by Tara Ford
“Just enough time for that quick cup of tea then,” said Dot as she popped the red lipstick into her navy bag.
Gilbert’s Park was dotted with a few spectators who had heard a whisper of Charlie’s special day. Photographers and cameramen from both the South Coast Television station and the museum’s technical department were busy setting up equipment.
Fortunately the Black Widow was nowhere to be seen and the innocent human-flies were safe as they skimmed the surface of Gilbert’s Lake in pedal and rowing boats, enjoying the warm morning sun.
Unsure whether Evelyn would catch the bus to come and watch or just stay at home and see the news later on TV, Grant had prayed that she would stay away. Her interfering mouth had caused enough problems for him.
The hired van driver rode carefully over the grass and along the pebbled pathways leading down to the glistening lake. Shooing a couple of ducks out of the way from his window, the driver manoeuvred the vehicle, pulled up alongside the bank of the lake and Charlie climbed out.
RMS Titanic 2 lay in wait inside the back compartment of the white Astra, encased in the glass cabinet and secured to all sides of the van with web strapping. The twenty-minute journey to the park had been a tentative one as Charlie clenched his teeth and watched his beloved ship wobble gently and tilt slightly as Jim, the van’s owner, drove along the windy roads with care.
“Thanks Jim, we’ll wait for Grant to get here before we get it out.”
Nodding fervently, Jim opened the back doors and stood with one hand resting on the roof of the van as he pulled a cigarette from behind his ear and admired the ship inside its glass case. The photographer from News Today strolled over and shook Charlie’s hand.
“Good to see you Charlie. Is your wife here today?” he asked, glancing all around for the weird, irritating woman he had met only a few days ago.
“They’ll be here in a minute. We’ll get it out then,” said Charlie, nervously looking towards the pathway for any sign of Grant and Dot. He didn’t want anyone else to touch his beloved boat, let alone remove it from the van.
“Mr Stern, good to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you – oh my, it’s an absolute beauty!” The cameraman from South Coast News shook Charlie’s hand vigorously as he too admired the Titanic. Placing the large handheld video camera onto the grass verge, the plump man leaned in to take a closer look as the back of his trousers slipped past the cleft of his buttocks.
Glancing up to the trees, Charlie pretended he hadn’t noticed the hairy bottom cheeks staring him in the face.
Turning away, smoking his cigarette down to the butt, Jim ignored the unsightly scene of a bristly, fat arse protruding from the back of his van.
The museum’s technical team consisted of Steve and Dan ‘the techno-man’, justly named due to his expertise in practically everything technical, mechanical and scientific. The two young men sat on a wooden bench next to the boat rental kiosk, both kitted out in flat caps and canvas pumps and drinking cans of fizzy orange. Being knowledgeable about the latest trends and fashions, Dan ‘the techno-man’ displayed great all-round prowess and oozed a luminescent aura.
Turning round from his tree-inspection/buttock-avoidance, Charlie heard footsteps along the gravel footpath and glanced across to see Grant and John the curator striding along in awe of Dot, who was participating fully in a lengthy discussion with herself. The two men escorted Dot down to the lake in silence as she continued to twitter on and on and on. (About what, nobody seemed to know.)
Picking up the video recorder, Dan nudged Steve in the ribs with his elbow and pointed to the rest of the photographic equipment as he hauled the camera onto his shoulder and walked towards John and Grant.
The time was approaching 10.30 and everyone had to be in place by eleven o’clock – the council had arranged for the boating lake to be closed for an hour in order for the filming to take place undisturbed.
A few early morning romantic couples were milling around aimlessly in their boats, growing more curious about the gathering of men, technical equipment and a glamorous elderly lady sporting what appeared to be a swollen red top lip. Aware of the effects of her lush new lipstick, Dot had noticed how everyone she talked to couldn’t take their eyes off her pout. They almost seemed to be puzzled, she thought to herself, not realising that her admirers were actually mulling over the absurd idea of an old lady having collagen fillers so late in life.
