Scuba Dancing

by Nicola Slade

  As the customer keeled over Finn dropped her bag and rushed to his side, manhandling him on to a chair that was mercifully near at hand.

  ‘Here,’ she gasped to the shop assistant. ‘Got him too? He’s slipping and I can’t manage him on my own.’

  Together they managed to sit him down gently. He hadn’t quite lost consciousness; it looked like a simple faint, and he was trying to wave them aside.

  ‘So kind, thank you so much, so kind. Quite all right now, please … please don’t bother.’

  Finn kept her arm round him for a few moments more then, as his colour improved, she knelt down beside him.

  ‘That was rather nasty,’ she said gently. ‘I think we ought to call an ambulance and get you looked at by a doctor.’

  ‘Oh no, no,’ he interrupted hastily. ‘I do assure you, my dear, I’m quite recovered. If I could sit here for a little longer, I shall be perfectly well.’

  Finn surveyed him sceptically but she could see he was determined.

  ‘Perhaps a glass of water?’ she suggested to Porridge-Face, who was hovering anxiously.

  ‘Oh yeah, no probs. Or tea, perhaps? I’ve just made some.’

  He brought Finn some tea as well and they watched the other man as he cast a startled look of distaste at the thick pottery mug and braced himself. However plebeian the vessel, the contents seemed to revive him and he proffered profuse apologies for being such a nuisance.

  ‘If I could perhaps telephone my son?’ he suggested after a few minutes. ‘He can come and collect me in the car, I’m afraid the walk is rather beyond me at present.’

  Finn started to protest that she could call him a taxi, give him a lift even, but he waved an imperious hand at her and leaned back with his eyes closed after presenting her with a business card. ‘Perhaps you could call him for me, thank you.’

  A sudden rush of two customers took the assistant’s attention so Finn picked up the phone and called Mr Charles E Stuart, of Ramalley Software Solutions. A pleasant male voice eventually answered after the receptionist had told Finn to hang on.

  ‘Is he all right? He’s only just getting over a vicious dose of flu. I knew it was too soon for him to go out, I’ll come straight away. It’s very kind of you. Where is he?’

  ‘He’s at the Starlight Strand,’ admitted Finn with a self-conscious gulp. ‘Do you know it? It’s a … a shop in Paradise Row, behind the Town Hall.’

  ‘Oh.’ There was a sudden icy edge to Mr Charles E Stuart’s voice. ‘Yes, I know where it is.’

  Finn was embarrassed, then furious with herself for minding. What did it matter what Charles E Stuart thought of her? He was a complete stranger, so why should his change of tone make her cringe? It wasn’t as if she was in the habit of frequenting magic shops. Almost without noticing what she was doing she arranged a wodge of tissues and her handbag into the carrier to hide the tarot card pack she’d bought.

  The invalid was perking up by the minute. Around seventy, Finn judged, he was still astonishingly good-looking, the high nose dominating the face, the dark eyes hooded but still alert, the thick crop of silvery grey hair scarcely thinning. Although he was a little stooped he was still very tall, well over six feet, and he radiated an ageless charm that even worked on Porridge-Face who was now offering him some home-made, chunky muesli biscuits which were waved aside with a gracious smile. As the young man bobbed eagerly about him, fussing, the old man caught Finn’s eye and gave her a flashing, wicked grin, alive with conspiratorial mischief, combined with spark of interest, even now, in the tall, curvy blonde twinkling back at him.

  Before she could respond the door was flung open and a tall dark man of about forty stormed in. He was instantly recognisable, the same saturnine good looks as his father marred in his case, by a furious scowl.

  ‘Pa? Are you all right? What are you doing here?’ He turned anxious dark eyes from his father to the two who were watching. ‘Oh come on, Pa,’ he said, a rueful grin lightening his long face. ‘I thought you were kidding when you said you wanted to see a clairvoyant. You’ll get carted off one day. Please tell me you weren’t trying to get in touch with you-know-who?’

  ‘Be quiet, Charlie, you go too far. Excuse me …’ his father struggled to his feet, ‘… I must apologise, my dear, let me introduce myself.’ Amused malice gleamed in his eyes as he shot his son a covert glance before proclaiming: ‘I am James Edward Stuart, Claimant to the Throne of England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales, and this is my son – and my heir – the Young Pretender as he is known to the uninitiated; but to the faithful he is The Young Chevalier, Charles Edward Stuart.’

