Jumping the Queue

by Mary Wesley

  Oh God! Matilda thought to herself, he’s going to throw himself over! The selfish brute, he bloody well mustn’t. I shall just stay until he goes. She willed him to move, to leave, to push off.

  A boy and girl came walking so closely entwined they nearly tripped each other up. They stopped in the middle of the road to kiss, their bodies clenched. Matilda, exasperated, willed them to move on but they continued kissing.

  The man paid no attention, leaning lost in thought on the parapet.

  Perhaps he’s drugged, Matilda thought.

  A police car came crawling slowly. The driver gave a little toot. The boy and girl looked up, faces dazed with love.

  ‘Oh piss off,’ called the girl, moving to one side out of the boy’s arms. ‘Piss off,’ she yelled.

  The constable beside the driver wound down his window. ‘Now then Brenda, now then –’

  ‘Piss off.’

  ‘I’ll tell your dad,’ called the constable. The driver laughed.

  The boy lifted two fingers. ‘Come on,’ he said to the girl. ‘Bloody fuzz.’

  ‘Fucking public here. Come on then, Eddy.’ The girl retwined herself round the boy. They moved awkwardly away.

  Matilda’s heart beat in heavy thumps. She moved along the parapet closer to the man. Two yards from him she said in a low voice, apologetic:

  ‘I’m dreadfully sorry but I saw your face in the lights of the police car.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘They’ll be coming back.’

  ‘I daresay they will.’

  ‘Well, I recognized you –’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you going to throw yourself over?’

  ‘It had occurred to me.’

  ‘Well, are you or aren’t you?’

  ‘I haven’t made up my mind.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I was undecided.’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t. I’m just waiting for the tide to be right. You are rather –’

  ‘De trop?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The Matricide laughed, leaning against the parapet. ‘So sorry.’ He choked with laughter. ‘So sorry to be in your way. I’ll move if you like.’

  ‘Put your arm round me. The police car’s coming back. Quick.’ The Matricide put his arm round her shoulders.

  ‘Round my waist, you fool. My hair is white but it looks fair in this light.’ Matilda pressed her face against him. ‘I look young in the dark.’

  The police car crawled by, the constable talking on the car radio. ‘No, nothing Sarge. Willco. Roger. Out.’

  ‘They do dearly love their radio.’ He bent back a little.

  ‘You haven’t shaved.’

  ‘Haven’t since –’

  ‘Well, I think that’s silly. The first thing they expect is for you to grow a beard and have plastic surgery to your nose.’

  ‘D’you realize I killed my mother?’ he said gently.

  ‘Of course. Lots of people long to. You just did it.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Oh hell!’ exclaimed Matilda. ‘I’ve missed the tide. Damn and blast!’

  ‘I am sorry.’ Sarcastic.

  ‘Well it’s too late. I can’t now. You have to be exact about these things,’ she said angrily.

  ‘If you’d jumped –’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I would have tried to save you.’

  ‘How ridiculous. Interfering.’

  ‘You saved me just now.’

  ‘That’s instinctive.’

  ‘What now? I’m in your hands. Hadn’t you better take me to the police?’

  ‘If that’s what you want you can go by yourself. Are you hungry?’

  ‘Starving.’

  ‘Come on then, I’ve got some Brie in the car – I was going to picnic first. Brie and a bottle of Beaujolais.’

  ‘Sounds tempting.’

  ‘Put your arm round me and your head against mine.’

  ‘I’m rather too tall.’

  ‘Don’t make difficulties, it isn’t far.’ They walked in a loverly way to the car park.

  4

  MATILDA UNLOCKED THE car. ‘Get in,’ she said. ‘I’ll get the food.’ She reached for the basket on the back seat. ‘Could you uncork this?’ She handed him the bottle and corkscrew.

  ‘I think so.’ In the dark he fumbled, holding the bottle between his knees. Matilda buttered a roll and spread the Brie. The cork popped.

  ‘Go ahead and drink. I haven’t a glass. I wasn’t bothering for myself –’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Go on, take a swig. I’m all right, I’ve been drinking whisky, waiting for the tide to turn, for it to get dark.’

