Колин Бейтман - Titanic 2020

Jimmy dropped the jellybeans and dashed out into the corridor, fearing the worst.

But it was empty.

Maybe he was crediting his pursuers with too much intelligence. Or perhaps capturing him wasn't all that important when there was a ship the size of the Titanic to navigate across the Atlantic. He was just turning back into the room when he heard the ping of an arriving elevator, followed by hurried footsteps.

They were coming for him!

It was a close call, but he still escaped. When he'd put enough distance between himself and his pursuers he even had the confidence to stop at the end of the corridor and perform a little victory dance. Then he'd nearly had a heart attack at the sound of footsteps coming towards him from the stairs — but it was a cleaner, and she was as surprised to see Jimmy as Jimmy was to see her. She even made room for him to pass as he charged towards her.

Thinking about it later Jimmy was surprised that they hadn't learned their lesson after their first attempt. Once again they had tracked him down, only to leave him with a means of escape. If they'd come at him from both ends of the corridor he would have been theirs. Not that he was complaining. He had worked out their mini-bar master plan. Now if he was hungry he simply took what he wanted and moved quickly to a different floor before they had a chance to trap him.

But it was hunger that was the real problem.

Toblerones, nuts and jellybeans were rapidly losing their attraction, and after spending a second night on the ship in a small cabin on the eighth level, he woke with an overwhelming desire for a proper breakfast. He wanted cereal. And bacon. And sausages. And eggs. Fried. Scrambled. Boiled, in a cup. With toast soldiers. The fact that he usually made do with a Diet Coke at home was neither here nor there. He was famished and nothing else would do but that he had to throw himself back into danger by staging a raid on the crew kitchen and restaurant far below. With the passengers still to board, he figured, none of the many restaurants were yet functioning, so it was the only place hot food was going to be available.

What he needed, he decided, was a disguise.

The school uniform was a dead giveaway. He needed to blend in. There was at least a hundred crew on board — ten times that number would join in Miami — but they were surely all still getting to know each other. Another strange face wouldn't be so remarkable — even if it did look very young especially if he was wearing the right clothes. Jimmy had already observed that the sailors wore white uniforms, while the engineers wore blue overalls and baseball caps, the catering staff green and the cleaners red. He didn't think he would ever pass for a sailor, but if he could get hold of a set of overalls and matching baseball cap, then he would surely be able to pass unchallenged. It was just a case of having the nerve to go for it.

Nerve was never a problem for Jimmy Armstrong.

After studying the relevant floor plan Jimmy pinpointed a store room on the second level which looked a likely place for the crew uniforms to be kept. When he got there he discovered that it was situated at a busy crossroads of corridors. It took nearly an hour of patiently watching in a dark stairwell before he had an opportunity to dash across and try the door — but it was locked. Before he could try and force it footsteps sounded on the stairs behind him and he had to bound across the corridor and seek refuge behind the first door that would open.

As he slipped in he found himself confronted by a man's bum.

It was white and flabby and spotty. Like a full moon beaten with a stick.

He was in the men's locker room. Luckily, the sound of his panicked entrance was covered by the water pounding against the tiled floor of the shower cubicles. Jimmy darted behind a row of lockers just as the bum, along with the man attached to it, moved into the shower. Thankfully, Naked Spotty Flabby Bum Man was the only other occupant of the room. As NSFB man began to sing something vaguely Japanese he became enveloped in steam, which allowed Jimmy to venture out and remove his red overalls. He held them against himself. They were slightly too long in the arms and legs, but with a bit of turning up, they would do rightly. He changed quickly, lifted the man's baseball cap off a second hook, and discarded his by now rather stinky school uniform in a bin. Jimmy made sure his cap was pulled down hard over his face, then stepped out of the locker room into the busy corridor. At first he moved hesitantly, sure he was about to be rumbled, but very soon he realized that nobody was paying him any attention. He was one of them!

And now for food!

The canteen doors were open, and with the breakfast rush apparently over there were only a few crewmen still eating or choosing their food from a long buffet table. Jimmy walked purposefully up to the hot food selection, lifted a plate and began to load up. He was so hungry he could have just buried his face in the scrambled eggs and sucked it up. But he had to stick to the plan: stock up then get back up to the guest cabins to enjoy his feast in comparative safety.

When he couldn't pile anything else on to his plate, Jimmy turned for the door, only to find an angry-looking chef blocking his way. Veins bulged at the side of his head as he barked something incomprehensible. Jimmy shrugged and tried to move past, but the chef remained exactly where he was.

A voice from behind Jimmy said, 'If you want me to translate, he's saying you can't take food out of the restaurant.' Jimmy glanced around. There was an old man — at least as old as his granda, sixty maybe — sitting at one of the long bench tables. 'If I were you, I'd shift your butt, because Pedroza there is as mad as a bag of spiders. Only this morning he took a knife to some guy for tramping egg into the carpet.'

Pedroza's eyes blazed down. Jimmy backed away.

'Jimmy, why don't you join me?'

Jimmy froze.

'C'mon Jimmy. I just want to talk.'

Jimmy turned slowly. The old man nodded at the seat opposite. Jimmy looked around the restaurant: there were four other crewmen still eating, but apparently paying no attention. Pedroza remained in the doorway. Jimmy cursed himself for getting caught so easily.

'How . . . how did you know?' he asked as he lowered himself warily on to the bench seat.

'Well there's this . . .' The old man unfolded a sheet of paper showing a photo of Jimmy, one he recognized from school. 'They sent this out to us when we reported a stowaway. I thought if I sat here long enough you might turn up. Hunger does that. Nice try with the overalls, but you do look about twelve.'

'I'm thirteen!'

The old man put his hand out. 'They call me Scoop.' Jimmy just looked at it. 'It's not my real name, obviously. My nickname. You know where it comes from?'

'Do you sell ice cream?'

Scoop laughed. 'Nice one. It's a name they gave reporters in the old days. When they got exclusive stories, they'd call it a scoop. And I was one of the best. Scoop Morrison.' Jimmy shrugged. Scoop withdrew his neglected hand. 'Well, lad, you've certainly been giving us the runaround, haven't you? Pity it all has to end, eh?' Jimmy shrugged again. Scoop leaned forward and lowered his voice. 'Or does it?'

Jimmy just looked at him.

'See, kid, they're really mad with you upstairs, the havoc you've caused.'

'Havoc? I stole a couple of Toblerones!'

'Jimmy, lad, you think Mr Stanford's tearing his hair out because of a few bars of chocolate? He's tearing his hair out because he'll have to turn this ship around and take you back to Belfast. If he has to do that there'll be a delay in getting to Miami, which means the passengers will sue him for millions of dollars for ruining their cruise. Do you see? And I tell you, kid, if Mr Stanford is sued for millions of dollars you can be damn sure he's going to sue you for exactly the same amount.'