A WATERY SOLUTION

She could still see the outline of the corpse through the glass door. But it didn’t look now like it had looked earlier. She didn’t know what to make of it. In the past, she had had problems. As a child they had put it down to a ‘vivid imagination’ and it was certainly true that she had ‘interacted’ with her ‘visions’ rather than ‘feared’ them. Like a lot of children, she had ‘imaginary friends’, but her ‘imaginary friends’ persisted well into adulthood, and the antics of those ‘friends’ were also experienced by her mother and sometimes other visitors. Visitors who were, naturally, alarmed by them. The professionals who were brought into the ‘case’ by the school – and even reluctantly by her mother when things got bizarre – tended to write it up as ‘mischief’ and ‘attention seeking’ since they had no more rational explanation.

When times were really distressing for her mother, she would lay the blame squarely on the shoulders of ‘that man’ … the wayward father who had re-conjured up the sixties, making them into a permanent decade, finally dying from some concoction or other that he had either accidentally or deliberately imbibed. He knew, they all knew, that he would kill himself sometime or other experimenting … all he knew was that it would be a wonderful way to go.

It wasn’t. It really wasn’t. It wasn’t nice to watch. Nobody could doubt, seeing him struggle and try to cling to life, that it wasn’t nice for him either. He had been paid back very badly by the loves of his life – drugs … any kind, any source, anyway.

But she had been no more than 6 when he died, and even before that he impacted very little on her, since he was almost permanently ‘absent’ ...either physically or psychologically. And most definitely emotionally. Whether her ‘episodes’ were down to his ‘genes’ or her subliminal reaction to his permanent state of psychological and emotional absence is a debate for the experts, but it was just a fact that very likely from infancy – maybe even birth – she had been visited by, and interacted with, ‘creatures’ and ‘apparitions’ … living with these in just the same way that she lived with her mother, or interacted with her many school friends. She was in no way ‘in thrall’ to these ‘apparitions’ and did not seem to be upset, let alone fearful, of them. They were as real to her, as were the various ‘pets’ that she was bought through childhood – usually to try to wean her off her ‘little friends’.

But here, in this rustic, atmospheric cottage on the banks of the Loch, what she saw through that glass door panel, was now definitely becoming a body. It was morphing even as she watched. The upper limbs had been thin and willowy, the lower limbs … well, there had been a tail and stumps – like alligator’s legs. The tail had been spectacular before … now it was receding and leaving the shape just hideous. She was both repulsed and intrigued – but not afraid.

As she looked, the ‘fish’ was turning back slowly but surely into a man. A very recognisable man. But nonetheless a very dead man. A dead fish was one thing. A dead man would take much more explaining! Especially that dead man.

THE DAY BEFORE

If you don’t want to come, then stay home … this is supposed to be a break – something to enjoy, not a duty … let alone some kind of torture.

Astrid Zielinski - mostly always referred to as Alf – because her name like the alphabet went from A to Z - was not even stopping what she was doing as she half-heartedly argued with Charlie Bonneville-White. Neither would nowadays describe their relationship as ‘a marriage’. They were still legally attached, but emotionally and for practical purposes, the situation was very different. Charlie sometimes resided in their jointly rented flat in Birmingham, but it was generally when there were no other more ‘interesting’ or ‘enticing’ calls upon his time. If he thought that Alf was put out by that he was very much mistaken – her ‘put out’ was more attributable to his presence rather than his absence.

She had planned this trip with two of her close friends but both had pulled out. They had agreed earlier in the year when they had all been missing their usual sun-seeking trips. The pandemic had put paid to those, and Scotland had seemed an alternative – at least a break away from their own four walls. As October approached and the grey skies and rain made themselves more permanent backdrops, Emma and Georgie literally got cold feet.

Charlie had announced that he was going too. The women did not find his company either amusing or worthwhile, and nowadays being with the couple was embarrassing. Charlie was petulant and annoying around Alf, which in turn set her teeth on edge, and rows and even fisticuffs were frequent.

Charlie had invited himself and Alf had not had the energy or interest to argue once she had been let down by her friends. Come if you like. Don’t if you don’t! She was as comfortable on her own, but it was a long drive, and she welcomed another driver – even if it was Charlie.

If it sounds like Charlie Bonneville-White is an airhead – a young man with nothing on his mind but video games, wild women and having a good time, that would be a mistake. Charlie is a 29 year old, lecturer in Geography at a provincial university. He was educated at some of the best public schools in the UK and damagingly cosseted by an over-doting mother.

