S.O.S.

by Joseph Connolly

  David had been sliding across his Mastercard long before any of this was vouchsafed unto him (he didn’t know her name, this woman, but she was surely one of life’s great little vouchsafers – born to it, you could tell). And look – when people want a credit card, request doesn’t really come into it, does it? It’s just what’s expected, so you do it: without a credit card, these days – Christ, let’s face it – you barely get to touch base. The sight of cash in the twenty-first century, and all your credibility is, just like that, shot to bits.

  ‘Oh my God!’ exclaimed Nicole – sort of laughing, but not really very much. ‘I look absolutely ghastly – oh God look, Marianne – look at this simply ghastly picture!’

  Marianne took the laminated plastic card from her mother’s pinch of fingers.

  ‘Hm. Looks like the camera was pointed up your nostrils.’

  ‘Oh God …’ Nicole was moaning, truly miserable – and none the less so when Rollo snatched the card from Marianne’s hand and started snorting like he did, and said she looked like that puppet, what is it? Miss Piggy, yeh.

  David, Marianne and Rollo in turn hung their heads over this counter affair and subjected themselves to the strange little camera (looked like a mouse) – David asking idly Has it clicked? Is it done? Marianne had taken heed of her mother’s ill-judged attitude and ducked down her nose while giving her eyes everything she had; Rollo hammed it up without mercy – came out looking like a drivelling fool; but then look – Rollo would. As they moved off in the allocated direction – a distant escalator was looming – Nicole was still very shaken by the awfulness of her photo.

  ‘I mean – what’s it actually in aid of, this card? We don’t have to show it, or anything, do we? It’s like a sort of a child’s ID or a bus pass, or something. Not very civilized …’

  They emerged now into what looked like an immense but not remotely nice airport departure lounge: could have been acres, there, of bright green seating but not, very evidently, nearly enough. Most people were standing – quite a few, Marianne noticed, intentionally or otherwise catching the eye of other people standing, and then they smiled quite shyly. Maybe, she thought, poor Rollo should learn the art of that: God, it would help a bit if he smiled at all. Look at him now – staring at those two girls over there as if he’s in a trance, or something. Been doing it for ages. Blonde one looks quite nice – reminds me a bit of my old schoolfriend, Sally. They seem quite young to be going on a trip like this – the Sally-type one looks only about a year or two older than me – nineteen, maybe (even a bit less, could be). Other one’s more – mid-twenties, should think. Oh Rollo! God you’re so hopeless – don’t keep goggling like that; they’ll never look back if you do – or if they do, it’ll only be to … oh God yeh, one of them’s just done it, now: held his eye just long enough to then turn away and dismiss all thought of him. As if he was just a passing fly. And look at Rollo now – gone all red, and hurting, probably. I wish I could help him, sometimes, but I never really know what to say. How to get going. He’s terribly difficult to just talk to, Rollo. But all he has to do is ask me: that’s all he has to do.

  The sea of travellers and tingle of anticipation put David in mind of a documentary he had seen, one time, when all the wartime children were taken to railway stations with a cardboard box strung about their tucked-in school scarves with rough white twine: the start of a big adventure, but with everything to come – and therefore, though charged with hope, so far unknown.

  Nicole was extremely gratified that – as ‘Duchess Grill’ ticketholders – they were free to embark immediately (isn’t it lovely? This sort of thing? Sweeping past all of those people who can’t?) but very miffed indeed that the first things the official had requested from each of them were these blasted little laminated cards.

  ‘That is the last,’ she quietly fumed, as they walked on through (and she meant it, you know, as David most certainly could have assured you). ‘That is positively the very last time I am showing that thing. Maybe on board they could take another one, a better one, do you think so? David? Hm?’

  David thought No, you silly vain and idle cow, of course they bloody couldn’t – and what the hell does it matter anyway? It’s only a bloody card: not going on the cover of Vogue, is it?

  ‘Maybe,’ he said.

  God: she was just the same when she put on all that weight, that time. Nicole blamed the pills, which had completely thrown David altogether because most of the pills she put down her throat – and don’t ask me, please, what the others were for – were meant to be all about slimming.

  ‘Does this dress make me look sort of – big?’ How many times a day did he have to counter that one? ‘David: tell me honestly. Because I can’t see me, can I? From certain angles. So does it, hm? This dress? Make me look, you know – on the big side?’

