The Boy and the Battleship

by Christopher Cummings

  His patience was rewarded half an hour later when he saw Thelma. But as he watched, Graham’s whole body froze—she was holding hands with Edmonson! With them were Janet, Danelle, Denham and Pinky. They had come into view from the direction of the Esplanade. Graham stood up and walked towards them. He was so upset he did not care if he was making a spectacle of himself. As he got closer, Janet saw him and said something to the others. Graham got a very clear impression of hostility on the faces of most of them; and was that a flash of guilt on Thelma’s?

  Graham reached them and stopped, his eyes focused on Thelma. She avoided his eyes and went to keep on walking, which made Graham’s stomach lurch sickeningly. “Thelma,” he croaked. “Can I talk to you?”

  Thelma met his eyes briefly and Graham saw that she appeared to have tears in them. She certainly looked unhappy and quickly looked away again. Janet stepped between them. “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

  “But… I need to know. Thelma, don’t you like me anymore?” Graham blurted out.

  Janet again answered for her. “She never did, you idiot, now clear out and leave us alone!”

  The words seemed to slam into Graham’s skull. All he was conscious of was Thelma turning away with Janet, and of Edmonson and Denham standing in front of him. Edmonson thrust out his arm and pushed Graham hard in the chest, making him stagger backwards.

  “Bugger off Kirk or you’ll regret it!” he said.

  Stubbornly, Graham stood his ground. His eyes met Edmonson’s and in a flash of revelation, he cried, “You! You pushed me off the wharf.”

  Edmonson’s reaction confirmed it. He made no reply but the way his eyes moved and the blank look on his face told Graham he was right. “You could have killed me!” he added.

  Edmonson curled his lip and raised his fists. “Clear out! And don’t make wild accusations you can’t prove,” he retorted.

  For a moment Graham was tempted to lash out but then he saw Thelma looking back with horror on her face. Emboldened he cried, “I’ll do what I like!”

  Edmonson moved to punch him but Denham stepped between them. He stood chest to chest with Graham and glared. “Leave Thelma alone, or else!” he snarled.

  Graham wanted to fight now. Hurt and angry, a sort of red mist seemed to envelop him. To add to his misery, he saw Thelma again turn away and go hurrying off, Janet on her heels. Furious at his betrayal and near death, Graham tried to confront Edmonson.

  But Denham and Pinky blocked him and also held Edmonson back. “Cool it mate,” Denham snapped at Edmonson. “Walk away before the cops come over to investigate. They are looking at us. We don’t want trouble yet.”

  Denham and Edmonson both glared and sneered at Graham, then turned and walked off. Graham stood in stunned misery as the youths followed the girls across the road towards the crowd of jeering and chanting demonstrators. He glanced around and saw that the bus with the navy cadets was just making its way across the car park inside the wharf enclosure.

  That was the final straw to his emotions. Rather than have the cadets see him standing there in misery and defeat, Graham turned and ran along the footpath. He ran for a whole block, tears streaming down his face, the stares of tourists and curious onlookers adding to his humiliation. To avoid them he turned and fled into the park near the Green Island terminal and slumped down on a seat where he had some privacy. The thought that Cindy had been nearby with the French sailor only added to his distress. Overcome by utter misery, he broke down and sobbed uncontrollably.

  Thelma does not love me! She has used me! he thought.

  Chapter 35

  WHAT TO DO?

  Graham lost track of how long he sat in the park. Several people walked past and looked at him but he turned his tear-streaked face away and hugged his misery to himself. It was true—he had been used. Thelma doesn’t love me! he thought. He felt utterly devastated and defiled. More tears flowed and he briefly contemplated walking through to the wharf and throwing himself into the sea. He could never remember feeling so completely depressed.

  Then fate twisted another emotional knife in his gut. Through the park walked an American sailor—with Cindy! She wore a very short skirt and he had his arm around her. She was laughing and he was telling her what a wonderful time she would have. Graham hid his face and felt physically ill; but she did not even glance at him. After they had gone he sat and brooded, thinking the darkest thoughts of his life.

