Колин Бейтман - Titanic 2020

'He can sue me for whatever he wants. Haven't got it, and my family haven't got it either.'

Scoop blew air out of his cheeks. 'All right, Jimmy, we're getting ahead of ourselves here. Let me just say, if you're found, the Captain will have no alternative but to turn the ship around. We're only two days out.'

'What do you mean, if I'm found?'

Scoop smiled. His teeth were as white as snow, but appeared to be slightly loose in his mouth. Well, I was just thinking, I don't want to go back to Belfast; the Captain certainly doesn't; Mr Stanford — the owner — well it's the last thing on earth he wants to do. But the problem is that the others're so good and honest they would feel duty bound to turn the ship around if you were captured. I, on the other hand, am not particularly good or honest. So if I was to give you the chance to stay lost, and thus ensure our continued journey to America, what would you say?'

'What do you mean, stay lost?'

'At least until we dock in Miami. I'll organize food for you. Somewhere to sleep. I can be pretty certain you won't get caught.'

'Why would you do that? What's in it for you?'

'In exchange for helping you out, I would like you to help me.'

Jimmy's eyes narrowed. 'How?'

'Well, walk this way and I'll show you.'

It was only when the old man rolled backwards that Jimmy realized he was in a wheelchair. He had no legs beneath his knees. Scoop, seeing Jimmy's look of surprise, patted the space where they'd once been. 'Let this be a warning to you — I dropped a slice of pizza last night and that crazy fella . . .' he nodded at Pedroza, who was now back behind the buffet table, then made a chopping motion with his hand, 'sliced them off in anger — whack! whack! He's keeping them on ice until my table manners improve.' Scoop nodded gravely, then turned his wheelchair and began to roll towards the door.

'What a lot of crap,' said Jimmy.

But he followed, nevertheless.

The long straight corridors were perfectly suited to a speeding wheelchair. Jimmy had to run at full pelt just to keep up. Scoop finally ushered him into a suite on the eighth floor. There was no bed or cupboards or mini bar, instead almost the entire floor space was covered by large cardboard boxes.

'OK,' said Scoop, 'here's the story. Our passengers want to wake up in the morning and have a newspaper waiting outside their door, just like at home. So that's what I do — I write, edit, design and print a daily newspaper. It's a mix of news from the countries the passengers come from — mostly America — and stories about the ship, interesting passengers, profiles of the crew, that kind of thing. It's only small — eight, twelve, sometimes sixteen pages — but it's important; helps people feel that they're not entirely cut off from the outside world.'

'Can't they just switch the telly on?'

'We're in the middle of the ocean, there's no signal. The telly plays tapes we bring with us, mostly old TV shows, and documentaries about the islands the cruise visits. If they want news, it comes from me. Been doing it on different Stanford cruise ships for twenty-five years, son. Ever since I lost these.' He tapped his — well, no legs.

'It wasn't Pedroza, then.'

'I lost them in the first Gulf War. Do you remember that?'

'Before my time.'

'The Daily Express managed to get me a place on an aircraft carrier. It was to be my first time as a war correspondent. I was so excited when they told me, I was planning to run all the way home to tell my wife. Except I got knocked down by a taxi on the way. It smashed my legs up so badly I had to have them amputated.'

Jimmy didn't know what to say to that. He was actually struggling not to laugh. Sometimes you just can't help yourself. He tried to cover it by nodding at the boxes and saying, 'So what's the deal with this lot?'

'You know anything about computers?'

'Some.'

'Used a screwdriver before?'

'Now and again.'

'Ever wired a plug?'

'Sure.'

'All right then! I need these boxes opened and everything set up. It's a pain in the arse trying to do it from a chair. So you can start by sorting this lot out for me.'

Jimmy looked at the boxes, then back to Scoop. 'I'm not some kind of unpaid slave, you know.'

Scoop thought about that for a moment, and then said, 'Yes you are.'

***

Jimmy was disruptive, unruly and disrespectful. He didn't like being told what to do. But if he was interested in something, he gave it everything. He was also good with his hands — had to be, really, as there was never much money around at home. So if he wanted something, he built it himself. He'd created a motorcycle out of parts other people had thrown away and he'd built a tree house that was more like a fortress, complete with electric lights and a fridge. He could do things if you left him alone to get on with them and didn't breathe down his neck, particularly if he saw some value in it. Working for Scoop in exchange for a free cruise made sense to him.

Scoop himself wasn't entirely convinced, so he positioned himself at the end of the corridor to make sure Jimmy didn't slip out and lose himself in the depths of the ship again. But the office door remained closed, and when he re-entered after an hour he was genuinely surprised to find that all the work had been completed. Two desks were up, each with a computer and scanner on top, both switched on and apparently fully functioning; the printer was set up, there was a column of printer paper sitting beside it; a filing cabinet was screwed to the wall; and all of the packaging had been folded and neatly stacked in one corner, awaiting removal. Jimmy was sitting at one of the computers, installing a program.

'I didn't think you'd even have the boxes open,' said Scoop. Jimmy shrugged. 'This is fantastic.'

'So what now?' Jimmy asked.'There's no passengers on board yet, so do you just sit on your arse until we arrive in Miami?' He said it without really thinking. 'I mean, you've no alternative but to sit on your arse, but is this all your work done?'

Scoop exploded in laughter. 'Hardly started, son, hardly started! What we have to do now is make sure it's all working, start making up a few dummy papers, print them up, pass them around, get feedback. Each ship has its own design, you see, its own character, and that has to be reflected in the newspaper, so the sooner we . . .'

Jimmy held up a hand. 'You keep saying we. Who exactly are you talking about?'

'Well, you and me.'

'I opened the boxes, I set up your gear. I thought that was it.'

'Well — I thought you might want to help with putting the paper together.'

'Why?'

Scoop folded his hands in his lap. He looked towards the balcony, and the grey sea beyond. 'Because I can't do it myself. You see, lad—'

There was a sudden sharp rap on the door. Scoop, seeing the panic in Jimmy's eyes, held up a calming hand. 'It's all right,' he said quietly. 'I ordered some food for you. Still — best if you slip into the bathroom until the coast is clear.'

Jimmy hid himself, but kept the door open just a fraction.

Scoop positioned himself at one of the desks, with his back to the door. 'Enter!' As the door opened he said, 'If you just put it down over . . .' but as he glanced around he saw what Jimmy had already seen: Claire, the surly teenager with the pink laces. Her black hair hung down over one eye and she was chewing gum. She hardly even looked at Scoop as she spoke, preferring instead to study her bright pink fingernails.

'Dad ordered me to come down to give you a hand unpack— oh.' She had looked up, finally. 'It's done.'

'Yes, Claire, all finished.'