Jumping the Queue

by Mary Wesley

  ‘I don’t think I have. Let’s swim.’ Hugh ran down the beach into the water and swam.

  ‘Put my foot in it,’ Matilda said to Folly. ‘He’s seen his mother’s. Sit by our clothes, there’s a good dog.’

  Folly wagged humbly and stayed watching anxiously as Matilda walked down to the water.

  Matilda swam, watching Hugh’s head moving away from her. ‘Dear God,’ she said aloud. ‘I’ve put ideas into his head, he won’t come back, he’s gone.’ She called loudly and waved her arm. ‘Hugh, come back!’ He swam on, his head growing smaller on her horizon. A small wind sprang up, flipping the sea into waves. ‘Hugh!’ Matilda called. ‘Hugh!’ A wave filled her mouth, making her gag.

  Matilda was further from the beach than she thought. She swam back, her arms and legs tiring. She could see Folly down by the water’s edge, advancing, then retreating from the waves, giving small anxious barks.

  ‘Damn him, damn him, damn him!’ Matilda cursed Hugh as she pushed her arms through the water. ‘Damn him, oh damn him!’

  ‘The wind’s getting up.’ Hugh swam alongside. ‘Sea’s getting quite choppy.’

  Matilda did not answer. When her feet touched bottom she waded ashore, spitting out the taste of salt, pushing her hair away from her face with wet hands.

  ‘Now what’s she on about?’ Hugh greeted Folly who jumped and cavorted in the shallows. ‘Think we’d get drowned, did you, you foolish little creature.’ He watched Matilda walking up to the rock, reach for her towel, rub her face with it, pressing it against her eyes.

  ‘Lovely that was.’ He joined her. ‘This rock’s quite hot.’ He sat down and let the water run down him. Matilda, angry with herself, did not speak rubbing herself dry. ‘Look the other way. I want to strip,’ she said tersely.

  Hugh, leaning back on his arms, looked out to sea. He could hear her pulling down the bathing dress and the rubbing of the towel. He glanced along the beach.

  ‘Here come our lunchtime neighbours.’ He looked round at Matilda standing naked beside him, rubbing her hair with the towel. With her arms raised her breasts looked quite girlish. She had a flat stomach.

  ‘Oh Christ! Not them again!’ Matilda grabbed her knickers. ‘I’m used to having this beach to myself. Nobody ever used to come here.’

  ‘I bet fat Dad saw your bush, it’s very pretty.’

  ‘Don’t be common.’ Matilda imitated the girl’s voice. ‘It’s common to talk about bushes. I have grey hairs in it.’

  ‘Distinguished. I didn’t note your wrinkled bottom.’

  ‘I’m wrinkled all over. Neck, face, hands, bottom, all wrinkled through to my soul.’

  ‘I must be short-sighted.’

  Matilda struggled into her shirt and jeans. ‘Put your glasses on, for God’s sake. That woman thinks you’re attractive in your photographs, she’ll recognize you.’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Don’t let’s give her the pleasure.’

  ‘The father and mother are sitting down. The girl’s going to swim.’

  ‘Let’s go. Do get dressed.’

  ‘All right.’ He stood up.

  ‘D’you think they heard me calling?’ Matilda was suddenly anxious.

  ‘Did you call?’

  ‘Yes. Didn’t you hear? I thought you were going out too far.’

  ‘I didn’t hear. What did you say?’

  ‘I shouted, “Hugh, Hugh, come back.” They could have heard.’

  ‘Suppose they did?’

  ‘That woman knows you are called Hugh. Do hurry.’

  ‘Hurrying would be the stupidest thing. You go ahead if you’re nervous.’

  ‘All right.’ Carrying her towel and bathing dress in one hand, her shoes in the other, she started along the beach, taking a line which would bring her close to the family party.

  The father lay back, his head on his arms, eyes closed, his stomach a mound above skinny legs. The mother sat upright, glancing about her. The girl carefully oiled her arms and legs. She had rather bony knees.

  Matilda, walking silently, strained her ears.

  ‘No, dear, I don’t suppose so. I only said it’s funny he should be called Hugh, that’s what she was calling, dear, she was calling “Hugh”. I told you. Hush, here she comes.’

  ‘Oh Mummy, don’t keep saying “dear”, can’t you say “darling” or Inez?’

  ‘That Dereck you are going to marry is supposed to be so democratic. Why should he mind if I talk common? If I want to call you “dear” I shall. “Darling” doesn’t come naturally to me, you know that. You used to say it was the thing to be common.’

