Scuba Dancing

by Nicola Slade

  Inexorably Delia wore them down until everyone had sworn on his or her mother’s grave – in Rosemary’s case with a fervour that had them all laughing with her – that they would collect up bits and pieces and beg from neighbours and acquaintances.

  ‘That’s good,’ she graciously conceded at the end. ‘Rosemary and Julia, you two can man the stall, unless anyone else wants to take a turn. No? There you are then. Sue, you can drop in and relieve them or give them a hand, or just keep them company. Bobbie, you’d better sort them out a float from our account, and you might look in on them now and then just to make sure they’re not making a pig’s ear of the takings.’

  ****

  It was easier to give in and do what Delia wanted than to stand up for one’s rights so they all meekly agreed with her. That had been Monday night’s meeting and all through the week the offerings began to cover the table in Bobbie’s dining room.

  An assortment of china, including some lovely pieces of Wedgwood, came from Hugh Taylor who had been formally initiated into the club and professed all eagerness to join in with the holiday plans.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ he protested when Rosemary commented on the china. ‘The girls don’t want it and I never really liked it that much, nor did Joan – it was her mother’s. You know the kind of thing, too good to chuck out but not what we liked ourselves, so it lived in a cupboard except when my mother-in-law came to stay. I’m happy for it to go to a good cause.’

  ‘Delia,’ Rosemary had protested after the meeting, ‘I can’t go out all day Sunday, it simply isn’t safe to leave Margot on her own.’

  ‘Do you good,’ came the crisp reply. ‘I’ll babysit your mother and if I have any trouble, which I won’t, I’ll call in reinforcements in the shape of Marek and Jonathan. She’ll be so perked up to see a couple of men that I’ll have no nonsense at all from her. All you need to do is drop her over to me at Daisy Cottage on your way to the Town Hall. Pack a bag of spares for her if you like, though it won’t bother me if she has an accident; I had Guy in nappies at the end, poor bugger.’

  Hugh was dragooned into providing transport.

  ‘She simply informed me that I had that “stonking great Mercedes” and therefore I was the obvious candidate,’ he told Julia, Jamie and Rosemary over a drink in the pub the next day. ‘She’s the worst slave-driver I’ve ever met, but you can’t help admiring the old dragon, can you?’

  He and Rosemary then put their heads together to discuss adding potted plants to the stall’s complement.

  ‘Are you sure, though, Hugh?’ Rosemary was doubtful. ‘I could understand if we were selling aspidistras, but plants and antiques?’

  ‘Checked it out,’ Hugh told her with a kindly, patronising manner that made Julia wince but Rosemary glow with pleasure. ‘It’s called an Antiques, Collectables and Fleamarket Fair and apparently pretty much anything goes. Not ordinary household junk, of course, but then again, if your household junk happens to date from before the war …’

  ‘I can’t believe I ever fancied Hugh Taylor,’ Julia confessed frankly to Finn as they met in Julia’s sitting room for a drink that night.

  ‘Why shouldn’t you?’ queried Finn idly. ‘He’s quite good-looking, lots of hair, that quietly distinguished look. Mind you, I much prefer Jamie, specially as you reckon he’s going to cut down on the Heir to the Throne stuff.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Julia smiled reminiscently. ‘Why not Hugh? Well, for a start he’s only about five foot eight, and I know that’s about as shallow a reason as you can get, so don’t even bother telling me. Two reasons really: one is that his wife still occupies his whole life, after all, she’s not been dead long, poor woman. But I don’t think I’d feel comfortable getting close to someone who is still grieving. Sometimes you can almost see her sitting beside him. It doesn’t seem to bother Rosemary, I think she’s just happy to have a boyfriend.’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ Finn agreed. ‘I’d hate it if Charlie’s wife – or whatever – cropped up at every turn. Speaking of which, I still haven’t found out what that’s all about, you know. He says he isn’t married and never has been, but the barricades go up if I get close to the subject. It’s not that he’s still in love with her, whoever she was, I’m sure of that. I just don’t like to push it till he’s ready to tell me, specially after his temper tantrum the other day. Besides, Hedgehog said something … oh never mind. Anyway, you said two reasons for not getting involved with Hugh. What’s the second one?’