Charles had been adopted – certainly very wanted - but not the couple‘s natural child. His father, James, had been determined to give his children – as it happened by fate, just Charlie - a better start in life than he had.

James Bonneville-White had been born ‘Jim Ramsbottom’ on a Council estate in a former mining town in the North of England. He was one of five in a family poor, but respectable, with few expectations for great improvement beyond keeping a rented roof over their heads, and food on the table.

Jim had, from his early teens, far higher aspirations. He studied hard and had been the first in his family – ever – to go to university, qualifying as an architect. Through hard work, long hours, and more importantly cultivating the right people, he had ‘done well’.

He had also married well. The daughter of a stockbroker from the affluent South-East of the country, called Marian Bournville-White. He used the opportunity to rid himself of his working-class label, ditched the ‘Jim’, took his wife’s name and became a completely new creature. James Bonneville-White. He never looked back …. Quite literally he never looked back – or rarely.

His visits to his old home over the years had been sporadic and always with a purpose rather than for pleasure. He went only for practical purposes – funerals mostly. Just his parents, no wider family. He also went once when his sister got arrested at a political rally against the Government. He had to go because he was being groomed at the time to stand as a Government candidate in the forthcoming elections – the first rung on the political ladder. He needed to find somebody to keep a lid on it, or he would have to sacrifice family ties and publicly condemn the miscreant for her loutish (and misguided) behaviour.

Charlie, James’s only son, had money spent on his education, including private tutors. He had scraped an OK degree at a Scottish university. His father preferred a Scottish university rather than a mediocre English university because it seemed like a ‘choice’ … (not just because he had not achieved good enough grades for Oxford or Cambridge!)

Arriving in Scotland

The journey up – all 468 miles of it – had gone better than either of them had expected. True, whoever was not driving slept a bit, or read bits out of social media, but they laughed and chatted more than they had done for quite a long time. At least neither of them was itching to take a hatchet to the other by the time they had spent five hours in a VW Beetle. Since it rained all the way up, Alf was even more delighted that the soft top hadn’t leaked!

They both unloaded the car in a good frame of mind. Alf was pleased with the cottage. She had booked on a whim. She had felt ‘adventurous’ when she chose it because it looked ‘rustic’. They might have to rough it a bit! Since it was going to be her, Emma and Georgie, she knew they would make the best of it and that they would at least have a laugh. None of them were prissy and all would turn their hand to whatever was needed. It was only for a week. They could surely play Hillbillies for a week! But now it was Charlie. All right, he had been almost pleasant all the way up and to some extent the years had scrolled back, but she knew that he was the most moody person on the planet and it would take less than nothing to set him off. The cottage was pretty and un-modernised …. very ‘un-Charlie-like'.

They finally sat down, having found that it really did have rudimentary electric, and a kettle, and the remnants of a box of teabags. Charlie wanted coffee … proper coffee! As Charlie obviously would! That did not merit an argument from Alf, who merely made her own cup of tea, and left him to cater for himself as best he could. She had years of pandering to him, and she had no desire to start again. It could be a very long week!

As she sat there, she fished out of her bag the post that she had grabbed from the door mat as they were leaving. Bill, bill, bank statement, smart looking envelope … ouch …. looked official. Scary. Her heart went into her mouth in a similar way that it had when she had received a summons for speeding. She sat with it for a moment, scared to open it. She drank another few sips of her tea before deciding that she was being a coward. She used the end of the spoon in her saucer to slice open the envelope.

She stared at the writing. She could see the words, but they were not registering in her brain. What seemed like a very long time ago, before she had realised that the very last person on the earth that she wanted to spend the rest of her life with was Charles Bonneville-White, she had wanted the whole package: a mortgage, a happy marriage, and 2.5 children …. give or take. Charlie did not appear all that eager for the 2.5 element, but he was not dogmatic enough to express those doubts vocally, and he certainly didn’t positively object. She had dragged him along for ‘tests’.

…. Then the rot had set in on their marriage. All she could then think of was that some poor kids had had a lucky escape …. as had she.

The envelope was addressed to them jointly. It informed her that there ‘were strange anomalies’ in some of the test results, and the clinic would recommend that Charles Bonneville-White contact them to make an appointment at his earliest convenience.

She looked across at Charlie. He did not seem about to kick the bucket. She had to admit that there were times in the past when she had (not seriously!) wished that he would. She certainly didn’t want to give up her few days’ holiday … what difference would a few days make. Those tests had been done months ago. Obviously, it was not all that urgent.

