Slime

by John Halkin

  ‘The whisky’s on the dressing table. Help yourself.’

  ‘I need it.’ As she passed the open bathroom door she glanced in, mischievously. ‘Like me to wash your back?’

  ‘Please!’ he said.

  ‘Huh, you should be so lucky!’

  ‘Thought it might help with what you’re writing,’ he teased her lazily, but she remained out of sight in the bedroom. ‘Actor reveals all.’

  ‘Exhibitionist!’

  ‘I’ve never spent this amount of time with a journalist before,’ he went on. ‘And all for one article – it is only one, is it?’

  ‘It’s called in-depth research. There’s not much whisky left.’

  ‘Hey – don’t take it all!’

  Gripping the curved top of the bath with his right hand, he managed with difficulty to stand up without putting any weight on the other, which by now was throbbing again uncomfortably. He almost slipped getting out of the bath and landed rather heavily on the bath-mat.

  ‘Tim, are you all right?’ Jane called anxiously. ‘If you need any help, for goodness sake say so.’

  ‘I’m OK now… I think.’

  He struggled into the white bathrobe the hotel had provided but had trouble with the belt and had to ask Jane to tie it for him. When she had done so, she made him sit down on the stool while she rubbed his hair with a towel.

  Her own hair she had combed back into a pony tail, with a rubber band to hold it together. It still looked damp. She had changed into a skirt, he noticed – the first time he’d seen her in one since the party – but her legs were bare and she was wearing sandals. Beneath her dark green sweater her breasts moved freely.

  ‘That should do you!’ she declared, dropping the towel into his lap. ‘Where’s your comb?’

  ‘I can do it,’ he protested.

  ‘With that hand? I can’t imagine why they let you out of hospital.’

  ‘Aren’t you glad they did?’

  ‘No.’ She tugged the comb through his hair. ‘Sit still, will you? When this is dry, I’m going to drive you back there.’

  ‘And then what? You can’t go hunting jellyfish on your own.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘And certainly not dressed like that,’ he continued, refusing to argue the point. As she moved away, he became only too conscious of the vulnerability of her bare legs. He could almost visualise the jellyfish tentacles straying over them. ‘You’ll need to wear jeans and boots. Gloves, as well. And we’ll go together tomorrow morning.’

  ‘A-huntin’ we will go!’ she commented lightly, returning to the bedroom. ‘That’s if they let you out!’

  ‘They will.’ He followed her through to recharge his glass. ‘The doctor advised me to stay in hospital tonight, but he didn’t insist. It was my choice.’

  ‘Private medicine!’ she said in disgust.

  ‘That’s right.’ He felt the bathrobe loosen at his waist and looked down to find the knot had come apart. ‘You didn’t tie this very well.’

  ‘Oh, come here!’ she exclaimed, laughing. ‘Like a baby, aren’t you? Unless you did it deliberately.’

  Jane re-tied the knot. As she straightened up, he slipped his arm around her, drawing her to him. For a moment she contemplated him gravely with those cat-like eyes; then she met his kiss, accepting it, yielding to it. Her lips parted, her tongue darting at him… then withdrawing… then actively seeking him again. She pressed her body against his, her hand moving down his spine.

  At last she turned her lips away, but stayed close to him, her cheek against his. He needed a shave, she thought; his stubble was rough, like sandpaper. He kissed her eyes, each one in turn; still holding her, he took a step towards the bed, but she twisted away from him unexpectedly, laughing.

  ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘That wasn’t what I meant.’

  She grabbed her glass and went to the other side of the wide bed and stood there smiling tantalisingly, not taking her eyes off him as she drank.

  ‘You’re a tease,’ he told her, picking up his own glass.

  She shook her head. ‘I’m not. I kissed you because… oh, because I wanted to, because of what that jellyfish did to you, because it was my fault really… but I’m not going to bed with you.’

  ‘Thank you very much.’ He poured himself more whisky, emptying the bottle. He felt partly irritated, partly aroused, not really sure what to make of her. ‘You puzzle me, Jane. I thought it was what you wanted – honestly, love! I mean, when you agreed to come down here with me.’