  ‘It’s two and three. For one thing he’s a passionate golfer and all sport leaves me cold; and then there’s his garden.’ Julia drained her drink and poured them each another glass of Chardonnay. ‘He’s obsessed with it. I mean, I like flowers as much as anyone, gardening too, when it’s not cold or wet, but he’s fanatical. Out there weeding, rain or shine, hail or snow, he’s the kind that probably uses nail scissors to trim the edges. And he bores for England on the subject: fertilising, potash, mulching. Do I give a damn about mulching? Nope,’ she stretched luxuriously. ‘Give me Jamie any day, specially now he—’

  She checked herself and attempted to change the subject.

  ‘Oh no you don’t, Julia,’ Finn was intrigued. ‘Specially now Jamie what?’ Her eyes grew round with interest. ‘Julia? You mean he and you …? I thought you said that wasn’t on?’

  ‘Never you mind,’ Julia said with a smug grin. ‘You keep an eye on your own love life and keep your nose out of mine.’

  ****

  The antiques fair was causing Ursula Buchanan some anxiety. I simply can’t be the only person in the group who doesn’t contribute, she fretted, going through her scanty treasures: the ring from Mother, the bible from Father, the delicate cup and saucer from her godmother, sadly chipped now. The problem continued to haunt her as she fumbled through her chores around the house, pottered to the village shop and eventually clambered aboard the bus into town.

  Now what am I doing in here, she asked herself, when, laden with shopping, she found herself in a china shop. Such lovely things, she thought sadly, gazing at some little silver boxes, decorated with enamel flowers.

  Suddenly she was aware of a sharply spicy perfume, a hint of lemon, a suggestion of thyme.

  ‘Oh,’ she greeted the angel with a soft murmuring of pleasure. ‘I wondered if you’d ever come back.’

  ‘I’m around all the time,’ answered the angel in his ringing, golden tones, making her look round anxiously. But no, there was no commotion, no gasps of astonishment. Nobody around at all, in fact. It was tea-break time and the only assistant was brewing up in the little back kitchen.

  ‘Go on,’ the angel indicated the small silver boxes. ‘Stick a couple in your bag, they won’t notice. Go on,’ he urged at her shocked expression. ‘You know you want to.’

  Obediently Ursula slid three of the charming little trifles into her pocket while the angel looked on.

  ‘Now you’d better get off home,’ he suggested. ‘That old besom you slave for will be wanting her tea soon.’

  Ursula was half way home, head nodding a little as usual, and looking out of the bus window, before the shock hit her. Oh my Lord! I stole something from a shop! What would Mother say? Or Father? Oh heavens, what have I done? How Henrietta would crow if she saw me taken off to the police station and thrown into the cells.

  She shook and shivered all the way home from the bus stop at the end of Bychurch until a thought struck her. But nobody saw me, she realised. If they had there would have been a hue and cry, but the shop assistant didn’t notice, she certainly didn’t come running after me.

  Indoors she put the kettle on before taking off her hat and coat. She made the tea and daringly poured herself a cup, ignoring the querulous complaints from upstairs.

  The tea did its work. Instantly refreshed Ursula managed to calm down. I must give those boxes to Bobbie straight away, she vowed, and I’m never, ever going to do that again, not even if he brings the whole Heavenly Host to persuade me. Oh my goodness, what an es
cape.

  When she felt strong enough to tackle Henrietta she found her squatting in an armchair like a malevolent toad.

  ‘I managed to struggle to the window,’ announced Henrietta the martyr to rheumatism, (obesity and idleness as the doctor privately described it to Ursula; it was the patient herself who insisted she was delicate and at risk of a stroke if crossed.) ‘It’s a disgrace out there. You’re to get out there tomorrow and weed that end border. You needn’t try to wriggle out of it,’ she warned as Ursula began to remonstrate. ‘I only have to lift the telephone and you’ll be taken into care.’ Her eyes narrowed as she noted the sudden increase in writhings and twistings of her sister-in-law’s hands, the stark terror in Ursula’s china-blue eyes.

  ‘What have you been up to?’ she demanded. ‘You look positively terrified. And don’t try my patience with that stuff about me needing you as much as you need me – not true. They’ll just send in a nurse and a home help.’

  Ursula was too far gone in fright to dispute this claim and in the end she evaded Henrietta’s piercing interrogation by the simple method of scuttling out of the room.

