This does look like it is news to Les. Emma is not surprised; it’s news to her, too. Where did that come from?
‘About theTitanic?’ Les frowns at Betty, and Emma can hear his thoughts as clearly as if he has spoken them out loud:You didn’t tell me that. What am I supposed to say now?
‘A book, you say?’ Les queries, rubbing his beard.
Betty is the first to recover. ‘A book– how interesting,’ she says, forcefully offering him a biscuit from a packet of chocolate digestives.
‘Ah, a book about theTitanic?’ Les repeats, doubtfully, directing his question at Emma, but his eyes flicking to Betty.
‘Oh, I don’t know. I had this idea… It may come to nothing.’ Les’s confusion is contagious. Emma has no florist, Tamas can’t find the nursery that provided the flowers. What was she thinking? Andwhya book?
In the silence that follows, Emma looks down, embarrassed. Then she looks up quickly; she just needs to get a grip. She is not a child. ‘I’d like to hear about the talk you gave, Les. I’m sorry I didn’t get there the other night. Sometimes I find groups of people a bit intimidating.’ She shrugs her shoulders and looks slowly down at herself as if acknowledging that based on the size of her, this may be hard to believe. It occurs to her that these three sentences may be the most she has ever said to Betty and Les all in one go.
Les glances at Betty, and Emma cannot interpret the look that passes between them. Satisfaction? A bet won?
‘You know, theTitanicis a fascinating subject.’ Les leans back against the counter, coffee forgotten. ‘Did you know there was a fire on board when they left the Harland and Wolff works in Belfast?’ He doesn’t pause for an answer. ‘The fire was in the coal bunker behind the ship’s boiler. It was a huge fuel store, three decks high. No one could get at the fire to put it out and there was no way they were going to delay the sailing date.’ Les studies his wife for a moment, and Emma recalls Betty once saying that Les was a great one for the Discovery Channel. ‘But this was just the tip of the iceberg, so to speak. Fires like that weren’t uncommon, but this one was burning away against the hull. Scientists worked out this causedTitanic’s steel plates to become brittle. The straw that broke the camel’s back, you could say.’ Les nods slowly. ‘Experiments showed this could have reduced the hull’s strength by as much as … oh … I believe it was seventy-five per cent. Well, the result of that would have been catastrophic when they hit the iceberg.’
Betty starts to speak, but Les hasn’t finished. He waves a large, stubby finger in the air. ‘The stokers who survived were warned by the head of the White Star Line not to mention the fire at the enquiry. I think that speaks for itself– tells its own tale.’ He takes a big slurp from his coffee, then looks round, his eyes momentarily widening, as if startled that he has found so much to say without his notes.
Betty takes her glasses out of the pocket of her bumblebee cardigan and starts to polish them. ‘Look, Les and I were—’
But her husband interrupts. ‘And that is why I called the talk, “Secrets of theTitanic”. I don’t think many people realise that it might have been the main reason for the disaster.’
‘That’s really interesting, Les. I wonder—’ Emma starts.
This time it is Betty who interrupts. Emma can’t help feeling there is something Betty is desperate to get out.
‘Les and I have been meaning to say to you, Emma,’ she says, turning her attention to the packet of chocolate digestives, and pulling one slowly from the pack. ‘Well, we wanted to say, love, that we– well, we know about your husband, and we are very sorry. We know things must be difficult. Our accountant recognised your surname on the payroll and he was in the same running club as your husband. I don’t want you to think we were prying…’ She is looking increasingly uncomfortable. ‘But if there is anything we can do…’
Emma’s stomach lurches. She can fill in the blanks. Just ring us. Just ask.
But Betty wrong-foots her: ‘… to help you with your research… or the book, or whatever, we would be happy to. Les is very interested in history, as you know, and has done a bit of research himself in his time. And I, well, I…’ Betty doesn’t finish but looks up at Emma, frowning slightly. ‘We thought if you needed time off, needed to go anywhere for research, maybe could do with an advance…?’ She is frowning even more as she finishes.
Emma stares at Betty and Les’s faces. They look acutely uncomfortable and it dawns on her that these two relative strangers, who have business troubles of their own, are offering her their assistance. She looks quickly away, touched and mortified, trying desperately to tuck in the misery that she has unwittingly left showing.
‘Emma, love…’ Betty takes a step towards her.
Emma looks back at her, and all she can think is she likes it when Betty calls her ‘love’. To stop the tears that threaten, Emma rushes into speech. ‘I’m okay, really I am. We had savings and life assurance. And I was paid pretty well for the research I did.’
‘Research?’ Les queries, and Emma remembers that she didn’t really tell them what she had done before– had made it sound like she had worked in admin at the university. Her CV’s academic record had been pretty brief, concentrating on her languages.
‘Yes, well, I’m a scientist by training. My doctorate was in enzyme genetics and—’
‘Goodness me. A doctor, you say?’ Betty exclaims.
Les beams at her. ‘Well, fancy that.’
‘It’s nothing really. Most of the people I worked with were far more qualified than I am.’ This is true. In her field Emma knew herself to be a junior part of a highly prestigious team. And she rarely used her title outside of work– she found too many people told her about their back or bowel problems.
‘But a doctor, you say,’ Betty repeats. ‘Well, I still think that’s an impressive achievement.’ She says this like she is proud of Emma, and Emma finds herself standing a little straighter and smiling shyly down at her.
‘How long has it been now?’ Les changes tack, a look of concern on his face.
Emma is not really sure which event Les is referring to. ‘Well, I got my doctorate about twelve years ago, and it’s just over a year since Will died.’
‘And you’re not getting any better?’ Les looks increasingly concerned.
His wife is giving him furious glances. ‘Would you “get better” if I died?’ Betty interjects, tartly.