  ‘You have a wife.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘I’m not one of your easy lays, you know.’

  ‘I’m not either.’

  ‘Oh, come on!’ She laughed.

  ‘Usually I try to avoid this situation,’ he said. ‘Only with you – well, I thought it would be different. We get on well; in fact I imagined we were becoming fond of each other. Stupidly, perhaps. Anyway, I hoped that you and I, we might have…’

  ‘A bit on the side?’ she mocked, her voice hardening.

  ‘You’re terribly bitter about something, aren’t you? You must have been hurt very deeply.’

  It was not the first time he’d noticed it. Every so often she would come out with some phrase which seemed to betray a terrible unhappiness and made him wonder what miseries she had gone through.

  She changed the subject abruptly. ‘Come on, I’ll drive you back to the hospital. I still have a lot of work to do. I want to interview the local fishermen to see what they have to say, and then I’m going to write it all up, the whole caboodle, everything we know about the jellyfish. Just for the record.’

  ‘I’ll get dressed.’

  ‘Can you manage?’ Cool and practical.

  Assuring her that he could, he fetched fresh clothes from the wardrobe, then sat on the edge of the bed trying to pull them on with his one good hand. For a few seconds she stood watching him, saying nothing as he wrestled with his underpants about his knees while attempting to keep the bathrobe from slipping. It made him feel like some character in a farce. At last, her lips twitching with suppressed laughter, she came over to help him. No false modesty, either.

  In the car – his BMW, which she drove skilfully – she dodged his clumsy attempts to probe into what was bothering her; instead, she stuck to the ‘safe’ subject of the jellyfish.

  Warnings would have to go up along this entire stretch of coast, she declared. It meant contacting local councils and they would demand proof; for that she needed to obtain the specimens her sister had requested. They should hunt along the beach first, immediately after the tide had gone out; lifting them off the sands would be easier than trying to scoop them out of the water. If they found none there, the harbour offered the only alternative. Even then, they should hire a dinghy, she suggested, in order to do their fishing well away from the walls.

  Reluctantly he agreed. Of course she was right, he knew, although after what he’d experienced so far he didn’t relish the idea of meeting a jellyfish face to face in a small boat.

  ‘Till tomorrow, then!’ she said, stopping the car in the hospital drive.

  She leaned across to kiss him lightly on the cheek before he got out. The rain had passed, leaving the late afternoon sky a bright, washed-out blue. He had turned to stroll across the damp gravel towards the steps when she called him back.

  ‘Tim!’ She was winding the window down, leaning out. ‘Tim, don’t rush me. Please? Give me time.’

  Before he could answer, she’d let in the clutch and the car shot away. He stood gazing after it until it had turned out through the gates, and then he went towards the hospital.

  In the entrance hall he was met by a nurse who told him his wife had telephoned twice that afternoon and could he ring her back at the theatre?

  Tim nodded. ‘I suppose I’d better do that right away, or I’ll be in the doghouse.’

  Dutifully, the nurse laughed. He’d noticed her before – a cheerful redhead with big brown eyes and freckles, w
ho bounced along the corridors rather than walked.

  ‘I realise this is an awful cheek,’ she went on, going with him to the telephones, ‘but could you do me a favour? My sister is just crazy about Gulliver, an’ there’s been no holding her since she heard you were here. She wants to know, could she come for your autograph? I mean, she’s only eleven. It’d mean such a lot to her.’

  ‘For you, sweetheart – anything!’

  He dialled the number of the theatre, sorting out his coins as he waited for someone to answer. When eventually the phone was picked up at the other end, it was a man’s voice he didn’t recognise. ‘Who? Oh yes – Sue! Darling, tell Sue there’s a call for her, will you? I really must get on!’ Another long wait; to be on the safe side he put in an extra ten pence. Then Sue was there, full of surprise and relief that he’d been allowed out of hospital for a couple of hours.

  ‘Tim, listen – I can get three days off! We were going to start rehearsals for the Shakespeare, but now we’re not called till Wednesday. So I thought, let’s not go home to London this time. I mean, you don’t need to be back, do you? Not with that hand.’