  He drank, tipping up the bottle. Matilda watched his profile. Not such a very large nose after all.

  ‘The way the papers write about your nose you might be Pinocchio.’

  ‘That was marvellous.’ He handed Matilda the bottle and took the roll. ‘Thank you.’

  Matilda watched him eat. After cramming in half a roll he ate slowly.

  ‘There’s some salad and a peach. Cyrano de Bergerac too.’

  ‘Really?’ He sounded amused.

  ‘Yes, really.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Matilda Poliport.’

  ‘Married?’

  ‘Widow.’

  ‘Sorry – sad.’

  ‘One gets used to it. No, that’s not true, one never does.’

  ‘My name is Hugh Warner.’

  ‘I’m glad to know it. I must have heard or read it but for two weeks you’ve just been the Matricide on the radio and television. Have another roll? Your photo’s in all the papers.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He took another roll. ‘That your dog? Surely you were not going to leave her behind?’

  Matilda looked down. Looking into the car a canine face, paws just reaching the car window.

  ‘Not mine. I have no dog.’

  ‘She looks dreadfully hungry.’ He held out half his roll. The dog snapped at it, gulped, retreated a few paces.

  ‘Now you’ve done it.’

  ‘Done what?’

  ‘Got yourself a dog. Can’t you see she’s lost? Look how thin she is. If you looked at her paws you’d see they are sore. That’s a lost dog.’

  ‘We can take it to the police when you take me.’

  ‘I’m not taking you, you can manage by yourself.’

  ‘Look pretty silly if I walk in and say “Hi, Constable, I’m the Matricide and here’s a lost dog, will you arrest us.”’

  They began to laugh quietly at first then in great whoops. Tears trickled down Matilda’s cheeks. She watched him feed the last roll to the dog, bit by bit, luring her into the car until she sat on his knee and licked his face.

  ‘Look at her paws. Poor little thing, oh poor little thing.’ The dog licked Matilda’s face also.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I’m still frightfully hungry. Will the police feed me, d’you think?’

  ‘Not for hours. They ask questions first.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ he sighed, stroking the dog, tipping up the bottle for another drink. ‘That was delicious.’

  ‘Any left for me?’

  He handed her the bottle. She drank, tipping it up three quarters empty, her eyes looking over to the black water in the harbour reflecting the lights from the town. She finished the bottle and reached back to put it in the basket.

  ‘Here’s a peach.’ He ate. The dog watched him.

  ‘You wouldn’t like fruit.’ His hand fondled the dog’s tatty ears. ‘She’s a frightful mongrel,’ his voice tender.

  Matilda wiped her face with her handkerchief, tidied up the remains of the picnic. ‘She’s lost and unwanted. I think we can skip the police.’

  ‘Ah. You are soft.’

  ‘Absolutely –’ Matilda began to speak then stopped, remembering Gus. ‘No, I’m not soft. I don’t know what I am. I hate. I hate. I’m full of it.’

  ‘Pretty so
ft sort of hate.’

  ‘It would be difficult to resist, just look at her.’ The dog now lolled between them, her body relaxed, sore paws hanging down, small black eyes moving from one face to the other.

  Matilda tried to think. She had failed to carry out the planned picnic. ‘I’ve missed the tide,’ she mewed.

  ‘You can try tomorrow.’

  ‘Not with this dog and –’

  ‘And?’

  ‘All that planning gone to waste.’

  ‘Carefully worked out, was it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So sorry.’

  ‘No good being sorry,’ Matilda said briskly. ‘No good us just sitting here.’ She switched on the engine. ‘I daresay you’d like a bath.’

  ‘A bath would be thrilling. They have them in the nick I understand.’

  Matilda switched on the headlights, drove out of the car park up through the town. Her passenger did not speak.

