Scuba Dancing

by Nicola Slade

  Scuba Dancing

  Nicola Slade

  © Nicola Slade 2019

  Nicola Slade has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  First published in 2005 by Transita Ltd.

  This edition published in 2019 by Endeavour Media Ltd.

  For Morley Slade, with love

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS

  FINN FITZGERALDA hopeless romantic, taking charge of her life

  JULIA FITZGERALDHer older sister, taking charge of everyone else’s lives

  JAMIE STUARTBlue-blooded and proud of it

  CHARLIE STUARTHis son, blue-blooded but red-faced about it

  ROSEMARY CLAVERINGDespairing and daunted

  MARGOT DELANEYHer mother, dauntless but demented

  URSULA BUCHANANHas an angel at her shoulder

  HENRIETTA BUCHANANHer sister-in-law, has a devil in her heart

  DELIA MUNCASTERClassy drinker and éminence grise

  MAREK WISZYNSKIPoor, proud and Polish

  JONATHAN BARLOWHenpecked and horticultural

  SUE MERRILLAn unhappy young fogey

  BOBBIE BOYLEA Brown Owl with the blues

  HEDGEHOGA hippy with a heart of gold

  BERNARDHis brother-in-law, a farmer, peeking out of the closet

  HUGH TAYLORA man who mulches

  Assorted villagers and townsfolk, all being solicited for charitable donations

  Chapter 1

  It was late spring when the angel first manifested himself to Ursula Buchanan in the village shop, beside the notice board and just along the aisle from the bacon slicing machine.

  The only reason Ursula paused in that particular spot was so that she could hitch up her shopping bag into a more comfortable position; looking at the poster was incidental.

  A club? The advert was vague and all-embracing, suggesting as it did a mix of socialising – all ages welcome – mutual sharing of skills: art lessons in exchange, say, for advice on car maintenance; a little cooking to be paid for by a spot of gardening; any other ideas welcome, so how about it?

  I used to be rather good at drawing, Ursula thought, tilting her chin proudly at the memory of those school reports with the annual comment: ‘In spite of her difficulties Ursula tries hard. She is a quiet, unassuming girl whose art work shows promise.’

  I wouldn’t mind some lessons but I don’t think I could teach car maintenance, she mused. Wouldn’t you need to be able to drive? She read on. Oh, I see, it’s the two of them suggesting it. Julia Fitzgerald at Forge Cottage. Isn’t she the lovely, big Irish lady with a younger sister who works abroad? And the other one, Rosemary Clavering? Of course, the teacher, pleasant woman, dotty mother?

  A hesitant smile transformed, for a moment, Ursula’s pudgy, currant-bun face with its dusting of fluff, into a living, breathing individuality. Dotty? Who am I calling dotty, she grimaced. I who have difficulty carrying out Henrietta’s simplest command, who has barely any idea what time of day it is? Or even what day it is, sometimes.

  It was at that moment that the angel chose to make his first appearance to Ursula. In a radiant shimmer of light he materialised beside her, just downwind of a stack of home-cured Wiltshire streaky bacon.

  ‘Go on,’ he urged, pointing a glowing golden finger at the notice. ‘Join the group, Ursula, it’ll change your life.’

  And then he was gone leaving the aisle empty and Ursula staring and startled. But not afraid, she realised. Why shouldn’t she see an angel after all? For he had to be an angel, no question. She had read somewhere or seen on television maybe, that angels were big business in America; that along with little grey men with oval heads and big eyes boring into you and impregnating you, angels were prone to drop in now and then on the most unlikely people. And not just in present day America either – what about Joan of Arc and her voices?

  I wonder where he went? She peeked shyly round the stack of tinned apricots, stood on tiptoe to look over the bread stand and ducked back down towards the post office counter. No, nothing; no sighting of anyone seven feet tall and glowing with a heavenly radiance, no voice like a golden trumpet, no touch of a gentle feather on the cheek. I hope he’ll come back, she thought wistfully, nodding goodbye to the woman at the check-out, oblivious of eyebrows raised in commiseration with poor, daft, old Miss Buchanan.

