Slime (13 page)

Jane had been in a sombre mood as he held the container steady while she shovelled the jellyfish back into it. She clipped the lid into place, then straightened up, her
face flushed from the effort. The light breeze blew her straight blonde hair about her face.

‘You’re very beautiful right now,’ he told her. ‘Maybe jellyfish are good for you.’

She ignored the remark. ‘I’d like to get them over to my sister’s place today,’ she said abruptly. ‘You’ll be getting fed up with me taking your car, but – just once more? May I?’

‘Of course.’

‘I’m worried. The way they all sat there in that cave waiting for us. Watching us while we took some of them away. What was going on in those nasty little brains?’

‘They don’t have brains.’

‘Don’t they? Then I’d like to know what they
do
have.’

‘Appetites,’ he reminded her grimly. ‘So you be bloody careful.’

Driving him back into town – he still couldn’t manage the gear lever with his bandaged hand – she brought up the theme again. ‘I can’t understand how you can be so certain they don’t have brains. We know nothing about them.’

‘All I know is, we’re going to see a lot more. I only hope you can convince your sister how urgent this is. Something out there must be driving them ashore – but what?’

He’d had no idea when he spoke so prophetically that the next major invasion of jellyfish would be as soon as the following morning. It’d been no more than a hunch, anyway.

They had completed their work that day and seen no further sign of them, either on the beach or by the harbour where they shot the next sequence. He’d helped Jane pack the two specimen containers into the boot of his BMW, wrapping a car rug around them to prevent them rolling about, and then watched her drive off. Back in the hotel he’d made a half-hearted attempt to contact Sue, again unsuccessfully, but he’d learned to expect that
now. It was like a great emptiness in his life; a void which he felt could never be filled. Sue blamed him, of course – but then she would.

He’d had dinner alone with Jacqui. They’d tried a steak bar, not wishing to risk the Grand Hotel’s cuisine again. To avoid having to ask her to cut up his meat for him he’d plumped for the scampi. Over a bottle of cheap wine their talk became lively, like old friends’, though he hadn’t known her all that long. Neither of them mentioned jellyfish and, as if by some unspoken agreement, they both steered clear of their private involvements. When they parted in the hotel lobby she even held up her face for a kiss.

It was surprising how much she knew about the theatre, he thought as he went upstairs humming to himself. Studied drama at university; he hadn’t known that.

Although it was still early, he’d gone to bed almost immediately. For the first time in days he’d felt completely relaxed. Should he stop phoning Sue, he wondered drowsily before falling asleep; should he go to Totnes instead? She could hardly ignore him face to face.

As for the jellyfish, he might be quite wrong about them. According to the hotel porter, the police had visited the cave after the early evening tide. They’d found a packet containing marijuana – God knows where, because he hadn’t seen it – but nothing else.

Fair enough – that could be the last anyone saw of them, he’d told himself comfortably as sleep took over.

Tim’s mood of quiet optimism lasted through until the following morning when it was shattered by Jacqui herself. He was rushing downstairs, late, having slept through the alarm, when he bumped into her on her way up. She caught his arm, gripping it tightly. Her hazel eyes were lively with excitement and – was it fear?

‘You know about it?’

‘Know what?’ he asked, still half asleep.

‘Nobody’s told you, then? Jellyfish everywhere. We’re going down there now with the crew. Two fuzz dead – at least, that’s the rumour. Oh, and an old man.’

‘In the harbour?’

‘On the beach, of course! I was coming to fetch you.’

‘I’ll need my gear.’ He started to go back upstairs, but stopped when he realised she was not following. ‘Well, come and help me, for Chrissake! I’ll need all morning without help.’

Back in his room he tugged the curtain aside to get a look at the beach. The sight of it stunned him into silence. At his side, Jacqui was trembling as she tried to master her fear. He was aware she was saying something, her lips forming the words, but no sound came from her.

Around the entire sweep of the bay, stretching as far as he could see, the sand was sparkling like a jewelled collar. No mistaking the cause, either: a multitude of gleaming pink jellyfish scintillated under the bright morning sun. Yesterday he’d walked across those sands with Jacqui and Jane, and not seen a jellyfish anywhere until they’d reached the cave beyond the headland; now there were so many that it would be impossible to go two paces without treading on one.

