Slime

by John Halkin

  ‘This time it really has been too long,’ he confessed. ‘We mustn’t let that happen again. I’ve missed you.’

  She insisted on carrying his grip as they went out to the station yard where she’d parked. She was wearing her old yellow ski jacket with dark, narrow trousers which disappeared into the tops of her boots. As they left the booking hall, the wind riffled through her long blonde hair. He was reminded of how she’d looked when they first met. A windy day in a bus queue, it had been. Now here they were, growing inexorably apart, and he seemed powerless to prevent it.

  Working in different parts of the country, meeting only infrequently – well, that was something every actor had to put up with. What he’d not realised was how much they would change within themselves. Of course they’d started with the best intentions, making that mad cross-country dash on Saturday nights or Sundays, just to be together for a few hours.

  But then came extra rehearsals, location shooting, photo calls: always something. From once a week it became every fortnight, then every month. And now…

  ‘The flat’s not far,’ she was saying as she unlocked her battered Mini estate and threw his grip on the back seat. ‘It’s in one of those big Edwardian houses facing the sea – all bay windows and white stucco. Oh, Tim, it’s going to be lovely! You don’t know how much I’ve been looking forward to this!’

  She reversed rapidly out of the parking bay, stabbing at the brake before she changed gear, then swung out on to the road. Tim put his free hand against the dash to steady himself.

  ‘Alison’s dropped out of Much Ado,’ she announced. Alison was the actress in the company who usually landed the plum parts. ‘Says she’s been offered the lead in a new thriller series for Scottish TV. So she’s going commercial. Always thought she would.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Revised cast list went up this morning.’ Sue jammed her foot down on the accelerator to get across the junction before the lights turned red. ‘They’ve given me Beatrice.’

  ‘Seeing sense at last, are they? You’re by far the best actress they’ve got. Up till now they’ve been wasting you.’

  ‘Oh, not really, Tim. I mean – ’

  ‘I’ll come to see this one.’

  ‘Make sure you do!’ she retorted. She applied the brake more gently this time as she slowed to turn into the road fronting the short promenade. There was a long terrace of tall white houses, and she pulled up before the third in the row. ‘Much Ado was going to be our play, remember? Me as Beatrice, with you as Benedick.’

  ‘That’s still the plan,’ he said. ‘One day.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  It was obvious she no longer believed him, and he felt hurt she hadn’t even attempted to disguise the fact.

  He got out of the Mini awkwardly, knocking his injured hand against the door jamb, cursing under his breath as it began to throb again. Sue knelt on the driving-seat and stretched over the back to retrieve his grip. Watching her, Tim became suddenly nervous about this weekend; he was desperate for it not to turn sour. Six weeks apart had been too much.

  On the far side of the road was a wide paved area which ended with a two-barred, solid railing, beyond which was the sea. The tide was almost fully in. Waves reared up dramatically, white-maned, before tumbling into themselves and draining slowly back, leaving a spread of seaweed and debris over the narrow strip of sand which was still left uncovered. The late afternoon sunlight glinted on the water. Nothing could have seemed friendlier: no hint of any threat; no menace. No sign of a jellyfish, either in the sea or stranded on the shore.

  Perhaps, Tim thought, they infested only the Welsh coast; perhaps the south was free of them.

  Sue slammed the car door shut and locked it. ‘Right!’ she exclaimed, smiling at him, her eyes lively. ‘Let’s go in.’

  They had hardly set foot on the steep flight of steps leading up to the front door when a short stout woman came bustling along the pavement towards them, handbag on her arm, shaped felt hat in dark green holding her greying hair firmly in place.

  ‘Chilly wind, isn’t it?’ she said to Sue, pausing. She looked pointedly at Tim. ‘Back for another weekend, then? Hardly seems no time since you was here last.’

  ‘It’s a fortnight,’ said Sue. ‘How’s the rheumatism?’

  ‘Mustn’t grumble. Well, it’s nice seein’ you again. Better weather over the next couple o’ days, so they say, an’ we could do with it. Be popping into the shop, will you?’