  I don’t really think I’d like to be impregnated, pondered Ursula as she headed home to where Henrietta would be waiting impatiently for the chocolate digestives to go with her coffee. Or is that only aliens? Still, you don’t have to be a saintly teenage virgin to have a heavenly visitation these days; you might just as easily be a 74-year-old one.

  ****

  ‘Julia, come and look! Are you there? There’s a naked woman in the garden.

  Finn looked at her watch. Seven o’clock in the morning? Her sister was usually awake and reading, though not an early riser as such. She tapped quietly on Julia’s door. ‘Are you all right?’

  Odd, Julia’s bed had been slept in but there was no sign of her, upstairs or downstairs, when Finn slipped on some clothes. Surely she hadn’t gone out already? It would be very unlike her if she had.

  Finn had drawn back the curtains, yawning. What am I doing awake at this hour, she groaned, looking blearily out at the back garden, mysterious and shadowed but for a shaft of light where the early sun broke through. At least she had slept for an hour or two last night, though her eyes were still tired from where she had lain awake in the small hours going over and over her performance at the office. How did I have the nerve, she marvelled. Luc was right, I acted like a complete, hard-boiled bitch, no wonder he was amazed. I was amazed myself! But it worked, didn’t it? The thought insinuated itself into her mind, coming from nowhere as she recalled yesterday morning’s nasty little scene.

  ‘You’re asking me to make you redundant?’

  Her boss had given Finn a puzzled stare. ‘But why?’

  ‘My mobile, her text message,’ Finn had replied through gritted teeth. ‘Ring any bells? It obviously slipped your mind that I share a flat and an office with her!’

  ‘Ah …’ Luc had pursed his lips and avoided her accusing stare, fiddling with some paperclips for a moment or so. ‘Yes, hmm. Well, I’m sorry about that, Finn, but that still doesn’t explain this redundancy thing. And what’s this?’ His eyes had flicked down the page and he had looked up at her in astonishment. ‘You want a year’s salary as a package? But that’s preposterous, you’ve only been with this department for just over two years!’

  He had been quite right, Finn agreed now as she stared unseeing out of the window overlooking her sister’s garden. It was preposterous. But, as she’d pointed out to him, somehow managing to retain her cool and not collapse into the sodden misery that had kept her awake all the previous night, he had been in his post for nearly twenty years and what with the strict ‘no-fraternising’ rules, his anticipated promotion might be in jeopardy.

  ‘But that’s blackmail!’ His eyes had been round with shock. As head taken in her set, white face he shifted his stance. ‘Oh, come on, Finn. We had a good time, didn’t we? I’m sorry it had to end like this, but hey! That’s how it goes.’

  ‘I know it’s blackmail,’ she had hissed angrily, forgetting her resolution. ‘Do you think I like doing this? I’m g
oing to have to leave my job and the flat, and I’ll have to pay her my share of the rent till next month, no way am I going to be in her debt; I’ll go back to England and crash at my sister’s – if she’ll have me – till I get a job and somewhere to live and I won’t get the same kind of money outside Brussels.’ Her voice had cracked slightly. ‘How could you? I never made any fuss about your wife. I knew being your bit on the side wouldn’t lead to anything, but I never expected you to have another bit on the side of me!’

  ‘Oh, all right,’ he had taken another look at her carefully prepared paperwork and given a martyred sigh. ‘I’ll go along with you to the tune of six months’ salary, even though it’ll have to come out of my own bonus.’

  ‘My heart bleeds,’ Finn had marched off to wipe her eyes and redo the page which he had signed with a sulky ill grace. That was when he’d said it.

  ‘I had no idea you could be such a tough bitch.’

  ‘No,’ she had replied with a tired travesty of a smile. ‘Neither had I. But I’m tired of fitting in with other people’s idea of me – Finn won’t mind; Finn’s easy-going; Finn won’t make a fuss. I’ve just turned forty, for God’s sake – it’s about time I took control of my own life.’