  ****

  On Thursday afternoon Sue Merrill parked her VW Golf outside Bobbie’s house. As she heaved a large cardboard box out of the boot she was hailed by Julia Fitzgerald who was crossing the green.

  ‘What’s up? Why the panic phone calls?’ Julia asked, hauling out another box from the car and walking up the path with it.

  ‘Just a sec,’ puffed Sue as she rang the bell, greeted Bobbie gratefully and dumped the box on the dining room floor. ‘That’s better, weighs a ton, that box, it’s all books.’

  ‘Books?’ Julia looked doubtful. ‘Antique books, do you mean?’

  ‘Nope, just books. That’s why I rang you,’ Sue explained. ‘I bumped into Bobbie at lunchtime in town and she told me we’d got a lot of stuff that can’t be called antique by any stretch of the imagination, so when I then had a message from an old colleague that her church was having a car boot sale this Saturday I booked us a couple of pitches and started clearing out junk.’

  ‘What?’ Julia was horrified. ‘A boot sale Saturday and an antiques fair Sunday? We’ll be knackered.’

  ‘Wimp!’ replied Sue robustly. ‘We can take it in turns. Nobody said it would be you on Saturday. I’ll take a car and we’ll get Hugh or somebody else.’

  ‘You won’t get Hugh using his car for junk. Anyway, he’s providing transport for the antiques, isn’t he?’ Ignoring Julia’s sceptical laugh, Sue went back to the car to check the boot was empty.

  ‘What are you two up to?’

  Charlie Stuart’s Honda drew up beside them, tailed by Finn’s Renault, whereupon the pair parked and came to investigate. At Finn’s remark Julia and Sue exchanged evil glances and Sue smiled sweetly at the pair.

  ‘We’re looking for somebody with a car to help us out tomorrow morning,’ she said, her voice dripping with sincerity. ‘Nothing too complicated,’ she added as Charlie looked doubtful and Finn downright disobliging. ‘It’s just to help out at a car boot we’re taking stuff to on Saturday. It’s not for long, ten till twelve, and it’s in a good cause.’

  Charlie was the first to crumble so Finn shrugged as she cast a speculative eye at her sister. Julia was being unnaturally silent, Finn considered, which always meant trouble, but she didn’t want to make a fuss and look bad in front of Charlie.

  ‘Oh all right,’ she gave in suddenly. ‘I suppose it might be fun, as long as it doesn’t pour. There’s a load of stuff I don’t want from the boxes I had sent over from Brussels – clothes and so on that I’ll never wear around Ramalley. I thought you said you were doing something with antiques though, Ju?’

  As Julia and Sue explained Bobbie shyly invited them all in for a cup of tea and to inspect the offerings on her dining table.

  ‘Wow, this is quite impressive.’ Finn was wandering round, fingering delicate china and glass. ‘Look at these cute little silver boxes.’

  ‘Oh that was Ursula,’ Bobbie was bringing in mugs of tea. ‘She was a bit odd about them, just dashed in yesterday evening after supper looking furtive and scuttled off again without stopping. I hope they weren’t family treasures; she worshipped her parents and she’s even devoted to that awful sister-in-law.’

  ‘That’s odd?’ Julia was examining the boxes closely. ‘They can’t be family pieces, they’ve still got the price tickets on, she must have bought them, but we know how hard up she is, she hasn’t got two halfpennies to rub together.’ She was speaking to Finn who was standing beside her and they exchanged startled, dubious glances. ‘Hmmm,’ Julia bit her lip thoughtfully, ‘I think I’ll just take the tickets off, we’ll be pricing everything as we pack it ready for Sunday.’

  ****

  Ursula had spent much of the day obediently weeding the back garden and her back was beginning to ache cruelly. However, she almost welcomed the discomfort as expiation of her sinful behaviour of the day before. The worst section of the border covered a curious mound and it was when she thrust the fork into the slope under a cluster of peony tubers which needed dividing that she felt the earth in front of her give way. There was a splintering noise as her fork jarred hideously and disappeared, leaving Ursula collapsed on her knees holding on to the handle, which was all that showed above the ground.

