On The Beach

"That's different," she said. "You're in the navy." He laughed. "No, what I mean is, you go to sea for months and months, and then you go on leave. Street cleaners don't do that. They go on all the time. At least, they ought to."

He could not elucidate it any further for her, and they drove on to the big hardware store. It had only a few customers, and very few assistants. They left the baby in the car and went through to the gardening department, and searched some time for an assistant. "Motor mowers?" he said. "You'll find a few in the next hall, through that archway. Look them over and see if what you want is there."

They did so, and picked a little twelve-inch mower. Peter looked at the price tag, picked up the mower, and went to find the assistant. "I'll take this one," he said.

"Okay," said the man. "Good little mower, that." He grinned sardonically. "Last you a lifetime."

"Forty-seven pounds ten," said Peter. "Can I pay by cheque?"

"Pay by orange peel for all I care," the man said. "We're closing down tonight."

The naval officer went over to a table and wrote his cheque; Mary was left talking to the salesman. "Why are you closing down?" she asked. "Aren't people buying things?"

He laughed shortly. "Oh-they come in and they buy. Not much to sell them now. But I'm not going on right up till the end, same with all the staff. We had a meeting yesterday, and then we told the management. After all, there's only about a fortnight left to go. They're closing down tonight."

Peter came back and handed his cheque to the salesman. "Okeydoke," the man said. "I don't know if they'll ever pay it in without a staff up in the office. Maybe I'd better give you a receipt in case they get on to your tail next year…" He scribbled a receipt and turned to another customer.

Mary shivered. "Peter, let's get out of this and go home. It's horrid here, and everything smells."

"Don't you want to stay up here for lunch?" He had thought she would enjoy the little outing.

She shook her head. "I'd rather go home now, and have lunch there."

They drove in silence out of the city and down to the bright little seaside town that was their home. Back in their apartment on the hill she regained a little of her poise; here were the familiar things she was accustomed to, the cleanness that was her pride, the carefully tended little garden, the clean wide view out over the bay. Here was security.

After lunch, smoking before they did the washing up, she said, "I don't think I want to go to Melbourne again, Peter."

He smiled. "Getting a bit piggy, isn't it?"

"It's horrible," she said vehemently. "Everything shut up, and dirty, and stinking. It's as if the end of the world had come already."

"It's pretty close, you know," he said.

She was silent for a moment. "I know; that's what you've been telling me all along." She raised her eyes to his. "How far off is it, Peter?"

"About a fortnight," he said. "It doesn't happen with a click, you know. People start getting ill, but not all on the same day, of course. Some people are more resistant than others."

"But everybody gets it, don't they?" she asked in a low tone. "I mean, in the end."

He nodded. "Everybody gets it, in the end."

"How much difference is there in people? I mean, when they get it?"

He shook his head. "I don't really know. I think everybody would have got it in three weeks."

"Three weeks from now, or three weeks after the first case?"

"Three weeks after the first case, I mean," he said. "But I don't really know." He paused. "It's possible to get it slightly and get over it," he said. "But then you get it again ten days or a fortnight later."

She said, "There's no guarantee, then, that you and I would get it at the same time? Or Jennifer? We might any of us get it, any time?"

He nodded. "That's the way it is. We've just got to take it as it comes. After all, it's what we've always had to face, only we've never faced it, because we're young. Jennifer might always have died first, of the three of us, or I might have died before you. There's nothing much that's new about it."

"I suppose not," she said. "I did hope it all might happen on one day."

He took her hand. "It may quite well do so," he said. "But-we'd be lucky." He kissed her. "Let's do the washing up." His eye fell on the lawn mower. "We can mow the lawn this afternoon."

"The grass is all wet," she said sadly. "It'll make it rusty."

"Then we'll dry it in front of the fire in the lounge," he promised her. "I won't let it get rusty."