Scuba Dancing

by Nicola Slade

  ‘Richard? What on earth is the matter?’

  He shook his head, unable to speak, but he moved up so that she could squat down on the step beside him and he let her put a tentative arm round him. After a bit more coaxing she got the story out of him.

  ‘His wife’s twenty-eight,’ she told the other women. ‘She’s not been well for a couple of months and last month she was diagnosed with cancer of the pancreas. Yes.’ She nodded when they cried out in protest. ‘He said she’s gone downhill so rapidly since then that she’s only got days to live, poor girl. He’d been to the hospice when I found him.’

  ****

  ‘She sent me home to get some sleep,’ he told her, clinging to the comforting hand. ‘Mum and Dad have taken the children, she said goodbye to them yesterday. The doctors don’t think she’ll be strong enough much longer and she didn’t want them to be frightened, they’re only two and three.’ He looked round, puzzled. ‘I don’t know why I came here.’

  Sue held him for a little longer till the shuddering sobs began to quieten down.

  ‘Look, Richard,’ she urged. ‘I don’t think you ought to be driving. Let me take you home. Will there be anyone there to keep you company tonight?’

  He said no, he’d be alone and that was how he wanted it, but he accepted the offer of a lift so she led him to her car and settled him in like a child, reaching across to do up his safety belt for him when he fumbled helplessly with it.

  ‘I live in Stockbridge,’ he said worriedly. ‘Isn’t that miles out of the way? I can always get a taxi, I don’t want to be a bother.’

  ‘No problem,’ she reassured him and headed towards the by-pass, glad of something outside her own narrow arena of anxiety. They drove in silence until they reached the outskirts of the little town, when he roused enough to give her directions.

  ‘Come in and have a drink, er, um, Sue.’ He stumbled over her name. ‘I’ve got some whisky. Come and help me get drunk enough to get to sleep for once.’

  The despair in his pinched young face gripped at her heart. Her own desolation seemed so minor in the face of his immediate tragedy. How did you set a dead or dying marriage against the impending death of a girl like Helen Fennel?

  She parked in the neat drive and followed Richard into the neat modern brick semi. I hope the neighbours won’t talk, she thought, then grimaced at her own vanity. Why would they? I look twenty years older than he is. They’ll think I’m an aunt or a social worker or something, poor devil.

  Helen Fennel had furnished and decorated her little house with love and care, everything spotlessly clean, carefully chosen. A little too pink and frilly for Sue’s taste – how Delia would love it – but an expression of love well suited to the pretty girl in the photograph on the mantelpiece. Sue looked at the round-faced bride in the picture and thought of the frail wraith Richard had described. A lump in her throat threatened to choke her and she turned in grateful silence to take the glass he handed her.

  The television was on as background noise and they sat in near silence, exchanging only an occasional word except when Richard, drinking steadily, sobbed now and then. Once, when he looked at the screen he nodded bitterly towards the sexy scene being played out.

  ‘D’you know what the worst thing about this is?’ he demanded harshly. ‘I’m sorry for myself – myself mind you – because we haven’t had sex for so long. She’s been so brave and all I can think about is sex.’ He slumped in an orgy of self-disgust for a moment then picked up the remote and changed channels. Sue remembered she was driving, time to watch her alcohol intake, she thought wryly. I don’t need a drink-driving ticket.

  The little house was warm and she undid her cardigan, kicked off her shoes and curled up on the settee, to doze off peacefully.

  ‘Sue? Sue?’ Richard was shaking her gently. She blinked awake and looked up at him from under sleepy lashes. He smiled uncertainly at her and knelt down beside her. He was extremely drunk. ‘Sue?’ he said again, leaning forward to kiss her, hesitantly at first, then fiercely.

  ****

  ‘I can’t tell you,’ she said now to her audience who were hanging on her every word, desperate for the rest of the story. ‘I can’t tell you how I felt!’

  ****

  Desire surged ferociously through her blood, rocking her off balance, a rush of lust such as she’d never felt before. Richard’s hands were feverishly trying to unbutton her blouse as she scrabbled frantically at his zip.

  ‘Upstairs,’ he mumbled, kissing her on and on as they lurched and stumbled up the narrow pine staircase and fell together on the pink-flowered bedspread.