  A movement at the bottom of her sister’s garden caught her attention. Fairies? Surely not. Julia would have mentioned them, wouldn’t she, if not six months ago when she moved to her new house, then at least last night when Finn had tumbled exhausted out of the taxi from the station.

  The bizarre figure moved towards the dazzle of sunlight and started dancing on the lawn.

  Finn stared. Dipping a toe into the garden pond the woman glanced up, spotted Finn and waved.

  ‘Come on down,’ she called. ‘The water’s lovely.’

  Pulling on some clothes Finn ran downstairs twisting an elastic band round her long, thick blonde hair. She put the kettle on and unlocked the back door, grabbing an old raincoat from the hook as she did so. Already it was very warm this morning for autumn, but still no time to be skinny-dipping in the garden pond, at any age.

  ‘Good morning,’ the naked woman greeted her with great social aplomb, waving Finn to a seat beside her on the garden bench and turning away to admire the dappled sunlight on the pond.

  ‘Good morning,’ Finn began politely. ‘Would you like to come indoors and have a cup of tea?’

  The naked woman swung round and broke into a delighted smile.

  ‘How truly kind,’ she exclaimed, sounding exactly like the Queen on a walkabout. ‘I was just thinking there was something I’d forgotten.’

  Finn blinked at this statement of the obvious but they weren’t thinking along the same lines. The old lady beamed and continued.

  ‘Yes, I quite forgot to make myself a cup of tea this morning before I went out for my morning stroll.’

  ‘Oh.’ Finn was at a loss for words, then she pulled herself together. ‘Would you like to borrow this coat just for now?’ she suggested.

  ‘How very generous,’ her mystery visitor nodded. ‘So thoughtful. I seem to have mislaid my own clothes.’ She cast a casual eye down at her nakedness and grinned cheerfully as she shrugged into the old raincoat. ‘What a hoot!’

  She frowned for a moment then extended her hand graciously. ‘Where are my manners? How do you do, my dear, I’m Margot Delaney, but do call me Margot. And you are …?’

  Feeling surreal, Finn shook the proffered hand.

  ‘Finn Fitzgerald, how do you do?’

  Social niceties attended to, Margot Delaney suddenly nodded off and Finn sat in silence wondering what to do next. She stared at her companion; she was really old – very old, Finn discovered. The extravagantly curly orange hair had the matt deadness of an amateur dyeing session, an inch of scanty white at the parting, pink skin showing through; the body, though slim verging on emaciated, had the indefinable softness of old age, the skin on the arms sagging and the breasts wrinkled flaps. Her face was a mass of fine wrinkles though her cheerful insouciance gave her a kind of liveliness now as she jerked awake and looked round smiling through the bright green Dame Edna glasses perched on her elegant, bony nose.

  ‘I put the kettle on when I came down,’ ventured Finn, wondering what to do. ‘Shall we have that cup of tea now?’

  ‘That would be delightful,’ announced the old woman rising and gathering her raincoat round her. ‘Someone offered me some tea not long ago, did I drink it? I don’t think I’ve had a drink this morning. Rosemary must have forgotten.’

  ‘Rosemary?’ Finn ushered her towards the kitchen, installed her in a chair and made the tea.

  ‘My daughter, Rosemary,’ was the answer. ‘She’s a good enough girl but she can be rather forgetful. Of course, she never married.’

  Finn blinked at the non sequitur. She poured the tea, obediently adding milk and two sugars as her guest demanded.

  ‘Should I ring Rosemary and tell her where you are?’ she suggested, wondering if Rosemary would really want to know. Finn had a sudden glimmer of how she would feel herself if Julia were gallivanting about the place stark naked. I think I’d leave town, she told herself grinning at the thought of her generously voluptuous sister in such a scenario. She felt a pang of sympathy for poor, forgetful, unmarried Rosemary. Although her naked visitor was charming at the moment there was an underlying granite toughness apparent.

  To her surprise the old woman –‘Call me Margot, dear,’ she said again, obviously forgetting her earlier introduction – meekly agreed and dictated the number with no argument.