He kicked off his shoes, fetched his flying boots from beside the wardrobe and sat on the bed while she helped him on with them. Even at this distance from the beach he felt safer once she had zipped them up. She got him into his anorak, too. Not that he couldn’t have managed alone, but it would have taken him five times longer to get everything fastened.

For his bandaged hand he’d bought a large sheepskin mitt – Jane’s idea – which covered it completely, while on his right hand he wore an ordinary leather glove.

‘Hope it’s not necessary, all this!’ Jacqui said, surveying him. ‘I don’t intend any of us to get too close to them.’

But her own outfit covered her just as well, leaving only her face and untidy blonde hair exposed.

‘If I weren’t so shit-scared of them,’ Tim observed, taking one last look from the window, ‘I’d say they’re beautiful. Both from far off
and
near to.’

‘A thing of beauty is a joy for ever?’
Jacqui quoted at him with a grimace. ‘You didn’t say that when they were chewing pieces out of you.’

‘No.’

Unexpectedly, she slipped an arm about his waist and hugged him. ‘Oh, you
are
daft, Tim,’ she said. ‘But you’re a great comfort.’

They went down to the hotel lobby to find Jacqui’s assistant, the willowy Dorothea, emerging from the glass-fronted telephone kiosk. She’d managed to get through to Alan Brewer’s office and learned that several coastal resorts had reported the same mass jellyfish invasion. Colwyn Bay, Blackpool, Pwllheli and Bournemouth were among those she’d scribbled down, but there were others.

Jacqui drove them down to the promenade. On the way she explained briefly what she wanted: a general shot of the beach with commentary from Tim in the foreground; more close shots of jellyfish; and bystander interviews. The cameraman was already down there getting some footage for News, just in case they were in the market.

The atmosphere when they arrived at the promenade was tense. An ambulance pulled away, its sirens screaming; a police officer with two silver pips on his epaulettes stood at the open door of a patrol car, speaking urgently into a radio microphone, while two constables attempted to persuade the twenty or thirty sightseers to move further off.

On the beach lay the body of one of the victims, probably the old man Jacqui had mentioned. A jellyfish
obscured his face, all but the eyes.

She pulled up and wound down her window for a word with the tall cameraman.

‘Got all we need here, Jacqui.’ He eased the Arri BL off the shoulder-pod and let Jamie, his assistant, take charge of it. ‘Your lorry’s arrived. He’s up at the far end of the prom – can you see him? – and I’d suggest we join him to get those shots on the beach next before the police cordon off the whole area. He was a bloody mess, that copper they’ve just carted off. Only a kid, too. You know him, Tim – he’s the one who pulled those jellyfish off you an’ Arthur down by the harbour.’

‘Is he still alive?’

‘Just about.’ Wally rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. He looked exhausted. ‘Christ, what a shambles. No one’s got any idea what to do about it. Not as far as I can judge.’

‘We’ll meet you down there, Wally.’ Jacqui’s voice was steady. Only the way she gripped the steering wheel – so tightly that every bone of her knuckles was sharply outlined – betrayed her nervousness. ‘Let’s go.’

Not until they arrived at the lorry did Tim begin to understand what she had in mind. It was a battered old Leyland truck which she’d hired from a gardening firm; it smelled of compost and a leaky sump. On this the crew were to ride out across the beach in order to get a few shots with the jellyfish all around them. He felt sick in his stomach at the thought of it; but then so, probably, did she.

The driver had no qualms. He was a cheerful young man with tattoos up his arms who obviously welcomed this change from his usual routine job. He’d been a gunner in the Falklands campaign, he explained as he let down the tailboard; they needn’t think he was going to stick around in this dead hole much longer; another few months, and he’d be off to South Africa.

‘You’ll find bigger jellyfish down there,’ Dorothea informed him sweetly as she climbed up with a helping hand from Jamie. ‘Not forgetting giant squid to liven up your beach party. And the odd scorpion in the bathroom.’

There were still some gardening tools on the back of the truck, but they pushed them out of the way to make room for their own gear. Terry, the sound man, sat himself firmly on his little folding stool and began to fiddle, frowning, with the take-up spool on his Nagra. That Nagra should’ve been sent to a museum years ago – a standing joke with the Gulliver team – but Terry always managed to nurse it through. He probably wouldn’t have been happy with a new one.