  ‘I don’t know if I can,’ she wailed softly against the dark hair on his chest. It’s been so long, I’m all dried up inside, she fretted. He silenced her protest with his lips, then kissed her cheeks, her brow, her nose, all the time mumbling into her skin: ‘Oh please, oh please, please …’

  Overcome by her own need as much as by compassion for his, Sue tore off her blouse and dragged off her navy slacks, thanking her stars for elasticated waists. She cowered there, prim and self-conscious, in her white scaffolding bra and sensible knickers, as he kicked off his shoes, yanked off his tee shirt and slipped out of his jeans. Even as he fell on her and she felt his hot fingers pulling at her bra she noticed how fit his body was, how firmly muscled compared to the last time she had seen Philip naked.

  ‘Oh, lovely, lovely,’ he groaned, taking her full, heavy breasts in both hands and burying his face in them. ‘Oh, lovely, lovely, lovely!’

  She arched her back in an agony of pleasure as her skin tingled at the unaccustomed touch. She felt his tears and heard him whimpering, whether from passion or grief she neither knew nor cared as she managed to wriggle out of her knickers. Somewhere in the back of her mind, real-life, mundane Sue was watching fantasy Sue with utter astonishment as she rubbed and writhed her body against his.

  She reached down and found his penis, hugely erect, much thicker and longer than Philip’s. Aha, she triumphed, so much for the demon lover of his own reports. Then she was beyond gloating, beyond thought, as Richard cried out at her touch and frantically began to kiss her breasts and belly. Down, down he went, ignoring her tiny squeaks of protests.

  ****

  ‘Oh, it was marvellous,’ she sighed reminiscently, accepting a top-up from Delia, who urged her to go on. ‘Can you believe I’ve never had oral sex before? Philip’s a strict missionary position man, so it was unbelievable, the whole thing.’

  As Richard’s body clenched at the moment of climax he cried out: ‘Helen! Helen!’

  Then he realised what he had said, what he had done, and the tears ran freely, gushing down his anguished cheeks. Sue, who was high as a kite, came down to earth in a rush and held him tightly, crying with him.

  ‘Oh don’t, Richard, don’t. This hasn’t hurt Helen, don’t ever think that. This was just for you, to help you get through the night and the days and the weeks to come. And it was for me to give me hope, to make me come alive.’

  As she finished speaking Julia, Finn and Rosemary all sighed, nodding with fellow-feeling and Sue wound up.

  ‘That poor girl,’ she sighed, and the other three murmured in sympathy. ‘Anyway, I tucked him up and left a note downstairs, just my name and number and a bland scribble of thanks for the drink and let me know if I could be help. Just in case anybody else read it, his parents perhaps. Then I went home and had a long, long bath and decided to throw Philip out.’

  She grinned at their outcry.

  ‘Well …’ she temporised, ‘… I haven’t told him yet, but I will. I think I’d better check it out with a solicitor first.’ She calmed down as she finished her drink. ‘I’d better go. I just had to tell somebody and Julia and Finn already knew the score. Do you realise,’ she was serious now, ‘if you hadn’t started this club I don’t think I’d ever have plucked up enough courage to make this decision? And as for having a fling with a man I barely know, well. …’

  At the door Sue
hesitated then spoke urgently to Julia.

  ‘I mean it, Julia,’ she insisted. ‘I think you saved my life. I told you I hadn’t had an orgasm for years and it was true. But last night was so different. For the first time in my life I finally found out what everyone’s been talking about all these years. I’ve rejoined the human race.’

  Chapter 13

  Saturday morning dawned, dank and drear disgusting. Julia had spent the night at Jamie’s flat – after anxiously making sure that Finn would be all right on her own.

  ‘Just go, Julia,’ she had said tiredly. ‘I’m not going to do anything stupid, why would I? I just want to be home in case he rings here, or turns up, whatever. You making yourself miserable won’t make it any better.’

  She heard the clang of the letter box as she sat morosely over her first mug of tea. It was a postcard of the Angel of the North, with just a few words on it, ‘Sorry. Back soon, C.’

  Such a short message but such a beacon of hope. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror and stopped to stare at the transfigured face it presented. All this week she had been confronted by a face to sink a thousand ships whenever she cleaned her teeth or brushed her hair. Now, in less than a minute, she was utterly transformed, eyes shining, skin glowing, hair – aaagh! Her hair was a lank, dirty bundle of dull straw.

