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I WENT STRAIGHT TO sleep and dreamt about those fishes. I can’t remember the specifics – I didn’t start keeping a record until much later – but it was shockingly vivid. Probably the only reason I’ve lost so much of it now is my preoccupation with Ashanta consumed me as soon as I woke up. Which, since I was still working things out, was at six, a time of day I’d hardly ever heard of before and a good two hours before she stirred.
They say it helps to sleep on a problem. Your brain’s free to work without interference from your waking preoccupations, most of them trivial. In any case, I climbed out of bed feeling optimistic, like I was very different to the person who’d gone out last night contemplating ending it all.
To begin with, in cold daylight it was obvious that Ashanta and Captain Mason – ‘John’ – were incompatible. You don’t become a ship’s captain unless you’re ambitious, and that means networking: dinner parties, committees, clubs, gala events. Ashanta hated all that sort of thing and she’d explicitly told him so last night.
I’d also recovered some common sense. Jealousy isn’t an attractive quality. If you go round voicing your fears and suspicions at every turn you’re likely to provoke the very thing you’re scared of. My best policy was to lighten up and lay off. I showered, put on my clothes and read twenty pages of The Limits of Poison by Morgan Bashford.
Ashanta turned over and forced her eyes opened and stretched her legs under the covers. “Where did you go last night?” she croaked.
“I couldn’t sleep. I just went for a turn around the deck.”
“You should have woken me up.”
I shrugged. “That would have been selfish.”
“Meet anyone we know?”
“Only Edith Summersby.”
“Did you say hi?”
“I said hello to her, yes. She pushed past me as if I’d smacked her face.”
She drew her head back and hissed through her teeth. “Can’t wait till tonight then. Mind you, if they continue to be unpleasant I’m not prepared to feel sorry for them. They can eat alone for ever.”
“Although if they are unpleasant, it won’t be an act of charity any more. It’ll be a duty we can conscientiously accept forty thousand for.”
“Hmm.”
“I have a feeling we might regret it later if we’re too rigid.”
We went off to breakfast. I left half my bacon sandwich without really noticing it was unusual for me to leave food and, in the game of squash that followed, I couldn’t concentrate on my serve. We chilled out in the sauna afterwards then rubbed ourselves with sun cream and sat on the deck, waiting for lunch. It was another sweltering day – we’d just crossed the equator – and there didn’t seem much point in working up even more of a sweat promenading. We read. But I couldn’t concentrate on that either. I wondered if I was coming down with something.
“Is anything wrong?” Ashanta asked.
“I had an odd experience last night.”
She sat up and I told her about the fish. Up till that point, I hadn’t even been aware of it but I’d spent the entire morning thinking about them. Even more bizarre: craving another glimpse of them.
“Do you think Edith Summersby’s barging past you was related to your seeing her ‘special fish’, as you put it?” Ashanta said.
“They were special fish.”
“Not what I asked.”
“I suppose I must have scared them off.”
“Maybe she’s some kind of naturalist.”
“She might explain at dinner tonight. It was late, she was probably a bit on edge.”
“You said you thought she was crying.”
“I didn’t get time to register when she turned round. She went inside so quickly.”
“Mrs Patel and Mr Endersby didn’t seem particularly pleased to see us either. Do you think they’ve all been talking about us?”
“I’d say it’s certain.”
“What do you think they’ve been saying?”
At that moment, Edith Summersby herself rounded the corner to our right. She clearly didn’t see us. She was alone. She walked slowly in our direction, as if she was carrying lead bars on her back, and she looked frightened. Suddenly, our eyes made contact – mine and hers – but her expression didn’t change. Ashanta and I raised our right palms to perform our habitual wave, but it was so obvious she wasn’t going to smile that we didn’t either. When she was almost past she hesitated as if she was going to speak to us, but then she didn’t. With that she was gone.
“What is it with these people and waving?” Ashanta said. “You’d think they all had tennis elbow or something.”
“Beats me.”
“Why didn’t you say something to her about last night?”
“Like what?”
“Use your brain, boy. ‘I’m sorry I disturbed you by the barrier in the wee hours yesterday, I hope you’re okay now’. Something like that.”
“Her expression told me it wouldn’t have been welcome.”
“Aren’t you burning with curiosity? I am.”
“We waved. You saw how she reacted.”
“Where were you when you saw her?”
“In the crow’s nest.”
She pointed. “Up there? On deck four-O?”
“Is that what it’s called?”
“The Sun Deck, four-Outside. This is the Boat Deck, nought-O. Get with the lingo, Hugo. No wonder you keep getting lost.”