‘Are we all set, then?’ Jacqui demanded, looking around the crew.

‘Ready when you are.’

She banged the side of the lorry and leaned precariously around the cab for a word with the driver. ‘OK now, take it easy. We don’t want anybody falling off.’

At the end of the promenade a stone slipway led down to the beach. The lorry took the slope gently and then set off across the sands with Jacqui still leaning over the side to give directions. Tim placed himself where he could grab her if anything went wrong. Everyone else was silent. Above the throbbing engine an unsavoury squelching sound could be heard as jellyfish were flattened by the heavy tyres. It set the teeth on edge.

Tim gazed down at them. On the back of the truck he was well out of their reach, yet he felt far from safe. They were biding their time, that’s all. And there seemed to be no way of defeating them, he brooded despondently; kill one, and more arrived by the next tide.

For what reason, no one knew. The ancient Israelites always blamed themselves when disaster overtook them: Jehovah was punishing them for their evil ways. Was that
so far-fetched today? Perhaps – but who could tell?

‘Hold it! This’ll do!’

Jacqui slapped the side of the lorry again and it slithered to a halt, its tyres failing to grip at first on the highway of jellyfish slime. Immediately, she began discussing with Wally the sort of shots she wanted, all to be taken from the safety of their present perch well clear of even the longest tentacles. A top shot of one of the largest, tilting up and zooming out to a long shot of the entire beach as far as the headland, then…

‘I could do my commentary from here,’ Tim heard himself offering.

Jacqui glanced at him quizzically. ‘How?’

‘Oh, not on the lorry,’ he explained. In for a penny… ‘No, I meant I could stand with them all around me. Make a good shot, and I’m dressed for it.’

Terry looked up from whatever he was doing to the tape recorder. ‘You’d be on your own, then. I’m not going down there.’

‘It’s not a bad idea.’ But Jacqui still hesitated.

‘Oh no!’ Terry repeated firmly. ‘If that’s what you want, Tim’ll have to hold his own mike. We’re staying here.’ He turned to the sound assistant. ‘Stick mike, Bill.’

‘If you’re sure, Tim?’

She was offering him a way out, but now he’d made the suggestion he had to stay with it. This could be the key shot of the whole film; they both knew that.

Maybe, too, there was some other reason half-formed in his mind. A reluctance to cede territory to this jellyfish army. Let them once be convinced they were winning, and there would be no telling what might happen next.

No, that was ridiculous. Surely that would mean the jellyfish thought like humans, which they didn’t – did they?

‘I’m all set,’ he announced. ‘I’ll climb down first, then you can hand me the mike.’

‘Head for that clear patch you can see over there,’ the cameraman said, pointing. ‘That should be fine. Terry – the longest lead you can give us!’

To the rear of the lorry the beach looked uninviting. It was covered with squashed jellyfish, slime, and segments of severed tentacles squirming where they lay. Instead, he climbed over the side and dropped on to a small area of unoccupied sand marred only by the remains of a discarded cigarette packet. For a second or two he swayed, unsure of his balance, but somehow he managed to keep his footing.

Perhaps Jehovah was on his side after all, he thought grimly.

‘OK, let’s have the mike,’ he called up. ‘And I don’t relish the idea of staying too long down here, so let’s get it in one – right?’

They lowered the mike to him on the end of its heavy cable. Once he had it in his hand, he began to pick his way gingerly between the jellyfish, heading for the spot Wally had indicated.
Jellyfish cannot see
, he repeated to himself persistently; he was uncomfortably aware that those ruby star-markings on the jellyfish seemed to be watching him.
They’re blind, single-minded predators
.

Which could move on dry land, he reminded himself, however immobile they might appear to be at first sight. They had gathered around him in that cave, crowding in on him, making their first tentative attack on his boots…

Tim blinked; the brilliant sunshine hurt his eyes. For a moment he’d imagined himself back in the cave, reliving all that had happened there. He gazed around at the thousands of jellyfish scattered across the beach in every direction. Had they willed him to think that way? Taken over his mind?