  ‘First thing in the morning, Mrs Wakeham,’ Sue promised. ‘We’ll have a chat then.’

  Mrs Wakeham nodded, satisfied. Then, with one more glance at Tim, she wished them a happy stay, and walked on.

  ‘She couldn’t take her eyes off you!’ Sue suppressed a giggle. Lowering her voice, she added: ‘She really does keep the most awful shop. Baked beans, custard powder and a few mangy potatoes – nothing else in it! Oh, and little packets of fancy cakes she’s had on her shelves for years, I’m sure. Even the colours have faded. She tried to sell me some.’

  ‘You’ve been here before, then?’ Tim was surprised. More than surprised – irritated that she hadn’t told him. ‘You never mentioned.’

  Before answering, she waited until they were inside the house with the door closed; then she kissed him on the lips, a sensuous kiss, taking her time over it.

  ‘There are lots of things I didn’t mention,’ she admitted quietly, her eyes lingering on his face. ‘We’ve so much to talk about, Tim love. So much to catch up on. But not down here in the hall. The flat’s upstairs.’

  There was something different about her, Tim thought as he followed her up the uncarpeted stairs. She seemed to have worked out some plan for the weekend, and was determined to see it through. They would be staying in for their meal that evening, she explained, calling back over her shoulder; she’d bought some wine and intended to cook. ‘Just for the two of us,’ she insisted.

  ‘Of course,’ he agreed; usually she was only too keen to eat out.

  The flat’s airy front room was furnished with cheap, shabby furniture, but he noticed she’d bought spring flowers for the vase in the centre of the table, and more on the sideboard. The gas fire was on, glowing white; trickles of condensation ran down the large window panes which gave a hazy view of the sea. An unopened bottle of scotch stood on a tray on the side table, together with soda water and a couple of glasses.

  She began to help him out of his coat but he caught her arm, stopping her.

  ‘I’ve missed you, Sue.’ He held her close.

  ‘D’you think I haven’t missed you too?’ Her hand wandered over his face. She kissed his cheek, then grimaced. ‘Stubbly! We’ll get these things off, then have a drink.’

  She dropped his overcoat across one of the armchairs, together with her ski anorak and hat. Then, without asking, she took off his jacket. He watched her every move as she crossed the room to drape it over the back of one of the dining-chairs. Each little gesture evoked memories: the way she smoothed out a fold with her long, slender fingers; the shape of her lips as she turned towards him again; and those mocking, teasing eyes… smiling… inviting…

  Twisting the cap off the whisky bottle, she poured out two generous measures, added soda and brought them across to the sofa where he was sitting, allowing himself to be served. This was her party; let her set the pace.

  ‘To us, Tim!’

  She raised her glass solemnly, her eyes on his.

  ‘Sue, love – to us! I’m sorry it was so long.’

  Putting her glass on the floor beside her, she leaned against him, holding up her face to be kissed. Her lips parted. Their tongues caressed, slowly at first, until hers became more agitated, curling, thrusting, commanding a response from him. She took his hand and guided it beneath her white sweater so that it rested against her stomach.

  ‘You always used to touch me there, remember? In those very first weeks?’

  ‘You thought it odd.’ His little finger explored her navel, circling, t
hen probing gently.

  ‘I still do, but I like it. With you.’

  His hand moved upwards, seeking her breast, sensing the hardening of her nipple as his fingers grazed over it. His own responses stirred as his body recalled the old familiarities, like a traveller returning after a long journey.

  She had unbuttoned his shirt and slipped her fingers inside, spreading them slowly over his ribs, but suddenly she pulled back from him. ‘Wait!’ She peeled off her sweater, tugging it over her head, then sat facing him, naked to the waist, her hair tumbling over her white shoulders. ‘Just in case you’d forgotten what your wife looks like!’ she declared mischievously.

  She was proud of her breasts, and with reason. Once or twice in the past she’d played nude scenes on stage – ‘but only when it was integral to the purpose of the play,’ she would explain seriously, her eyes troubled – but she had no cause to be shy. She was one of the few actresses around who could even risk a wide-screen nude close shot and her figure would still look perfect.