  ‘Oh my goodness!’ she quavered, tears of pain starting to her eyes as she tried to right herself. No, no bones broken, it seemed, thank the Lord, but oh, what an ache in her shoulders and back. She was still clinging on the fork handle and still on her hands and knees as she cleared a bit more of the earth away and peered into the hole that was revealed.

  ‘Oh no, oh God no!’ It was a heartfelt cry of anguish. Ursula was looking into what seemed to be an underground room. The earth-covered mound in the flower bed was obviously the roof, the entrance covered by an old door, whose rotten wood had been pierced by the garden fork. An air-raid shelter.

  Memories, hideous memories, crowded in upon Ursula as she knelt panting in the slight drizzle that had begun quite unnoticed. She heard again the discordant shriek of the siren, the drone of the planes, the sound of falling bombs. It seemed like an instant as she felt again the terror of being trapped in the cellar at her friend’s house.

  ‘It was twelve hours before they cleared the entrance,’ she once told Henrietta in response to some snide remark. ‘My memory may be faulty but that’s one thing I do remember clearly. The house was bombed and my friend’s parents were killed. I think she was sent away to relatives afterwards, but I don’t know, I wasn’t very well for a while.’

  ‘No stamina,’ Henrietta had sneered. ‘I know what happened, Gerald told me. You had a nervous breakdown and were never any use again to anybody after that.’

  Henrietta! I must go indoors and get her tea, Ursula thought anxiously, it must be way past time, she’s always nastier when she’s hungry. She clambered painfully to her feet and tottered to the scullery brushing off the worst of the mud outside the back door.

  A wash in hot water made her feel a little better and she dragged a comb through her fluffy, bog-cotton white hair, looking in the slip of mirror on the shelf, pausing only to put the kettle on before plucking up courage to tackle Henrietta’s customary round of complaints.

  In the hall she was startled to see the Stannah lift open at the bottom of the stair, instead of folded flat in the closed position against the upstairs landing wall. Why today, of all days, she groaned to herself. Why on earth should her monstrously idle sister-in-law take it into her head to come down today?

  ‘Henrietta? Where are you? I’ve just put the kettle on for your tea, dear. And guess what I’ve just discovered in the garden, must have been hidden for years. Such a surprise. Where are you, Henrietta?’

  There was no answer. Henrietta Buchanan had fallen, and lay slumped in an ungainly lifeless heap across a chair, feet dangling on the parquet floor of the dining room where she had been running her finger along the sideboard testi
ng for dust, when the second, fatal, stroke hit.

  Chapter 7

  Nine o’clock on Saturday found Charlie and Finn loading up Charlie’s car with the boxes Bobbie and Sue indicated.

  ‘You two go ahead,’ Sue instructed. ‘Bobbie and I will be along shortly, we just need to check there’s nothing left in the antiques collection that belongs at the boot sale. Here you are.’ She handed Finn an ice cream tub that jingled. ‘That’s your float in there. You’ve got fifteen quid in pound coins, fifty-pence pieces, twenties and tens; you shouldn’t need five-pence pieces or coppers; the fiver is for your pitch. Don’t let anyone bully you into giving stuff away but don’t be too fussy, the object of the exercise is to make money, after all.’

  ‘They’re not taking to religion, are they?’ Charlie asked as he pulled carefully away from the kerb to the accompaniment of loud jingling and rattling from the awkward pile of boxes in the back. ‘I knew I should have packed all this junk in myself, the way she’s done it we’re likely to have a disaster unless I do twenty miles an hour all the way. There!’ A particularly ominous crash made him smile with sour satisfaction and they waited, but there was no follow-up. ‘Oh well, if it’s all smashed we can just drop it off at the town dump. Where was I? Oh yeah, this do today is at some church, isn’t it?’

  ‘The church is only incidental,’ Finn told him. ‘Some friend of Sue Merrill’s is organising the boot sale, that’s why we’re going there.

  They turned into the car park of Saint Wilfrid’s church and Charlie handed over the five pounds entry fee.

  ‘You’re Sue’s friends?’ The harassed woman on the gate pointed them to a pitch next to a makeshift hotdog stall manned by church volunteers. ‘Stick a box or something on the space beside you to reserve it for Sue, then you can keep together.’

  Long before the ten o’clock kick-off they were plunged into activity. Sue had turned up with Bobbie in train and she tossed tips at them over her shoulder as she set up her own pasting table.