  Then it came to him that he should try to stop her. “I must save her,” he muttered. “Her behaviour is partly my fault.” With that in mind he stood up and ran in the direction Cindy and the American sailor had gone. But they were nowhere to be seen. Driven by an urgent desire to right the earlier wrong and to prevent more harm he ran on, rounding several blocks and drawing many curious glances.

  Maybe they didn’t leave the waterfront area? he thought. With that idea he hurried back to where he had last seen them. But then he could not decide which way to go and he came to a panting standstill.

  The pain in his chest was so intense he trembled. He stood there, clutching his arms about himself, and looked anxiously in all directions. Once again misery overwhelmed him and tears came. To gain some privacy he walked unsteadily through to the Green Island Terminal. But a ferry was just nosing in with a load of tourists. In his current mood he did not wish anyone to witness his shame and defeat. He wanted to be alone, to brood, to summon up the courage to end it all. Barely able to see where he was going through his tears he fled through the yard of the Yacht Club.

  That put him on the boardwalk along the side of the marina. There he paused as there was a boat ramp and roadway ahead. Rather than walk past the people there he stopped and leaned on the railing, bowing his head to hide his misery. For over half an hour he stood staring down at the swiftly flowing water of the outgoing tide. It looked dark green and murky with the scourings of the mangroves upstream. By turning his head he could see the stern of the American frigate at the main wharf. Beyond the frigate the superstructure and masts of the cruiser were visible. Sailors were visible re-painting the side of the cruiser.

  For several minutes Graham looked at these symbols of his defeat and betrayal and felt the pain surge anew. Again he contemplated the dark water. He shivered. I could end it all! he thought.

  Behind him a man laughed. The man said to his companion: “We really got them that time Brad. Boy, did I enjoy tying those bloody Yanks in knots!”

  Graham’s ears pricked up and he glanced around as the two men walked past behind him. The speaker was a middle-aged man wearing non-descript old blue shorts and singlet. He had grey hair and a hairy chest and back; the hairs also mostly grey. With a shock Graham recognized him. He is the man I saw under the wharf with Sean O’Malley the day I retrieved the model ship, he remembered.

  The man named Brad was a thin, tanned man in his thirties. He had a beard and looked very fit. Brad laughed and agreed. “You should have seen their faces when we came paddling down past them. It was worth a million bucks. Your plan really worked. We had the stupid bastards fooled all right.”

  The middle-aged man nodded and replied, “What we have to do now is hit the buggers again. Our next blow will really make the world take notice. This time we…” But Graham could not hear anymore. The two men continued on as far as the roadway near the Pier. They had taken no notice of Graham and he was able to study them as they stopped to talk. Their words had burned into his shame.

  I am one of the stupid bastards! he told himself fiercely. A wave of anger surged up. These were the men responsible for his humiliation and pain!

  The middle-aged man climbed down into a grimy little runabout, started the outboard motor, and went sputtering off across the Inlet towards the boats moored on the other side. Graham watched intently. He said he enjoyed tying the Yanks in knots. Was he the man on the old motor launch who wrapped the rope around the cruiser’s propellers?

  Graham was seized with an intense desire to act. He looked around for a boa
t that he might be able to use to follow the man. I need to know where he lives. Does he live on one of those boats over there? he wondered. He eyed the rows of boats on the other side of the Inlet. There were dozens of them, of all types and sizes: yachts, fishing boats, motor launches.

  Then another idea came to him: follow Brad and see if he could find out more about this organization that was plotting the protests. By this time Brad had vanished up a flight of stairs onto a low terrace at the large building which Graham recognized as a hotel. As a local he rarely went to such a touristy place so he did not know its layout. He hurried along the walkway to the stairs—and came almost face to face with Brad.

  Brad was seating himself at a table on the terrace outside some sort of bar or restaurant. Already seated at the table was fat little man with a cheerful, ruddy face. The chubby man was dressed like a tourist: Hawaiian shirt, shorts, sunglasses; a camera slung round his neck. That the two knew each other was obvious. Graham stopped on the steps, which he realized instantly was a mistake as the chubby man glanced at him. Furious at his error Graham turned and went on along the walkway.