“It’s a big ship.”
She laughed. “‘The crow’s nest’.” Her expression changed. “Actually, let’s call it that.”
“I was.”
“No, I mean let’s have a code to refer to places on the ship. So no one can tell what we’re talking about and use it to track us if we have to run away.”
I laughed. “I don’t think it’ll come to that. Besides, I haven’t even learned the real names yet.”
“The point is, my sweet, everyone seems to be against us.”
“That’s a bit strong. They just don’t like us, that’s all.”
“What’s the difference?”
“I don’t like bananas. I’m not against them.”
“Let’s talk about Captain Barnacle’s eighty thousand.”
“What about it?”
“Last night, I wrote something like, ‘Did you believe him’ and you wrote ‘No’.”
I sighed. I’d pledged not to give vent to my jealousy and I had to keep to that. “I’ve been thinking. I don’t know, eighty thousand is a lot of money to us, but there are people to whom it’s a drop in the ocean. It depends how rich you are.”
“Sure, like if you’re an oil sheikh, but Barnacle’s only a ship’s captain. Eighty thousand must be over a year’s wages for him.”
“For all we know, he might have other irons in the fire.”
“Like what?”
“Maybe he inherited money from his parents.”
She smirked. “Bullshit.”
“What’s your theory then? Surely we’re not coming back to Ashanta Jones, best little whore in Texas?”
“Also bullshit – although naturally the depraved slut in me appreciates the compliment.”
“Go on then.”
“Think. He knew we’d reject the cheque but, like he said, there’s no way we can stop him transferring forty thousand apiece to our accounts. What he offered us was a company cheque with his signature on. It was meant to lull us into a false sense of security. The transfer, when it comes, will originate somewhere else.”
“I’m beginning to see what you mean.”
“He and his dinner companions are in on something shady. The plan is to make us look guilty by association. By the time we get back to Southampton the whole ship will be ready to testify that we spent every night with him and his cronies. And hey, just look at our bank accounts.”
“Ripe for a frame-up. Does he even have our bank details?”
“He must have.”
“How?”
“Presumably, he’s been in our cabin.”
“Shit. Assuming you’re right, of course.”
“Shit indeed, my liege.”
I ran my hands through my hair. “In that case, there’s only one thing to do. We’ve got to keep as far away from that dinner table as possible.”
“Are you joking?”
“What’s the alternative?”
“We find out what they’re up to and blow the whistle so hard their ears bleed. Come on, Hugo, this is the chance of a lifetime. Let’s have a bit of fun.”
“Taking down a gang of organised criminals isn’t my idea of a party, Ashanta. These people tend to have long memories. If they are working in some illegal enterprise, they’re most likely the tip of the iceberg. The others will come after us.”
“No, they won’t. True, they don’t like traitors, no criminals do, but they accept that they’ve got to be beaten by outsiders from time to time. They even budget for it. Our murders couldn’t act as a warning to anyone.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“Anyway, we’ll be failing in our civic duty if we don’t try to scupper them.”
“And what will we do when we’ve garnered enough evidence? We’re in the middle of the ocean. There aren’t that many police stations.”
“Don’t invent difficulties. Obviously, we wait till we pull into a port then take a taxi to the British embassy.”
“And what are we going to do in the meantime? Search their cabins?”
“They’ve done it to us.”
“I don’t believe this.”
“We’ve stolen a march on them, Hugo. They think we don’t suspect a thing. If you’re too chicken to rifle through their belongings, fine, let’s confine ourselves to probing them at dinnertime.”
“Probing them.”
“My guess is they’re pretty confident they’ve got us in the bag. And you know how that makes people. They start making telling remarks for each other’s entertainment, remarks they imagine will go over the heads of the people who’d benefit most were they to grasp the true meaning.”
“I see, so if Celia Soper says, ‘You probably won’t believe this, Mr Smith, but my cabin’s full of heroin’ I’m to take her at face value.”
“Évidemment. Look, they’re pretty frosty at the moment, we’ve both noticed that. Why? Because they’re not a hundred per cent sure they’ve got us hooked. But I guarantee if we put on a good show tonight, they’ll open up and start liking us. And when we’ve lulled them into a false sense of self-assurance, the clues will start leaping out like salmon.”
“The hunter becomes the hunted. Maybe they’re trading in luminous fishes.”
“Sorry to burst your bubble, Hugo, but I’ve got a theory about that too.”
“Is there anything you don’t have a theory about?”
“Remember Glastonbury, last year? That LSD you were duped into taking?”
“A flashback.”
