by John Halkin
She began to probe the outer edge of the jellyfish with the toe of her boot. Some instinct screamed a warning at him.
‘Don’t do that!’ he snapped at her, grabbing her arm to tug her clear. ‘Jane!’
Her face flushed angrily. ‘Let me go, will you!’
He released her, saying nothing. But then the hostility in her eyes faded and her expression softened as she realised what he’d been thinking.
‘You didn’t really imagine that jellyfish would –’ She sounded amazed; and touched. ‘Tim, you were frightened!’
‘Shit-scared,’ he said brutally. ‘If you want to know.’
Her eyes regarded him gravely, as if she were trying to make up her mind about him, and couldn’t. Not about the jellyfish, either; not that. But the two of them, the time they spent together, and could go on spending together if –
If.
He knew there was a barrier holding her back – well, that was obvious. What it was, she always refused to say.
Before deciding to return to the car they found two more jellyfish, but they were both the blue kind. The speckled pink ‘man-eater’ of the previous day was not in evidence. They tramped back up the sandhill in silence. It was not until they were out on the road again that Jane mentioned that the librarian had disputed her description of the jellyfish, especially the colour.
‘We found one in the books that looked a bit like it.’ She fished her notebook out of her bag. ‘Pelagia noctiluca. It’s phosphorescent as well. But it’s much smaller, and the tentacles looked quite different. He said he’d never seen one, and he’s lived here all his life. As for it attacking human flesh, he just laughed.’
‘What about those photographs you took?’
‘The police have the film.’
‘That wasn’t very clever,’ he teased her, ‘letting them know about it.’
‘I didn’t, it was one of the crew. Or that punch-drunk heavyweight you were fighting. Where is he, anyway? I haven’t seen him this morning.’
‘Keeping out of everybody’s way, I imagine. I’m not sure where he’s staying.’ They reached the first houses, cold-looking brick boxes with bleak, windswept gardens. ‘We’ve missed lunch at the hotel, you realise that?’
‘There’ll be a fish and chip shop. Failing that, I’ll cook something for you. I’ll light a fire in the sandhills and fry bacon and eggs.’
‘A woman of parts!’
‘Girl Guide, wasn’t I? Badges all the way up my sleeve, and a few other places I won’t tell you about. But I’ll try my sister again first.’
‘Is that important?’
‘She’s a marine biologist,’ Jane stated briefly. ‘If anyone can make sense out of this, she can.’
He turned towards the hotel, deciding it would be easier for her to telephone from there. The road took them past the little fishing harbour, now used mainly for pleasure craft, and not too many of those. As he reached it, a group of men emerged from a pub, arguing intently, and one stepped backwards in front of the car without even looking around. Tim swerved, braking fiercely. His tyres squealed over the cobbles.
‘Oh, my God!’ Jane exclaimed, twisting anxiously in her seat. ‘That was the heavyweight.’
Tim stopped the car and looked back. He could have sworn he hadn’t hit the man – yet there he was, lying on the ground. He got out and went over to him.
‘Yer fuckin’ idiot!’ the thug greeted him, his speech slurred. He sat up, breathing heavily. ‘I’ll have yer for this. I’ll bloody have yer, I will. I got witnesses.’
‘You’re drunk,’ Tim informed him coolly. ‘The car didn’t touch you.’
‘What yer mean, didn’t touch me?’ His tone was ugly. He held up his arms to his cronies who were hovering about him. ‘Get me up, will yer?’
They pulled him to his feet. He stood there swaying, looking down at his clothes which were wet from the cobbles. With the side of his fist he attempted to brush some of the dirt away, which only made it worse.
‘Yer’ll pay for that. New suit, the lot – I’ll throw the bloody book at yer! Think yer smart, bein’ on TV – but jus’ wait, that’s all!’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Tim said, irritated. Just about everything was going wrong on this location. ‘Take it to the police if you want to. You’re pissed out of your mind; don’t think they won’t notice. You’re lucky you weren’t killed.’
‘Threatenin’ me now?’ The thug turned to the others. ‘’Ear that? Bugger’s threatenin’ me!’
