Exploding into the light at the top of the stairs, she shoved the bag falling off her shoulder with an elbow. The elderly couple in the corner sharing their lunch. The husband slicing an apple with practiced ease undiminished by his frail, trembling hands.
She took in the viewing deck's other occupant. A man in his forties, so totally absorbed by the book he was reading that he had not even looked up. Out of breath from vaulting up the stairs she made her way across the wet flagstones to the wall that faced out to sea.
Without looking at it, she placed the bag in front of her. Perhaps hundreds of people walking up and down the sea walls. Stopping to take pictures. Happy holiday snaps undeterred by the recent rain. Some were looking out to sea. There the source of her purpose appeared from the mist.
As if by magic, threading her way, slowly and carefully through the busy shipping lanes of the solent, the destroyer. Growing in size as she moved closer to the harbour. The woman's position on a battlement that had been in place guarding the harbour since the fifteenth century afforded her the view of the ship as she would enter and make her way toward her berth.
Glancing to the side as another passenger ferry passed where she stood. The warship coming closer. Ever closer. She could not believe the moment had come. She had waited. Waited so very long. Counting what felt like every second of every day since the same grey mass had left port all those months ago.
Now the wait was over. Her heart quickening. She could see others with binoculars further along the wall. Desperately hoping for that first glimpse of the loved one from whom they had been parted far too many days and nights. She had not brought binoculars. There would be no need. As long as the ship was here. All would be well. The focus of her attention would be below decks in the engine room.
She couldn't help but smile as she fumbled in her bag for her phone. With every passing second, the ship edged closer. The sound of the mighty engines forcing her through the waves. Two tugboats reached the destroyer, taking up positions fore and aft.
On the ferry, the passengers were crowding the decks. Joining those ashore in waving welcomingly at the proud, but tired men and women lining the decks of the destroyer.
Closer. Closer. Soon she would be able to send her message. Soon the wait would be over. Her heart racing again. She did not notice the cold seeping into her arms as she rested them atop the damp walls. Staring out to sea. These last few moments being the hardest of them all. As hard she thought as when the ship had left.
She looked down at her phone. Typed out the message she had pictured herself writing a thousand times before. She had longed for this moment. Dreamt of it. Send.
She looked up, as if she could see the jumble of letters flying from her phone across to the corresponding device inside the warship. She stopped breathing. The moments while she waited for an answer felt an eternity where time itself had been paused. Not even taking a breath. Closer. Closer.
A piercing light erupted on the waterline about three quarters along the length of the ship. She jumped. Feeling herself frozen while events moved on around her. The boom of the explosion felt as well as heard. Pushing away with it all the sound from the walls below her.
Her phone was sliding out of her hand. Down the wall as it sloped away. She did not reach out for it. The phone disappeared over the edge of the wall and fell to the sea below.
The klaxon cried out from the ship like the moan of a wounded whale. Smoke pouring out of the gaping hole. She could see fire inside. The sea racing in. The side of the ship blackened. Scared. On deck sailors raced. Stepping over those that lay awkwardly. Orders shouted. She began to list.
There were men in the water. Trying frantically to fight the steady currents at the mouth of the harbour. She could see bodies. Floating. Bloodied. Face down.
The vacuum created by the shock now began to fade. Those that had not been watching, now gazed on in horror. Some frozen, inactive as she was. Some reacting as the age leads, by taking out their phones and filming. Filming as people suffered. As they died. The sobbing, and screaming increasing in volume from the relatives. Those that like her had waited so many days for the ship to come home safe, only to see her butchered seconds from port.
Snapped from her immobilised state, she grabbed her bag and ran back down the stairs. Racing down the steps as fast as her legs dare carry her. Everything a blur. She stopped at street level. Taking in the scene around her. She unlocked her bike without a thought. One last glance at the misery before cycling off.