The group gathered around, discussing the viewing and filming plans. The small jetty had been chosen as the launch site earlier. It was low enough to ensure a safe delivery of the ship to the lake, performed by Grant and his new accomplice, ‘Senior Citizen-Collagen Chops’.
The museum trio set up their camera and sound equipment, as Charlie stood watching the man with the downy bottom. He would be recording Charlie’s first interview, and had chosen to film from a left-hand perspective while the other three were on the right.
Jim and Grant cautiously carried the glass cabinet from the van and down to the jetty, placing it onto a metal-framed stand that Jim had positioned earlier. The stand allowed the ship to be displayed at waist height while both cameramen filmed close-up shots before the launch.
Dot looked on as everyone prepared for the first stage of filming, and Jim returned to his van for a short nap, knowing he would not be required for some time.
“The name’s Alan by the way,” said the tubby man from South Coast News, pulling his trousers up from behind and shaking a leg.
“Ah, Alan – will we be doing a rehearsal first?” asked Charlie, feeling the nerves pinching.
“Nah mate, we’ll go straight into it. I’ll be cutting and editing it when we get back to the studio, and Justin will be here any minute.”
“Justin?”
“Justin Hope, our top reporter. Haven’t you heard of him before?”
“Of course,” replied Charlie sheepishly as Alan went over to the jetty and started recording the intricate detail of the magnificent replica. Concentrating on focusing and zooming in and out with his ultra-expensive camera lens, Alan spent several minutes filming.
“Ooh, make sure you capture all the little people on the deck – Charlie bought those from a model shop. He’s even put Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet at the front. He snapped their little arms off and re-glued them in an outstretched position, just like in the film.” Hovering over Alan like a rain cloud, Dot gave a running commentary on the finest of details, as if she was the one who had built the model.
Alan stopped, looked towards her with contempt and forced a grin. “Sorry love, I just need to get this close-up done. Could you move aside please?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she replied, taking a step back, whilst scanning the horizon all the time. Glancing across the lake, she kept a watchful eye on the rowers disembarking from their love boats. Obviously, if they wanted to know what was going on, she needed to be available to tell them, once she’d launched the ship, and also be available to give any information required while her husband was being interviewed.
Lapping up the imagined attention, Dot repeated her narration, much to the annoyance of Dan, as he too, slowly advanced along the length of the ship, with the camera lens twisting and turning in his expert hand.
A gleaming, deep red Grand Cherokee came to a halt just in front of Jim’s van, and the suited driver stepped out, flicked the door closed behind him and nonchalantly glided over to where Charlie stood.
“Charlie Stern?” Holding out his manicured hand, Justin smiled as they shook. “I see you’ve met Alan already.”
Peering over to the jetty, Justin pretentiously raised a hand to his forehead and shielded his eyes from the sun’s glare, although they were stood in the shade of a tree. “I would like to do the interview while the boat is being lowered into the lake in the background, then Alan can continue to film you controlling it around the lake once we’ve finished talking. Does that sound okay with you?”
“Yes, I’m happy to do it any which way. My wi
fe and son-in-law will put it into the water.”
“Great, great – Alan, are we ready to roll?” hollered Justin, still shielding his eyes. “I’ll nip back to the car and get my shades first.” Winking at Charlie, he sauntered off.
Leaning against the trunk of an old tree, Grant smoked his cigarette like it was his last rite. He watched and listened as Dot stole the limelight, completely unaware that the exposure she was receiving was pure wonderment at her incessant, rambunctious behaviour.
The lake had emptied of the few morning floaters and the slight breeze barely caused a ripple across the expanse of water. Grant’s mind wandered to the girl from last night and then instantly vaporised her into a million shards of glass as Alex appeared, walking, into his imagination. The guilt still hung heavily over him as he tried to forget his troubles, just for now, until this show was over. He still had a job to do, although unfortunately it wasn’t as planned and it would be done with Dot instead of Alex. At least he would have some good news to tell her when he saw her later, and whether she talked back to him or not, he could tell her about her dad’s special day.
