In her mind’s eye Christine saw the plate. Saw the cookies. Saw that only two remained on a large, white, imaginary platter; oat and raisin and double-chocolate chip. And although she had known she which one she truly wanted — known right from the start — she had sat politely at the table, talking herself out of sublime temptation as she compiled her reasons for why she should really be choosing the oat and raisin.
In the meantime, someone else had swept in, swiping the double-choc chip from right under her nose. Someone who dealt in action.
Not thoughts and words and contemplation, as she did.
And now only the oat remained. And she didn’t really want that cookie.
It was nice enough, but it just wasn’t double-choc chip. And yet — for some reason — her imaginary self felt oddly compelled to understand the intentions of all others towards that cookie.
Had it previously been claimed? Should she simply seize it while she had the chance? While it was there.
But — again — it wasn’t the oat and raisin that she really wanted. So why should it make a difference?
She couldn’t say.
Had her imagined other-self dallied too long in her decision, because she knew that she was afraid? Because, she knew that she simply hadn’t the courage to reach out, to grasp that cookie and allow herself to experience all that the delicious double-choc chip had to offer. Had she simply lingered in her choosing because of the invented eyes that she felt watching her? Judging her?
In this society obsessed with healthy living, fitness and appearance; with stats and norms and pigeonholing, had the oat and raisin just always been the safer option?
Christine shook her head; making her escape from the strange cookie quandary.
‘We never used to be that close.’ Shona said, oblivious to Christine’s cerebral interlude, ‘I’ve known him for years, but, you know . . .’ Christine didn’t, but nodded anyway. ‘Then there was the wedding.’
‘The wedding?’ Christine exclaimed, now completely bemused.
Shona nodded and opened her mouth to continue, but at that moment Marc Davies came into view at the end of the carpeted corridor and — seeing the pair — called to them, a wide grin on his young, tanned face.
Shona waved, throwing a brave smile in his direction, abandoning the sentence and leaving Christine’s queries unresolved. Leaving her more than a little confused.
‘You like Kelly, don’t you?’ she asked suddenly, as they waited for Davies to reach them.
Christine didn’t quite know what to say. It was a simple enough question with an obvious enough answer; yes, she did like Kelly. Very much, in fact.
But when it was so painfully obvious that Kelly and Shona had moved beyond the realms of mere friendship, she couldn’t help but wonder whether or not it was really worth opening up to admit the truth of her feelings. Or should she simply bury them back beneath the surface?
Shona smiled softly, seeming to read Christine with an ease that made her slightly uncomfortable. ‘You do. I know you do.’ she said, without malice. ‘She likes you too, you know. Thinks a lot of you.’
Great! Christine thought. It had the same effect on her already low-altitude balloon of confidence as being told ‘You’re a good friend.’
It stank!
‘Hey, Shona. Dr Kane.’ Davies said, nodding to each of them. ‘I dropped Kelly off in medical, but I wouldn’t advise that you go down there just yet. Dr Matthews isn’t really a people person at the best of times — as I’m sure you’ve both discovered — but, right now I think she might actually be in the running for some kind of anti-social behaviour award!’
His smile drew a mirrored grin from both Shona and even Christine herself.
‘I know that Jon wanted to talk you,’ he continued, addressing Shona, ‘He wants you to make a bit of a statement and stuff. We could go and do that now if you wanted. I can always check in with Dr Matthews in a bit.’ He held up his two-way radio.
Shona eventually nodded. ‘Why not.’ she said. ‘Might as well get it all out of the way.’
‘Are you coming along, Dr Kane?’
Christine too found herself nodding in answer to the lad’s question.
She lifted her stick several inches from the ground and rotated her wrist, mentally preparing herself for yet more walking about this seemingly never-ending vessel. ‘So long as that witch doesn’t simply patch her up and send her back out like she did last time, I’m happy to come along.’ she said.
Davies laughed and turned to lead the way. Shona followed and Christine took a moment to stretch out her spine, twisting this way and that. Wanting nothing more than to climb into a hot, bubbling bath and rest her aching joints.
They reached the brig within ten minutes, which Christine thought was good going, despite the fact that she was now more than slightly — and quite obviously — out of breath.
‘I can’t wait until they get the power back on,’ she said, panting, ‘And the bloody lifts are working again.’
She sat down on a long, metal bench that was bolted to the floor.
The whole area was windowless and looked a lot more like a standard constabulary waiting area than she had expected; if not a little more stripped down.
Due to the ‘windowless’ aspect of the space and the overhead square panel lights being out, someone had dotted three massive LED torches along the floor of the corridor. Each had a face circumference of about a foot and had been stood on its end so that it directed a wide beam of light up towards the ceiling.
It went a fair way to illuminating the place, though Christine would have been lying to herself if she didn’t admit that the spectacular blue-white up-lighting effect didn’t lend a distinctively creepy air to this largely abandoned portion of the ship.
‘Does anyone want a drink?’ Davies asked.
Shona declined, but Christine was thirsty after the walk and asked for some water or whatever he could find. The blonde tank of a security officer nodded and, taking a smaller torch from his belt, made his way — solo — down a particularly dark and daunting corridor.
