very hard to make sure I could attend and follow my ambition.
At Southampton I kept my head down, still daunted by the size and pace of the city, and concentrated on my work. But that changed when I met Anita. She was a coy young woman who was also far from home. She was a Yorkshire lass studying at the university just like me.
It was the seventies and I had long hair and bad clothes. I still have the long hair; although it is less brown now and more salt and pepper.
I spotted Anita one afternoon in the library, head buried in a book. She was pale with pink cheeks and sparkling blue eyes. Pretty and understated in her looks, she was the sort of woman that I fancied immediately.
In those days, I hadn’t had much experience with women but she seemed approachable and had an open face so I plucked up the courage to talk to her. When I did, her cheeks flushed a darker shade of pink and I found it endearing.
I introduced myself and asked her if I might sit down at her table. She smiled and indicated to a chair. We got talking, and I asked her how long she’d been in Southampton and what she was studying. Anita told me about her life growing up just outside of Sheffield and explained that she was an English student. I could have listened to her soft Yorkshire accent for hours, and did so. We talked for so long that the stuffy old woman who was in charge of the library had to ask us to leave as it was closing. We gathered our books and shuffled out giggling. Then we went and had a pizza. That was our first date.
Two years later we were married and living in a damp basement flat in the centre of the city. We were broke and still studying but it didn’t matter; we were happy.
She graduated a year before me and had dreams of becoming a writer, but fate played its hand and she discovered she was pregnant before she had a chance to start her novel. I worked all the hours I could to make ends meet while trying to juggle my studies.
Finally we had enough money to move out of the dingy basement flat and moved further out of town to a small two-up two-down. Anita spent time doing the place up and making it a home suitable for the three of us. She did an especially fine job on the nursery, making sure that it was a nice neutral yellow, since we didn’t know the sex of the unborn child.
In March 1977 Anita gave birth to our daughter, Rosie. She was a plump little thing with a broad round face. I couldn’t see myself in her, but she was the spitting image of her mother.
Later that same year I graduated with a first. That is when we began to fight. I wanted to go on to do a master’s but Anita wanted me to get a job and start providing more for our family. I told her it had been my dream to be a scientist and she said that dreams were for losers and that I had responsibility now.
Despite her disapproval, after working in a dead-end job for a year, I went back to university to do a master’s in physics and I was happy once again. But very soon after I started the course Anita announced she was pregnant for a second time. We had discussed putting off having another baby until after I’d finished at Southampton, but Anita told me that her contraceptive pill must have failed. I still don’t believe her to this day.
Eight months later my son, Richard, was born, named after my father. He was a serious little boy and very different from his sister. It seemed Anita and I had reproduced ourselves more or less exactly. Anita was busy with the children and I threw myself into my work. It didn’t take long for us to grow apart.
I’d known soon after Rosie was born that Anita longed to move back to Yorkshire, but I wasn’t ready to swap life in the city and my education for a quiet life in the country. I wanted more than that. I wanted to be a pioneer in my field but she didn’t understand where I was coming from. Motherhood changed her.
I found myself spending more and more time at college, working late in the library and in the science block. I’d come home late to find her asleep on the sofa and my dinner, cold, on the table. But I didn’t have the desire to wake her up and talk to her so I would take myself upstairs to bed. It turns out that I wasn’t cut out to be a husband and soon we became no more than two people sharing a house.
Life became more complicated when I met Julie. She was five years my junior and an undergraduate at the university. Our paths first crossed when she appeared in one of the labs, there working on a project of her own.
The chemistry was instant and the affair began that night. She was so different to the woman Anita had become. She was sexy and ballsy. She made me laugh.
Julie didn’t care that I was married. She enjoyed the thrill of it all. We weren’t in love, it was just sex, but that didn’t make Anita feel any better when she discovered the affair. That week she packed her bags, and left to go back to Yorkshire to live with her parents, taking the children with her.
Rosie and Richard grew up never really knowing me. I went to visit once in a while but their mother had it in for me and poisoned their young minds. I don’t blame her, really, but it has always been a regret that I was a let-down as a father.
When Anita left, Julie dumped me. She’d met another student on her course who she started a relationship with. I was less heartbroken and more irritated by the whole thing at the time.