  ‘They haven’t said. I suppose it’s all right.’

  ‘I’ve borrowed somebody’s flat. A holiday flat near Torquay. It’d just be the two of us. Tim, it’s been six weeks. We’ve got to talk.’

  ‘You’re right,’ he agreed. ‘It is time.’

  That night he had another bout of fever. When at last he fell asleep, he dreamed he was sitting in that large, old-fashioned bath again, surrounded by jellyfish. Slowly a tentacle came wavering towards him. It was followed by a second… then a third… creeping over his limbs… One lay across his upper lip; one penetrated a nostril: he could even see it as it explored his nasal cavity. It was quite visible, and getting larger, growing to enormous size until it broke out through his face. He could hardly hold back his shrieks of terror.

  He woke up drenched in sweat, sitting bolt upright. His terror lingered; before daring to touch the floor with his bare feet he switched on the light to examine the room. Nothing there, of course.

  Telling himself not to be such a fool, he went over to the washbasin for a towel and was trying awkwardly to dry himself one-handed when the night nurse came in to see what was wrong. Briskly she rubbed him down, helped him into clean pyjamas and made sure he was safely back in bed again before she left.

  In the morning, the Welsh doctor stubbornly refused even to think of letting Tim out of hospital again.

  ‘Indulged you yesterday, didn’t I, an’ we know what happened!’ He placed a cold stethoscope against Tim’s chest, then shook his head in disbelief. ‘Sounds healthy enough, but we’ll take a look under those bandages to see how the hand’s getting on, shall we? You’re too precious, so I’m told. Not that I’ve ever been one for television myself. With all these pretty nurses swooning over you, I don’t know why you want to leave.’

  ‘I need the fresh air,’ Tim tried.

  ‘Then you can open the window. Plenty o’ sea breezes here, you know. Best hotel in town, this hospital – an’ you’ve been given the best room, for reasons which are quite beyond my understanding. Your poor friend now, he’s in a bad way. It’s touch an’ go if he’ll ever talk again.’

  ‘Stroke?’

  ‘That’s right. You can thank your lucky stars you’re in good health, all things considered. Your hand’s doing nicely. Good red flesh. It’ll heal in no time if you’re sensible. Try to rush things, though, an’…’ He shrugged.

  ‘OK, one more day,’ Tim conceded, abandoning the struggle. ‘But best hotel or not, I’m checking out tomorrow first thing.’

  A chuckle. ‘Let’s wait an’ see, shall we? Tomorrow is another day, or so I’m told.’

  ‘My wife is expecting me.’

  ‘No arguing then, is there?’ At the door, he paused. ‘You must tell me more about these jellyfish when we’ve a moment. I’ve been hearing rumours.’

  At about the time that conversation was taking place, David Jones was wading into the sea at Bedruthan Steps in Cornwall for his daily swim.

  It was not a warm day. The breeze was sharp and dark rain clouds were scurrying across the sky. Yet, hail or shine, he’d never miss his regular dip, not even in the depths of winter.

  Save for the war years when he’d been in the army, most of his working life had been spent in London, going into the bank every morning, rising slowly but steadily through the grades until he finished up as manager of a large suburban branch. They had lived frugally, he and his wife Colleen, saving up for the cottage in Cornwall to which they eventually retired.

  Five years ago, that was. Colleen had died last year shortly before Christmas, leaving him on his own. A quick illness, no longer than three or four days, and then she’d gone. Now he went in for his swim alone, but always thinking of her.

  The waves lapped at his knees. He paused for a second, gazing out at that familiar bay, and then plunged forward, taking to the sea with an easy familiarity. The cold shock of the water was bracing, firming up his lean, muscular body. It had been Colleen who had taught him to swim in the first year of their marriage. Sea nymph, he’d called her: she’d grown up in a little fishing village in southern Ireland and had swum before she could walk.

  He must have been in the water for five minutes or more when he felt a strange tickling sensation against his stomach.

  Seaweed, he thought. He changed direction, striking out towards the headland on the right.

