Novel Titanic
Chapter 33
Chapter 33
A little while later, looking discouraged but thoughtful, he returns, nodding the three of us across to a
relatively quiet spot.
“He’s unconscious,” he begins, “suffering from smoke inhalation, but the medics say he should survive.
It seems he was trapped in the chaos and didn’t get out with the others. I’m having him taken to a
secure medical facility and there, as soon as he’s fit to speak, he’ll be interrogated. I’ll keep you
informed.” He scans the three of us, caution in his eyes. “Did you get Charlotte and Beth away safely?”
“Yes,” says Richard, “And right now, I, and the pilot are the only ones who know where they are. I’ve
had them taken out of the City and, no offence, Will, but I’m not telling you where to.”
Michael folds his arms, watching his feet as he taps a toe. This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.
Will nods. “I understand. I’ll be in touch.” He turns and leaves. “Corby! I want to know the minute we
hear from the hospital….”
*****
Richard watches him in the mirror as he drives. “Michael, calm down. I spoke with the pilot. They’re
fine.”
“I know, but….”
“It’s not the same until you see them, I know.”
Michael has barely spoken for the entire journey. Instead, he sits staring out of the back windows,
gnawing on his knuckles.
And I’ll feel better myself when I see her.
*****
The door clicks open.
They’re there, Beth sitting, Charlotte standing, looking very much as though she is in ‘pacing the room
like a tiger’ mode. But as heads turn and they see us, both faces light up.
Richard pushes past, sweeping Beth into his arms then, without a word takes her to the next room.
Charlotte simply gazes at me and Michael.
My Jade….
You’re safe….
“Hello again,” I say quietly, and her eyes, warm and soft, green as mist over grass, simply meet with
mine. We don’t need words.
Then Michael presses forward, seizing her in a bear-hug, all but enveloping her. She almost vanishes
into his embrace. It’s at times like this that you realise how physically large he is.
“Oh God, Charlotte. You’re okay. I’m sorry. I’m sorry….”
His voice rasps and quivers. Burying his face into her hair and shoulder, “I shouldn’t have said what I
did. Please, whatever happens from now on, you must always do what you think is the right thing.
Whatever the reason. I’ll understand. This won’t happen again.”
Charlotte looks stricken. She looks across to me and I just give her a get-on-with-it flick of the fingers.
“Hey, I’m okay.” She puts vim and sparkle into her words. “It doesn’t matter what I promised. You didn’t
think I was going to hang around when the building was on fire did you?”
He stiffens around her, but she doesn’t seem to notice, continuing “I was quite sure you didn’t intend
me to promise to stay and get roasted.…”
He nods, but he’s not smiling….
Now what?
Get your fucking face out of your ass, Michael….
*****
Six Years Ago
The church is only small, serving a farming community spread over many miles. It sits in a grassy acre,
dotted with wildflowers and fragrant with spring blossoms. And today, with the gathered congregation, it
is standing-room only.
Flowers, picked from the meadows and tied with bright ribbons, decorate the end of each pew.
Everyone is wearing ‘Sunday Best’ and just outside the door stands a young woman, tall, slender,
copper-haired under the brilliant blue skies, and lovely as the May morning of her marriage.
Mr Kalkowski, wearing formal suit and a stiff collar that must surely be cutting into his neck, stands
close by. And inside she knows is her husband-to-be, Chad.
Chad, who was her first friend here.
Chad, tall, broad-shouldered and handsome, blue-eyed and golden-haired as the sunshine.
Chad, who defended her, then taught her to defend herself.
Chad, who asked her to marry him.
Chad, who waits inside for her.
Natalie, her bridesmaid, fiddles with her train and arranges the skirts of the dress; her wedding dress,
beautiful, white, virginal.
“Are you ready, Jenny?” Mr Kalkowski offers her his arm.
She clutches at the small bunch of violets she holds, drops it and then fumbles as Natalie picks it up
and passes it back to her.
Her old teacher and mentor smiles at her. “Jenny? Are you ready?”
She blinks rapidly, three or four times then, her smile sun-bursting through, “Yes, I’m ready, Mr
Kalkowski.”
His mouth quirks. “I think Jenny, that from here-on-in, perhaps it should be Levi.”
“Alright, Mr Kalkowski.”
Music drifts from inside the church, Pachelbel’s Canon, played by the local schoolchildren on guitars
and flutes.
Arms linked the two walk slowly down the aisle. Everyone is here; the farmhands and their wives and
girlfriends. All the schoolchildren are there, even Jack Peterson, glowering next to his parents.
As they pass the pew she hears a snort and a low, muttered, “Wearing white, is she?” Mr Kalkowski’s
grip on her arm tightens a little.
They pass friends she and Chad met from the other schools, in the boxing competition. Kelly is here,
although not Monica. Josh, well over six feet now, his black hair sweeping back from his face in silky
waves to settle by his shoulders, stands straight and tall. He gives Jenny a wink from one whiskey-
coloured eye.
On the front pews, Mrs Collier, and Mr and Mrs Bennett, Chad’s parents.
And there’s Chad, smiling….
Jenny doesn’t notice that he’s smiling not at her, but over her shoulder, to Josh.
Mr Kalkowski does though. He hesitates, then releases her arm so the bride can stand with her
husband to be.
“Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here….”
*****