Ten minutes after leaving his granda, Jimmy was standing on the shore, coin in hand, preparing to skim it out over the calm water. As he pulled his arm back to throw it the moon made one of its occasional appearances from behind a cloud, throwing its pale light over the shore and illuminating, less than a mile away along the coast, the massive outline of the Titanic. Jimmy stopped. That bloody ship. It represented everything that had gone wrong for him that day. The punch, the bus, the near-drowning, the expulsion — he could trace them all back to the Titanic.
Anger gripped him again. The red mist descended.
He was Jimmy Armstrong, they couldn't treat him like this. Every single one of them owed him an apology. And they also owed him a tour of the ship. As he stood staring at it, it came to him that the only way he was going to get to do that now was if he organized it himself. Sure, wasn't it sitting there empty, doing nothing? And wasn't he doing nothing but waiting to get yelled at? Well stuff them all! He was going to have his tour, right now. . .
Jimmy looked at the lucky penny He still intended to throw it into the sea, just like Granda wanted, but there was something he was going to do first. He was going to find the most public part of that ship, somewhere they couldn't fail to notice, and he was going to use the coin to carve Jimmy Armstrong Was Here right into it, so deep that they'd never get it out. That would definitely show them he wasn't to be messed with. It wasn't the brightest idea, but it was perfectly in keeping with many of his previous ones.
***
There wasn't any problem getting access to the dock itself; it was just a case of climbing over a couple of fences. There was a security hut at the end of the pier, but by coining at the dock from the rear he was already behind it. There was a barrier across the road, but it was raised to allow the trucks carrying supplies access to the half-dozen gangplanks that had been lowered on to the dock. Two of them were wider than dual carriageways. Vehicles rumbled across to deposit their goods directly into the bowels of the ship. The others were narrower, with teams of workers carrying boxes scurrying back and forth along them. It was undoubtedly busy, but it wasn't constant. Jimmy, standing hidden behind a pile of discarded wooden crates, observed that there was a one- or two-minute period between the end of one delivery and the beginning of the next that might allow him to zip up a gangplank undetected, even if those on either side were still busy.
There was a moment — a very brief moment, admittedly — just before he made his charge for the Titanic when Jimmy paused to consider if he was doing the right thing, if he was about to turn a bad situation into a terrible one. But then, as criminals and politicians often do, he was able to justify his actions by reminding himself that he was the one being victimized and persecuted and he was just standing up for himself, and more, striking back! It was his right. And if he did happen to get discovered, he could just act stupid. He was still in his school uniform. He could say he had been on a tour of the ship earlier in the day and got locked in one of the cabins by accident. Or that he'd slipped and fell and knocked himself out. There were a million stupid things he could say. He was an expert on stupid.
So, having convinced himself, Jimmy thundered out of the shadows and up the gangplank, his heart hammering. He was going so fast, and the gangway finished so abruptly, that he almost took off as he reached the end. He skidded to a halt against a tower of cardboard boxes before ducking down and around them until he was out of sight. He took a moment to catch his breath before cautiously peering out. There were a dozen similar towers around him, all awaiting redistribution around the ship. Dozens of men in different-coloured overalls were hard at work driving, carrying and shifting — but for the moment he was safe. However, with the ship being stocked up, all of the lower decks were going to be just like this, brightly lit and buzzing with activity. He had to get to a safer location. Already workers were back on the gangplank he had used. He had to get moving, and now.
Jimmy took hold of the closest box, quickly tested it for weight, then heaved it up on to his shoulder and began walking. In a few moments he found himself clear of the immediate distribution area. He turned into a long, straight corridor. There were two men coming towards him, chatting in a language he didn't recognize. Jimmy moved the box slightly forwards and at an angle so that even as they squeezed past they couldn't see his face. Words were spoken, but he couldn't tell if they were directed at him; he just grunted and kept walking. He came to a set of stairs, looked both ways, then set down the box and darted up them. At the top there was an elevator which opened as soon as he pressed the button. He selected the ninth floor at random. The doors eased shut and Jimmy breathed a sigh of relief.