  She whirled into the shower where she shampooed, conditioned, scrubbed, exfoliated, rinsed and moisturised herself until she was pink, smooth and slippery.

  “Back soon.” She quoted his words aloud, over and over. Whenever he came she planned to be ready and in ace condition. It was the enigmatic “Sorry” that intrigued her most and set her pulse racing.

  ‘If he’s sorry,’ she considered aloud. ‘What’s he sorry about? For running out? Not getting in touch? Does it mean he’s sorry he never told me about Amanda?’ A hideous thought struck and her stomach lurched. ‘Or does he mean, Sorry, it was all a mistake with you and we’re through?’

  I won’t think about that, she decided and looked around for something to take her mind off it. The flat was in a disgusting mess where she had been wallowing in piggish misery all week, so, with Julia’s adage echoing in her ears – “work takes your mind off your troubles” – she set to and cleaned up, still wearing only her bathrobe. Into the washing machine went the dirty bed-linen – he might stay at her place. Into the sink went a week’s worth of dirty dishes and she caught herself singing as she washed them up. Out came the iron, vacuum cleaner, duster, and she even cleaned the windows for good measure.

  Clean house, clean body, she thought complacently, then realised that her body, though squeaky clean, was now clamouring for food. While the kettle was boiling for more tea and the bread was in the toaster she sorted out what she should wear. CK jeans and a Gap top? Or should she glam up in case he was on his way?

  Informal would be best, she decided. I don’t want to look desperate. So she prepared for the usual struggle to get into her best and most flattering jeans. To her surprise they slipped on without a fight, she’d lost weight. Dragging the jeans off she ran to the bathroom scales and jumped on. Way-hey! Half a stone gone, just vanished into thin air without even trying.

  After breakfast she left a note to reassure Julia and walked into town, keen to capitalise on the weight loss by further exercise. Even the weather had cheered up and for November, the day was crisp and beautiful, the autumn colours glowing against the silver traces of an early morning frost. Finn mostly worked on weekdays but occasionally Hedgehog asked her to stand in for him on a Saturday. Today, however, was different.

  ‘Word’s got round about you bein’ a fortune-teller,’ he had informed her a day or so previously. ‘Musta bin them people at old Delia’s party, you know how pleased they were. I got four bookings for Saturday morning for you and I told ’em we had to charge a lot more in the shop. Lady D’s party, I said, was a private do, but the shop rate is double.’

  ‘Hedge!’ she was horrified. ‘That’s scandalous, you can’t charge the earth for me to make up stuff. We’ll get had up for fraud.’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’ He defended himself stoutly. ‘What d’you suppose so-called real clairvoyants do? They can’t all have natural psychic ability, whatever that might be when it’s at home, course they makes it up. Anyway,’ as she looked less than convinced, ‘you don’t make it up, do you? You just go by the book. I listened in, don’t forget, when you done Bunny’s cards; you never told him nothing you hadn’t read first. So go on with you.’

  Tucked away in the little cubby hole beside the shop’s kitchen Finn resigned herself and summoned up a smile to greet the first customer Hedgehog had lined up for her.

  ‘You told my friend’s fortune,’ the woman told her with eager anxiety. ‘She went to Lady Delia Muncaster’s party and she said you were really good. Well,’ she gave Finn a wide-eyed stare, ‘it stands to reason, doesn’t it? Somebody posh like Lady Delia, she wouldn’t have anything to do with anyone who wasn’t high-class, would she?’

  Finn had a moment’s wild hysteria which she managed to shove under a mental rock for the time being. Why on earth had she let Delia and Hedgehog get away with it? How could she possibly live up to a claim of being high-class when all she did was furtively consult the crib sheet she had concocted from Hedge’s books?

  ‘Let’s have a look, shall we?’ She launched into the spiel she had prepared and set about giving the woman as honest and worthwhile a reading as she could manage, within the parameters she set herself, from the meanings as laid out by the books she had read. Saints can’t do more, she consoled herself.

  At the end of the morning she felt better. She had acquitted herself fairly honourably and the punters had gone away, apparently satisfied with what she had predicted for them. Hedgehog was ecstatic.