  He made her a flourishing bow and sat down rather suddenly, the smile wiped from his face.

  Finn stared for a second, then hastily closed her mouth. Claimant to the throne of England? But he seemed such a nice, normal sort of man, not a first class, certifiable fruit cake. A swift sidelong glance at Charlie, the Young Chevalier, revealed that he was mortified, scarlet with mingled rage and embarrassment.

  ****

  ‘I’ve got a job!’ Finn burst into the house bubbling with excitement and stopped short at the chaos and confusion in the hall. A short, black-browed, elderly man, who was trying to move a sheet of plasterboard single-handed, was barking orders in a marked eastern European accent at Julia and another man, who were ignoring him as they pored over a pile of glossy holiday brochures showing Caribbean scenes.

  ‘Come, Julia,’ scolded the bossy man. ‘You can read those later, after all we have plenty of time before we can think of a holiday. The sooner this work is done the sooner we can begin the fund-raising.’

  ‘What a bully you are, Marek,’ she sighed. ‘But you’re right, of course. Oh, there you are, Finn, darling, how did it go today?’

  ‘Um … fine,’ faltered Finn. ‘Can I give you a hand? I didn’t know you meant to get started today, Julia, I thought we were supposed to get some estimates. Why didn’t you tell me? I would have stayed in to help, if you’d said.’

  ‘Didn’t know myself, till I got the urge,’ came the casual reply. ‘Oof! That’s budged it. Here, grab the corner, Finn, and help Marek at his end.’

  I’ve only been out of the house three hours, thought Finn, impressed, and she’s organised all this. The erstwhile garage was transformed. Somebody, presumably one of the two men in attendance on Julia, had been busy. There were wooden battens fixed to the brick wall and another sheet of plasterboard leaned against it, while a second doorway had been opened up into the store at the back.

  ‘It’s looking good, isn’t it?’ Julia waved an airy hand. ‘Marek borrowed a van and we went off to the DIY place and bought timber, et cetera. The plan is to put up a stud-partition wall in the store and tuck in a loo and shower; there’s already a sink the other side so that can be the kitchen area. Luckily the garage is really well insulated and there’s even some storage space where the roof-space is boarded. Somebody obviously once spent a lot of time and money in here, so once this new wall is done, and the partition finished, all you’ll have to do is decorate.’

  ‘It’s going to be great,’ admired Finn. ‘I’m not even sure it was a serious suggestion when I made it, but I think it might really work, thank you so much.’

  ‘Well, here we are in Finn’s new bedroom,’ Julia waved a hand around the front end of the garage. ‘Don’t you think we should christen it, Marek and Jonathan?’

  ‘Christen …?’ For a second Finn, who had followed her, misunderstood and cast a startled look at her sister and the two old boys, one dark and fierce, the other pink and meek and panting.

  ‘Really, Finn!’ A grin twisted Julia’s wickedly pretty face. ‘What are you thinking? Champagne. In the fridge?’ She nudged her sister and Finn jerked back to sanity.

  ‘Oh, right. Fridge. Okay, I’ll get it.’

  ‘Cheers, everyone,’ Julia raised her glass in a toast to sister and helpers. ‘Now I’d better introduce you. My sister Finn – my friends Marek Wiszynski and Jonathan Barlow.’
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  The two men drank one glass each and departed, Marek with a formal bow to Finn, heels clicking, and a bow and kiss on the hand for Julia; Jonathan fussed about, his head poking out of his jacket like a mild-mannered tortoise.

  ‘Here,’ Julia noticed him rootling in his pocket and disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a handful of green leaves. ‘Don’t bother with peppermints. Parsley, Jonathan – chlorophyll’s best thing for breath problems. Chew the leaves and she won’t smell the alcohol.’

  Jonathan scuttled off chewing gratefully, Marek marching behind him in soldierly fashion, clutching a parts list and a wad of notes pressed on him by Julia.

  ‘Pay me when it’s finished,’ she said, when Finn protested. ‘Don’t worry, I’m keeping a tally. Now, let’s finish the bottle,’ she suggested. ‘I’ve done us a salad for supper, you can start doing your own housekeeping when we get things sorted out.’