But it was short-lived.
As the elevator rose out of its resting place he suddenly realized that its walls were made of glass, and now he could be seen from virtually every point of the hollowed out central section of the ship. He was passing up through a vast shopping mall four decks high and running virtually the entire length of the vessel. It glistened with chandeliers and was lined with exclusive designer shops and soda fountains and wine bars. He would definitely have been seen — if there'd been anyone there. But the mall was completely empty. Not a soul. Like a very well-kept ghost town. After what seemed like an eternity he was finally hidden again in the darkness of the lift shaft.
The elevator pinged. Jimmy tensed as the doors slid open — but there was no one there. He stepped out. He listened. No voices. No footsteps. He ventured forward and peered down long, straight, half-lit corridors, then moved cautiously along them. He hesitantly opened doors to cabins, looked inside, then hurried on. Gradually he began to relax. There really wasn't anyone this high up. He ran down the corridors, not out of fear, but with an exhilarated lope, like a zoo animal released into the wild. And not just on the ninth. He worked his way up to the highest level, the fifteenth, taking time on each floor to study the framed floor plans which decorated the walls at regular intervals, familiarizing himself with the layouts and noting the areas to avoid.
Below him there were ten decks devoted to the guest cabins — although each deck also had some other kind of attraction, like a library or a cinema or restaurant. Beneath the guest cabins was the shopping mall and a formal dining area which itself had three levels. Lower down there was the crew quarters, the kitchens, storage areas and medical facilities. Beneath that the huge turbine engines which powered the ship. His teacher had been right, it was like a floating city. And just like that fat bus driver had said, there was even a helicopter pad — and an ice rink. He had never ice-skated in his life, but when he found boxes of brand new skates he thought why not? and glided out on to the pristine ice. He fell over. He fell and fell and fell and laughed and laughed and laughed. He was there for half an hour and never managed to stand unsupported for more than a few seconds. But he loved it. His legs were sore, his knees raw, but he was having a ball. When he had finished he returned to the fifteenth deck and sauntered out into the cool night air. Up here, so high, all by himself, the disasters of earlier in the day felt like they had happened to someone else. He imagined that the Titanic was his to command. He would sail it across the great oceans of the world, he would have fantastic adventures!
***
It was now almost four o'clock in the morning. He was thirsty and hungry. There were restaurants aplenty on board, but they wouldn't open until the passengers arrived. If he wanted food he would have to venture into the kitchens far below — and he could see over the side of the ship that supplies were still being loaded from the dock. It was just too dangerous. He was having the time of his life, no point in risking it all for the sake of a rumbling turn.
Then he had a brainwave — the mini bars in the cabins. Jimmy chose the biggest and best of the Presidential suites and helped himself to Diet Coke and Toblerone. He lay back on a huge bed and stuffed his face.
This was the life!
He was no longer just the Captain — he was the owner. All of this belonged to him. He was the Jimmy Armstrong who went to America on the Titanic — but this time he survived. He became wealthy and famous and now here he was, not leaving but returning home to the city of his birth. He should celebrate! A toast to his success! Jimmy opened the mini bar again. Champagne!
Why not?
Jimmy opened a bottle. The golden liquid foamed out over the plush carpet. He didn't even consider cleaning it up. One of his servants could do it in the morning. The champagne was slightly bitter, but he found that the more he drank the nicer it tasted and the happier he felt. He hated Gary Higgins with a passion, but part of him wished he was here now, to enjoy this with him. Or his mum and dad. Or Granda.
Granda, it's all mine! The Titanic!
Except he wouldn't call it that.
Jimmy raised the bottle.
'I name this ship — the Jimmy! May God bless all who sail in her!'
He giggled, then collapsed back down on to the bed. He took another swig. He was so relaxed. Jimmy's eyes flickered. It had been a long day, and his adventures on the Titanic had been as exhausting as they had been exciting. But he knew it had to end. He had to go home. Face the music. First, though, if he just closed his eyes for five minutes he could recharge his batteries. Then he could sneak off before first light.
Jimmy closed his eyes.
Five minutes.
Maybe ten.