  ‘No,’ he said.

  And he had meant it. The dress didn’t make her look anything at all. I mean, let’s be perfectly plain: the dress was entirely innocent, here. Jesus Christ Almighty, woman – why shove blame on the bloody dress?

  *

  Jennifer and Stacy sipped their Cokes and eyed with quasi-irritation (more of a sense of Hoi – what’s this, then?) the thickening trickle of would-be voyagers being eagerly ushered away into yet another corridor, at the very end of which, maybe – unless all this boarding malarkey was in truth no more than a sadly misplaced and elongated gag – the bloody Transylvania might actually be docked and waiting, who knew?

  ‘How come they get to go and we don’t?’

  ‘It’s bloody annoying. I should imagine, Stacy, they’re posher than we are. We have to wait for … what did she tell us? Bat at the door? Till they announce Five, was it? That’s the downside of going steerage, I suppose.’

  ‘Six, I think. What’s it say on the tickets? I think she said Six.’

  ‘No – it was Five, I remember. Anyway – they’re only on Two, so God alone knows …’

  ‘Sure she said Six …’

  ‘You looking forward? God – look at that boy: he’s still looking, you know. He must have a number Two ticket – his lot’s going through. Rich dad, I expect.’

  ‘What boy?’

  ‘Oh God just listen to you! Honestly, Stacy! What boy! You know very well he was looking – I watched you.’

  ‘Don’t know what boy you’re talking about.’

  ‘Well if you don’t want him, I wouldn’t mind. He looks quite sweet. Do you know … I think you could be right.’

  ‘What about? And don’t start on about boys. Do you want another Coke? We could be here for days.’

  ‘She did say Six, I’m pretty sure. Yeh – could be weeks, this rate. Well he was quite sweet. Looked sort of lost.’

  ‘He was only a kid.’

  ‘How do you know, Stacy? You didn’t see him, did you? Don’t even know what boy I’m talking about …’

  ‘Look – do you want a Coke or not? I’m getting one, anyway.’

  ‘Don’t sulk.’

  ‘I’m not sul – oh God, are you going to be like this for the whole of the bloody trip, or what? It’s a real drag, when you start like this.’

  ‘Don’t think we’re going on a trip. I think we’re going to spend the whole of the week cooped up in this bloody great hangar, or whatever they call it. OK – let’s get another Coke. Least they’re free. Maybe we should try and nick a whole bagful – take them on the boat.’

  ‘Why? They’ll have Coke on the boat, won’t they? Thought they had everything.’

  ‘Oh yeh they’ll have it. They’ll have it all right. It’s just Christ knows what they’re going to cost, yeh? It’s only the grub that’s all in, remember, and I told you, God, how totally bloody broke we are. I think that all I’m going to do till we get to New York is eat. I’ve decided. I’m going to eat and eat and eat until I bloody well explode. Maybe then I won’t have to buy food for the rest of the year.’

  ‘We could’ve saved money by flying … They’ve got Tango as well.
Want a Tango?’

  ‘Yeh well. I don’t fly. As well you know. Anyway – flying, you don’t get all the food, yeh? Tango’s fine. No, actually – think I’ll stick with Coke.’

  ‘Worried about mixing your drinks?’

  ‘Oh don’t! I’d just bloody kill for a huge gin and tonic right now. We’ll just have to work bloody hard tonight and find some nice rich gentleman to buy them for us. You giggle – I’ll wiggle: that should do it. You know – I don’t know if I’ve really brought the right things for the – you know, for the evenings.’

  Stacy shrugged, and ripped her ring-pull. ‘What we’ve got is short and black. Don’t really see the problem. Bloody hell – it’s really gassy, this stuff. Don’t much like.’

  ‘Oh God – look! Hally-bloody-loolia! They’ve just changed the Two to a Three. Christ. How long is it going to be before they get to bloody Six? I should think that Five is probably the cargo and the livestock and the cars. Then they’ll get to bloody us. Oh look, Stacy – those seats are empty, now – let’s get them. I’m knackered, all this bloody hanging about.’

  ‘You take my bag – I’ll get the drinks.’