  The voice at the other end of the line was middle-aged, pleasant and tired.

  ‘Oh Lord, how on earth did she get out? I thought I’d locked up last night and I certainly haven’t opened up yet this morning. How wretched for you. Oh well, thank you for letting me know and thank you for looking after her. I’ll be there in five minutes, just let me get dressed.’ She hesitated a moment before adding: ‘Um … look this may sound strange, but you don’t … you don’t have any men in the house do you?’

  Bemused, Finn said no, she was alone.

  ‘Oh that’s all right then.’ The voice sounded heartfelt with relief. ‘I’ll explain when I get there, it’s just that she can’t be trusted with men any more. See you in a minute.’

  Less than ten minutes later Finn thankfully opened the door. Rosemary Clavering was a little below medium height, attractive, middle-to-late fiftyish, gunmetal grey hair in a tousled but stylish bob. Her smile was friendly, her grey eyes tired. She glanced shrewdly at the younger woman who greeted her with relief.

  ‘Being difficult is she? I’m so sorry she’s caused you such a lot of trouble.’ She hefted a bag in her hand. ‘I’ve brought some clothes for her so as soon as she’s decent I’ll take her off your hands. I’ve brought the car though it’s only across the green; Margot’s legs give way as she’s liable to run out of steam without warning.’

  Finn smiled and waved her into the sitting room where Margot sat in state mumbling incoherent obscenities. In the last ten minutes her unwanted guest had shed the initial charm and become petulant and imperious by turns, demanding vodka or champagne and insisting that she must have a full English breakfast at once.

  ‘Do you like men, my dear?’ she’d enquired, a cheerful moment shining through.

  ‘Not a lot,’ Finn scowled. ‘At least, I’m off them just now.’

  ‘I used not to like men much.’ Margot was still aboard the same train of thought. ‘But something must have happened because, do you know, my dear? I really rather like them at the moment!’

  Dr Jekyll was soon obscured again by Mr Hyde and Margot’s final demand was for a taxi to take her to town, accompanied by a threat that left Finn gasping.

  ‘What did she do?’ asked Rosemary bleakly as she thrust her mother’s suddenly obedient limbs into her clothes. ‘I can see you’ve had a shock. She’s been quite good lately,’ she added wearily.

  ‘She was fine at first then, um … she threatened to … do something if I
didn’t get her a taxi,’ admitted Finn, watching in horrified sympathy as Rosemary tugged, tweaked, zipped and buttoned, all with firm kindness, but with detachment too as though she had long ago hit on this as the only way to struggle through it all.

  ‘What? Oh no, you mean she threatened to pee on the furniture?’ As Finn nodded awkwardly, Rosemary turned angrily on her mother. ‘You wretched old horror, apologise at once.’

  To Finn’s surprise Margot turned to her obediently.

  ‘I’m so sorry, my dear,’ she whispered in quiet distress. ‘I seem to have been embarrassing. Please forgive me.’

  Rosemary Clavering’s face twisted suddenly and Finn felt an instant gush of sympathy. The contrast between the arrogant, rambling old miscreant and the suddenly contrite ancient child was heart-breaking even to a stranger. What must it be like for a daughter?

  At the front gate Rosemary turned to Finn for another word of thanks. Margot was safely stowed away in the car and Finn saw that Rosemary was looking utterly exhausted.

  ‘I can’t tell you …’ she began and smiled her gratitude as Finn shook her head wordlessly. ‘It was so good of you not to call the police, too. Sometimes I wish I could just let her get on with it; maybe if the police did pick her up they’d put her in a home and I could get some peace.’ She shrugged and grinned. ‘Still, you can’t choose your family can you? I certainly wouldn’t have chosen this, but, then, neither would she.’ She changed the subject. ‘I imagine she was looking for your sister. Julia doesn’t mind if I have to bring her along to our meetings sometimes; depends if I can get a sitter.’

  ‘Meetings?’ Finn was intrigued. ‘I didn’t think Julia was much of a joiner. What kind of meetings?’