Titanic 2020

Jimmy shook his head. 'We can't go.'

'What?'

'The old woman. Mamma Joss. We have to find her.'

'Jimmy, what are you talking about? We have to get moving, now . . .'

'No — didn't you hear what he said? She has a cure.'

Jeffers laughed. 'Jimmy you didn't believe all that, did you? He's barking mad! There is no magic cure.'

'Then how do you explain that every single one of those people out there is dead and he's alive?'

'That doesn't prove anything! We're alive, aren't we? Now get in the car!'

'No.'

'Jimmy . . .'

'Just . . . just wait a minute. Look — if there's even a tiny chance she has a cure, isn't it worth finding out? Hundreds of people are dying on the ship, so why not take a chance and find out if there's anything in this?'

Jeffers drummed his fingers on the side of the car. 'You, Jimmy Armstrong, are a pain in the arse.'

'I know that.'

'We have to get to Charlotte Amalie. The ship needs to refuel.'

'I know that.'

He drummed his fingers again.

'Right.' Jeffers turned in his seat. 'Benson?'

'Sir?'

'Get another car, get hold of the mad barman, then take him and Jimmy up into the mountains and see if you can find this woman.'

'Sir? Why me, sir?'

'Do you really have to ask, Mr Benson?'

'No, sir.'

'Right then. Get on with it.' Benson reluctantly climbed out. 'And try not to drop your radio this time.'

'Yes, sir.'

Jeffers nodded at Jimmy. 'Good luck,' he said.

'Thank you.'

'See you back on the ship with your magic cure.'

He laughed to himself, then put his foot down hard on the pedal and the vehicle roared off in a cloud of dust, leaving Jimmy and Benson with dozens of rotting bodies and a mad barman for company.

28 Mamma Joss

It was little more than a shack nestling amongst the trees. A small dog barked at them as they drove into a rubbish-strewn yard. Benson was the first out of the car. Instead of facing the house, he looked back down the mountain and out across the bay.

'Would you just look at that,' he said.

Jimmy stood beside him. It was one of the most beautiful views you could ever see, with the trees sweeping down to the azure sea below, the tourists on the beach merely dots in an astonishing vista and even the Titanic, sitting, five miles off shore, reduced to the size of a toy ship floating serenely in a warm, freshly run bath.

'Stunning,' agreed Jimmy. 'If you forget about the dead people on their sunbeds.'

Nick, who must have seen the view thousands of times, didn't even look. The dog rushed towards him, wagging a stubby tail, but he pushed past it and continued on towards the front door, calling out: 'Mamma Joss! Mamma Joss! It's Nick! Don't shoot!'

Benson, who'd been issued with a pistol, eased a hand towards his holster.

The door was already half open. Nick stepped inside, followed somewhat warily by Benson, and then Jimmy. It was cool and dark, but it also smelled — Jimmy wasn't exactly sure what it smelled of but the closest he could get to it was when his granny used to make soup at home. Not from a tin, but from scratch.

'Mamma Joss . . . Mamma Joss?' Nick called again.

It was a tiny little place with a bed in one corner, a wicker chair with a pile of blankets on it in another. There was an ancient black stove and a big old battery radio. There was an oil lamp sitting on a rickety table, which Nick lit. As the single room brightened Jimmy let out a sudden yell — there was a pair of feet sticking out from beneath the blankets. They were bony and filthy and the nails on them were yellow and curled.

'Mamma . . .!' Nick strode to the chair and pulled the blankets back. 'Mamma?'

***

The dead woman was tiny and shrivelled and the surprise of the blankets being whipped away caused a spider to scurry back up her left nostril.

'Mamma . . .' said Nick, bending towards her. He took her cold, brittle, birdy hand in his and rubbed it. 'Mamma . . .'

'Sorry,' said Jimmy.

Benson shook his head sympathetically before turning for the door; he signalled for Jimmy to join him outside. When he emerged into the brightness once more, Benson had moved back across the yard and was looking out over the bay again.

'Well,' he said. 'That was a total waste of time.'

'No it wasn't,' Jimmy countered.

'Of course it was! If the old bat couldn't even protect herself from the plague, how could she have saved Nick or anyone else? Come on, let's get out of here.'

He began to move towards the car, but Jimmy stepped into his path. 'No, wait. Mr Benson — you didn't look at her properly.'

'Yes I did, Jimmy. She's definitely dead.'

'Yes — but no. There's none of the blotches, none of the signs. She's dead because she's about a hundred and twenty years old, not from the plague.'

Benson was already halfway towards disagreeing when he stopped himself. You could almost see the cogs in his brain working it out. Finally he nodded. 'You know something — there's none of the typical signs of plague on that woman. I think she might just have died of old age. C'mon Jimmy, let's check this out . . .'

Benson brushed past Jimmy and hurried back towards the shack. Jimmy shook his head in disbelief, then followed. Inside, Nick was still holding the old woman's hand. He glanced up at them.

'She delivered me,' he said. 'And my mother . . . and my mother's mother.'

'Well,' said Benson, 'perhaps she can deliver us. This medicine you're talking about, what was it like? Can you find it for us?'

Nick patted Mamma Joss's hand and replaced it under the blankets, which he then pulled up over her. He turned to the little gas-fired stove. There were two pots sitting on it. He peered into one, and then the other. 'I think one is the medicine,' he said, 'and the other is probably soup.'

'So which is which?' Jimmy asked.

'I don't know. I was unconscious when she gave it to me.'

They took it in turns to lean over the pots and smell, but although each had a distinct aroma, they still had no idea which was a nice savoury soup and which could potentially save the lives of thousands of people.

'Well, we'll just have to take them both,' said Jimmy.

They searched for lids for both pots, but could only find one.

'You'll have to guard it with your life,' said Benson, handing the one without the lid to Jimmy.

As they were carrying them out to the car, Nick called them back.

'If you're taking the medicine,' he said, 'in return you must help me bury Mamma Joss. We cannot leave her like this.'

Nick had not been worried about the dead bodies littering his bar and the beach, but Mamma Joss was different. They were tourists, she was family. They set the pots down and set about digging a grave behind the shack. There were only some small trowels with which to work on the sun-dried earth, so it took them more than forty minutes in the boiling sun. Benson tried to get away with just a shallow trench, but Nick insisted on going deeper and deeper, saying he didn't want wild animals to come and dig the body up. Eventually he called a halt, and between them they carried Mamma Joss, wrapped in blankets, out and set her gently down into her final resting place.

They bowed their heads for a moment. Nick said i short prayer. He glanced down at the little dog, sitting beside him now, and said, 'Just you and me now, Barney.'

Barney let out a single bark and trotted out of sight.

While Jimmy and Benson shovelled the soil back on top of her, Nick fashioned a small cross from two fallen branches tied with an odd bit of string and dug it into one end of the little mound of soil they had created.