On The Beach

Moira nodded. "If what they say is right, we're none of us going to have time to do all that we planned to do. But we can keep on doing it as long as we can."

They sat on the hearthrug, Mary playing with the poker and the wood fire. Presently she said, "I forgot to ask you if you'd like a brandy or something. There's a bottle in the cupboard, and I think there's some soda."

The girl shook her head. "Not for me. I'm quite happy."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Have you reformed, or something?"

"Or something," said the girl. "I never tip it up at home. Only when I'm out at parties, or with men. With men particularly. Matter of fact, I'm even getting tired of that, now."

"It’s not men, is it, dear? Not now. It's Dwight Towers.”

"Yes," the girl said. "It's Dwight Towers."

"Don't you ever want to get married? I mean, even if we are all dying next September."

The girl stared into the fire. "I wanted to get married," she said quietly. "I wanted to have everything you've got. But I shan't have it now."

"Couldn't you marry Dwight?"

The girl shook her head. "I don't think so."

"I'm sure he likes you."

"Yes," she said. "He likes me all right."

"Has he ever kissed you?"

"Yes," she said again. "He kissed me once."

"I'm sure he'd marry you."

The girl shook her head again. "He wouldn't ever do that. You see, he's married already. He's got a wife and two children in America."

Mary stared at her. "Darling, he can't have. They must be dead."

"He doesn't think so," she said wearily. "He thinks he's going home to meet them, next September. In his own home town, at Mystic." She paused. "We're all going a bit mad in our own way," she said. "That's his way."

"You mean, he really thinks his wife is still alive?"

"I don't know if he thinks that or not. No, I don't think he does. He thinks he's going to be dead next September, but he thinks he's going home to them, to Sharon and Dwight Junior and Helen. He's been buying presents for them."

Mary sat trying to understand. "But if he thinks like that, why did he kiss you?"

"Because I said I'd help him with the presents."

Mary got to her feet. "I'm going to have a drink," she said firmly. "I think you'd better have one, too." And when that was adjusted and they were sitting with glasses in their hands, she asked curiously, "It must be funny, being jealous of someone that's dead?"

The girl took a drink from her glass and sat staring at the fire. "I'm not jealous of her," she said at last. "I don't think so. Her name is Sharon, like in the Bible. I want to meet her. She must be a very wonderful person, I think. You see, he's such a practical man."

"Don't you want to marry him?"

The girl sat for a long time in silence. "I don't know," she said at last. "I don't know if I do or not. If it wasn't for all this… I'd play every dirty trick in the book to get him away from her. I don't think I'll ever be happy with anyone else. But then, there's not much time left now to be happy with anyone."

"There's three or four months, anyway," said Mary. "I saw a motto once, one of those things you hang on the wall to inspire you. It said, 'Don't worry-it may never happen.'"

"I think this is going to happen all right," Moira remarked. She picked up the poker and began playing with it. "If it was for a lifetime it'd be different," she said. "It'd be worth doing her dirt if it meant having Dwight for good, and children, and a home, and a full life. I'd go through anything if I could see a chance of that. But to do her dirt just for three months' pleasure and nothing at the end of it-well, that's another thing. I may be a loose woman, but I don't know that I'm all that loose." She looked up, smiling. "Anyway, I don't believe that I could do it in the time. I think he'd take a lot of prising away from her."

"Oh dear," said Mary. "Things are difficult, aren't they?"

"Couldn't be worse," Moira agreed. "I think I'll probably die an old maid."

"It doesn't make sense. But nothing seems to make sense, these days. Peter…" She stopped.

"What about Peter?" the girl asked curiously.

"I don't know. It was just horrible, and crazy." She shifted restlessly.

"What was? Tell me."

"Did you ever murder anybody?"

"Me? Not yet. I've often wanted to. Country telephone girls, mostly."

"This was serious. It's a frightful sin to murder anybody, isn't it? I mean, you'd go to Hell."

"I don't know. I suppose you would. Who do you want to murder?"

The mother said dully, "Peter told me I might have to murder Jennifer." A tear formed and trickled down her cheek.

The girl leaned forward impulsively and touched her hand. "Darling, that can't be right! You must have got it wrong."

She shook her head. "It's not wrong," she sobbed. "It's right enough. He told me I might have to do it, and he showed me how." She burst into a torrent of tears.