by Nancy Carson
‘How many times do I have to hit the coconut to win a teddy bear?’ he enquired of the man in charge of the stall.
‘Three times. But you have to knock it off the stand for it to count.’
One or two folk were gathering round watching Howard’s efforts, but he was not conscious of it. His only intention was to win a teddy bear for his lovely companion and his mind was focused on that.
‘Is there much chance of that?’ he asked evenly. ‘Those coconuts are stuck fast to the stands.’
‘Well, you’ve got the same chance as everybody else, mate,’ the man replied.
‘Maybe so, but it would be fairer if the coconuts were made easier to dislodge.’
‘Then everybody would win and I’d be a bloody pauper,’ the man scoffed. ‘These teddy bears cost money, you know. I can’t afford to give ’em away to every Tom, Dick and ’Arry what comes along.’
Undaunted, Howard hurled another ball. It also hit the coconut, but the coconut would not be shifted.
‘Yo’m roight, mate,’ a voice at his side said. ‘A bloody ’and grenade wunt shift them. It’s a fiddle if y’arsk me.’
Howard looked benignly at the man who had spoken. ‘Well, I’ve hit two out of three so far. Let’s see what the last three will do…’
Another hit. The coconut remained sitting.
‘Yo’ve gorra good aim, I’ll say that for yer.’
‘Thanks. But some use it is if the damn things won’t budge.’
‘I bet any money they’m nailed on, them coconuts,’ the onlooker said. ‘Hey, mate – am they nailed on, them coconuts?’
The man in charge of the stall lifted one from its bed of sawdust. ‘There y’are. Course they ain’t nailed on. That wouldn’t be fair, would it? Nailed on!’
Howard missed the next altogether. ‘Damn.’ One to go. Try a different coconut; the one next to it is sitting higher in its cradle. He threw as hard as he could – so hard that he thought it would impede his ability to aim accurately. But with an almighty crack the ball struck and rebounded off. The coconut teetered on the edge, then fell to the ground to a huge cheer from the sizeable group that had now gathered.
‘There. Told yer they wasn’t nailed on.’
‘If I wanted to buy a teddy bear, how much would it cost me?’ Howard asked.
‘One o’ these?’ the man pointed to one of his selection. ‘Seven an’ six.’
‘And what about that one there? The bigger one.’
‘Ten an’ six.’
‘Ten an’ six?’ the other man gibed. ‘I could by a decent pair o’ shoes for that.’
‘Tell you what,’ Howard said. ‘Since I’ve already hit four coconuts and only one fell, how about if I give you seven and six and you hand me the big teddy bear? Does that sound fair?’
The stall holder shook his head. ‘Can’t do it, mate. Sorry.’
A murmur of disapproval rippled through the growing crowd.
‘So it’s no use any of us havin’ a go then?’ Howard’s ally suggested to the stall holder. ‘Not if we got no chance o’ knockin’ any o’ them coconuts off. Christ, it’s hard enough just to hit the bloody things, then, if they won’t budge, what’s the point?’
‘Dead right, mate,’ somebody else muttered.
The crowd murmured their agreement.
‘So we might as well all bugger off then, eh? What’s the sense in payin’ good money for summat that’s a fiddle? I was gunn’ave a goo meself to try an’ win a teddy for our bab, but where’s the sense? No good throwing good money after bad, is it? I’d be better off buyin’ one from Lewis’s.’
The man in charge of the stall, realising that his chance of profiting at all from this was rapidly diminishing, decided it was time to try and win back some of the goodwill that was draining away. He said to Howard: ‘Go on, then, give me seven and six and you can have the big teddy.’
‘Thanks,’ Howard said gratefully, and from his back pocket pulled out a ten-shilling note. The deal was done, and he turned to Maxine with a big grin and handed her the teddy bear.
‘Oh, Howard, thank you,’ she said. ‘But you went to a lot of trouble and expense.’
‘Come on, let’s go,’ he whispered over the hubbub, of which he was the cause. ‘Let the rest sort it out between themselves. I got what I came for.’