  As soon as he was sure he could not be seen by the men Graham stopped. How can I eavesdrop without them becoming suspicious? he thought. A quick look along the walkway indicated the props he needed for his subterfuge: an old reel of fishing line, the end of which looked to be in a hopeless tangle. He walked along and scooped it up, then walked back along the walkway until he was just below the place where the two men sat. A low railing and ornamental plants gave him the cover he needed. His heart beating rapidly with excitement he seated himself near the steps with his back to the concrete retaining wall and pretended to be untangling the fishing line.

  By moving his head a bit Graham could just see the man called Brad but could only just see the feet and legs of the chubby man. To Graham’s annoyance he could only hear snatches of their conversation; and what he could was largely recollections of the previous day’s events, interspersed with gossip and crude jokes.

  Graham became engrossed in untangling the line and started to lose focus on why he was there. Several tourists walked past but they barely glanced at him. He looked out over the moored yachts and the water of the Inlet. The afternoon sun was now bright on the jungle clad slopes of the mountains and the air was fresh and cool. He shivered and realized it was getting late.

  I’d better go home, he thought. Mum will start to worry otherwise.

  Graham stood up to go and took a last peek through the pot plants at the two men, who were now leaning over the table in earnest conversation. At that moment a waiter, conventionally dressed in black trousers, white shirt and black bow tie, came out with a tray of drinks. The waiter stopped at the table and the two men looked up.

  The chubby man said, “Thanks Rico. OK, we’ve decided on Monday’s plan. Will your group still be available?”

  “Monday eh? Sure,” replied Rico, a swarthy skinned man with shiny black hair. “What time you want us? I gotta be at work by midday.”

  “About 10 o’clock will be fine,” the chubby man replied. He paused and looked around to check no-one was near. “This is the plan; O’Malley’s group will start a really rowdy demo at the main entrance to the wharf. They will try to break in. When all the cops are busy and the media have arrived Brad here will come up the Inlet with a dozen canoes and will try a paint job on both ships, mostly from under the wharf.”

  “Good!” Rico nodded approvingly. “Where will you put your canoes in this time Brad?”

  “Just the other side of this building, over near that helipad at the seaward end of the marina,” Brad replied. “We will bring them in on a truck again and our people will be waiting to unload them.”

  “The cops will be watching out for you,” Rico replied.

  Brad nodded. “I know. Our people will move there on foot in ones and twos beforehand,” he replied.

  The chubby man went on: “OK Rico, this is where you and your group come in. As soon as Brad’s canoes have distracted the cops your team are to use those ladders and ropes to scale the fence at the far end of the wharf, then climb onto the roof of the warehouses. You can walk along on the roof all the way to the two warships then. Once you are there have a team paint slogans on the roof of the warehouse, big letters so the news helicopters can read them easily; and have another team throw paint bombs and insults at the ships.”

  “Got that,” Rico replied with a grin. Graham listened to his accent and decided he was European, Spanish or Italian or something like that. Rico then asked: “How do we get away? I don’t want to end up in jail. The cops might find out who I am then.”

  “Metcalf is organizing that. I have to see him tonight to see if he has things set up,” Chubby replied. “I am meeting him at 8:00 on his yacht. As soon as I have the details I will come over to the bar here and will let you know, OK?”

  “Sure,” Rico grinned. He pretended to wipe the table clean and pick up empty glasses, then walked away. Graham watched him go in through the glass doors to the bar. By now his heart was pounding furiously. I am overhearing the demonstrator’s plans. And this time it can’t be a set up. They surely can’t know I am here, he thought.

  At that moment Brad stood up and it was obvious that he was saying farewell. Graham felt a surge of panic then forced himself to move. He scuttled 10 metres along the walkway, keeping bent double, then stopped and sat on the edge with his feet hanging over the water. The end of the fishing line was dropped into the water and he sat holding the reel, leaning on the railings. A post was used to half hide his face.

