At last the bus wheezed round the corner and drew up in front of her, shuddering as the engine ticked over. The automatic door opened. Frank was the only passenger to get off.
‘Oh, Frank, you idiot! You’re going to get drenched!’
‘Wasn’t raining when I came out.’ He made it sound like an accusation, as if she’d turned the rain on. ‘Not to worry. Here — shove this under your mac. Keep it dry till we get there. Is it far?’
He peeled off his pullover and bundled it up for her, leaving himself bare from the waist up. His white, thin torso began to take on a blue tinge as the cold rain lashed it.
‘Oh, you are a fool!’ She laughed despite herself. ‘You’ll catch your death.’
‘O death, where is thy sting-a-ling-a-ling!’ he chanted, putting an arm around her shoulder as they set off up the road. ‘Term’s over — d’you know?’
‘Does that make a difference?’ she asked sarcastically. ‘To you?’
From the village to the drive leading to the converted farmhouse was the best part of a mile. The rain showed no sign of easing; even in her raincoat, hat and wellies, Roberta felt uncomfortably wet by the time they got there. As for Frank, maybe it had been a good idea after all for him to take off his pullover: at least it would be something dry for him to put on. His baggy Oxfam trousers and cracked shoes were soaked through.
As they skirted the house, making for the laboratory huts in the field beyond, she caught a glimpse of Jane at a window and waved to her. Jane waved back, smiling.
Odd the way she hates jellyfish, Roberta thought as they left the drive and began to tramp along the soggy path towards the first hut. Nobody could like them, that was obvious, but Jane felt a real personal hatred towards them.
‘Now you’re not to touch anything, Frank,’ she warned him. ‘Promise me?’
‘Of course. You know me.’
‘That’s why I want you to promise. Specially those little dishes and jars on the bench — it’s all part of her work and she doesn’t like anyone disturbing it. So you won’t, will you?’
‘Am I allowed to breathe?’
‘Oh, don’t be daft, Frank. This is serious.’
‘What about those television people tomorrow? Bet they’ll upset everything.’
‘She’ll make sure they don’t,’ she snorted, amused. ‘You don’t know her!’
Before opening the door, Roberta tried to scrape some of the mud off her wellies against the wooden steps. Then she led the way into the little partitioned-off vestibule.
‘Shoes off!’ she ordered briskly. ‘If the place gets messed up, I’m the one who has to clean it. I’ll find you some slippers inside. She uses her husband’s old mules when her feet get tired.’
Hanging up her dripping raincoat, she went through into the laboratory itself. The moment she was inside she sensed something unusual about the place. She looked around. Everything seemed to be in order, though there was not much light and the rain kept up a steady drumming on the roof. Imagination playing tricks, she told herself. Who would want to break in here? Even a tramp would be put off by those big notices outside warning of poisonous jellyfish.
She pressed the light switches; immediately, the tubes began to flicker into life.
‘You’ll find the slippers down there by the bench,’ she pointed out, deciding she’d better check the water temperatures, just in case. ‘But don’t — ’
‘ — touch anything!’ he mimicked, laughing. ‘You’re an old fusspot, Robbie — d’you know?’
‘Huh! And put your pullover on before you catch cold.’
She found a biro and the temperature log, then started at the end tank. The reading was normal. She was just noting it down, with the time and date, when she heard a clatter from the far side of the hut.
‘Robbie…’ Frank’s voice sounded strained; then it rose to a sudden sharpness. ‘Roberta! Aren’t they supposed to stay in the tanks?’
‘Frank, what have you —?’ she began, swinging around furiously, convinced he’d knocked something down. He was so clumsy.
But then she stopped. From one of the tanks the dark plastic cover had fallen down. A large jellyfish was hanging across the corner of the tank, having heaved itself up from inside. Frank stood a couple of yards away, staring at it nervously.
‘I wasn’t anywhere near it,’ he said defensively, not moving from the spot. ‘Honest, Robbie.’
Roberta tried to speak calmly. ‘We’ll have to push it back in, that’s all, and get the cover fixed again. You’d better stand clear.’
Her mouth tasted sour as she seized the long-handled squeegee and advanced on the jellyfish. It was a large one, gleaming pink and red, looking as though nothing could shift it.
‘I’ll help.’
‘No!’
‘I’ll pick up the cover,’ he insisted.
Cautiously she raised the squeegee until it was just beneath the lower flap of the jellyfish. The tentacles began slowly to explore it. It made her sick to look at them. She adjusted her grip on the handle, then eased the jellyfish up the glass, hoping to topple it back into the water.
At first it did not react, but then — as though instinctively it realised what she was about to do — it hunched itself up into an arch. When it straightened out, the whole jellyfish straddled the squeegee. She staggered under its weight.
‘Hold it over the water!’ Frank cried.
‘I’m trying to!’ she snapped back. ‘Stay out of the way, Frank! Oh, damn!’
He ignored her rebuke and took some of the weight. Together they managed to move it well over the open tank. They tried shaking the long handle and twisting it, but whatever they did the jellyfish still remained attached to the squeegee.
‘I’ll get something. Hold on.’
‘On the bench — one of those sticks!’ she gasped, in a cold sweat. ‘Or the tongs, they’d be better.’
What if they failed, she wondered; what if the jellyfish got out and they couldn’t control them? She’d seen the way they fastened on to the butcher’s meat Jocelyn sometimes gave them, and how difficult it was to retrieve the meat afterwards to scrape off the juices for analysis.
‘Frank — hurry!’
Just as he came back with the tongs she heard a slight grating noise. Before her eyes, the cover of the neighbouring tank began to move, sliding over the framework. It fell clattering to the floor. To her horror she saw that the two jellyfish occupying the tank were both out of the water, emerging over the top, seemingly glorying in their triumph. Had they, she wondered, pushed the lid away? Together?
Frank spotted them at the same time. He tried to prevent the nearest one escaping by grabbing hold of it with the long brass tongs, but had difficulty getting a firm grip on the slimy thing.
‘No!’ she shouted, trying to warn him. ‘Frank!’
She was too late. The second jellyfish — quite a small one — oozed over the edge of the aquarium frame and dropped to the floor, landing over Frank’s bare foot. There was nothing Roberta could do to prevent it. She stood helplessly, still holding on to the squeegee.
He spun around, doubling in agony, and the tongs smashed through the glass of the tank. Water poured out. That wouldn’t have mattered too much, but the jellyfish he’d been trying to restrain wriggled free and slipped down his arm to settle over his ribs.