  ‘See? I told you it weren’t a problem.’

  ‘Look here, Hedge.’ She was determined to get things straight with him. ‘I don’t mind doing this occasionally but I was only hired to stand in for your regular woman. What’s happened to her? I don’t want her turning up and putting a hex on me for taking over her job.’

  ‘She won’t worry you,’ he replied comfortably. ‘Her husband’s been transferred to Chichester and they’re moving house. It’d be too far for her to travel, she says, so she won’t be back in. Good job too, you’re much prettier and you tell better stuff.’

  ‘Well, I’m not doing it very often,’ she warned him. ‘I was taken on as a shop assistant not a resident witch. I’m not doing more than two a day and that’s it. You can tell anyone who complains that I’m guided by the spirits and they insist that I mustn’t overtax my gift. That ought to shut them up. Okay?’

  Another memory surfaced.

  ‘What about that woman from the chapel who made a fuss? I haven’t seen her for weeks, you haven’t got her sent to jail, have you?’

  ‘Nah, she’s gone off on another tack. They’ve started up some group on the side where they shares their pain, that’s what one of ’em told me.’

  She bought steak in Waitrose and flowers in the market, along with fruit and vegetables, bread, and luscious meringues from the French pâtisserie round the corner, plus a bottle of Moët from the off-licence, where the manager recognised her as a friend of his favourite customer and gave her not only a discount but also a lift home as he was just off to deliver Delia’s weekend supplies. As a black cloud threatened rain she put her fitness kick on hold and accepted his offer.

  ****

  ‘Nothing more from Charlie?’ Julia greeted her when she arrived home.

  ‘Nope.’ She shook her head. ‘Still waiting but I feel tons better now.’

  ‘You look it,’ agreed her sister, frankly, and when Finn tried out her worst-case scenario, Julia shot it down at once. ‘What nonsense, Charlie’s not the sort to dump you by a postcard. Give him some credit; if he wanted to end things with you he’s got plenty of guts, of course he’d tell you face to face.’

  In the afternoon they volunt
eered to visit Margot to give Rosemary a break.

  ‘Take Rosemary out to tea,’ Julia suggested in a call to Hugh Taylor. ‘Why don’t you find a really nice country house hotel and treat her to a cream tea with all the trimmings? She’s desperately in need of a respite.’

  ‘Have Rosemary and Hugh got it together yet?’ Finn asked idly on the way to the hospital. ‘God! You have no idea how weird that sounds, asking about people who are old enough to be my parents, having sex. Coming back home to live with you has turned my whole world upside down; all my perspectives have completely altered, and I’m not sure if I like it.’

  ‘Do you good to realise life isn’t just for the young, or the not-quite young,’ said her sister unsympathetically. ‘As for Rosemary and Hugh, I don’t think so. As far as I can gather Rosemary’s too unsettled even to contemplate sex, while Hugh’s not brave enough to fling her over his shoulder and carry her off to his cave.’

  ‘Ooh, you old-fashioned thing, you!’ mocked Finn. ‘You think that’s what she really wants?’

  ‘No question.’ Julia parked the car and they headed towards the geriatric wing. ‘Rosemary’s old-fashioned. She believes the man should make all the moves and it would be unfeminine of her to push herself forward. I suppose it’s to be expected – from what I can gather that’s how Margot was with both her husbands. Well, I told you so, didn’t I? Till she started going doo-lally, that is.’

  Finn raised an eyebrow in disbelief but Julia stood her ground.

  ‘That’s what it was like,’ she insisted. ‘It’s one of the great successes of feminism that a woman of your age can hear such a thing and not believe it possible. I was a bit like that with Colin, you know, though nothing like so wimpy, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’ Finn smiled at her sister. ‘You’d better give Rosemary some lessons in seduction then, or maybe give Hugh a big shove up the backside.’

  Margot was much, much frailer. In the week since Finn had looked in on the old woman she had changed drastically. Never a big woman Margot was now a tiny skeletal doll barely making a dent in the bed, and the jaunty, orange crest of hair now lay scanty and white at the roots. But it was in her personality that Margot was most altered. Even last week she had responded with delight at Finn’s gifts, leafing eagerly through Vogue and smearing on the red lipstick with cheerful vanity.