But no more until they moved farther along the ditch when unexpectedly they came across three of them together. Annie netted one, but Tim’s wriggled out again before he could transfer it to the jar. This was even more fun than they’d imagined; and the knowledge that these green worms could bite back added extra spice.
‘Ouch!’ Annie had some trouble getting one of them into the jar; she tried to help it along with her free hand but it bit her through the net, which she dropped. She sucked her finger, grimacing, but her eyes laughing. Some, she seemed to imply, deserved to go free.
The jar looked quite full when they stopped, and it was as much as Tim could do to prevent the worms escaping. He screwed down the metal lid in which he’d punched several air holes, then held it up to examine them.
‘Don’t like their eyes,’ Annie commented with a deep shudder. ‘Like they was cutting into you, an’ they’re only the size o’ pins!’
The risk that the jar might be discovered if they took it home was too great, so they hid it in a rain gully at the foot of the long wall surrounding the estate. After tea, when it was getting dark, they came out again to look for it. Annie found it. Tim climbed on to the wall first and she handed it up to him, then followed.
One by one they dropped noiselessly down on to the soft earth. Everything was quiet. No sign of a dog either; in fact they were convinced he’d been bluffing and didn’t own one. Annie went forward first, then beckoned Tim to follow.
The house showed some signs of activity. There were lights in several of the rooms, and occasionally a shadow against a curtain. But no one was looking out and it seemed the way was clear across the lawn to the swimming pool. They ran across together, lightly but not quickly. At the edge of the pool Annie held the jar while Tim unscrewed the top; once it was off she tipped the jar over and shook it.
A series of mild plops told them the worms had dropped into the water.
Tim fumbled to get the lid back on again before they dashed for cover among the bushes, crouching down, listening and waiting… Not a sound.
Just as they were about to move to the wall the garden was suddenly flooded with light from car headlamps whose beam swung around as though searching for something. They pressed themselves down against the ground, scared of being caught out now. It wasn’t the red Jaguar either, which they’d seen still parked in the driveway.
The powerful engine purred and then cut out. The lights died. The quiet clunk of expensive doors. Then:
‘Darlings, how nice of you to come!’
Tim and Annie waited till the guests were inside the house before making their getaway over the wall. Once they were on the road again, running along towards their homes, their hearts sang. They laughed, danced, pushed each other.
‘Boy oh boy, when they go swimming tomorrow morning! Oh boy!’
At The Cedars the party was going with a swing. Andrea watched as Gordon raised himself from the carpet, tummy upwards, a glass of champagne balanced on his forehead, gingerly manoeuvring himself to the point where he could begin to stand up. An informal party, he’d called it, just for the five of them. His idea of informality was a close-fitting white sweater with spotlessly new jeans which looked as though they’d been specially tailored for him.
But at his request Andrea had put up her long blonde hair, using the diamond hairpins to hold it in place. She wore a simple, clinging dress in green, with nothing underneath. The other two girls who’d arrived with Vincent — Tina and Gail — also revealed the ‘naked look’ whenever they stood against the light. It was going to be one of those evenings.
She imagined it was all laid on for Vincent’s benefit. An important American client, Gordon had called him. His accent, though, was more central European. Fifty if he was a day, she judged. More like sixty. He wheezed when he laughed; his ridiculous little moustache bobbed up and down.
Tina and Gail squealed with laughter at Gordon’s antics. From an escort agency, probably. Odd the types they chose. Tina was on the plump side, with full breasts which bounced every time she moved; Gail was the opposite and had that skeletal look, every bone indentifiable.
More squeals. Gordon was on his knees now. Andrea moved to the sofa and sat up on the back with her bare feet on the cushion to keep out of the way. Christ, he was a bore! If only she’d realized…
She remembered the two children they’d caught in the grounds that morning. He’d been at his most pompous, bawling the poor kids out as though they’d committed some mortal sin climbing over his wall, leaving their footprints in his soil, disturbing his woman at her sunbathing…
That was the key to him: possession.
She could walk out at any time, of course. No need to stick around. But go back to what? It was over four years now since she’d left university with a degree in literature and a head full of nonsense only to discover that shorthand and typing would have been more useful. So she’d gone through the routines: secretarial course, job at the BBC, meals in the canteen, sharing her dreams with the producer she worked for, moving in with him, moving out again a year later, and finally throwing up her job in order to temp. Hundreds had trodden the same path before her.
Then, sent along as a temporary typist to Gordon’s office in the executive suite of a city skyscraper, she’d found a different door opening. He’d been quite blunt about it. Couldn’t give a damn about her brains or her shorthand, but she was good to look at, sense of style, lively, pleasant… The rewards could be very big, he told her. To prove the point he counted out a thousand pounds in cash and pushed it across to her.
She’d taken a week to think it over. In her shabby Tooting Bec bedroom she’d stripped off in front of the wardrobe mirror. Her body was good. She was proud of her hair. She had fluent French and Italian. She could drive, swim, dance, ski, play tennis and fuck — all of them well. So why waste her life over a typewriter?
‘Oh!’ Squeals of laughter again as Gordon almost lost his balance, then recovered it, but not in time to prevent the champagne spilling down his sweater. Tina’s breasts quivered like jellies; Vincent’s moustache went into contortions. Andrea flashed them a broad smile, politely.
‘Time it was washed anyway!’ Gordon blustered, getting up and peeling the sweater off. ‘Ouf! I’m hot! What weather for October!’
He touched a couple of switches on the wall. The curtains parted with hardly a sound; greenish lights flooded the swimming pool on the lawn.
‘A swim, anybody? The water’s heated.’ He glanced meaningfully at Andrea. ‘Think I’ll go in.’
Obediently she stood up on the sofa. ‘Me too!’ Balanced on the cushions, she reached behind her back with one hand, found the zipper and drew it gently down. Her green dress tumbled to her feet. She stood there naked.
Vincent’s eyes bulged; his over-large abdomen trembled beneath his white shirt.
‘The water’s lovely,’ she coaxed him, stepping down from the sofa. ‘Aren’t you coming in?’
Tina’s breasts had escaped from her dress even before she’d touched her zip; she helped Gail as Gordon opened the French windows.
They crowded down to the pool with Vincent wheezing excitedly behind. Gail jumped in first, followed by Gordon, then Tina and Andrea. Vincent remained on the edge bathed in green light, the glory of his manhood shrivelled and retiring.
‘Vince, darling, do come in!’ Tina summoned him in a little girl voice. ‘It’s lonely down here without you.’
He squatted for a second or two on the side, then lowered himself into the water. As he did so, there was an anguished scream from Gordon. He began thrashing about, his face agonized.
‘Gordon, what’s—?’ Andrea never finished her question. She drew in her breath sharply as the pain shot through her thigh. ‘Get out, everybody! We have to get out!’