Back in November I took part in National Novel Writing Month. For those that haven’t heard of it, it involves writing 50,000 words in one month. I didn’t get that far, but did get further into a novel than I ever had before. here is chapter 1. If you like it and would like to read more, let me know and I’ll put up another installment.

Chapter 1

He looked like he’d been on a bender. His head was nestled between a bottle and glass of 15-year-old whiskey, the remains of a birthday cake, and an ashtray mounded with old-style cigarettes – the pre-made ones with filters. One cigarette, trembling with ash, still balanced between the fingers of his right hand. Charlie, hovering at the doorway to his cabin, took in the scene: cheek resting on the old- scarred wooden desk, the cigarette-endowed hand perilously close to his hair, still all there, even though he had recently turned 60. It had been grey ever since she had known him – ever since the ‘Big Z’ 16 years ago, the colour leached through shock and terror. He was lucky it hadn’t fallen out altogether – the captain (also close to 60) liked to blame the Big Z for his locks making a run for it altogether. Although members of the crew that knew him way back when said it had already begun its migration long before then.

“Ben. Time to wake up. Class starts in 15.” Charlie picked her way across the rug towards the desk, avoiding the piles of books and clothes almost completely obscuring the small floor space of the cabin. There was nothing left on the shelves and bookcases, and all the drawers were gaping. It must have been a bad one last night. The 15^th July was never a good day for Ben, but this one had hit him harder than usual. No movement from the desk. Charlie plucked the cigarette from his fingers, freezing as she brushed against his skin, and felt the cold, slack lifelessness of it. Her heart stuttered and she carefully placed the cigarette on top of the pile before placing her hand on his neck. It was cold, and felt like old leather. No pulse. No breath. No heartbeat. No life.

She reached for the phone, noticing remotely that her hand was shaking, and dialled the bridge. “Captain? It’s Charlie. There’s been a… a… please come to Ben’s cabin.” her voice ended on a sob, and she hung up before he could reply. She decided to wait for him outside the door.

Captain Jonathon Bailey quick-marched to the upper deck, where the long-term resident cabins were located. He had never heard Charlie sound so shaken before. As he stepped through the porthole door, he saw her stood in the corridor, her arms wrapped around herself, staring intently at the floor. Her usually confident stance was gone; she looked smaller than her 5”8′ height.

“What is it Charlie? What’s wrong?” She said nothing, just stepped aside from the door and gestured him inside. He saw it immediately, not needing to check for a pulse. The pallor of the man’s skin was a dead giveaway.  “Jesus.” He dragged his hand over his face. “He finally managed it then. Drank himself to death.”

“No.” Her voice was ragged, hardly more than a whisper, but firm. “He wouldn’t. I know it was a difficult day, but he wouldn’t leave… us.”

He knew what she meant to say in that pause. That he shouldn’t have wanted to leave her, and that was going to hurt. “You know yesterday’s anniversary was worse than most. It would have been her 30^th birthday. A milestone. It was always going to be difficult for him. He probably didn’t mean to drink himself to death, Charlie, he wouldn’t have wanted to leave you behind.” He stopped, knowing that his clumsy attempt at comfort was inadequate, to say the least. “Come on honey, we’d better get the doctor to take a look at him and prepare him for last rites.”

He herded her out, locking the cabin door behind him and walking her to the bridge. “I’ll call him from my office. You don’t need to be there to see that.” He could feel every muscle coiled tight from tension under his hand. Charlie kept herself in shape, spending every day at the ship gym, and her body was long, lean and ridiculously healthy, despite the amount of food she ate as the ship’s pastry chef. He looked at her closely. Her skin, normally pretty pale, was almost blue/grey, and there were dark shadows under her brown eyes. “Sit down, before you fall down. You need a cup of hot, sweet tea.” Charlie made a gesture as if to deny any weakness, but he pushed her gently into a chair and started the kettle boiling,

Suddenly she doubled over at the waist, and dragged her fingers through her hair, and drew in a shuddering breath. “I can’t believe he’s gone.” her shoulders shuddered as the sobs finally broke free. The captain turned away, busying himself with the tea preparation, knowing she would feel embarrassed later if he tried to comfort her. “I hope he’s with his family now, at least,” he muttered as he poured the hot water onto fresh tea leaves, trying not to look at the family picture standing on the corner of his desk.