  ‘Anyway,’ resumed Jennifer – more or less as soon as the two of them were pretty much settled into a pair of bright green plastic bucket seats (they should, she had muttered – while her face went Oh Yuck as she shoved the last people’s coffee cups well under the table – have laid on four-bloody-poster beds, they keep you waiting about so long). ‘I hope the general level of men on the boat is higher than this lot round here. Think, Stacy, we ought to concentrate on the number Twos. Hey – what do you think the number Ones are going to be like? We didn’t even see any of those, did we? They were probably carried on earlier in those chairs, what are they? Sedan chair things. Or lowered from a helicopter.’

  ‘The way you go on, you know, people might think that you’re looking for a husband. Isn’t that what old women are meant to do on cruises and stuff? How very cute.’

  ‘Less of the bloody old, bloody Stacy. Thirty-nine – that’s hardly decrepit, is it? Not exactly ancient. We can’t all be sweet and fresh and young like you, bloody Stacy. Anyway – don’t feel thirty-nine. Feel like some dopey kid, most of the time.’

  ‘Look like a dopey kid. It’s weird you don’t age. What’re you on?’

  ‘Mm. I sometimes think that everything’s put on hold to get me nice and used to it, yeh? And then the minute I hit forty I’ll just simply self-destruct – quite literally fall to pieces. Just hope I’m not in Tesco when it happens.’

  ‘You’re totally nuts – you do know that?’

  ‘And God – don’t please talk to me about husbands. The last two, thank you, were quite enough for one little lifetime, I think. I just – if I’m honest, you know, I just don’t understand why on earth people still do go and get married. Don’t you do it, Stace – it messes up your life, telling you.’

  ‘Never stop telling me, do you? Yeh but look – your last so-called marriage is hardly typical, is it? How long were you actually together?’

  Jennifer held her lips briefly ajar and wagged her head quite slowly.

  ‘Seemed like a century. Thing was, though – oh Christ look! Four! They’ve got up to Four! telling you – might get on that boat before I’m forty. If not, they can pick up the bloody bits. What was I …?’

  ‘Your blissful second marriage.’

  ‘Oh yeh. Roger. Thing is, though, Stacy – I really did love that guy when I, you know – married him. Or I thought I did, anyway. Maybe I didn’t. But when I actually, you know – the actual day of the wedding – well you remember: it was really great, wasn’t it? Sun shining, and everything …’

  ‘You looked fab.’

  ‘Felt fab – felt it. Quite possibly the happiest day of my life, if I’m honest. Just like it’s meant to be – like it is in the movies. But then, oh God – it all seemed to go downhill more or less immediately. Even before the honeymoon ended, it all began. Staying out late, at first – and then not coming back at all till the next bloody day. Drink, of course … violence – quite a lot of violence, actually.’

  ‘God …’

  Jennifer grinned widely, now: quite her most roguish.

  ‘Yeh,’ she agreed. ‘I was really awful: don’t know how he stood it.’

  ‘You,’ smiled Stacy, ‘should be shot.’

  ‘That’s more or less what Roger said, poor sod. Anyway, he did, give him his due – he did put up with me for as long as he could, and we sort of, God knows how – jogged along together. But the boredom! Well – I’ve told you all this. Know it backwards. There was all the doubt and anger, you see, Stacy. Roger’s. Which are a killer, of course. And then the, well – betrayal. Mine. Yes, OK. But mostly I just remember the awful awful eternal boredom!’

  ‘Poor little you.’

  ‘You’re right. Telling you – ooh! Ooh look – they’re up to Five. Oh look – bugger this. We’re Five – I’ve decided. Can’t hang around this bloody dump any longer. We’re Five – let’s go. What was I …?’

  ‘Still with the blissful marriage.’

  ‘Oh yeh – my bloody awful marriage. Don’t forget your jacket. Coming? Got everything, yeh? Yeh, that marriage. Telling you – longest bloody month of my life.’

  Stacy laughed, and reached across to kiss Jennifer hard on the lips.

  ‘You know what?’ she said. ‘You’re the craziest mother on earth. None of my friends have got a mother like you. You’re utterly, totally nuts.’

  ‘Poor friends,’ smiled Jennifer. ‘Lucky you. Come on, sweet child of mine – Christ’s sake let’s get on this fucking boat, OK?’