  Tim reached out for her again but she held him at arm’s length, gazing at him challengingly.

  ‘You must think me a shameless hussy. Hardly inside the door, and here I am – half-naked already.’

  ‘I love you, Sue.’

  ‘That means you do think me shameless!’ Her eyes danced as she slipped her arms about him, kissing him. After a time he felt her right hand wandering over him, then tugging at his belt. ‘With you I am.’

  ‘I do love you,’ he repeated.

  She wriggled away from him, stooped to pick up their glasses and handed him his.

  ‘Drink,’ she commanded, and waited until he’d obeyed. ‘D’you remember how we used to get gooseflesh in that cold bed-sit because we didn’t want to put our clothes on again? In those days we drank beer – one can between the two of us!’

  ‘All we could afford,’ he agreed.

  Standing up, facing him, she undressed completely, willing him to look at her.

  ‘Now you. No, don’t move, let me do it.’ She pulled off his shoes, throwing them aside; then his socks. When she saw the fading bruises below his ribs, she said: ‘You did get yourself in a mess, darling. I heard you’d been stung by jellyfish, though you said nothing. They can’t do that much damage, can they?’

  ‘These can,’ he said grimly. ‘Not your ordinary kind, but–’

  She placed a hand over his mouth. ‘No, love. Explanations afterwards, not now. This is our moment, and we mustn’t let anything spoil it. I’ve got the fire on in the bedroom, we can take the bottle through with us – ’

  Drawing her towards him, he smothered her words, kissing her with that deep yearning he always experienced whenever he was with her. And she responded, clinging to him, until she fell back across the sofa, her leg curling over his. They lay awkwardly, uncomfortably, until after a while they had to admit it was not going to work and they separated, laughing.

  ‘Bedroom,’ she said.

  ‘Fuck the bedroom.’ He grabbed the cushions from the sofa and arranged them over the worn carpet. ‘Here.’

  She lowered herself on to them, making room for him, twining herself around him. ‘Oh, Tim,’ she whispered urgently. ‘Oh, Tim, what happened to us? I want you so much. What happened?’

  The following morning Sue woke up first. She leaned on her elbow and looked down at Tim who was sleeping with his mouth slightly open, occasionally snorting. Somehow she had to tell him she was going to leave him. She had to find the right moment when she could speak calmly, and be sure he was listening. He’d be hurt, she knew. Especially after the previous evening when they had made love… how many times? In the living-room on those cushions; then a drink while they sat with their arms around each other before wordlessly moving into the bedroom; and eventually they’d taken a bath together… and she’d put the final touches to the meal she’d prepared… and they’d had the wine which turned out to be all the man in the shop had promised… and they’d got back into bed to… well, to rediscover each other… to start afresh…

  But she did not intend to start afresh, not this time. She had to explain she’d been having an affair with another actor in the company – Tim had met Mark once, though she doubted if he’d remember – and she planned to move in with him: so could they please talk it over sensibly like two rational people?

  A divorce? Yes – what point was there in thinking of anything else?

  Over and over again in her mind she’d rehearsed her arguments. Tried to anticipate his reaction. Yes, of course she still loved him, hadn’t she proved that? Physically, at any rate. In that way Mark would never be able to rival him. Tim aroused longings in her she’d never experienced with Mark, and he could satisfy them too.

  But was that everything? With Mark she could talk, confident he’d be in tune with her thoughts. It was no longer possible with Tim, not since he went into Gulliver. They were strangers these days even when they were together. She’d only to express an opinion about the theatre, or the play she was in, or the Bomb, to realise how many miles apart they now were.

  She gazed down at him as he slept. She’d wanted to make love with him once more; now, some time today, she’d have to face up to it and tell him. Poor Tim. He’d had an awful time with those Welsh jellyfish, though no doubt that girl reporter had been quick enough to comfort him.

  And how much truth there was in those other stories he’d told her late last night she couldn’t be sure. That stuff about the abandoned fishing boat with glowing slime over its deck. And his plan to catch a specimen jellyfish to send to a laboratory. Adding garnish to a plain tale, she suspected; she’d caught him out that way before.

