Marcia
A pair of late arrivals sauntered in from the car park and positioned themselves right in front of Marcia, completely blocking her view of the group leader. She worked her way around the back of the circle, stopping behind two shorter, middle aged ladies where she could just about see hairy Gary, if she stood on tiptoe and looked over their shoulders.
“Today’s walk,” he said, “will take us close to the water’s edge in several places. After all the rain we’ve had recently, great care needs to be taken...”
Marcia looked at his khaki ensemble, floppy hat and stout cane and wondered if he didn’t take himself a bit too seriously. He was a leading a group of ramblers round Chichester Harbour, after all, not heading into the African Interior, but he was one of her favourites.
She had come across him several times. He usually set a brisk pace, but as an ardent nature lover, provided plenty of pauses to enjoy the wildlife.
“I hope you’ve all bought sufficient wet weather gear, rain is forecast for later today,” he said, glancing round the group. He spotted her at the back. “We’ve got Marcia with us,” he said, “my friend, mild mannered Marcia.” She smiled back. A few of the group turned to make a quick appraisal. “It’s nice to have you along.”
She appreciated him saying so, she was usually just the ancient eccentric who turned up on the outskirts of groups and trailed behind them. Sometimes no-one spoke to her at all.
Life hadn’t always been like this, of course. Time was when she was the most popular girl at any picnic or society soiree. She smiled again remembering the time when her head of beautiful thick blond hair, and figure, shown to best effect in billowing skirts and petticoats, made her a favourite with all the young men. Everyone expected her to marry well, but then the men went off to war, and not much later so did she.
“We will be stopping for lunch in Dell,” Gary said, rounding up his briefing. “Refreshments can be purchased at the Old Ship.” There was murmur round the group. “If anyone forgets anything I’ve said, or needs to stop, don’t be shy, just come and ask,” he said, this time he looked straight at Marcia.
He didn’t need to. She had no doubt that if asked to, even a fortnight later, she would be able to repeat back every word he had said, and as for needing to stop - well she may be short and fragile looking but she could walk all day if she needed to - but she forgave, and in fact appreciated, his slightly patronising concern.
The group was breaking up and reforming for the start. She let her gaze wander over the other eleven walkers. She alone of the group was wearing a skirt over her stout brogues and carrying an umbrella. Since when, she thought, looking around did a walk in the country side start requiring all the specialist equipment they all had between them?
Marcia liked the fresh and exercise, but more than that, she enjoyed watching the people. She liked to play games with herself, predicting how the dynamics of the group would turn out. She was rarely wrong.
It might have been to do with her war time training, the enjoyment she took in working people out. It was like doing crossword puzzles, it kept her brain alive, and her brain was the one thing she never wanted to lose.
This time there were two married couples, pleasant middle income types, obviously comfortable with each other and likely to form a foursome, before the first mile was out. The another couple were younger and didn’t appear at all interested in anyone but each other. Marcia suspected they were each married to someone else.
A few of the group seemed to be sporting shiny new kit and some were holding a pair of Nordic walking poles. The two women that Marcia had stood behind earlier, were in their mid fifties, post children and Marcia assumed, post divorce and looking to get something else going on in their lives. They were already eyeing up the single men.
As the group set off, the younger of men took up position next to Hairy Ryan in the lead. The couples followed and the two single women paired up and went next, followed by the older two older men. Marcia took up the rear.
The first path was too narrow for Marcia to be able to see anything other than the two men directly in front of her, which happened to be the two that had put themselves right in front of her at the briefing before they set off. They both wore bright coloured waterproof jackets, one was in red and the other in yellow. They had the obligatory rucksack on their backs, with their waterproof trousers secured under a strap on the outside. Their gear looked expensive.
Marcia couldn’t avoid hearing their conversation. By the time the first two miles had gone by she’d been appraised of the fact that England was going down the drain, the state of the economy was due to all the foreign scroungers the government let in, the youth couldn’t get jobs because of the Polish flooding in, not that they tried very hard. They should be conscripted if they refused to work, that would do them good, especially the blacks.
The day was warm for March, soon the two men were stripping off their scarves and opening their coats. Their conversation was laboured as they expanded on their themes. Their thickened necks were reddening and glazed with sweat, a protruding vein was throbbing above the yellow collar. The Marcia felt quite comfortable. The pace wasn’t troubling her at all.
The group fell silent, forced to walk in single file through a particularly narrow part of the trail. Once the branch of an overhanging shrub sprung back and hit Marcia squarely across the forehead. She followed less closely for a while.
When they stopped for lunch the party split into two tables. Marcia perched, by invitation, on the corner of a bench at Ryan’s table with the younger man the two single ladies and the unmarried couple. She ordered a sandwich and an orange juice. The two single women shared a bottle of red while the couples were going for gin and tonic or white. Most of the male walkers were drinking beer. The two she’d been following added a whisky chaser after each of the three that they managed to get through before the food even arrived.