  ‘Oh Mummy, that was in Nigel’s day.’

  ‘I only said it was a funny thing that that man over there who looks like the Matricide should be called Hugh, dear. That’s all. It’s his name, Hugh Warner, it’s been in all the papers.’

  ‘Hardly likely he’d be using his own name, is it?’ Dad looked up at the sky.

  ‘The Express says he’s in Paris and has grown a beard.’ The girl had turned sulky.

  ‘You can’t believe all you read in the papers, dear.’

  ‘Oh Mummy,’ the girl almost screamed in desperation. ‘Must you say “dear” all the time?’

  ‘Now then, Inez, don’t you be rude to your Ma.’ Dad sat up and glared at his daughter. ‘We’ve been “dear” to each other all our lives and “dear” we shall stay. We may be common but we are dear to one another and you are dear to us. Eh, Ma, how’s that?’

  As she pulled on her espadrilles, Matilda listened anxiously.

  ‘It’s a very common name.’ The girl poured oil into her palm and massaged her throat upwards. ‘Think of all the radio and TV Hughs, Hugh and Huw.’

  ‘You contradict everything I say, dear. It’s becoming a habit.’

  ‘I wasn’t contradicting, I just said –’

  ‘Did your paper say what the chap who ate his wife’s doggy-woggy is being charged with?’ Dad spoke with his eyes shut. Matilda blessed him.

  ‘Eating dogs isn’t a chargeable offence. I asked Dereck.’

  ‘Your Dereck knows it all.’

  ‘Dereck says that bride who vanished from the beach had probably been murdered. That’s what Dereck says.’

  ‘Beaches aren’t all that safe then. Better be careful when you honeymoon on the Costa what’s it, Inez girl.’

  ‘Oh, Daddy.’

  ‘Call me “Dad” like you always have. I don’t like this “Daddy” bit, it stinks.’

  ‘Yes, dear, call your Dad “Dad”. No need to change all of a sudden now you are engaged to Dereck. Call him “Dad” like always, dear.’

  ‘Oh, Mummy,’ the girl whined in exasperation.

  ‘Just because he works in a solicitor’s office and talks posh doesn’t mean he knows it all. Call your Dad “Dad”, dear.’

  Matilda, moving away, detected hurt in the mother’s voice, then suddenly aggression. ‘I’m not saying anything against your Dereck, but we all know people can take elocution lessons.’ Matilda risked a backward glance at Inez’s angry mother. ‘You call us Mum and Dad like you always have. Dear.’

  Matilda moved on, her heart thumping. She started up the cliff, daring to look back. She was appalled to see Hugh talking to the family party.

  ‘Is he quite crazy?’

  Presently they all laughed and Hugh walked on towards her, followed by Folly.

  ‘Are you quite mad?’

  ‘No. The mother accosted me, said I looked like the Matricide, was I often mistaken for him.’

  ‘Christ! What did you say?’

  ‘I asked, in my best German accent, who was the Matricide? They told me. I made a joke and we all laughed. That’s all.’

  ‘They must have heard you talking English at lunch.’

  ‘I doubt it. We never raised our voices. I was on the far side of the table. We listened to them, not they to us.’

  ‘I pray you are right.’

  ‘Don’t be so panicky and spoil the afternoon
.’

  ‘Sorry. It’s been lovely.’ Hugh stood looking down at the beach.

  ‘My mother would have loved this beach. She adored places like this.’

  ‘Your mother?’

  ‘Just because I killed my mother doesn’t mean I don’t know what she liked,’ Hugh said coldly, looking at Matilda with dislike. ‘I know very well what gave her pleasure – pain, fear.’

  ‘Let’s get back to the car.’ Matilda shivered. ‘I’m afraid. That woman heard me call “Hugh”. I’m afraid.’

  ‘Yes, she mentioned that. I said “Hugo” was my name. Sounds much the same when shouted. My mother used to call “Hugh-o”? A sort of yodel.’

  ‘You loved your mother?’

  ‘Of course I did.’

  ‘I’m afraid.’

  ‘That’s life. All your claptrap about death is rubbish.’

  ‘No, no, it isn’t, wasn’t.’

  Hugh walked ahead to the car. His back view expressed annoyance. Matilda cheered up on the way home, and sang as she drove.