  On the outskirts of the town Matilda saw a corner shop still open. She stopped the car. ‘Won’t be a minute.’ She got out, went into the shop and bought several large cans of dog food, two pints of milk, a carton of eggs. ‘When I get back to the car he will be gone,’ she thought. ‘Perhaps he will take the dog. It would be an intelligent thing to do; nobody is looking for a man with a dog. If he’s gone I shall go straight back to the cliffs and whether that barbecue is going on or not, I shall swallow my pills and swim out, though washed down with milk isn’t as fine as washed down with Beaujolais, but if I swim fast the pills will work on their own. My plan will work after all.’

  She took the carrier bag back to the car. Hugh Warner was fast asleep holding the dog in his arms. Matilda restarted the car. She sensed her passenger was awake though he did not speak.

  They drove out of the town past the bus station, the railway station and the police station. Matilda grinned to herself momentarily, forgetting her resolution.

  ‘It’s about ten miles.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘You can have a bath and go to bed or you can go to bed and have a bath in the morning. There’s food in the house.’

  ‘I’d love a bath.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘If you have a razor?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘A bath and a shave, how civilized. My feet are sore like Miss here. What shall you call her?’

  ‘Folly,’ said Matilda.

  ‘A very good name.’

  They drove along the main road. When she reached the turning leading to the hills she said: ‘I live in an isolated cottage. It is not overlooked. I am a solitary person, people do not often come. You will be as safe as it is possible to be.’

  ‘You are very kind.’

  ‘I hope you appreciate my tact in not asking you why you killed your mother.’

  ‘I do, immensely.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘And I hope you will also appreciate my tact in not asking you why you had planned your suicide.’

  ‘Oh I do, I do.’ Matilda began to laugh again. Sitting on Hugh Warner’s lap, Folly wagged her tail. Her problem at least was solved.

  5

  THE BACK DOOR key was under the bootscraper where she had left it. Matilda opened the door and, switching on the light, walked in.

  ‘What a spotless kitchen.’ Hugh, carrying the bag of food, followed with Folly at his heels.

  ‘It’s rather untidy usually.’ She felt the Rayburn which was still warm, opened its door. In the fire box embers glowed. ‘I expected it to be out.’ She threw in sticks and a few larger pieces of wood, opened the damper. The fire flared and she put on coke. ‘Could you feed Folly? Don’t give her too much. The tin opener’s on the wall.’

  Hugh opened a tin. ‘Is there a dog bowl?’

  ‘There on the shelf.’ Matilda handed him Stub’s bowl. ‘I bet she’s thirsty.’ She filled the water bowl and watched the dog drink while the man spooned out food. ‘That’s enough. Too much will make her sick.’

  They watched the dog eat. Matilda sighed and muttered.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I said “another hostage to fortune” – I had just got free.’

  He looked at her curiously.

  ‘If you give her a run out at the back I’ll get us some food. She may not be housetrained. It’s a walled garden. She won’t run away.’

  ‘What about me?’ He snapped his fingers for the dog.

  ‘You needn’t run any more tonight. You can eat and sleep.’

  He went out with the dog.

  Matilda went upstairs to switch on the immersion heater and turn down the bed in the spare room. She opened the window and leaned out. In the oak tree up the lane an owl screeched. There was no other sound but the stream trickling over its stony bed. She felt terribly hungry. In her bedroom she opened windows and let in the warm night. The house caught its breath and came to life.

  In the kitchen the man sat slumped in the beechwood chair, the dog at his feet, nose straining towards the stove. He said: ‘She’s a good little dog, your Folly.’ The dog pricked her ears but looked at neither of them.

  ‘She’s yours, not mine. I’ll get something to eat. Could you manage an omelette?’

  ‘Lovely.’

  ‘Salad?’

  ‘Yes please.’

  ‘You’ll find wine in the larder. The corkscrew’s in that drawer.’ Matilda took a torch from the dresser and went out into the garden, shining it along the rows of vegetables, choosing a lettuce.

  The sky was a mass of stars, windless. Were Vanessa and Bobby still on the beach? Had the barbecue been a success? The torch focused on a toad crawling slowly across the brick path, his eyes golden. With concentration he pulled first one long back leg up then the other. He knew his destination.