The small house felt empty without the children and Anita so I moved back into the centre and rented a bedsit, determined to concentrate on my studies and remain celibate in the meantime.
In eighty-two, I finished my master’s and went on to start my PhD at Durham, before becoming an engineer on board a submarine, which is where I learnt how to pilot one.
I was happy in Durham, although it was smaller than Southampton and had less going on. It gave me the shove I needed to throw everything I had into my paper. Four years later I left Durham as Dr Skuse. It was one of the proudest moments of my life.
Being a red-blooded male, I had my share of girlfriends during my time there. I was, for some reason, popular with women who liked my relaxed approach and were impressed by my mind. But none of them made me want to settle down. I was more in love with my work than I could ever be with a woman.
For nearly two decades I spent time doing research, thanks to government grants, before returning to education, this time as an engineering lecturer. In certain circles my name meant something so, when I decided to investigate the possibility of lecturing, the offers came in thick and fast. I returned to Southampton for a while and taught there, but the place had changed and I no longer recognised the city I’d spent time in. Soon I put in a request for a transfer and ended up in Plymouth, where I was happy.
But I’ve always had a nomadic personality and despite the fun I had with some of the young female students, I got bored with being in one place and I missed being at sea. So, I put the feelers out and it didn’t take long before I heard about an opportunity on board The Pica Explorer.
Still, I couldn’t quite leave all my habits behind, so when I was offered the position as captain on the research vessel I offered a job to a sweet young thing I’d become fond of while teaching in Plymouth. In some ways, she reminded me of Anita and I thought I had been given an opportunity to right a wrong. Having grown older and wiser I realised how badly I’d let both my children and my ex-wife down.
I’d never fancied Anya, but she was bright and keen. She was more than willing to join me on my new adventure and I liked the idea of having someone familiar around.
The research mission, which lasted three months, was a success and I worked well alongside Anya and the rest of the crew. It was good being back at sea and I realised how much I’d missed it.
Upon returning to land I was given the chance to return to sea again to do research on shark species in the North Sea. Sadly, my co-captain was due to get married and was unable to join us on that expedition. So I set about looking for a replacement and came across Fiona, who fit the bill perfectly.
Fiona and I shared a passion for the ocean and soon developed a desire for one another. She was feisty and strong, and the start of our affair was extremely exciting, made more so by the fact that she was twenty-five years my junior. Life was good but was about to take an interesting turn. Never had I expected to receive a call telling me that The Pica Explorer was going to be used in the making of a film. It was the most surreal moment of my career. Of course, I had heard of Frank Holden. In my time I had watched plenty of films, and the prospect of getting to meet and work alongside such an industry giant filled me with excitement. This would be a very different type of adventure and I welcomed it.
We were told very little about the film – just that it was set on a submersible craft and that a small crew of filmmakers and actors would be on board with us. I had to sign a disclaimer promising never to discuss what happened during filming or to discuss the story or process with anyone, which I was more than happy to do.
To my bitter disappointment, the moment Frank Holden stepped on board I took a dislike to him. He was brash, arrogant and rude, which meant, sadly, that I could not look forward to the next few weeks spent in his company.
9
The Pica Explorer
Day two. Hour 08:00.
I’m sitting in the living area alone. Some of them have managed to go to sleep while Patrick and Fiona remain in the engine room problem-solving, although they both clearly think it is hopeless.
Frank is sitting at the front of the sub, in the control seat, just staring out into the dark water that surrounds us. I went in earlier to check if he was okay but the scowl on his face told me it was best I leave him alone.
One lonely candle is burning. We are saving the others. I watch as the level of wax slowly creeps down, like sand in an egg timer, taunting me.
Out of nowhere I hear a blood-curdling scream coming from the back of the sub. I rush towards the noise, my heart thumping in my chest, feeling like it might erupt. The back of the sub is dark now and I feel my way through the corridor towards the bunkroom. The screaming hasn’t abated.
As I make it through the doorway a flashlight comes on.
‘Why the fuck are you making all that noise?’ Sam is holding the torch shakily and I doubt he managed to get any sleep.
In the spotlight stands Dominique as pale as a ghost. Her whole body is shaking and silent tears are streaming down her white face.
‘What is it?’ Sam asks again, this time more gently.
My heart is in my throat and I can hear the blood pumping in my ears as her long quivering finger points to one of the beds.
