Muriel Spark - The Complete Short Stories

‘Let’s go and see the old Roman wall,’ she suggested.

She had thought it wiser to wait before mentioning Maisie again. However, she was only eighteen and very excited.

‘I’m only eighteen and very excited, what with it all,’ she told herself.

In a few seconds she was back on the subject of Maisie.

‘Have you made a settlement on Maisie?’ she inquired. ‘Because I hope you will make her a small income. Have you done that?’

‘Yes,’ said Bill.

‘Sufficient for her needs?’ said June. ‘They can’t be much, there are no children involved.’

‘Yes,’ said Bill.

June was longing to ask ‘How much?’ She was thinking of the best way to frame this question when Bill spoke again.

‘I must remember to send a flyer to my old cousin Leonard. He lives near this place, in fact. At Bricket Wood.’

‘Who is he?’ said June. ‘Oh, I hope we shan’t meet him.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Bill laughed. ‘He wouldn’t recognize me. He’s been simple all his life. He lives all alone, poor chap. I daresay he gets a disability pension now,’ Bill mused on. ‘Still, I must get Maisie to send him a flyer, now I can afford it.’

‘Why Maisie?’ said June. ‘Can’t you do it yourself?’

‘I don’t know his address,’ said Bill. ‘Maisie knows it. She has kept up with him. Out of charity, you know.

‘Maisie has got her better side,’ Bill said, stopping in the pathway to stress his point. ‘I’ll say that for her, darling.’

‘Oh, everyone’s got their good side,’ said June, looking at him anxiously. ‘But she sounds a terror otherwise.

‘Yes,’ said Bill. ‘I’m afraid she is a terror all right. But I’m going to buy my freedom now, at last.’

‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s go and look at the Roman wall.’

He took a few paces forward and stopped. ‘Stop,’ he said.

About fifty yards ahead, on the left side of the path facing the lake, was a bench. It was placed on a small raised bank under a hawthorn. A man and a woman were seated on the bench. Owing to the bending sprays of hawthorn, it was impossible to see their faces properly.

‘That looks like Maisie,’ he said.

‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘Don’t move, dear. Let’s wait a moment. ‘Oh, no!’ she said. ‘Oh, Bill!’ she said. ‘I’m going back to the town.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ he said, ‘I’m not at all certain it is Maisie. It just looks a bit like her. I can’t quite see the face. But I’m certain she never comes here.’

‘Maybe she has come to see your old cousin,’ said June. ‘Oh, let me get back, quick.’

‘That’s possible,’ said Bill. ‘It might be old Leonard with her there. But I’m sure she would have told me she was coming.’

‘I’m going,’ said June.

‘No. Wait here. Don’t panic,’ said Bill. ‘I’ll find out.’

‘It might all get into the papers,’ said June, ‘my name and all.’

‘It won’t get into the papers,’ said Bill.

Alas, it got into the papers.

In their present predicament, Bill kept his head.

‘Wait here,’ he repeated. ‘I’ll skirt round that wooden hut and get a look at their faces. I’ll soon see if the woman is Maisie or not.’

I daresay that even if you once knew the place you would not remember the wooden hut. It was a modest building situated on the lake side of the path, about halfway between the mill-race and the bench where the couple were seated. It was a building less crude than it looked. Perhaps it was built to look rustic, with its rough overlaid planks. It was lined with brick. All round this simple structure was a narrow space fenced off with wavy wire. You might enter this enclosure at either end, according as you were a Gentleman or a Lady in large print. These were the days before a skirted or trousered figure indicated your rightful door. The two ends of the public lavatory were separated by a shaky fence.

It is doubtful if Bill noticed this. In any case, he went in at the right end, and passing the wooden door marked Gentlemen, began to skirt round the building with his eyes fixed on the bench.

He could not make out their faces. Keeping close to the wooden walls he passed under the Gentlemen’s windows. Still he could not see the couple on the bench. The hawthorn tree was still in the way. If, at first, he had observed what the building was, he had by now forgotten it. He was intent on seeing the occupants of that bench.

It took him three movements to climb over the wire fence separating the two ends of the enclosure. A second, and he was under the windows of the Ladies.

Nearer, nearer, he crept. Yes — it is Maisie! But, is it? No. She has no hat on. Maisie always wears a hat. It is not Maisie. But look — she is holding her hat! Yes, and isn’t that Leonard there beside her, with his mouth wide open?

To make quite certain, Bill started to heave himself up on to the sagging wire. He gripped the ledge of one of the Ladies’ windows; he placed his hand on the ledge of another Ladies’ window. Thus poised, he turned and got a clear view of the bench. It was Maisie! It occurred to him how like June she looked; older, of course. Yes, and that was Leonard sitting all slack and silly beside her.

Thus poised, he surveyed them, calculating his retreat with June. They had better leave the town. No one would see them. Thus poised, he signalled to June; and thus it was that they caught him.

Advance warning of the ensuing disturbance came with a fanfare of outraged shrieks from inside the building. There was a splash followed by a child’s loud yell.

‘Hold him!’ said a thin wiry woman, rushing out of the Ladies. ‘The dirty Peeping Tom, the swine!’

She got hold of Bill’s feet, and with the aid of two passing girls who laid down their bicycles for the purpose, floored him.

June turned and started to run for it.

‘Wait here, you!’ shouted the wiry woman. ‘Stop her, someone. She’s a witness, an accomplice.’

A middle-aged couple caught at June, who did not resist.

‘I know nothing about it,’ she said.

‘I saw nothing,’ she said.

‘Didn’t you?’ said the thin woman. ‘Well I did.’

‘So did I,’ said one of the girls. ‘He was peeping into the Ladies. Broad daylight, too.’

‘Low,’ said the middle-aged man. ‘I call it low. You hold him down while I get a policeman.’

Three more women had emerged from the Ladies a-tremble with the fuss. One woman held a little girl under her arm, and with her other arm she wielded her handbag, landing it on Bill’s upturned face.

‘Let me get up,’ cried Bill, ‘I can explain.’

‘Yes, you sneaky peeper,’ said the mother of the wailing child, ‘You’ll explain all right. You wait till my husband hears of this.’

‘Ask my friend there,’ gasped Bill, pointing to June.

‘Your friend!’ said a pretty young redhead who had been inside the Ladies. ‘If she’s your friend, she’s for it too. Part of the game, she is, I’ll bet.

‘With a face like hers,’ added Redhead inconsequently.

‘I didn’t see anything,’ said June helplessly.

Bill managed to lean up on his elbows. The thin woman was sitting firmly on his legs. His feet were being secured by the child’s mother.

As Bill saw the policeman approach, so also did he see Maisie arise from the bench. Curious about the little crowd which had gathered, Maisie ambled in her familiar casual way, over to where he was lying. Behind her shuffled Leonard, shaking his head a little.

Suddenly, Maisie jammed on the brakes, her nonchalant stride ceased. ‘Bill!’ she said.

‘This,’ she informed the crowd haughtily, ‘is my husband. Is he ill? Make way for me if you please.’