‘Wouldn’t put up wi’ that,’ one advised him bluntly. ‘Ask me, you should teach ’im a lesson, Arthur.’
‘Too bloody right.’ He tapped Tim on the chest, pushing him back across the road towards the harbour. ‘Only I wouldn’ wan’ to spoil his pretty face, would I now?’ Another push. ‘Sized each other up yesterday, ’im an’ me, out there in the sand’ills. Not that much to ’im when yer take a closer look.’ Another push.
‘What’s eating you?’ Tim demanded patiently. 27
The last thing he needed was to get involved in a brawl, yet there seemed no way out of it.
The thug went to tap him yet again, but this time Tim sidestepped and aimed a light punch at his jaw. It was easily blocked, but had the right effect. The man’s eyes darkened. He brought up his fists, hunched his shoulders, and lumbered about as though looking for an opening. It was a poor imitation of what he must have been like in his heyday in the professional ring. Tim felt sickened at the sight of him.
Yet he still packed a lot of brute force, as Tim remembered only too well from the previous day. He’d have to stay well clear of those fists whatever else happened.
‘That’s it, boyo! You show ’im now!’ one of the bystanders called out to encourage him.
The thug’s right fist shot out like a missile. Tim dodged, grabbed his wrist with both hands, swinging himself around, dropping a knee, and threw the man over his shoulder. He fell heavily near the edge of the harbour wall.
Tim waited, alert, as he tried to get up, expecting him to charge back like an enraged bull. Which was what he was – an old bull who knew in his heart he was no longer up to it.
But he got to his feet awkwardly, staggering, and then toppled headlong into the water. His friends roared out their tipsy laughter, slapping each other exaggeratedly on the shoulder as they came nearer to watch his helpless splashing about.
‘He can’t swim!’ Jane cried out, alarmed. ‘Look at him! Tim, he’s going to drown if we don’t help him!’
The idea of struggling in the water with that gorilla in the name of life-saving held no appeal for Tim. He turned on the men who had been with him.
‘Well, aren’t you going to fish him out?’ he shouted.
They fell silent; none of them moved.
Tim ran for the lifebelt, lifting it from its stand and tossing it in. The man in the water made no attempt to take hold of it, although it was well within his reach. Suddenly, Tim understood why. He grasped Jane’s arm and pointed.
‘Jellyfish!’
Two of them were just visible beneath the discarded plastic wrappers, traces of petrol, cigarette packets, and the rest of the harbour filth which coated the murky water. One had fixed itself to the drowning thug’s hand; another lay across his thick neck.
‘We can’t let him die!’ Jane declared, beginning to unzip her anorak. ‘Not without at least trying to help him.’
He stopped her.
‘No – you stay here!’ He pushed the lifebelt rope into her hands. ‘And for Chrissake, pull us out quickly – over towards the steps there. And you –’ He turned to the other men. ‘Give her a hand with the rope, one of you. And somebody get over to that phone box and call the police. And an ambulance! Well, get a move on, then!’
He tugged off his boots and plunged into the water. By now the thug was lying with his head back, his face just above the surface. In a couple of strokes Tim had reached him, in time to observe the speckled pink jellyfish oozing from its victim’s neck around to his mouth and
nose. His eyes, left free, were panic-stricken. Beseeching.
There was nothing Tim could do about that jellyfish, he knew; not while they were still in the water. He just had to get the man out before he suffocated. Tim grabbed the collar of his jacket with one hand and hooked his free arm over the lifebelt. Then he kicked out for the stone steps which led down from the harbour wall.
The rope became taut and he felt the lifebelt moving slowly over the water. Vaguely, he was aware of Jane shouting something to him, but he could not draw his eyes away from the sight of the jellyfish feeding on its victim’s face. The deep ruby star-shaped pattern in the centre seemed to be throbbing like an erratic pulse.
A sting lashed his left hand painfully. The shock was so unexpected that he almost let go of the man’s jacket, but stopped himself just in time. A second later the agony was repeated, sending what felt like thin, jagged, high-voltage shots coursing up his arm. It took all his concentration to maintain his grip on the man.