  ‘I paid a shilling to see

  A tattooed Lady

  Ta ta-ta ta-ta ta

  I can’t remember the words. D’you know them?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I remember, it ends like this –

  On her hips were battleships

  Oh my, but they were fine,’

  Matilda sang, ‘and

  Right down her spine

  Were the King’s own guard in line.

  Oh, I have it all wrong. I wish I could remember. Joyce Grenfell sang it at a troops’ concert in 1939. I don’t suppose you were born.’

  ‘Not quite. Go on singing.’

  ‘I’ll try and remember the words. My Pa was in the Territorials. Ma took me to their concert.’

  ‘It sounds Edwardian. Go on singing. I like it.’

  ‘I forget the words, just as I forget my life, huge chunks of it.’

  ‘It will all flash before your eyes out by the lighthouse.’

  ‘Maybe. That’s something I hadn’t thought of. Surely I shall think of something more profound than tattooed ladies?’

  ‘You will think of your lovers, perhaps.’ Hugh, lolling beside her, thought of her standing naked, arms raised, on the beach. ‘You must have had plenty.’

  ‘No, I didn’t. Vague experiments, then I married Tom.’

  ‘But surely –’

  ‘I was faithful.’

  ‘Prig.’ Hugh teased. Matilda frowned.

  ‘I was, I promise. No chance of anything else. Tom was a jealous man, he chased other men away. We lived like swans. They mate for life,’ she said, knowing she lied.

  ‘Swans,’ Hugh jeered.

  ‘I know, I’ve found out haven’t I? But I don’t suppose I would have been any different if I had known it all.’

  ‘But since his death?’

  ‘I’m too old. No one. Well, a glint in Mr Jones’s eyes soon doused.’

  ‘Well I never.’ Hugh thought of the tussling Mr Jones in bed. ‘I daresay he’d put up a creditable performance. Maybe you’re not keen though.’

  ‘Keen on what?’

  ‘Bed.’

  ‘I adore fucking,’ Matilda said intensely. Hugh raised his eyebrows, looking at her sidelong, full mouth, small chin. She opened the mouth and sang, repeating the words she could remember.

  ‘I paid a shilling to see

  A tattooed lady,’

  then, breaking into a piercing whistle she turned the car off the main road and drove through the lanes to the cottage.

  ‘It’s been a lovely day. Thanks.’

  ‘I enjoyed it.’

  ‘Here we are. Where’s Gus?’

  ‘Can’t see him.’ Hugh gathered up their bathing things. ‘I’ll hang these up.’

  ‘Okay. Gus, Gus, where are you? Gus? Sometimes he goes down the river. He always comes back.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I have to see Mr Jones. I won’t be long.’

  ‘Don’t let anyone see you.’

  ‘Of course not.’ Hugh went up to his room, took his money from the dressing-table drawer. He counted a hundred pounds in notes, put them in his wallet, then counted the rest. Matilda was in the garden picking vegetables. From time to time she called, ‘Gus, Gus, come on boy,’ in a high voice.

  ‘He’ll come, he does this sometimes. It’s his way of asserting his independence.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yes, quite. Don’t be long. I’m hungry.’

  ‘Not long –’ Hugh walked along the stream, through the copse, followed by Folly, to Mr Jones’s bungalow. Mr Jones was sitting in his porch smoking.

  ‘I didn’t know you smoked.’

  ‘Pot.’ Mr Jones offered the cigarette to Hugh who drew on it deeply. ‘Improves the view,’ Mr Jones said, ‘makes things twice as clear, if you want clarification.’

  ‘I’ve brought the money.’ Hugh gave back the cigarette, handed over the envelopes. Mr Jones counted, then said,

  ‘Okay, fine. I have francs, dollars, deutschmarks, that do you?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘Hold this.’ He gave Hugh the joint. ‘Won’t belong.’ He went into the bungalow. Hugh smoked quietly until Mr Jones came back.

  ‘Here you are.’ He handed Hugh an envelope. ‘That should keep you going for a while. When are you off?’

  ‘Soon.’

  ‘Right. No need to tell me. Does she know?’

  ‘Matilda?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I haven’t told her. I’m just going to be there one minute, gone the next.’

  ‘That’s the best way.’ Mr Jones nodded. ‘The Express says you’ve been seen in Paris, the Mirror says East Berlin, they’re always keen on East Berlin, it’s not easy to check.’

  ‘I shall leave the dog.’

  ‘Sure. Something to remember you by.’

  ‘She won’t want to remember me. It’s her husband she remembers.’