  *

  ‘Oh God I don’t believe it,’ was all Jennifer frankly could manage. ‘It’s another bloody queue up another bloody ramp that leads to bloody nowhere. God Almighty – it would have been quicker to walk to America.’

  A smallish man with a damn big smile wheeled around to face her from just in front, managing to bash his olive green rucksack into Stacy’s face as he did so.

  ‘Always chock-a-block at this stage, dear lady. Is that not correct, Captain Honeybunch?’

  As Aggie grinned her practically ga-ga complicity, Jennifer and Stacy gazed at Nobby wide-eyed, each of them willing the other to be still, not quite yet dissolve or explode – Stacy praying the while that her mother would not please unleash on this silly little man one of her torrents (because well, just look at her – patience was shot, you could see that); he maybe meant well, yes? Only, after all, trying to be nice …

  ‘Chock-a-block,’ continued Nobby, quite chattily, ‘is actually a nautical term, I don’t know if you’re aware? Oh yes. ‘Block’, you know, is a seaman’s term for a pulley – a pulley, yes? Up and down? While ‘chock’, you see, is the term employed when, as it were, rendering it solid. So when two, so to say, pulley blocks have been hoisted right up to the point where no further purchase may be directly obtained, we reach a stage where we are in a very literal sense, full to capacity, if you follow. Chock-a-block. Interesting.’

  Aggie nodded wildly. ‘Nobby knows all the terms,’ she assured them. ‘Ask him anything. Really knows the ropes. I’m Aggie, by the way, and this is my husband Nobby.’ And then she snapped to attention and saluted. ‘Safe passage, shipmates!’

  ‘Nobby …’ repeated Jennifer, very slowly – and she could have been either held, or drifting. ‘I’m, er – Jennifer – this is Stacy.’

  ‘Charmed,’ said Nobby. ‘And a little while back there when my trusty Captain advised you that I ‘know the ropes’, yes? You recall? This term in fact dates back to the days when the rigging on one of the larger sailing vessels could comprise, oh – quite literally miles of rope, you know.’

  ‘Really?’ put in Stacy, quickly (Jennifer had that look in her eye).

  ‘Quite literally miles of rope,’ Nobby assured her. ‘Well of course it was often vital that each and every one should be identified correctly and at considerable speed, this much is plain, and
therefore an old ‘hand’ – crewman, yes? An old ‘salt’ – same thing – was said to, and here it comes: know the ropes. Fascinating, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s …’ Jennifer managed. Maybe she was going to say more – possibly here was just the sum total. Either way, Aggie was talking, now:

  ‘That’s what we are, really, at this game, now. Old hands. We just love this ship, don’t we Nobby?’

  ‘Love her.’

  ‘How many times we’ve sailed on her, Nobby?’

  ‘This crossing will comprise our seventeenth voyage on this particular liner – which is, in my humble opinion, the very finest. QE2 also, of course – very fine ship. They’re building a new Queen Mary, you know, and needless to say we’ve booked up for the maiden voyage, have we not, love? About two years, they reckon. But there’ll never be anything quite like the Transylvania. Very special place in our affections.’

  ‘Really?’ threw in Stacy, again.

  The queue was edging forward, which was something. Jennifer could be about to laugh in the man’s face, or possibly occasion him physical damage (Nobby’s sort of language, I can only think – thought Stacy – is catching, maybe?).

  Aggie chortled conspiratorially. ‘We’ve got a nickname for her, haven’t we, Nobby?’

  Nobby smiled his secret smile, while nodding with pride. ‘Our own little nickname, yes. Know what it is?’

  ‘Well of course we don’t …’ snapped Jennifer.

  ‘What is it?’ put in Stacy – but she needn’t, apparently, have worried: both Nobby and Aggie seemed quite unperturbed – were beaming, indeed, in tandem, as if newly beatified.

  ‘You tell them, love,’ offered Nobby, with great magnanimity.

  ‘Oh no you, Nobby – you. Your invention, after all.’ And she trained her struck-wide-open eyes on Jennifer and Stacy in turn. ‘It is, you know: all his own invention.’

  Nobby cast down his eyes, as if to deflect the wilder applause. ‘Just came to me one day on Quarter Deck, as I gazed at her aft. Sylvie, I said. Just like that. And she’s been Sylvie to us ever since – isn’t that so, Captain Honeybunch?’