‘Oh, my God!’ Jane exclaimed, twisting anxiously in her seat. ‘That was the heavyweight.’
Tim stopped the car and looked back. He could have sworn he hadn’t hit the man — yet there he was, lying on the ground. He got out and went over to him.
‘Yer fuckin’ idiot!’ the thug greeted him, his speech slurred. He sat up, breathing heavily. ‘I’ll have yer for this. I’ll bloody have yer, I will. I got witnesses.’
‘You’re drunk,’ Tim informed him coolly. ‘The car didn’t touch you.’
‘What yer mean, didn’t touch me?’ His tone was ugly. He held up his arms to his cronies who were hovering about him. ‘Get me up, will yer?’
They pulled him to his feet. He stood there swaying, looking down at his clothes which were wet from the cobbles. With the side of his fist he attempted to brush some of the dirt away, which only made it worse.
‘Yer’ll pay for that. New suit, the lot — I’ll throw the bloody book at yer! Think yer smart, bein’ on TV — but jus’ wait, that’s all!’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Tim said, irritated. Just about everything was going wrong on this location. ‘Take it to the police if you want to. You’re pissed out of your mind; don’t think they won’t notice. You’re lucky you weren’t killed.’
‘Threatenin’ me now?’ The thug turned to the others. ‘’Ear that? Bugger’s threatenin’ me!’
‘Wouldn’t put up wi’ that,’ one advised him bluntly. ‘Ask me, you should teach ’im a lesson, Arthur.’
‘Too bloody right.’ He tapped Tim on the chest, pushing him back across the road towards the harbour. ‘Only I wouldn’ wan’ to spoil his pretty face, would I now?’ Another push. ‘Sized each other up yesterday, ’im an’ me, out there in the sand’ills. Not that much to ’im when yer take a closer look.’ Another push.
‘What’s eating you?’ Tim demanded patiently. 27
The last thing he needed was to get involved in a brawl, yet there seemed no way out of it.
The thug went to tap him yet again, but this time Tim sidestepped and aimed a light punch at his jaw. It was easily blocked, but had the right effect. The man’s eyes darkened. He brought up his fists, hunched his shoulders, and lumbered about as though looking for an opening. It was a poor imitation of what he must have been like in his heyday in the professional ring. Tim felt sickened at the sight of him.
Yet he still packed a lot of brute force, as Tim remembered only too well from the previous day. He’d have to stay well clear of those fists whatever else happened.
‘That’s it, boyo! You show ’im now!’ one of the bystanders called out to encourage him.
The thug’s right fist shot out like a missile. Tim dodged, grabbed his wrist with both hands, swinging himself around, dropping a knee, and threw the man over his shoulder. He fell heavily near the edge of the harbour wall.
Tim waited, alert, as he tried to get up, expecting him to charge back like an enraged bull. Which was what he was — an old bull who knew in his heart he was no longer up to it.
But he got to his feet awkwardly, staggering, and then toppled headlong into the water. His friends roared out their tipsy laughter, slapping each other exaggeratedly on the shoulder as they came nearer to watch his helpless splashing about.
‘He can’t swim!’ Jane cried out, alarmed. ‘Look at him! Tim, he’s going to drown if we don’t help him!’
The idea of struggling in the water with that gorilla in the name of life-saving held no appeal for Tim. He turned on the men who had been with him.
‘Well, aren’t you going to fish him out?’ he shouted.
They fell silent; none of them moved.
Tim ran for the lifebelt, lifting it from its stand and tossing it in. The man in the water made no attempt to take hold of it, although it was well within his reach. Suddenly, Tim understood why. He grasped Jane’s arm and pointed.
‘Jellyfish!’
Two of them were just visible beneath the discarded plastic wrappers, traces of petrol, cigarette packets, and the rest of the harbour filth which coated the murky water. One had fixed itself to the drowning thug’s hand; another lay across his thick neck.
‘We can’t let him die!’ Jane declared, beginning to unzip her anorak. ‘Not without at least trying to help him.’
He stopped her.
‘No — you stay here!’ He pushed the lifebelt rope into her hands. ‘And for Chrissake, pull us out quickly — over towards the steps there. And you —’ He turned to the other men. ‘Give her a hand with the rope, one of you. And somebody get over to that phone box and call the police. And an ambulance! Well, get a move on, then!’
He tugged off his boots and plunged into the water. By now the thug was lying with his head back, his face just above the surface. In a couple of strokes Tim had reached him, in time to observe the speckled pink jellyfish oozing from its victim’s neck around to his mouth and nose. His eyes, left free, were panic-stricken. Beseeching.
There was nothing Tim could do about that jellyfish, he knew; not while they were still in the water. He just had to get the man out before he suffocated. Tim grabbed the collar of his jacket with one hand and hooked his free arm over the lifebelt. Then he kicked out for the stone steps which led down from the harbour wall.
The rope became taut and he felt the lifebelt moving slowly over the water. Vaguely, he was aware of Jane shouting something to him, but he could not draw his eyes away from the sight of the jellyfish feeding on its victim’s face. The deep ruby star-shaped pattern in the centre seemed to be throbbing like an erratic pulse.
A sting lashed his left hand painfully. The shock was so unexpected that he almost let go of the man’s jacket, but stopped himself just in time. A second later the agony was repeated, sending what felt like thin, jagged, high-voltage shots coursing up his arm. It took all his concentration to maintain his grip on the man.
‘Faster!’ he heard himself shouting, spitting out the foul water, which tasted of petrol. ‘For God’s sake!’
At last — it seemed to take ages — he felt his shoulder bumping against the hard steps. Hands seized him, dragging him up to safety. They took charge of the heavyweight, too, laying him out on the stone with that pink jellyfish still spread over the lower part of his face.
‘Get it off him, somebody!’ he heard Jane insisting. ‘Or get out of the way and let me do it!’
But by now a policeman had arrived on a motorcycle, a young man, probably not much older than twenty, and with a pimply face. ‘Just stand aside, miss,’ he said briefly. He bent over Arthur, took hold of the jellyfish in his gauntleted hands and peeled it off. ‘Stand clear, will you!’ He took it to the edge of the harbour wall and dropped it back in the water.
Arthur’s cheeks were a mess of red, raw flesh, as though someone had drawn a steel comb across them, cutting in deeply. Miraculously he was still alive, though groaning desperately through lacerated lips as the policeman tugged the second jellyfish away from his fist, which had very little trace of skin left on it.
‘Right, give him air! Stand back now!’
He was doing everything by the book, that young policeman, though his face was by now as pale as his own white helmet. But that’s the way it had to be, Tim approved as he stood there watching with the water dripping from him. His left arm was now completely numb, but he didn’t give it another thought; he was only too glad he’d managed to get them both out alive.
Jane turned away from the injured man to come over to him; then she screamed.
‘Tim — your hand! No, don’t touch it!’
He looked down, shocked. Cosily wrapped around his hand, like a pink luminescent mitten, was another jellyfish.
‘Just leave it, sir! I’ll get it.’