“Surely it’s more plausible than that Edith Summersby’s discovered a new species of fish?”
I nodded. Bloody depressing but it made sense.
About an hour before dinner, there was a knock at our door. I thought it might be Mason come to check we were getting ready, but it was Midshipman Collins with a bottle-bag.
“Compliments of the captain,” he said.
I thanked him and closed the door. I expected 70cl of rosé, but no, it was a litre of tequila. A note read, ‘This may help’. I marvelled at his powers of empathy then unscrewed the cap and poured myself a quarter of a mug.
Ashanta tut-tutted from behind her make-up mirror. “Careful with that axe, Eugene.”
“It would be counterproductive to poison us.”
“Just don’t drink too much. Pour me one.”
“Coming up.”
“We’ve agreed their plan is to discredit us in time for Southampton,” she said. “If we’re always drunk at dinner and our cabin’s found to be full of empty spirits bottles, do you think that’ll make it easier or harder? Put a bit more in there, please.”
I did as she said. “Mixed signals.”
“It’s all right to be a bit tipsy tonight, because we’re looking to be the wowee-sensation of the century. Anything that doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. Bottoms up.”
“Cheers.”
“However, on future evenings we’ll need to exercise a little more discretion.”
“Do you think he’ll send us a bottle every evening?”
“It’s fully consistent with my theory, so yes.”
We had another tiny mug each then brushed our teeth and got back to the business of getting ready. Which is to say I sat on the bed and read while Ashanta got ready.
At six forty-five precisely she was all set. A long-sleeved paisley dress that stopped just above her knees, matching paisley shoes - if you can believe that – a clutch-bag and her hair straightened. I caught my breath. I saw now why Mason coveted her. Networking’s probably a hell of a lot easier with a young Noémie Lenoir on your arm. Armed with her, you might even make it to Admiral in the foreseeable. What she was doing with me – pasty white boy with thinning red hair and a big nose – I’d never been able to work out, except I’d once heard that beautiful women often prefer a Quasimodo on pragmatic grounds: no one else will pinch him and he’ll feel indebted enough to do your washing up and hoover your carpet in perpetuum. I put my suit on, gelled what remained of my thatch and we set off.
It was five-to when we entered the dining room and they hadn’t quite started serving yet. Nevertheless, we were the last to arrive.
Apart from Captain Mason, everyone’s seat had been rearranged. I found myself in between Derek Goulding and Paul Endersby. Ashanta took up the foot of the table, directly opposite Mason. A waiter approached with a couple of large bottles of wine and a jug of orange on a trolley and poured us each a glass. No one took the soft drink option.
We stood up.
Mr Wiles raised his glass. “Elizabeth the Second, by the grace of God, of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and of her other realms and territories, Queen, Head of the Commonwealth and Defender of the Faith, and His Royal Highness, Prince Philip, KG, KT, OM, GBE, AC, QSO, PC, Ranger of Windsor Park.”
“Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip,” we all mumbled.
Within about five minutes everyone had drunk up and the waiter was pouring us a second. Maybe Mason sent everyone a litre of tequila before dinner. Maybe they were all alcoholics. Or maybe it was Wiles’s toast that did it.
The waiter took our orders. I plumped for the lasagne and we settled down to wait. Everyone looked as morose as yesterday, like the toast was the highlight and all that was left now was to gobble up and tramp home.
“How did you find the lecture on African civilisations?” Mason asked Ashanta.
“I thought it was very interesting,” she said. “I have to admit, Professor Gaitliss really knows his material. And he’s a very good speaker, isn’t he, Hugo?”
“I found him very easy to follow,” I said. “He seemed to pitch it just right. I’m in holiday mode so I didn’t take notes, but I never found my attention flagging.”
“Is he the only lecturer on board?” Ashanta asked Mason, although we both knew full well he probably was.
“I’m afraid so,” Mason said. “Although he has other strings to his bow. Colin, you’ve been to Gaitliss’s lecture, haven’t you?”
Mr Wiles looked like he’d been force-fed an earwig. “A long time ago. I hardly remember any of it now.”
“Maybe you should go again, Mr Wiles,” Ashanta said. “I’m sure he’s updating it all the time. It’s probably not the same now.”
“I’m not really interested in African civilisations,” Mr Wiles said. “No disrespect.”
“Why should I feel disrespected?” she replied.
He blushed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean you. I meant Africa.”
“Oh,” she said. She looked upset. Of course, I knew it was simply a ruse to get them to open up. And a moment later, it worked.
“Apparently, the whole of humanity originated in Africa,” Endersby said.