  ‘Who are those two, Julia?’ Finn was curious.

  ‘Marek fought as a boy with the Free Poles in the war and stayed on afterwards. I think his family had all died, I’m not sure though, he never speaks about it. He lives in the sheltered flats round the corner and he can turn his hand to almost anything. Jonathan’s got a bungalow over by the allotments, he used to work for May’s, the men’s clothes shop, but he’s knowledgeable about things. He’s been looking at the electrics in here, and he’ll fit a cooker and some more sockets.’

  ‘They’ll let me pay them, won’t they?’

  ‘It won’t cost anything, only materials, we’re all members of the gang.’

  ‘You mentioned “the gang” yesterday,’ Finn remembered as they ate their supper, lingering over coffee.

  ‘Ah yes, the gang.’ Julia showed no inclination to explain so Finn prompted her.

  ‘So? Who? What? Why? Tell me, Ju?

  ‘Why so nosey? It’s just a group of us from the village, a club if you like, that Rosemary and I started because we were lonely newcomers after we both arrived here.’

  ****

  Rosemary had been busy and cheerful for the first few months of her retirement from the high school in the Midlands. Selling her flat, buying the bungalow in Bychurch, a picture postcard village just outside the country town of Ramalley, halfway between Southampton and Winchester. It had all taken time and kept her happily occupied.

  It had taken the arrival, six weeks after she had moved in to Church View, of the distraught and demented Margot to make her feel isolated, in sore need of friends to help her take the strain. That was when she had thought of the group.

  ‘A sort of social group,’ she had explained to Julia Fitzgerald when they’d met in the coffee shop in town.

  ‘What, for old biddies?’ Julia had asked. ‘Not really my scene, darling. You mean Darby and Joan kind of thing? Coach trips and sing-songs?’

  ‘Of course not!’ Rosemary’s answer was an explosive giggle. She’d sipped her coffee and calmed down. ‘No, not restricted to one age group, but like-minded people who would enjoy a bit of company now and then. We could meet in each other’s houses one evening a week; go out to dinner or the theatre when we can afford it. What else? Oh, I know, we could share skills, a kind of swap-shop.’

  ‘What? I make you a cake and you do my income tax return?’ Julia had raised an eyebrow. ‘That sort of thing?’

  ‘That’s the idea,’ Rosemary had beamed with enthusiasm. ‘Mind, you’d better not let me near your tax return, I’d rather paint you a picture. That could be a secondary aspect of the group, and perhaps we’d develop other ideas but the primary function would be social.’

  Rosemary had been busy and cheerful for the first few months of her retirement from the high school in the Midlands. Selling her flat, buying the bungalow in Bychurch, a picture postcard village just outside the country town of Ramalley, halfway between Southampton and Winchester.

  It had taken the arrival, six weeks after she had moved in to Church View, of the distraught and demented Margot to make her feel isolated, in sore need of friends to help her take the strain.

  Talking to Finn now, Julia said, ‘It began as a social thing but it’s kind of escalated and last night …’ Her voice tailed away as she recalled last night’s discussion.

  ‘Maybe we should form a coven?’ Marek had suggested the previous night, his eyebrows black triangles against his pale skin as he laughed at his own idea. ‘That would bring us some excitement, yes?’

  Rosemary sighed.

  ‘I wanted serious suggestions,’ she frowned. ‘And please don’t suggest outings or bingo.’ She looked round the group and sighed again. ‘The group works very well as a bartering exchange and a social club, but I know some of you think life’s a bit dull. Look, I’ll go and make some more coffee,’ she suggested. ‘Why don’t you each try to think of three realistic things we could do to ginger this group up now we’ve got it.’

  The room was heavy with concentration as she headed for the kitchen.

  Now back in the sitting room with the coffee, she handed mugs and sat down, expectant.

  ‘Any ideas?’

  There was a heavy, self-conscious silence into which fell the fluting tones of Ursula Buchanan, the oldest woman in the group – and by far its most eccentric member.

  ‘Well,’ she said shyly, looking round the room with her usual diffidence. ‘I did have one idea. It’s something I’ve always wanted to try. The trouble is, I don’t have any money.’

  Encouraged by the others, Ursula outlined her Brilliant Idea.