‘Faster!’ he heard himself shouting, spitting out the foul water, which tasted of petrol. ‘For God’s sake!’
At last – it seemed to take ages – he felt his shoulder bumping against the hard steps. Hands seized him, dragging him up to safety. They took charge of the heavyweight, too, laying him out on the stone with that pink jellyfish still spread over the lower part of his face.
‘Get it off him, somebody!’ he heard Jane insisting. ‘Or get out of the way and let me do it!’
But by now a policeman had arrived on a motorcycle, a young man, probably not much older than twenty, and with a pimply face. ‘Just stand aside, miss,’ he said briefly. He bent over Arthur, took hold of the jellyfish in his gauntleted hands and peeled it off. ‘Stand clear, will you!’ He took it to the edge of the harbour wall and dropped it back in the water.
Arthur’s cheeks were a mess of red, raw flesh, as though someone had drawn a steel comb across them, cutting in deeply. Miraculously he was still alive, though groaning desperately through lacerated lips as the policeman tugged the second jellyfish away from his fist, which had very little trace of skin left on it.
‘Right, give him air! Stand back now!’
He was doing everything by the book, that young policeman, though his face was by now as pale as his own white helmet. But that’s the way it had to be, Tim approved as he stood there watching with the water dripping from him. His left arm was now completely numb, but he didn’t give it another thought; he was only too glad he’d managed to get them both out alive.
Jane turned away from the injured man to come over to him; then she screamed.
‘Tim – your hand! No, don’t touch it!’
He looked down, shocked. Cosily wrapped around his hand, like a pink luminescent mitten, was another jellyfish.
‘Just leave it, sir! I’ll get it.’
But before the policeman could touch it, Tim had already grasped the jellyfish with his right hand, digging his nails in as he tried to tug it away. The tentacles held on fast, but then they suddenly released their grip; he just missed being stung again as they waved dangerously near him.
‘Bloody hell!’
He dropped it on to the stones, standing back quickly in case it attacked his feet through the wet socks. It was a wise move. With a snort of revulsion, Jane began to stamp on it; immediately, the tentacles tried to close around her boots. She recoiled, her eyes wide with horror.
‘Oh, Tim…’ she whispered, pressing against him as she stared at the jellyfish which had seemed so still and lifeless when nothing was within its reach. ‘Oh, Tim, what can it be?’
His hand was a mass of blood which dripped on to his wet clothes, but it was still numb. The poison was so effective that he could not even raise his arm to take a real look at it.
The policeman found a boathook and hastily pushed the jellyfish back into the water. ‘Better out of the way, those things. Never did like them. Good God, look at that!’
A green slime covered the black leather fingers of his gauntlet gloves, and it was gleaming like rock-star glitter make-up. As they all stared at it, the sound of the ambulance siren was heard, coming closer.
5
Much against Tim’s will they insisted on him staying in hospital overnight in order to keep an eye on him. The treatment of his hand had been painful. The numbness in his left arm from the jellyfish’s natural anaesthetic gradually ebbed away while the nurse was still picking out those sharp needle-like hairs which the tentacles had deposited in his exposed flesh. Every touch of the tweezers hurt like hell and his whole arm throbbed violently.
‘Just have to wait an’ see now, won’t we?’ The ageing Welsh doctor shook his head doubtfully, his eyes intense beneath his white bushy eyebrows. ‘Jellyfish, you say?’
To round off the treatment, they made him drop his hospital pyjamas while they rammed an injection into his backside. It left a sore spot which troubled him whichever way he tried to lie in that narrow, clinical bed.
The room was pleasant, though. It had off-white walls, a carpet on the floor, flowered curtains and a view across the bay. By late afternoon the clouds had dispersed sufficiently to allow a weak sun to penetrate; it coated the brooding sea with silver. Gazing at it, Tim wondered how many more pink jellyfish were swimming around out there. He remembered how helpless the thug had been, simply floating, paralysed, unable to defend himself against that thing over his face. It did not take long to drown once they set to work.