The plan to lower the ship into the water had been rehearsed at home many times. Charlie knew it was a delicate job as Grant and Dot would have to ease the boat carefully over the side of the jetty and then lower the supporting straps.
“Are you sure you can do this Dot?” asked Grant worriedly.
“Of course I can! I know Alex was going to do it with you, but I’m perfectly capable, Grant. I’ve lived with this thing in my house for four years and carried it up to the bathroom on several occasions,” she replied huffily. There was no way that she was going to miss out on being in the thick of the action, not to mention on TV. “Can you picture Evelyn’s face when she sees me on the television?” she chuckled.
“Er, yes I can just picture it,” mumbled Grant, cringing at the thought of anyone seeing him on the TV – including that girl, Rachel!
“Is everyone ready?” called Justin, lifting the dark reflective sunglasses from his eyes and propping them on top of his styled hair.
To the right, John, Steve and Dan nodded and waved.
Down at the jetty, Grant and Dot smiled and grasped the straps tightly in their hands. The sizable model looked heavier than it actually was, but the length and height of the masts made its launch from the jetty cumbersome.
“Hang on, Charlie, can you hold this?” Passing a long, furry microphone to Justin, Alan gesticulated to him to hand it over.
Gripping the fur-covered mike, Charlie looked like he had a grey chinchilla tucked under his chin.
“You’re gonna have to lower it Charlie, I can see it on camera.”
Dropping the oversized rat to his waist, Charlie straightened himself up and posed, ready to be interviewed.
“Lower!” roared Alan. “And... action!”
Justin started the interview while Alan took on a professional filmmaker persona, zooming from foreground to background, panning slightly left and right, capturing the small crowd of onlookers and the temporarily redundant boat rental kiosk man. As Alan twisted and turned, with raised arms holding the heavy recording equipment on his shoulder, everyone was guaranteed an encore from his frighteningly woolly gluteus maximus as his trousers slipped lower.
Steve and Dan waited in suspense for the moment of launch and the unwelcome glimmer of Alan’s unsightly lime-green underpants. Camera poised, they were ready to start filming as soon as Justin’s interview slot had finished.
Gripping the supporting straps tightly, Grant and Dot teetered at the water’s edge, ready to lift and move the ship out to its birthplace. Upon hearing Alan shout ‘Action’, Grant nodded to Dot and they slowly and carefully lifted the surprisingly light model from its holdings. Glancing over, Dot could see that Alan’s perfectly positioned camera had everyone in view, including her, she assumed.
In the foreground Justin introduced his interviewee to the camera, while Charlie posed in the middle distance, gripping the carefully placed mike to his trouser belt, and Dot and Grant held the fort in the background.
“You ready Dot?” whispered Grant anxiously. “Let’s go.” With a miniscule nod he discreetly tried to create a new sign language with staring eyes, directed at Dot, as the Titanic started to lift from the ground. Sensing the camera’s lens watching and zooming in on him, Grant hoped the show would be over as quickly as possible, saving him from the embarrassment of starring on the local news television programme.
Periodically prodding, puffing and tweaking his almost perfectly placed hair, Justin began the prescribed set of questions, prepared with the help of Charlie at the request of the television company.
“So Charlie, how long did it take to build this magnificent scale model of the Titanic?” he asked, brushing a strand of fringe from his eye.
“Yes – ready,” buzzed Dot as she took the slack from her end. Her eyes darted around constantly, evaluating the capacity of her audience.
“I’ve spent four years building it. I wanted it to be ready for the centenary year. I’ve always had a fascination with the Titanic and wanted to do it for many years.” Charlie’s nervousness was apparent as his voice trembled and he rambled on and on.
A small step sideways and the synchronised pair had the vessel hovering above the lake’s edge. Leaning over on his blistered toes, Grant felt the pressure burning inside his shoe and also in his groin.
“Ease it down Dot,” he breathed as the liner began to swing slightly in its webbing straps. “Drop it down,” Grant insisted as his foot twisted around and the ship started to hover diagonally in the air. “Dot!”