  ****

  Finishing up her coffee now, Julia shook her head at Finn. ‘I’ll tell you all about the gang some other time. It’s just a social club really, for people who live in the village, it’s made quite a difference to me already and we’re all good friends now. Anyway, we have this barter system going so don’t worry about the plumbing et cetera. I’ve promised to make Marek some new curtains, though it’s always hard to compensate Jonathan; that evil witch of a wife of his mustn’t get wind of it.’

  ‘Evil witch?’ Finn was intrigued.

  ‘Hideous parasite who sits in front of the telly and treats Jonathan like a dog – no wonder he spends most of his time on his allotment. That’s it, I can buy him some grow-bags or manure, plants or something, to even it out. She doesn’t know about the group – thinks he’s joined a club for pensioners from his company and that it’s restricted to ex-employees only – or she’d be in there, making life hell for him.

  ‘And what about you?’ She turned back to stare at Finn’s brightened face. ‘Did you say you’d got a job, or did I imagine it?’

  ‘Yup, start tomorrow,’ Finn announced smugly. ‘And I’ve bought a car. Let’s go and sit by the fire and I’ll tell you all.’

  ‘The guy with the woolly hat is the owner,’ she explained as she toasted her toes in front of the coal-effect gas fire. ‘He had a win on the lottery, not millions but enough to buy the business; he told me all that later on, but before that the other guy announced who he was! Talk about eccentric, I felt really sorry for his son. I didn’t know what to say; it was rather awkward, to say the least. Anyway, like I said, the owner is called Hedgehog and he opened the shop a month ago. It was the weirdest interview I’ve ever had. He’s a bit podgy and pasty, and really local, you know – long, slow, drawly country voice and kind of a slow mover too, though I suppose with Hedgehog it could be drugs.’

  ‘It sounds lovely, darling!’ Julia shot her an old-fashioned look. ‘What’s all this about an eccentric father and a pitiable son? You’ve certainly managed to hit town with a bang in a very short while, haven’t you?’

  Finn explained. ‘But it was when he introduced himself as the Old Pretender and the son as the Young Chevalier, I nearly had hysterics. Like I said, I felt sorry for Charlie, the Chevalier; he was so embarrassed, you could have fried an egg on him.’

  She realised her sister had taken a deep breath and was looking extremely self-conscious.

  ‘What? What? You don’t know th
em, do you?’

  ‘You could say that,’ Julia let her breath out slowly and looked even shiftier. ‘Actually, your Old Pretender to the Throne is my gentleman friend, Jamie. You know? He’s a member of gang. I’ve only met Charlie a couple of times, he’s been abroad on business off and on for the last two months. Jamie’s very fond of him, though I found him a bit glum. Mind you, I believe there was some terrible scandal about his wife.’

  ‘Julia!’ Disregarding the life history of the Young Chevalier, Finn was shocked. ‘You mean you’re shagging a basket-case?’

  ‘Really, Finn!’ Julia reproved her. ‘There’s no need to be quite so coarse. I told you already, Jamie is a perfect gentleman, all he wants is company. Anyway, he’s got documentary proof that his family is descended from Bonnie Prince Charlie, or maybe it’s King Henry the Ninth, the last Stuart king, brother to Prince Charlie. He just … gets a bit obsessed about it, that’s all.’

  Finn drew a deep breath and stared at Julia who was looking uncomfortable, not without reason, her sister considered.

  ‘Oh really?’ she retorted. ‘That’s very interesting, Julia. I might point out that I used to have a crush on Bonny Prince Charlie and one of the very few bits of history that I can remember is that the last Stuart “king” was a Catholic priest, a cardinal, in fact. So exactly how did he go about starting a dynasty?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Julia was exasperated. ‘Jamie’s got all the documents and stuff, it might not have been the cardinal, could have been Prince Charlie for all I know – or care – but to tell the truth I don’t pay any attention. It all sounds harmless, a bit like The Sealed Knot society, that sort of thing. He’s a lovely man, though and – well, maybe you might understand for once – he’s not demanding; it’s not sex he’s after, just nice, warm friendship, so an obsession about some dodgy ancestors is a small price to pay.’

  ‘Understand? Why would I understand?’

  ‘Because, unfortunately, Finn, you’ve turned out just like me,’ sighed Julia.

  Finn started to splutter indignantly then caught Julia’s eye and subsided with a laugh.