family?' he asked smugly.
'Jimmy,' Claire hissed, 'what are you doing here?'
'Writing a story. At first it was going to be about a mysterious group of stowaways, now it's going to be about a little rich kid who makes up all kinds of crap.'
'They
were
here, I swear . . .' Jimmy stepped into the freezer. The metallic floor, walls and ceiling were spotless. 'Come out and show yourselves!' Jimmy cried.
'Shhhh! Don't. . .'
And then she saw it.
Jimmy had moved to her left, blocking the light from outside for just a moment, but as the light bounced off the wall in front of her again she saw . . . she wasn't certain . . . she moved closer — it
was . . .
'Look,
Jimmy!'
Jimmy moved up to her shoulder. At first he saw nothing.
'I don't. . .'
'You're blocking the light again.'
Jimmy moved and looked again.
'I still don't. . .'
Then he saw it. A tiny hand-print on the wall. A child's hand.
Claire smiled triumphantly. 'They must have been here, how else could—'
It wasn't a
sound
that made them both turn together, it was a change in the light. Not sudden and swift, like a light being switched off, but just a gradual dimming.
The freezer door was closing!
They had the briefest glimpse of Pedroza's laughing face before they were plunged into utter darkness.
'No!' Claire yelled.
They charged blindly across the room together, but only in time to hear a lock being turned.
They hammered on the door. They demanded to be let out, they screamed and threatened and, after a while, begged. Yet, already, somewhere within themselves, they knew it was useless; that the doors were too thick; that all their banging and shouting could not be heard outside.
'Claire . . .'
'Please! Let us out! Please!'
'Claire!'
'What?'
'Listen.'
A loud hum.
'Oh no,' said Claire. 'Oh no!'
The freezer had been switched on.
They started their hammering on the door again.
'Please . . . let us out! Please!'
11
Ice
I t was pitch black. This was a good thing in some ways, because they couldn't see the cold mist of their breath or the ice forming on their hair and eyebrows. They weren't aware of the look of raw fear in each other's eyes. There was just the hum of the freezer and the chattering of their teeth. It had been an hour. They were freezing.
They had agreed not to panic.
Then they had panicked.
They had yelled and hammered. They had jogged on the spot, trying to keep warm. But the cold penetrated everything astonishingly quickly. Of the two, Jimmy was better off. He was still wearing the overalls he had swiped from the crew locker room. Claire was in a T-shirt and jeans.
'How . . . could he . . . do this?' Jimmy whispered through frozen lips.
'If you'd . . . just believed me . . . then I wouldn't . . . have come . . . down here again . . .'
'So . . . it's my . . . fault?'
'Yes . . . everything . . . is your fault . . .'
Despite this, they hugged each other, trying to keep warm.
'I can't . . . feel my feet . . .' said Jimmy.
'My nose . . . is so
sore . . .'
'I hate . . . this boat. . .'
'It's . . . a . . . ship . . .'
'Shut . . .
up . . .'
' You . . .
shut . . . up . . .' Claire squeezed tight against him. 'Why . . . do you . . . hate me . . . Jimmy?'
'I . . . don't know . . . I just . . . do.'
'If we get . . . out . . . we should . . . try and get along . . . better.'
'Why?'
'Oh . .
.Jimmy . . .'
They were quiet then for a long while. Jimmy's mind wandered back home to the endless cacophony of life in the Armstrong house, to his mum who'd shout at him day and night, but defend him to her dying breath, then back further, back to his namesake, the first Lucky Jimmy Armstrong. How ironic — he had died in the icy seas with his beloved
Titanic,
and now here
he
was, freezing to death as well. And all for the sake of a photograph for a dummy newspaper not more than two or three people would ever have seen.
The camera!
Jimmy suddenly shook Claire. She had been drifting off as well.
'What . . . what. . .?'
'Claire . . .