‘Well, he’s a braver man than me!’ Christine chuckled as Shona took a seat besides her.
‘Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be heading down there on my own anytime soon!’
A silence fell between them as they waited in the relative, eerie darkness. There weren’t even any informative posters on the walls to distract them.
Not, Christine noted, that they would have been able to read them anyway!
‘How long have you known?’ Shona asked; the first to break the silence once again.
‘Known what?’ Christine said, already guessing at the topic of Shona’s eager inquiry.
‘That you were into women?’
Into women.
Now, this one wasn’t as simple a question to answer. This was not like Shona’s previous prying into her feelings concerning Kelly. And she didn’t immediately know how to even attempt to make an answer. Or how she should react.
As far as she was consciously aware, Kelly was the first woman she had ever actively noticed herself being physically attracted to.
And yet, the more she thought about it, the more she began reassessing her feelings towards those women she had previously thought she merely admired. Those she seemed to envy; those she should dislike and perhaps even did dislike, but found herself drawn to none the less.
Did attraction cover that? And could it explain the seemingly conflicting emotions she was fastly becoming more aware of? More accustomed to?
She supposed it could.
And could it always have been there?
Again, it might.
Christine pushed out a long sigh, buying herself some time to articulate her thoughts. Those she wished to share. And those that she did not.
‘I think . . . I noticed Kelly. Noticed that I had feelings for her. Feelings that I couldn’t easily explain.’ She paused, looking up to see Shona watching her; her eyes, her lips, every small moveme
nt of her face, ‘But I don’t know if that means I’m attracted to women in general. Or if it’s just Kelly.’
Shona nodded slowly. She smiled at Christine and leaned her back against the wall. ‘I remember when I was trying to figure everything out.’ she said, ‘I’d started — I don’t know — noticing stuff, like you say; it was like suddenly everything was in HD! Like, I was paying attention for the first time and realising that I wasn’t just seeing things differently, but feeling them too. It made me start to question whether I’d always felt that way.’
Christine kept quiet, not quite willing to admit that she had just been contemplating the very same thing.
‘We were doing a run of Les Miserables at the time and — without realising it, at first — I totally fell for the girl playing Fantine. She was amazing. Jemma Forrester. But . . . I was with Mike.’ Shona paused a moment, shaking her head ever so slightly in the dark, ‘We had a big party on the final night and I must have had enough drink inside me to give me a bit of confidence. To go over and speak to her. To tell her . . . what I thought of her.’
‘What happened?’ Christine asked with interest.
‘She kissed me.’ Shona said, smiling; reliving the intimate memories, ‘I was ecstatic! We spent the night together and everything. The next morning I was just . . . oh, god! I was so happy . . . and embarrassed and giggly! I was ridiculous, really! But Jemma didn’t seem to mind. If I could have paused time there and then . . .’
‘But, you couldn’t.’
Shona shook her head, ‘No. I had to face the music. Go and break up with Mike. I didn’t know where I was going to start, but — as it turned out — I didn’t need to. He already knew. He’d seen us together, seen us — in his words — slinking off together. And, I think he might have taken some stick after that; you know what lads are like. It got back to me — later — about them taunting him; the stupid things they’d said.’
‘Like what?’
‘Just boyish, playground crap; like, that he’d succeeded in turning my eye from men. Like, that being with him was so awful that it had turned me gay. You know, the usual, ridiculous shit! As though it had nothing to do with me and the way I saw things. Or what I might want!’
‘That’s absurd.’
‘That’s blokes. Especially when they get together.’
‘So, was that when he started . . .’
‘The malicious hate campaign?’
Christine nodded.
‘Yeah, that’s when it really took off.’ Shona said, ‘But I can understand why he did it, in a way. And that’s the most annoying part. I should just be able to hate him, or at least violently dislike him. Or maybe not even feel anything for him. But I do. I understand him. The way he works; the way he thinks. The way he’s scared and small and completely insecure.’
‘Caring for people like that, the way you do, Shona . . . understanding them . . . I know it must seem like a curse sometimes,’ Christine said, ‘but, it’s a gift you’ve got there. Use it. Own it. Make it work for you.’
She would have said more — would have liked to have said more — but was suddenly interrupted by the suitably eerie squeaking of hinges as a door opened further down the slim corridor and Prior emerged from the shadows.
His eyes fell first on Shona, who stood and went to him, meeting him in a tight embrace. He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her tightly for a moment and kissing the top of her head, before releasing her once more.
The look slapped across his face was one of open joy and relief.
‘I always knew you were too good for him.’ he said. ‘What did he think was he playing at? Breaking into your room? Threatening you! If he’d have done anything . . .’
Shona touched his face, ‘Don’t worry about that now. I’m fine. It’s a good job Kelly was there.’
Prior stiffened slightly, though Christine couldn’t quite tell whether it was the mention of Kelly’s name or the fact that Davies had just reappeared in the corridor.
He nodded to the Security Chief and handed Christine a bottle of water; which was when Jonathan Prior finally appeared to notice her.