  Moving slowly, not wishing to disturb him, she swung her legs out of bed and padded into the front room where she lit the gas fire, then stood looking out of the window, rubbing her arms and shivering. The sun sparkled on the sea, inviting her to go in. It would be cold, she knew: but then it couldn’t possibly be as icy as on that mad occasion in the snow when she and Mark had rushed into the waves. A crazy dip that had been, but they’d felt all the better for it afterwards.

  Persuading herself it would set her up for facing Tim later, she got into her bikini, grabbed her bathrobe and went downstairs. Outside, the chilly breeze caught her by surprise, but she’d never been one to turn back once she’d made up her mind. She dashed across the road, scrambled through the rail at the far end of the promenade, jumped down on to the sand, and plunged into the water.

  After the first shock of cold she found it exhilarating and began to swim parallel with the shore, rising with the waves and enjoying the vast expanse of the open sea.

  ‘Sue!’

  She had been in the water no longer than two or three minutes when Tim appeared on the beach, shouting and waving to her almost hysterically.

  ‘Sue, for God’s sake come out! Sue!’

  He must have spotted her from the window while he was dressing, she thought. As it was, he was wearing only his trousers and was still bare from the waist up. She waved back at him and continued her swim. Tim had always been impatient when he wanted something from her. Probably with his hand in bandages he could not manage his shirt buttons, or something equally silly, but she was determined not to let him spoil her fun; she’d come out in her own good time, not before.

  He splashed after her into the sea, wading in until it was above his knees, soaking his trouser legs.

  ‘Sue – jellyfish!’ he was shouting. ‘Oh, please! Come out!’

  That note of fear in his voice sounded too genuine to be ignored. She turned in the water and headed for the shore. The moment she reached him his arm was about her and he hurried her out until they were well clear of the waterline. His face looked pale and drawn with anxiety.

  ‘Where’s the jellyfish?’ she demanded suspiciously, gazing about her. ‘I can’t see any.’

  ‘Out there!’ He gestured vaguely. ‘Anywhere! God, darling, don’t you realise what I was telling you last night? When I saw you swim
ming I had visions of them attacking you, covering you all over… It was horrible.’

  ‘Don’t be daft!’ She marched across the sand to pick up her bathrobe. ‘All right, so you have a shock when you were in the harbour. Well, it must have been a shock, I can understand that, seeing that poor man with a jellyfish over his face, and then finding one on your own hand. That doesn’t mean you’ve a right to stop me swimming.’

  She huddled into the bathrobe, tying the sash, her teeth chattering. ‘Let’s get back to –’ she started to say, when unexpectedly he grabbed her around the waist, pulling her violently to one side. ‘Tim, will you leave me alone?’

  ‘Look!’

  Against the groyne some three feet away from where she had left her bathrobe, in a hollow in the sand, lay a pink-and-red speckled jellyfish. Sue gasped as she saw it; then, fascinated, she stepped closer.

  ‘It’s beautiful!’ she exclaimed.

  In the centre, like an eye regarding her, was a deep ruby star pattern. As she watched she thought she saw the whole jellyfish pulsating: or was that just her imagination?

  ‘Not too close!’ Tim warned, still holding her arm to restrain her. ‘Not with bare feet.’

  She noticed his feet were bare, too; obviously he’d rushed out of the house in a panic when he’d spotted her bathing. He’d been right about the danger of jellyfish, she now realised, and her annoyance dissipated.

  ‘Watch out for those tentacles around the edge, like fine hairs. D’you see them, love?’

  ‘They can’t really move while they’re not in the water,’ she objected. ‘Can they?’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ he retorted grimly. ‘I’m changing my mind.’

  She was shivering again from the cold breeze, and pressed back against him in an attempt to warm up. Oddly enough, she found herself reluctant to leave the jellyfish. She hadn’t imagined anything so attractive. It was like an exquisite medallion worked by the finest craftsmen. It was difficult to believe it could be so dangerous.