‘The ghost train now?’ she suggested.
The ghost train, she reckoned, was sufficiently frightening for her to huddle to Howard for protection. He cheerfully cocooned her in his arms while she screamed with joyous horror at the skeletons and disgusting witches that swooped and clawed at her, and the sham spiders’ webs that slithered over her face and through her hair, sending cold shivers down her spine. She was both glad and sorry when they re-emerged into the warm night air and the bustle of the fairground.
‘Are you hungry?’ he asked.
‘No, I’m not hungry, Howard. Why? Are you?’ She’d been enjoying herself too much to think of her stomach.
‘Do you fancy a drink? We could go to a pub. Personally, I could murder a pint.’
‘Okay. Let’s go to a pub.’
So they walked hand in hand, content in each other’s company, towards a public house called ‘The Dog’. Howard came back from the bar clutching a pint of bitter for himself and a half pint of shandy for Maxine. He set them on the table and sat beside her.
‘I love this teddy,’ she said enthusiastically, her eyes sparkling, holding it to her like a little girl hugging a rag doll. ‘He’s beautiful. Oh, I’ll always love him…Will you christen him for me, Howard?’
‘Gladly.’ He took the bear from her as if it were their child. ‘Name this teddy bear,’ he said, parodying the Christian ritual.
‘Maldwyn,’ she grinned.
He laughed joyously. ‘Maldwyn? Why Maldwyn?’
‘I think it suits him.’
‘Okay.’ Howard dipped his fingers in his beer, trickled a couple of spots over the teddy bear’s forehead and said, ‘Maldwyn, I baptise thee in the name of Atkinson’s Ales,’ before handing it back.
‘Thank you, Howard.’ She chuckled and gave Maldwyn a hug. ‘You know, I thought that man at the coconut shy was going to get funny with you.’
‘Oh? I don’t think so. He could see everybody was siding with me and he was likely to lose business. He had to make some offer to save face. Anyway, I’m content. I reckon I had a bargain.’
‘I can see you’re a bit hard-headed for a clergyman. I’ll have to watch you.’
He quaffed his pint long and hard and licked his lips. ‘Not hard-headed, Maxine. Not at all. But I hate to be taken for a fool. It was so obvious those coconuts couldn’t be moved.’
‘Except for the one.’
‘Yes, the token one.’
‘I’ve really enjoyed the funfair, Howard. Thank you for taking me.’
‘The night’s not over yet, Maxine, is it?’
‘I hope not.’ Maxine sipped her shandy and put her glass back on the table pensively. ‘Do you disapprove of people having illicit affairs, Howard?’ she asked.
‘Excuse me?’ He regarded her curiously. ‘That’s a strange question. What makes you ask that?’
‘Well, you know Brent Shackleton? We think his wife is having an affair with Stephen Hemming. You remember me telling you about Stephen? The one who wanted to be engaged to me. The one whose ring you took off for me. You remember?’
Howard nodded. ‘Of course I remember. But who’s to approve or disapprove? Who knows what they feel for each other? If they are so strongly attached, something draws them. Who am I to suggest that exquisite feelings between two people shouldn’t exist? When two people are ardently in love, all other considerations are forgotten.’
‘What if it’s only sex that draws them?’
He laughed in admiration of her clear-sightedness . ‘You mean lust? Oh, it’ll burn itself out pretty soon, I imagine.’
‘By which time the damage to her marriage will be beyond repair.’
&
nbsp; ‘I imagine so.’
‘What’s the Church’s view on adultery, Howard?’
‘Simply, that thou shalt not commit adultery – that marriage was ordained as a remedy against such behaviour…that – and I quote – “such persons as have not the gift of continency” – that is, those who cannot keep their hands and other parts of their anatomy to themselves – “might marry and keep themselves undefiled members of Christ’s body”.’
‘And do you believe that?’
‘Yes, I do, Maxine. The principle of it at any rate. Marriage is for life and the married partners should remain faithful.’
‘But what if a couple have made a mistake marrying each other? What if their marriage turns out to be a hell on earth?’