  But the seaweed, if that’s what it was, went with him. It sent prickles across his skin, like pins and needles. Riding the waves, he turned over on his back to take a look.

  ‘Oh dear…’ The gleaming jellyfish spread across his stomach. It was pink and red, a spotted pattern, with a deep red splodge in the centre. In all his years, this had never happened before. He didn’t exactly know what to do, and with Colleen not being there to advise him…

  Slowly he allowed his body to sink, hoping the sea would wash the thing away; or that it would take off of its own accord. He didn’t intend to harm it, after all. Creatures could sense hostility, couldn’t they? Hadn’t he read that somewhere? In some magazine?

  An agonising pain coursed through him, shooting through his intestines and genitals. He found himself swallowing mouthfuls of salt sea-water as he gasped for breath. He sank, then broke surface again, gulping in the air before he once more went under. A fresh pain explored him, more leisurely this time, meandering through him as though deliberately seeking out his organs one by one to inflict torture on them.

  He was screaming, yet he couldn’t hear himself. All around him was the muffled silence of water and the dim, shifting light. Instinctively he must have kicked out again, for there was the chill air and the ripples against his face.

  That agony had been no more than a sudden cramp, perhaps. Lazily he tried to work it out, his mind barely functioning. Yes, that’s what it must have been, but it had gone now. His whole body felt oddly raw, yet at the same time so relaxed.

  He was no longer swimming even; just floating. So gently. They didn’t believe he was seventy already, the people who saw him every day. They all said that, and Colleen had been so proud when she heard it.

  Wait till he told her about the jellyfish!

  It must have gone, of course. He tried to touch his stomach to make sure, but his arm was so reluctant to move. He’d better get back now: Colleen would be waiting.

  Shoulder?

  Had it moved to his shoulder, that jellyfish? Or a second one? No…

  Oh no…

  It slithered over his skin, shifting to his throat… like a muffler… A sharp, burning pain penetrated his neck, probing without mercy.

  Washing over his face, the sea choked his shrill screams. He was drowning, he knew it as surely as he’d have known a page from his own accounts. He’d tried to tell Colleen he’d follow her. Yes, he’d tried to tell her. Not sure whether she’d heard, though her hand had tightened over his.

&n
bsp; Colleen –

  8

  Food… food… food…

  From the first few jellyfish already prowling these rich coastal waters the message goes out. No apparatus yet devised by mankind can detect such transmissions through the ocean depths; yet, many miles away, the main jellyfish hordes are alerted.

  Instinctively, the bell-shaped bodies start to pulsate as they home in on the signals. Hundreds move as one, riding the currents, skilfully using that bellows motion to stay on course. From the surface they are scarcely visible, although an observer flying directly overhead might notice a few variations in the sea’s constantly changing pattern of light and shade.

  From the south and west they approach, heading for the Celtic Sea… the English Channel… the North Sea… their tentacles alive with expectation.

  Food… food… food…

  9

  The weekend with Sue turned out to be possible after all. The Welsh doctor raised no objections, though he did issue a firm warning that Tim should take things easy for the next few days. But that, thought Tim, suited his mood well enough. He still wore his sling and his left hand set up waves of pain at the slightest pressure on it.

  Jane appointed herself chauffeuse and drove him as far as Bristol where she put him on a train for the South Devon coast before taking herself off – in his BMW, naturally – to spend the weekend with her marine biologist sister.

  ‘We still need to find that specimen,’ she reminded him as they parted, brushing a quick kiss against his lips. ‘Keep your eyes open in Devon.’

  He nodded, then climbed awkwardly into the train. A walking casualty, they’d once called him in a war film in which he’d earned a couple of days’ pay as an extra. Only five years ago, that’d been, and now here he was, travelling first class.

  Much to his relief, Sue was at the station to meet him. He spotted her even before the train had stopped: a tall slim figure, as elegant as ever. She waved and ran towards him, eager to help as he clambered down the steps.

  ‘Tim! Oh, love, you poor thing!’ Her arms were around him, her mouth against his, briefly. ‘Oh, but it’s so good to see you again.’