  ‘That’s an illusion.’ Mr Jones spat, drew on the last dregs of pot. ‘She’s conned herself all her life, that woman.’

  ‘She doesn’t seem to have had much life. I must go.’ Hugh stood up quickly. ‘She’s cooking supper. It’s getting dark.’

  ‘Autumn’s here –’

  ‘Yes, nearly.’

  ‘Where shall you go?’

  ‘East Berlin.’

  Mr Jones waved as Hugh left. As he walked away he could hear him chuckling.

  The cottage was strangely still. Hugh paused, smelling danger. Matilda was silent. There was no car by the gate but something had gone wrong. Hugh gestured to Folly to run ahead. The dog trotted along the brick path and in at the kitchen door.

  Inside the house Matilda made a noise, just a noise barely human. He ran into the house. Matilda looked up at him. ‘The police –’

  Hugh felt his heart constrict, sweat break out, pins and needles in his fingers. ‘Where? When?’

  ‘They saw him from their car, they tried, one of them went into the water and got wet. There was nothing they could do. His head was bitten off.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Gus. He’s dead. A fox, they said. A struggle by the river. His body was in the water. Feathers on the bank, they said. He must have put up a fight.’

  Hugh let out his breath. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘They took him away. I wouldn’t want to see him like that, they said. He pecked one of them once. I thought they were coming for you, but it was Gus. What shall I do?’

  Hugh moved, picked up Matilda in his arms and held her close.

  ‘Shut up. Don’t speak.’ He carried her upstairs. She was lighter than she looked. He pulled off her clothes, snapping buttons, yanking her arms out, unzipped her jeans, pulled them off.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Undressing you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Shut up.’ He kicked off his shoes, tore off his trousers, ‘Come here, hold on, o
pen your legs –’

  ‘I –’

  ‘You like fucking, you said so, shut up.’ He put his hand over her mouth. ‘There, be quiet, just move a bit – there.’

  Matilda came alive, gasping, struggling, fighting, joining in, holding him, her response sudden, silent. Then she sighed.

  ‘It hurt, it hurt, you raped me.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to rape you. I meant to console.’

  ‘Like your mother,’ Matilda murmured.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. It hurt nicely.’

  ‘You haven’t for so long. It will be better next time.’ He held her, stroking her back. Outside the room Folly yawned and stretched then, with a sigh, fell asleep. They would remember her dinner in time. She wasn’t all that hungry though it was late.

  Owls on their silent hunting zoomed over the fields. Holiday makers drove along the main road, making for the motorway and urban life.

  Matilda lay in Hugh’s arms. ‘You will flash before my eyes,’ she murmured.

  ‘Hush.’ He kissed her mouth gently.

  ‘I am old enough to be your mother.’ He kissed her, running his tongue along her teeth as a child rattles railings with a stick. ‘A good joke. Sleep now, it’s not the moment to say so.’

  ‘Would I have liked your mother?’

  ‘I think so. Sleep.’ He kissed her.

  He slid out of bed, dressed, crept downstairs. His wallet was on the kitchen table. He crept up again for his passport and small bag of clothes, stood by Matilda’s door listening.

  Matilda snored.

  Downstairs Hugh fed Folly, scooping dog meat from a tin, watching her wolf it.

  ‘Quick now, have a run.’ He let her into the garden to pee. ‘Hurry up.’ She came in. ‘Stay now. Take good care of her. Be a good dog. Go to your basket.’ He pointed to the basket. The dog went to it, sat uneasily, watching as he swallowed a quick sandwich and drank milk. He patted her once. ‘Lie down, be good. Take care of her.’

  He let himself out by the kitchen door, closing it gently. If he walked fast he could catch the 11.30 to London. Then who knows, he thought. Who knows where my dollars, deutschmarks and francs will take me. From London I can take the tube to Heathrow, into the world, back to life. Walking fast across country, Hugh thought bitterly of his mother and of Matilda. She always hoped I’d find a woman I could love. Now, he thought, pausing by a gate, leaning his head in his arms, thinking of Matilda, now I can’t have her. They shan’t find me, not now, not ever, for her sake they must not. He hurried on, across the main road, down a side road to the town, to the station. He was engrossed by Matilda, her body and his joined, smelling her, hearing her, feeling her. He did not hear the squeak of brakes or the yelp as a car driving fast clipped Folly on the head and killed her, tossing her body to the curb. He was so absorbed by Matilda that it had not occurred to him that Folly would leap out of the kitchen window and follow.