Tim must have dozed off. The next thing he knew, a dark bright-eyed nurse bustled into the room with his evening meal on a tray. She announced he had a visitor, a young lady, who would be along once she’d had a word with the doctor. And would he like the curtains closed now it was almost dark outside?
‘Please,’ he said, pushing himself up in bed.
He felt lazy, and glad he didn’t have to get up. His arm still throbbed and that ache in his buttock issued a sharp reminder whenever he put too much weight on it.
‘Jellyfish, was it?’ she went on as she tugged the curtain across. ‘That other poor man – he’s in a terrible condition. People will be afraid to go swimming.’ She tutted, shaking her head. ‘Seen you on TV, you know. Always watch Gulliver when I’m not on duty, an’ sometimes when I am! That wife o’ yours, she’s awful, isn’t she? It’s a wonder you put up with it!’
‘Oh…!’ He laughed, suddenly understanding what she meant: not Sue, as he’d thought at first. ‘In the show, you mean? Gloria?’
‘That’s the one. Vicious, she is. All I can say is, she’d better not come in this hospital, or there’ll be a few of us ready to give her a piece of our mind.’
‘She’s quite nice really. The actress, that is.’
‘Is she now?’ The nurse sounded unconvinced. ‘Now you eat up, an’ I’ll bring your visitor along the moment she’s free.’
That would be Jane, he assumed, pleased. She had come with them in the ambulance; then, once they reached the hospital, he’d said she needn’t hang around if she had other things to do. He could sense she was itching to get to a phone. An ambitious girl – and ruthless too in her own way, he suspected. Before going, she’d said something about his car being still down by the harbour and he’d given her the keys, telling her she was free to use it if she wished. Which she obviously did.
He had already finished his omelette and was toying with the strawberry blancmange when the nurse returned with his visitor: not Jane after all, but Jacqui. She stood in the doorway and smiled at him awkwardly.
‘Well, that just about wraps it up, doesn’t it?’ she commented, nodding at his bandaged hand.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said wryly.
‘Are you all right, Tim?’
‘I shall be. Out tomorrow.’
‘Perhaps.’
The nurse closed the door quietly, leaving them alone together. Jacqui brought the chair over to sit by the bed. She had dressed up for the visit, he noted, in a brown trouser suit which she wore with a striped shirt and a greenish tie.
High heels too, to give her that extra couple of inches; though she still looked small and emaciated, in need of a good meal. Her face was thin and peaked, while her alert, brown eyes contrasted strangely with her wispy blonde hair.
‘I spoke to the doctor, but he wasn’t too certain when you’d be out,’ she added. Her tone was matter-of-fact, but not unfriendly. ‘In any case, even if you could carry on, we need to replace Arthur, and that means re-shooting the lot. I’ve been on the phone to the office. They’re fixing it up for us to come back for the retakes. Well, you anyway.’
‘Not you?’
‘That’s not yet certain.’
She gave that information brusquely, as if to indicate that further questions would not be welcome. He gazed at her, wondering what the problem was. Maybe they hadn’t liked the rushes; maybe they welcomed the chance to re-shoot.
‘How is Arthur?’ he asked.
‘As well as can be expected, according to the doctor. You know he had a stroke?’
‘Yes, they told me. Probably while he was still in the water. It’s not surprising really when you think what happened. I suppose I got off lightly.’ He glanced at the bandages. ‘What about his face?’
‘They didn’t say.’ She hesitated. ‘Tim, would you – I mean, can you talk about it? All I know, it was a jellyfish. Not the details.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Can’t you tell me more?’
That brusque tone again got on his nerves.
‘Why – to satisfy your curiosity?’
She flushed a deep red. ‘If you want to know,’ she replied tartly, ‘I have to write a report for the office.’
‘That explains it.’
‘I can’t ask Arthur, he’s not conscious yet. The doctor says he might never be able to talk again. After the stroke, he meant.’ She leaned forward to touch his uninjured hand. ‘Tim, I’m not being hard, you know. I really do have to produce that report. I wish I didn’t.’
‘You and I, we haven’t got on since we first met.’ Tackle the problem head-on, he thought, it was the only way; have it out now while he was lying helpless in bed. ‘I don’t understand why.’