“I am! Shut up Grant, you’re doing it too quickly,” mouthed Dot, struggling to correct the slant of the model.
“An amazing accomplishment Charlie – could you tell us how you made it?” asked Justin, nonchalantly, “We can just see the model being lowered into the lake behind you—”
Splash. Crash.
“Argh!”
The high-pitched scream cut through the park like a laser beam. The impact on the water’s surface and frantic splashing caused frothing, foamy ripples to seep over the edge of the jetty.
Steve and John the curator leapt to their feet, open-mouthed and stood rooted to the spot.
Scurrying towards the jetty, Dan ‘the techno-man’ froze at the edge of the lake and stared in amazement.
The lens on Alan’s camera zoomed in at full capacity and fixed onto its target as he quietly pulled his trousers back to his midriff.
Raising his hands to the top of his head, Justin clasped his fingers together and cupped his elegant blonde mop as his lips stopped moving abruptly and held the formation of his last word.
Hearing the commotion, Charlie turned around quicker than he had moved in the last 20 years, fearing his beloved Titanic had met an earlier-than-planned disaster.
Still holding a webbing strap in his outstretched hand, Grant peered down into the lake in disbelief, scanning the ship for damage. As the nanoseconds slowed momentarily, almost to a freeze frame, Grant watched the nightmarish scene unfolding before his eyes.
“Help!”
Splashing and screaming, Dot gulped and heaved as her arms paddled uncontrollably on the water’s surface.
“Save me!” she spluttered.
The small crowd of onlookers gasped and edged closer to the fiasco as the redundant kiosk man ran towards the jetty. “Calm down, I’m coming in.”
Before anyone else could move, the kiosk man had long-jumped into the lake and landed a few metres away from the flapping drowning victim. He had to be close to the world record for a sprint and jump, thought Grant, knowing that his random musings were slightly out of context. The force of the water ripples sent the Titanic on its maiden voyage without the need of a remote-controlled signal. Pacing the last few metres through the lake in slow motion like an astronaut on the moon, the kiosk man approached Dot from behind and wrapped his arm around her waist underneath the water.
; Desperately flailing arms reached out in all directions as Dot’s panic-stricken state overcame her.
Thump!
The kiosk man received a heavy arm thrust to the side of his face as he lifted Dot from the water and into a standing position. Dishevelled, drenched and distraught, she stood waist-deep in the murky whirlpool, dazed and delirious.
“Blimey! Calling all lifeguards... man overboard,” said Charlie turning back to the camera and smirking, having just watched his wife belly-flop into the cold lake.
The sound of Dot’s screeching and wailing, and the spasmodic splashing, had brought the local dog walkers hurrying to join the onlookers who had inched closer and closer.
Realising that she was only waist-high in the water, Dot felt a little foolish as she was pulled back up onto the jetty.
Cautiously, Grant extended a hand, but she shrugged off his gesture of help in favour of Dan, who really was ‘the man’ now as he wrapped his padded tartan jacket around her shoulders. Speechless, Grant stood open-mouthed as Dot’s sorry, soggy shape was led away to Steve’s transit van, which was parked up the bank in front of a clump of trees.
“We’ve got some blankets in the back, we’ll soon get you warmed up,” Grant overheard Dot’s superhero saying as she burst into tears.
As the Titanic set off on its maiden voyage, unaided by any mechanical means but powered purely by the surge of water ripples from Dot, it floated away towards the middle of the lake, almost out of reach of any radio signals.
Hauling the kiosk man out from the lake, Grant made sure he didn’t lose his footing and end up in there himself.
“Thanks mate,” said the man as they both stood and watched the ship sailing away. “Guess I’ll have to go back in there and get that thing before it goes too far out.”
“No, I’ve got it... turning around now,” said Charlie, as he and Alan joined the spectators on the jetty. The remote control unit in Charlie’s hands gradually turned the bow to the left and the Titanic was brought under control, making a steady return back to its berthing place.