The conversation on Ryan’s table developed pleasantly. They started talking about aspects of the walk and the local birdlife and then onto the plants they were likely to spot this trip. It wasn’t difficult for Marcia to hear what the ones on the other table were discussing. It seemed an element of one up-man-ship had developed.
“The Blatchington golf club, you say, old boy, no I belong to the Sovereign, twice as expensive but a much better crowd you know,” Yellow Jacket said to one of the married men.
After a few minutes Marcia noticed that the couples had dropped out of that conversation and were chatting more quietly amongst themselves.
Later she heard yellow coat say, “No, the old girl doesn’t play. Stays at home, woman’s place and all that...”
The girl who served at tables was a sweet young thing, sixteen Marcia guessed. She served the other table first, bringing plates out two at a time.
“Whose is the ham salad,” she asked.
One of the ladies put up her hand and the waitress leant forward to pass it across. She was wearing a fashionably short skirt which rose up even higher as she leant over the table. Marcia saw yellow jacket run his hand up the inside of her leg right to her knickers. The girl jumped and shot the plate of food forward straight into the woman’s lap.
Everything happened very quickly. The girl screamed and brought her hands up to her face. The woman stood picking items of food off her food. Every eye in the busy pub turned towards them.
The manager was out in an instance, blaming the girl who ran off in tears. He apologised profusely to the woman, and promised free meals to the whole table.
Marcia stood up. “It wasn’t the girls fault” she said. “I saw that man put his hand-”
“I didn’t touch the girl,” Yellow coat shouted over her. “There must be something wrong with your eyes woman. That’s defamation.”
Ryan motioned Marcia to sit down. “Leave it, it was an accident,” he said. No-one met her eye.
“It’s so unfair to blame...” she said.
“Don’t get upset, Marcia,” Ryan interrupted. “It’s life. She’ll get over it.”
“I won’t let an injustice go,” said Marcia.
“No-one will back you,” Ryan said in an undertone. “It’s his word against yours. Do you know who he is?”
“An ignorant oaf, if you ask me,”
“No, he’s Bruce Hobday, the director of the largest company, a local big shot and a magistrate. Please, it could turn nasty on me if you make a fuss.”
“No one is above natural justice, Gary.”
“His mate is Mike Aulds, the leader of the local council Marcia. They control our budget. I rely on them for grants for the upkeep of paths and my salary. Leave it Marcia, please.”
The woman who the food was spilt on came out of the ladies having made a reasonable job at cleaning herself up.
“Thank God I ordered a salad and chips with she said. Gravy would have made a nasty mess,” she said with a shy smile. “Still all’s well that ends well...”
The young waitress didn’t re-appear. The meals were all served by the manager and the low buzz of conversation resumed. Marcia’s table had moved on to discussing their various occupations. No-one asked her if she’d done anything interesting during her working life.
Strangely the only person who ever tried to push her for information about her past was her nephew. He was fifty years old now, and many years her junior but she adored him. He’d always been a good boy, and very astute.
He knew that she spoke French like a native having spent half her childhood there, and that her German was almost as good. With all the recent anniversaries of the war, a few snippets of conversation from his childhood had come back to him and he was getting curious. He had worked out that all those years in occupied France were not just a coincidence.
He said he remembered seeing some shiny medals once, on one of his childhood visits to her flat, and a picture of her with Churchill. She remembered hiding afterwards, hoping he’d forget but he hadn’t.
She never let on though. Hers was a secret to keep for life. That had been drummed into her throughout her time at the training school in Scotland, and then again every time she was given a new order.
The Gestapo couldn’t get it out of her, and no-one else ever would either.
The walkers resumed their previous formation as they set out again. Marcia listened to the Managing Director and Council leader with particular attention.
“Well, that was a result,” Bruce said Mike with a guffaw. “A lovely feel of a young leg and a free meal to boot.”
“The skirts they wear these days,” Mike replied shaking his head but with a smile.
They expanded on this subject for a while. “Asking for it.” “Wanting it.” “What could a red blooded man do,” was the content of their conversation, until Mike asked after the other ones wife.
“Oh she’s fine,” Bruce said. “Still a lazy bitch but unfortunately in the best of health.”
“Do you think you’ll divorce her?”
“What? Let her get her hands on half of everything, not bloody likely.”
“Do you still see...what’s her name, that secretary of yours?”
“God yes. A man has to have his pleasures, and there’s none at home...”
They had reached a part of the walk where the path ran very close to the harbours edge. The old harbour wall was intact along here, a bit dilapidated in places but mostly sound. The tide was in. Marcia reckoned it would be six feet deep maybe, and quite cold.
She waited until they were rounding a slight bend. Bruce was closest to the water. Marcia deftly placed the hook of her umbrella around his ankle and watched him fall headlong into the water.
Mike moved a little too quickly into the spot his friend had just vacated. Before he had time to regain his balance, Marcia, her feet planted far enough apart to take care of her own safely, threw all her weight onto his lower back, sending him sprawling on top of a just surfacing yellow coat.
Mild Mannered Marcia ran forward, alerting the others to this terrible accident, and wondering if an attack of the vapours would be necessary, just to add authenticity.
The End