Who Touches Me Is Broken: A story of doomed young love and nuclear submarines by Mark Hankin

Author:Mark Hankin
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Fast Editions
Published: 2022-08-18T23:00:00+00:00

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1 British Summer Time: UK daylight savings time, one hour ahead of Greenwich Mean Time (GMT).

Full English

Wednesday 12th October 1988, 8.20am, 27°C

I DON’T RECALL how I got back to my bunk. I imagine Narendra Sethia put me to bed like a child, because when he woke me at 8.20am I was tucked up under the covers, wearing the cotton uniform shirt and trousers.

‘Tea?’ He held out a steaming tin mug. ‘I guessed three sugars might help.’

‘You guessed right. Hey—the boat has stopped rolling!’

‘Ship, not boat. Though for maximum landlubber confusion, a submarine is always a boat and never a ship. Yes, the wind has dropped, the pressure is rising, the sun is threatening to shine. And we’re on the move, as you can hear from the engine noise. Sadly, I can’t report that all is right with the outside world.’

I sat up. ‘What’s happened? Another call? News?’

‘No, nothing like that. Just general mayhem and consternation ashore. I congratulate you on how you handled the situation.’ He grinned. ‘Man, you were a funny sight, trying to hold it all in. Literally. Lucky it wasn’t a Dan Dare videophone.’

‘Commander, thank you. They chose well, sending you to mind me.’ I managed a smile.

‘Your suit took a direct hit from some accurate projectile vomiting.’

‘Whoops. I’ve never felt more ill in my life.’

‘A little too much brandy, and the pusser’s stew—’

‘Don’t, please! My stomach is still sore. Though I do believe I could now keep down something solid.’ I sipped the hot, sweet tea.

‘Sam the steward has just sent a rating ashore with the Bootnecks,1 to drop your suit off at the express dry cleaners. You’ll have it back this afternoon, de-chundered and pressed. The rating also persuaded Boots the Chemist to let him in early to do some shopping for you.’ The commander held up the familiar blue carrier bag. I peered inside. Disposable razors, toothbrush and toothpaste, shampoo sachets, soap and a roll-on deodorant. ‘And the gutter press, otherwise known as the daily papers, young sir.’ From an orange WH Smith bag Narendra produced copies of Today, the Guardian and The Times. ‘And a full English, or your choice from the galley, awaits your convenience once you’ve abluted.’

What a difference a good night’s sleep and a steady floor make! I finished my tea, got up, descended to the ‘heads’ and shaved, took a hot shower, the first for over a week, washed and dried my hair and climbed back up feeling almost human.

Seth and I ate alone in the wardroom watching BBC Breakfast Time on the colour set bolted to the sideboard. Jeremy Paxman had set up shop in the lobby of the Grand Hotel. HMS Nurton was visible through the bay window behind him, moving across the screen from left to right and then back again. We were steaming up and down between the two piers. I guessed that in the control room above us the crew were scanning their radars and sonars for seaborne, underwater and aerial threats. A futile effort, for sure.

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