‘Is Brent’s marriage a hell on earth?’
‘I’ve no idea. But I wasn’t meaning them specifically. People fall in love with someone else along the way sometimes, don’t they? Someone other than the person they’re married to.’
‘Of course. It happens. Sometimes people can’t help feeling something for one person that they don’t feel, or have ceased to feel, for another…And people change. They change their views, their interests, their priorities. Married partners likewise change, and often in different directions. That’s when the problems start. But society, if nothing else, applies the pressure of respectability, Maxine, so most couples end up putting up with each other for the sake of it.’
‘With one, or both, having a bit on the side.’
Her terminology amused him and he chuckled. ‘Quite possibly, I suppose, if they feel they can get away with it…if their consciences allow them to do it.’
‘So you don’t altogether disapprove of someone having a bit on the side?’
‘I can understand it in certain marriages, but I don’t condone it, Maxine. There’s absolutely no substitute for a stable marriage partnership. Of that, I’m convinced. It’s the best way to rear children. It’s the best way to bring children up as responsible citizens.’
In the smoky atmosphere of the pub Maxine was suddenly conscious of someone approaching from behind; a perception that cut through the general hum of conversation. She decided not to turn round to see who it was but a tall, slender woman walked past her, her figure striking in the elegant dress she was wearing. Maxine recognised her at once and bent her head so the girl could not see her face if she turned around. A man followed her; Maxine saw a familiar pair of brown brogues and grey flannels as he brushed past her. Then she caught a whiff of the girl’s perfume. She couldn’t help but look up and watch them make their exit. The man’s hand went to the small of her back to guide her gently through the door in front of them, then he pressed his hand intimately against her backside. Maxine caught her breath, but her very pause from conversation spoke volumes to Howard who caught her look of astonishment.
‘You look as if you’ve seen a ghost. Was that somebody you know?’
‘That was Stephen and Eleanor.’
‘Talk of the Devil…’
‘Oh, poor, poor Brent!’
‘Poor Brent indeed, Maxine. But at least, he’s not your worry.’
‘Yes…’ she replied, but without conviction. Somehow, she thought he might well end up her worry, although she did not like to say as much.
Chapter 12
‘I’ve really enjoyed tonight, Howard,’ Maxine said. Her voice was breathy, intimate, little more than a whisper, enjoying the privacy of his car.
Howard smiled, grateful for the confirmation, and she could just discern in the darkness the delightful curl of his lips. ‘It hasn’t exactly been a chore, Maxine,’ he replied.
‘I’m glad.’
‘I’d love to see you again. Do you still stand by what you said about going to the Tower Ballroom on Saturday?’
‘Yes, course,’ she breathed.
‘Then I’ll see you there, if that’s all right. What time do you normally arrive?’
‘Not until after the CBO concert’s finished at the Town Hall. About half past ten, maybe quarter to eleven…But why don’t you come to the CBO concert as well?’
‘You know, Maxine, I’d love that.’
‘I could get you a ticket. Then I could meet you before the concert and hand it to you.’
‘Great idea. But let’s go one better. Let me collect you from here and take you.’
She hesitated. Brent would be expecting to collect her. He might think it ungracious of her to break that routine. But if Brent collected her as normal and she returned with Howard, wouldn’t that seem even more ungracious? Oh, damn Brent! She could not live her life for him.
‘I don’t mind,’ she agreed. ‘As long as you don’t mind carting my cello as well.’
‘Mind? It’ll be a privilege.’
Pausing, he took off his spectacles and looked at her intently. The catchlights from the lighted windows of the house glistened in her soft, soulful eyes as she held his gaze with an unmistakable expression of admiration.
‘I can see better close to without my glasses,’ he announced. ‘I can see your hazel eyes better now.’
‘I can see yours better too…’
‘Maxine…’ Something in his voice made her heart skip.
‘Yes?’ she answered expectantly.
‘Would you mind awfully if I asked to kiss you? I…’
‘No, I wouldn’t mind at all, Howard…Not at all.’
‘Good…Then, may I?’