‘Christine.’ he said, now slightly embarrassed. ‘I didn’t see you there.’
She smiled at him and waved her hand, ‘That’s ok. It’s dark.’
He gave a small nod, before turning back to Shona. ‘Are you ready to do this?’
She said she that was and he indicated to a small interview room that had been treated to the same make-shift lighting technique as the corridor. ‘Dr Kane,’ Shona said, pausing near the door, ‘aren’t you coming too?’
Christine looked up at Shona. Then her gaze fell on Prior as the strange white-blue light danced in his eyes adding a splendid luminosity and intensity to the already-vibrant jades.
‘I just assumed you were coming anyway.’ he said, almost apologising, ‘unless you want to go with Davies and see what Mike has to say.’
‘I’ll do that.’ she said, feeling the need to distance herself — for the time being — from both Shona and Prior.
Despite being the one who had requested her presence, Shona seemed happy enough to let Christine go. The psychologist watched the pair enter the small interview room and close the door behind them.
She felt Davies watching her as she continued to stare at the door.
‘So,’ she said after a moment, ‘What’s the story with them?’
‘Shona and Prior?’ Davies asked.
‘She said something about a wedding, but I didn’t quite get it.’
A wide smile spread across Davies’ face, ‘You thought they were married?’
‘That they were or had been. I don’t know.’ Christine said, as she began to feel a creeping notion spider its way across her the back of her neck; that feeling that she had — once again — gotten things completely back to front, upside down and inside out.
‘Nah, he’s never been married, so far as I know.’ Davies said, ‘But, his dad has. Three times now.’ He paused and Christine felt the spidering suddenly tingle to a flush of red embarrassment. ‘Wife number three’s name is Stella Jacobs.’
‘Shona’s his step-sister.’ Christine said, closing her eyes and shaking her head, her face burning with the realisation of her mistake.
‘And now he gets to be the big brother he always wanted to be; he gets to take care of Shona and sort everything out for her. And she now has a big brother to run to. Everybody wins,’ he said. ‘But no, they’re definitely not married.’
‘I think I must be overtired or something.’ Christine said, ‘I don’t seem able to read anyone properly at the moment. I’m normally incredibly good at this. It’s my job, after all.’ Davies chuckled in a soft, friendly manner as she continued, ‘But, I keep coming up with the wrong conclusions lately; seeing the worst in people. I don’t know.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’ Davies said, his accent flooding each syllable as ever, ‘It’s probably just all this — with the ship and what-not — getting to you.’
She nodded silently; glad of the darkness.
Glad that it hid her ever-reddening face.
13:12
Sunday 15th May, 2011
Down in engineering, Captain Andrews paced the metal flooring beyond the chamber that housed the main control system.
Three officers worked inside. Disconnecting, reconnecting and patching. He had tried to follow their progress, but really had little-to-no clue at what he was looking at.
He couldn’t help but feel lost.
He was supposed to be the Captain of the ship; the man who would lead and guide and see it all through. But he was as much at the mercy of the machinery and technology as anyone else on board and it angered him to the point of distraction.
There hadn’t been much in his life that he hadn’t been able to achieve, no problem too large or too complicated to overcome if he set his mind to it.
But this. This he simply didn’t understand.
It had been lucky for him — and
all of them — that this small handful of engineering technicians had — one — managed to survive the incident that had taken the lives of the rest of their colleagues and — two — that they knew enough about the system to basically reconstruct it.
Andrews shook his head, feeling a renewed sense of annoyance.
With himself, with the situation. Everything.
And Davies hadn’t been back in touch since their chat.
Neither had Prior.
Though, he didn’t quite know if he felt better or worse for not hearing from his chief of security for the moment. He was on edge. Waiting for the radio to bleep; waiting to hear Prior’s voice asking for him; calling him out.
And what would he say to the man?
What could he say?
‘Captain Andrews.’ one of the technicians called from inside the chamber.
Andrews paced back along the floor to stand in the open doorway where found himself staring down at a lad of about nineteen years-old. He had hazel eyes and brown hair, shaved close to his head.
He looked so young.
Andrews struggled not to think about the fact that had his shift pattern been altered only slightly the boy would now be in a body bag in the walk-freezer of Hestia’s Kitchen instead of working to try and turn this tragedy around. He could so easily have shared the sad fate of so many of his colleagues.
His friends.
‘We’re ready to do this.’ he said, ‘You just need give the order.’
Andrews nodded his understanding, feeling a lump the size of a golf ball stick in his throat.
His eyes began to fill again and he clenched his teeth against the flow of emotion, balling his hands into fists behind his back.
‘Do it.’ he said.
The boy acknowledged him and the two remaining technicians began furiously entering codes into the system, while he physically altered levers and twisted knobs and kept a watchful eye on the pressure levels.
Andrews turned his back to them, taking a small torch from his pocket.
The lingering emergency lighting cut out without a flicker. The basic air-flow system ceased. Any small hum of power that had survived until this point now struck out; like the final ‘tock’ of an old grand-father clock.
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