“Is that true, Paul?” Mrs Patel said. “Where did you hear that?”
“It’s a well-known fact. Richard Leakey proved it in the nineteen sixties.”
We were really getting somewhere now. Obviously Endersby was a bit of a closet expert. I could see a discussion about to break out. The food arrived and the waiter started putting plates in front of us.
“Humankind emerged from the Savannah a hundred thousand years ago,” Celia Soper said. “Having previously evolved from teensy-weensy sea creatures.”
There was one of those silences that flag up the murder of a conversation. Everyone except Ashanta, Celia Soper and I looked as if they’d been admonished.
“Indeed,” Mason said eventually. “And what of it?”
Ashanta laughed. “I think it’s a subtle comment on the tetracapsuloides, Captain Mason. Apparently, though, we’re going to re-stock once we reach the Falklands, so cheer up everyone.”
Mrs Soper had been looking triumphant. Now she frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Is anyone going to join me in saying grace?” Ashanta said, ignoring her.
Mr Wiles had already started eating. He put his knife and fork down bashfully. Everyone looked at each other as if they’d never heard anything so outré before.
“We don’t normally say grace,” Captain Mason said quietly. “Some of us may be atheists.”
“So if I tell you I’m a Republican,” I said, “will Mr Wiles stop toasting the Queen?”
“I will never stop toasting the Queen!” Wiles said.
“So are you a Republican?” Mr Goulding asked me belligerently.
“No, but I’m talking about the principle.”
“I can’t see any conceivable principle - ” Mr Wiles began.
But Ashanta had already put her hands together and lowered her head. She was in the middle of speaking.
“... Who of thy gracious goodness hast heard the devout prayers of thy Church, and turned our dearth and scarcity into cheapness and plenty. We give thee humble thanks for this thy special bounty, beseeching thee to continue thy loving kindness unto us, that our land may yield us her fruits of increase, to thy glory and our comfort, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”
Gradually, everyone except Mrs Soper put their hands together. When Ashanta finished there was an almost unanimous amen. Celia Soper stood up, flung her napkin onto her untouched meal and left. When the dust settled, Edith Summersby reached across the table and put her hand over Ashanta’s.
“That was lovely,” she said emotionally.
Mr Wiles looked thoroughly ashamed of himself. “And, well, the Queen is, of course, the, er, head of the Anglican Church,” he said.
No one spoke again for the duration of the evening.
“I’d call that a resounding success,” Ashanta commented at eleven o’clock that night, when we were sitting in the crow’s nest.
“Um, on what grounds?” I asked.
“We’ve established the identity of the ringleader. And Mrs Summersby put her hand on mine. All in a single evening. If that’s not progress I don’t know what is.”
“You don’t think Mason’ll retract our standing invitation?”
“What? In order to placate a spoilt old woman?”
“To placate the ringleader.”
“Ah. I hadn’t thought of it like that. Anyway, what if he does? It’s not like we’re deep behind enemy lines. We can afford to drop it and enjoy the holiday.”
“I suppose so.”
“What are you looking at, pray?”
“I’m trying to identify the constellations.”
“And?”
“I’m having the same problem I had last night. I can’t seem to get started. Have you brought your iPhone?”
She reached into her clutch bag. “Abracadabra.”
“I only need one to get me started.”
She rolled her eyes and switched it on. “Just get a bloody iPhone, Hugie. Everyone else on the planet has one. You won’t regret it: seriously, you needn’t ever learn a fact or reason anything out ever again. It’s a brain with a battery.”
“Has it started working yet?”
“Give it a second. Here it is, hello baby.” She pointed it upwards and frowned. Then looked at the interface. “Funny, it’s not working.”
“What’s the problem?”
“It can see the stars. I’m looking at them on the screen, look there. It just doesn’t recognise them.”
“Is it broken?”
She pressed buttons and looked hard into the screen. “Everything else seems okay. It’s just that app.”
“Or maybe it isn’t broken.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe we’re no longer anywhere on Earth.”
She looked at me as if I was crazy then laughed. “It knows you’re not a believer, that’s all.”
“My fault then.”
She switched it off and thrust it back in her clutch bag. “Hang on. What’s this?”
“What?”
She pulled out a sealed envelope with ‘Hugo and Ashanta’ written on in black ballpoint. She gasped, put her hand over her mouth and sat rigidly up. “Someone must have put it in my bag at dinner. It was empty when we set off. Oh my God.”
She tore it open and took out a folded sheet of paper. I leaned over and we read it simultaneously.
I’m not Edith Summersby.