Her leaning towards him and tilting her head was consent enough. His arms went about her and their lips met at last.
Instantly, the feel of his lips on hers was exotic, delightfully soft, accommodating. Such lips were meant for kissing…and then, even more kissing. She could not break off. She did not want to break off. To break off would be the most difficult thing in the world. How long they kissed she did not know, for she was not timing it but, when eventually their lips parted, she sighed heavily as he squeezed her with a great hoard of affection.
‘Oh, Howard,’ she breathed, delighted. Never had she believed she could enjoy a kiss so much. She felt released from her fears of being a cold fish. Physical contact was going to be repulsive no more. This she enjoyed. She longed to feel his kiss again. It awakened so many other sensations, heightening awareness of her own tingling sexuality. ‘Mmm, that was nice. Would you mind kissing me again?’
The expression on her lovely face was so intense and he gladly obliged. As their lips met a second time he stroked the back of her neck, and a tremor ran down her spine in response; a shiver of pleasure.
‘Oh Howard…’
‘Yes?’
‘Kissing you is really nice.’
‘You sound surprised.’
‘I didn’t mean it like that. Sorry.’
‘Well, you enjoyed it no more than I did.’
She had discovered so much about herself in these fleeting moments. And it was because of him. ‘I’m really glad you kiss so nicely. You don’t know how important it is to me…’
He kissed her again. His right hand rested at her waist and he was aware of the soft warmth of her body so inviting, so damnably inviting.
For the first time since his ordination, Howard Quaintance wished he were not a man of the cloth. To be an ordinary Joe, unshackled by the religious expectations of morality that bound him to a state of celibacy before marriage, would be much, much preferable right now. If this affair progressed further – and later he intended to offer a private prayer to the Almighty that it would – he knew he would be too weak-willed to abide by those religious expectations. He was a man, first and foremost. He was flesh and blood and at the mercy of all the natural desires the Almighty bestowed on man. He was driven, as is every man, by a pounding heart and that irrepressible surge of blood to his loins that is the engine of all man’s desires. His religious calling could not gainsay that. Even as he kissed those soft, succulent lips, as he held her in his arms, he made a decision: he would not struggle with his conscience where Maxine Kite was concerne
d if this affair progressed that far. There would be no mental conflict between what she or the Church required. Maxine would be his priority. Her emotions, her expectations, her desires, would always take precedence.
Brent Shackleton had gone to bed with a large glass of brandy and an inkling that his world was about to cave in. Through several cigarettes, he pondered his situation with growing unease. Sitting up in bed, he finished his brandy, damning Eleanor’s liaison with Stephen Hemming. Eleanor had taken to going out at night quite regularly – something she had not done before – but even more disturbing was the hours she was keeping. Everything pointed to a growing involvement with Stephen. It was just so obvious.
Yet something surprised him; he was not angry. He should have been hopping mad but he was not. Oh, he was saddened by the whole thing; surprised that she had involved herself with such a nonentity as Stephen, and particularly concerned about what she might divulge. But angry? No.
In a way, he was relieved. He fancied the taste of new flesh and Eleanor’s actions could free him to pursue Maxine Kite more earnestly, whom he needed now perhaps more than he needed Eleanor. In truth, his thoughts lately had not been entirely focused on Eleanor; much of the time he’d been thinking about Maxine, taking advantage of the time he spent with her, trying to turn her head. Recently she had given him no reason to feel encouraged. Their relationship depended on their music, existed because of it. Not so long ago she had shown more than just a spark of interest in him, but the discovery that he was married had deterred her, and would no doubt deter her still.
The brandy was finished, the last cigarette stubbed out. Brent switched off the light and settled down, warm under the single sheet. His thoughts meandered on, about Eleanor, about Maxine, the CBO, the band. He could not sleep. Outside he heard the rattle and thrum of a car engine, a voice raised in anger – Eleanor’s voice – followed by the slamming of a car door, hurried, defiant footsteps, the key turning agitatedly in the front door lock.
Well, well! They had had a row.
He would pretend to be asleep. He would pretend he had not heard.