She decided to say nothing … until they returned. If then. After all, he didn’t even want children! What did it matter to him if there were ‘anomalies’. He would probably be relieved. She was not sure that the doting Marian (her erstwhile mother-in-law) would be so pleased.

A veritable water-baby!

The next morning arrived with a real surprise. Scotland on previous visits had been beautiful, but often quite misty and mysterious. Nothing misty or mysterious about this new day. The sun rose high in the sky and by the time Alf and Charlie had got themselves up and ready for a lazy day, it was almost noon. Walking outside the cottage, the sun was beating down, and the loch looked very inviting.

Alf was not surprised when Charlie took one look, ripped off his tee-shirt and boxers and raced without thinking naked towards the jetty adjacent to the cottage and dived in with a shout of glee. Charlie was not ‘sporty’. But he was a water-baby – he literally swam like a fish. He had frequently surprised (and worried) everybody by staying under water for what seemed like ages. Nobody had really timed him, but Alf knew for a fact that it was much longer than fifteen minutes.

She waited for him to resurface, but he didn’t. Well, if he thought she was going to stand here pretending to worry or admiring his dubious ability to do something completely useless, then he had another think coming. She went back inside, trying to decide. To swim, or not to swim? She thought she ought to. Just to be able to say that ‘yes, she did swim in the loch’ … No, she had not seen a monster, and in any case, this was not Loch Ness! She was a swimmer, but not a particularly good one. Just one who ‘poodled’ around in the water rather than set off with some kind of purpose to swim in any direction.

She decided not to put on a swimming costume. She was aware that she had put on a few pounds since the heady days of their time together when she was slim and lithe and could eat anything with impunity and never gain an ounce. She put on shorts and a baggy t-shirt … that would do.

As she approached the jetty, wanting to ease herself into the cold, murky water gently, she caught site of – what one could only say was an apparition emerging from the water. She was not alarmed – she had, from birth, learned not to be surprised at what might appear. When it awkwardly landed itself ashore, she was, if anything, just amused. How ridiculous it looked lolloping along using flippers and that stubby torso. She did admire the tail however … far too ornate and decorative for the rest of the ugly torso. The runt of the litter thought Alf. She was more put out when the ‘creature’ headed for the cottage. In a very cumbersome and ungainly way it pushed open the door which she had left ajar with remarkably human like hands.

Well, you’re not getting away with that, fishface! thought Alf. She didn’t want wet and slimy creatures trawling through all her things. If it wrecked the place, she would have to make good! She immediately got up and headed for the cottage. As she went in, she could hear a cacophony of crashes and bashes, and picked up a breadknife which was on the side where she had been readying herself to make toast for a late breakfast. She went to go into the bedroom just as the ‘creature’ stumbled back out through the door and the next thing she realised was that it was impaled on the knife and had collapsed to the floor, still writhing, but now sounding more distraught and in pain than aggressive.

Alf was impassive. She stood looking down for a minute or two, then left the room, closing the door.

When she had given herself time to think, she went into the bedroom again, and confirmed that ‘the creature’ was dead. She managed to drag the lifeless corpse out of the building – and down towards the loch. She was going to return it, but she became intrigued as she dragged it/him that even since she had first seen it, it had altered form. It now had far more human legs – rather than the alligator stumps as before – and the tail had become far less prominent. She left the ‘creature’ propped against a boulder by the loch and returned to make some breakfast.

When she looked through the glass panels of the door later – the creature was no longer a ‘creature’ it was now Charles Bonneville-White. She did not really react. Part of her had always known.

She put down her toast, and efficiently slid Charlie back into the loch. Well, that solved that problem. There was always more than one way to solve a problem.

Now it all makes sense!

Returning home, Alf rang the clinic and informed them that she and Charles Bonneville-White were no longer together. She was asked if she knew where he was, and she said no, but he had always said that it he was free again, he would live by water.... perhaps buy a boat and sail the world.

The person from the clinic said, that was really funny because the reason they wanted him to return was because they thought his blood sample had become contaminated. The sample they had had been identified as close in substance to a sea creature …. a dolphin, perhaps? Which was ridiculous, so it must have become ruined somehow when it was stored.

Alf laughed and said he would be very amused. Perhaps since he is now a dedicated water-baby he could visit his kith and kin. They laughed together at the happy picture. She promised to let him know – when she caught up with him again.

The End