  She laid the table, broke eggs, made a salad, found biscuits and butter, poured the wine, cut bread.

  ‘It’s a bit cold.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  The eggs sizzled and spluttered in the pan. She cut the omelette in half and tipped it onto their plates.

  They ate in silence. Matilda felt strength return slowly. Their plates empty, they sat looking at each other across the table, sizing one another up.

  Matilda saw a man of thirty-five, she knew his age from the radio. Large nose, large mouth, light brown hair, not fair as the papers said, brown eyes, thick eyebrows, stubbled face drawn with fatigue, good teeth, a few definite lines.

  Hugh saw a woman in her fifties, blue eyes, very white hair, arched nose, good teeth, slightly runaway chin, sensual mouth.

  ‘You don’t look like a Major.’

  ‘They confused me with my brother; he is a Major. I expect he will be furious, bad for his image.’

  ‘Is he fighting Guerillas?’

  ‘He is actually. Why?’

  ‘Such a lot of fighting. I don’t approve.’

  ‘Pacifist?’

  ‘I just don’t like violence.’

  ‘I –’

  ‘You hit your mother. It may have been justified.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘The choice of weapon. A tea-tray. Really!’ Matilda began to laugh. ‘Oh dear, I’m drunk. So sorry. It’s the anticlimax. I was worked up, was all prepared – I was ready.’ Folly put her paws on Matilda’s knees and buried her face in her crotch sniffing deeply, pressing her jaw against Matilda’s thighs. She stroked the dog’s head.

  ‘Silky.’

  Hugh Warner yawned.

  ‘I’ll show you where you sleep.’ Matilda stood up. ‘This way.’

  He followed her upstairs.

  ‘Here’s your room, the loo, the bath. Sleep well.’ She left him abruptly. Folly followed her back to the kitchen.

  Matilda poured the last of the wine and stood drinking it, trying to think. Her head was looping the loop. With tipsy care she cleared the table, washed up, put everything away, stoked the fire once more and tipped the ashes into the bin outside the back door. Followed by the dog she w
ent upstairs, undressed and got into bed. Without hesitation the dog got up on the bed and settled, pressing into the small of her back. Matilda thought, I shall never sleep, I’m drunk, and fell asleep instantly, her mouth open, snoring.

  Along the passage Hugh Warner soaked in a boiling bath, sat up and shaved, then ran in more hot water to soak again. He washed his hair, his hands, his feet, his whole exhausted body until finally, when the water cooled, he dried himself and crawled naked into the bed assigned him and lay listening to the night sounds.

  A stream somewhere near.

  Owls.

  Traffic a long way off.

  Snores. ‘Down the passage my hostess snores.’ Relaxed for the first time for weeks, he smiled. What folly. He turned on his side and slept.

  Half an hour later Matilda sat up in bed screaming, soaked in sweat, trembling. Folly licked her face, wagging her tail.

  ‘He’s a murderer, a murderer, he murdered his mother.’ Speaking this aloud made it true. She shivered, the sweaty nightdress cooling to clamminess on her body.

  ‘Fuck!’ She tore off the nightdress and sat hugging her knees.

  ‘Poor little dog.’ Matilda stroked her. ‘You will be all right now.’ She switched on her bedside light to look at the time. ‘Three o’clock, soon be dawn.’ She lay back, pulling the sheet round her neck. The dog settled again.

  If my picnic had gone according to plan I should be floating by the lighthouse. Time from now on is borrowed. The thought pleased her. She noticed from the taste in her mouth that she had been snoring, got up, rinsed her mouth with cold water at the basin then went back to lie on her side, mouth shut, breathing through her nose. How conventional to wake up and scream, how strong her upbringing. The man must have had a reason to kill his mother. Louise would, Mark could, Anabel certainly. Claud. Not Claud. Something would make him laugh or more probably he would not bother.

  Time was I would have killed mine, Matilda thought, only Tom came along. It’s all in the mind, she thought drowsily. It is ridiculous to scream about it. Was I not brought up not to scream? Who am I to judge? I was going to kill tonight, suicide is murder.