  He was not a moment too soon as Brad came down the steps. Graham did not dare turn his head to look as Brad walked towards him. The man passed behind him and kept on going. Graham breathed out and watched out of the corner of his eye till Brad was out of sight in the direction of the helipad.

  “Now what do I do?” Graham muttered. The obvious thing was to take the information to the security men, but the thought of meeting Mr Cartwright and Mr Baxter again chilled him. “They won’t believe me anyway,” he said bitterly.

  He waited for a few more minutes, then moved back to peek through to the patio. Chubby was nowhere to be seen. Graham decided he had better go home. Deep in thought he walked quickly along to the entrance road to the marina, tossed his fishing line in the bin, and set off home at a brisk walk. Only then did he remember that his mother would have driven to cadets to pick him up at 4:30. Feeling sick at heart he broke into a jog.

  It was dusk by the time he arrived home. To his surprise Margaret was sitting in the kitchen with Kylie and his mother.

  “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick about you,” his mother said.

  “I walked home.”

  “I can see that. Why didn’t you phone me from cadets?”

  Graham shrugged and had to fight back tears. “I… I went for a walk. Sorry mum. I was a bit upset,” he replied. He glanced at Kylie and Margaret wondering what they knew. The thought of his exclusion from the ship visit brought back the pain in a rush. Did his mother know?

  She did. She nodded. “I can imagine how you felt. I had a talk to Commander Hazard. He was a bit annoyed you had not called me.”

  That gave Graham another jolt. I am not giving a very good impression at cadets, he thought. Again he looked at Kylie and Margaret. His mother said, “Oh it’s all right. They both know a bit of what happened.”

  Again tears prickled. Graham battled with them. He bit his lip. His mother noted these signs and said, “You go and have a bath and change and we will talk about it after tea. It is not the end of the world. I would like an apology though, for causing me the worry and inconvenience.”

  “Yes mum. Sorry mum,” Graham replied. His eyes watered and he fled to the bathroom.

  In the sanctuary of the bathroom Graham wept and agonized over the situation. Thelma: gone beyond any hope; Cindy: a tart, and moving way out of his league. And Margaret? He thrust the thought aside. She was just a nice little ki
d. And what to do about what he had just overheard?

  That started another train of thought as he went over all he had heard. I don’t have all the information. Rico’s group have to escape from the roof of the warehouse. How can they do that I wonder? That reminded him that Chubby was meeting Dr Metcalf on his yacht at the marina at 8:30. I wonder if I could get to hear what they say? he thought.

  The moment that idea crossed his mind it seized on him. I must try. Then I might be able to go to the coppers with all the facts and they will have to believe me then, he decided.

  Energized by his plan he hurried through his bath and dressed. All the while his mind raced with plans: how to get out, what to wear, how to get within listening distance? To his annoyance Alex came out of his room and began chatting about the game they were to play against Peter and Max the next day. The last thing Graham was interested in at that moment was playing silly games. But he hid his irritation and talked as sensibly as he could.

  At tea he got another surprise. Margaret was sleeping over, sharing Kylie’s room. I wonder if that was her idea; or was it mum’s? he speculated. Margaret gave him a shy little smile and he forced a smile back. As they ate he kept glancing at the clock. It was already past 7pm. Impatiently he wolfed down his food, until rebuked for his poor table manners by his mother.

  As soon as he could Graham went and changed back into his old blue shorts, shirt and gym boots. His mother looked up in surprise when he came through to the kitchen. “Why are you wearing those dirty clothes again?” she asked.

  “I’m just going for a walk mum. I want to be on my own for a bit,” Graham replied, feeling guilty at lying.

  “Hmm. You’d be better off here with us. Don’t you be gone long,” she said.

  “No mum,” Graham replied. Then he fled down the back stairs. 7:40! Knowing speed was vital he took his bike, checked the light and wheeled it out. Alex called after him to come back and do the washing up but he ignored this and set off, pedalling as fast as he could.