Lying quite still on his back, looking skywards, is Ray. His eyes are rolled back and his mouth is hanging open like a fish. From his neck protrudes a syringe.
Anya, who is now fully out of her bunkbed, follows the light and dashes towards the corpse to search for signs of life. She checks his pulse on both his wrist and his neck but it is pointless. He is dead.
‘What the hell is all the noise about?’ Frank comes storming in with a face like thunder. When he sees Ray’s body he is silenced.
‘Who? What?’ Sam stares in horror at the lifeless body.
‘Rigor mortis is beginning to set in,’ Anya says. ‘He must have been dead for at least two hours. What the hell is going on round here?’ She looks really shaken.
‘How do you know?’ Susie has appeared.
‘I’m a scientist. We know these things.’ She shrugs.
‘Everyone out of here,’ Frank orders, looking less confident than usual.
‘Why?’ Anya asks.
‘Because this is a crime scene and there is a fucking dead man lying on a bed,’ he growls.
‘Who are you, Hercule fucking Poirot?’ Sam smirks to himself.
‘Get the fuck out of this room right now before I lay one on you.’ Frank approaches Sam. He is a tall man and towers above the young actor.
‘Okay.’ Sam accepts meekly and takes Dominique by the hand, leading her out of the way.
‘What do you mean “a crime scene”?’ I ask.
‘Well, he didn’t put the fucking needle in his own larynx did he!’ Frank gestures towards Ray.
Just then we all stop. No one moves. No one says a word.
‘You mean he was killed?’ Susie’s voice shakes.
‘Well done, genius,’ Frank says, pushing her out of the way and leaving the rest of us standing looking at the body.
‘Oh my God,’ Dominique says as her legs begin to go. Thankfully Sam is there to catch her and Anya jumps up to assist him.
‘Let’s take her through into the living room. Come on, everyone. I think Frank is right. Let’s leave the room.’ The rest of us follow Anya and Sam who are both supporting Dominique.
In the corridor Patrick and Fiona meet us.
‘What’s happened?’ The exhaustion on Fiona’s face is apparent.
‘Ray… I… he’s dead.’
‘What!’ Patrick’s voice rises.
‘Come into the living area. We’re all going in there.’
‘Yes, follow us,’ Anya calls from the front.
Fiona and Patrick share a startled look before agreeing to join us in another part of the vessel.
When we reach the living area we find Frank sitting at the table glaring at us all. His little brown eyes are shining as if they are dancing with fire.
‘One of you has killed a man,’ Frank growls.
‘Oh, this is ludicrous!’ Sam protests fervently.
‘What is going on here?’ Patrick’s voice is quiet but authoritative. ‘I demand to know. I am still the captain on board this vessel.’
‘Someone killed Ray,’ Frank says calmly.
‘Killed him?’ Fiona gasps while Anya and Sam manage to position Dominique so that she is sitting down. She is barely conscious.
‘Dead as a dodo.’ Frank’s choice of words is far from appropriate.
I look over at Luke who hasn’t spoken since we discovered Ray’s body. He has a strange look on his face.
‘Are you okay, Luke?’ He has dark circles around his eyes and his cheeks, which are normally full of colour, look gaunt.
‘Not really. This is fucking nuts.’ He scratches his beard and I notice that his body is shaking slightly. As is mine.
‘I need a drink.’ Frank gets up, pushing his large gut past Patrick, and opens a cupboard. ‘Anyone else?’ He holds up a bottle of Scotch.
‘I will,’ I say. I’m the only one to take him up on his offer and I have a moment of guilt for siding with Frank.
Frank pours two large glasses of Scotch and hands me one.
‘Get that down you, doll.’ He clinks my glass and then takes a large swig of his drink, holding it for a moment in his cheeks before swallowing.
The whisky is harsh and warm on my throat but feels good as it hits my stomach. Olly loves whisky and I realise how much I miss him.
‘Who was it then?’ Anya asks as if addressing a classroom, breaking my train of thought.
‘Who was what?’ Susie looks at her puzzled.
‘Who killed the actor?’ Anya replies coldly.
‘Yes, I’d like to know which one of you fuckers killed one of my leading men.’ Frank glares at us each in turn.
No one says a word.
Pressure: a dark and disturbing psychological thriller Page 4