Move over Mr Hitchcock 

To preserve the privacy of the couple featured in this story I shall call them Jane and John. Just the way the two young things who featured in our first reading books when we were children were always call Jane and John. Although I always did feel that they led such very boring lives it made privacy quite unnecessary. No one in my class was particularly interested whether they went ‘to the street with mother’ or ‘jumped on a log or not’. We could all do that without having to write about it.

So I shall begin to tell you about my Jane and John.

Their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary was coming up and their teenage children clubbed together to pay for a surprise weekend holiday for the happy couple. They always worked long hours in their business and hardly ever took a great deal of time away from it.

 It was a kind and thoughtful gift.

All that Jane and John were told to do was to pack an overnight bag with clothes suitable for the city.

On the day of the anniversary the first thing which happened when Jane answered a knock at the door was to be confronted by a Jester.  He bowed and the bells on the end of his pointed cap tinkled prettily. The rest of his costume made of purple and gold material was very striking and a sight not often seen in the streets of an Australian country town.

After a few shouts of ‘Hear Ye, Hear Ye’ which brought John rushing to the door in a panic wondering what the bellowing was all about the Jester read and sang a song.

They stood gaping in amazement at the court fool before them as he recited the rhyme full of olde English words such as ‘prithee, thou, love divineth, marriageth-well, merry maids’ and various other dollops of Ye Merry England of old. It was quite incomprehensible but meant with the best of intentions to entertain and cheer the merry souls who listened.

When he had finished his song and they had crossed his palm with some silver he departed after performing a  grand flourish of his cape, which had until then gone unnoticed. He then bowed deeply and disappeared into the shrubbery to find his way out of the garden. Probably hoping to go unnoticed by the neighbours before reaching the safety of his trusty steed he no doubt had tied to a tree further along the street.

 Very soon after that a white limousine, which appeared to be about two house blocks in length drove into their driveway taking up most of the drive and quietly settled down comfortably like a hen in a cosy nest.

Jane and John still recovering from the medieval visitor looked out the window as the driver wearing a neat chauffer’s uniform doffed his cap in a jaunty way.

‘Lord, from the ridiculous to the sublime.’ John muttered.

The chauffeur accepted their overnights bags without a shadow of disappointment at the shabbiness of the luggage. The bags took up a miniscule area of the boot of the car and looked like a ‘couple of forgotten pieces of road kill’, as John remarked afterward.

Jane is not very tall and because she sat down too quickly found she was almost lying down. It took a struggle to get into a seated position so she could see out the window. She felt extremely self conscious driving through their neighboured in such an ostentatious vehicle and hoped she wouldn’t be seen by too many people. It would give some of the old biddies even more reason to complain of the exorbitant prices they accused them of charging in their shop.

It wasn’t very long before the limousine floated into the entry of one of the most opulent hotels in the city.

‘Oh, John,’ Jane groaned. ‘I wish I had bought some better luggage and packed some clothes that would be more suitable for this place.’

John who is a very casual chap and hardly ever out of grubby shorts and T-shirts, summer or winter, replied, ‘don’t worry about it, we wouldn’t ever think of paying for ourselves to come back here at any time. So they’ll never remember us anyway.’

They thanked the driver who had been a friendly fellow and ready to chat throughout the drive.

He wished them a happy weekend and the limousine slid away silently.

 The children had reserved the top floor bridal suite for them.

As they moved swiftly up through the floors in the elevator John remarked that the movement was enough to make his nose bleed.

Jane laughed a little, but it was only a little because she knew he wasn’t really joking. John had a problem with sudden nosebleeds. The doctor had suggested that perhaps he should see someone about them if they became any worse.

The elevator opened to reveal a beautiful suite, filled with fresh flowers perfuming the air. A large box of chocolates lay on the coverlet of the enormous bed with another small posy for Jane to wear on her dress that evening.

They had been told a table was booked for them in the hotel dining room for later.

‘Oh, how lovely, they are such thoughtful kids aren’t they?’ she said quietly as she smelled the lilacs and roses. ‘We are lucky.’ 

The dinner was a delight and to their surprise all the family and their partners had come. John made a small rather self conscious speech and they cut the cake with a new Stirling silver knife that their daughter had purchased for the family to present to them as a memento. 

Later, back up in the sumptuous suite John stood surveying the bathroom.

It was as big as their sitting room at home. He looked at the various cosmetics and toiletries the hotel had supplied.

‘Let’s have a spa bath.’

Jane gazed at the spa apprehensively. It was three times bigger than their bath at home.

‘Well, we’ve never had one’, she answered a little doubtfully. ‘I’m not sure how they work.’

‘Well, we’ll find out.’

The water began to rush into the bath as if he had opened an irrigation pump.

He poured some liquid into the gushing torrent. It was bubble bath oil and sparkling suds began to build a layer upon the surface of the water. The suds grew, and grew until a large foaming dome frothed and frolic on the watery surface.

 He turned the spa on and the bubbles began to multiply rapidly the way a meringue will grow to fill the basin in which it is being beaten by an angry chef taking his troubles out on the defenceless eggwhite.

Soon the bubbles were higher than the spa edges and began to flow down onto the tiled floor.

‘Oh you twit! Why did you put so much in?’ Jane panicked trying to pick the blobs of froth up.

‘Don’t worry about that. There’s a plug hole in the floor that will drain all that out. Come on my lovely, hop in and enjoy yourself.’ John was getting into the mood of the evening.

The candles they had lit on the bathroom shelves glowed and flickered romantically. The smell of the bubble bath was delightful.

Smiling, Jane began to tie her long hair up on top of her head.

‘Watch this.’ John stepped into the spa, sat down and disappeared beneath the snowy mountain.

‘You’ll have to take some out,’ Jane said when he resurfaced. ‘If I get in I won’t be able to breath.’

He obliged by splashing a few piles onto the floor. Then he disappeared beneath the foam again. Jane watching for his reappearance noticed a slight pink tinge to some of the bubbles. It seemed to be spreading.

John re-appeared smiling broadly. ‘Come on in, it’s great!’ He beamed at her and then watched bewildered by her change of expression to one of horror and then she screamed.

In the candlelight she could see that the pink tinge of the bubbles had turned to scarlet. Blood red scarlet streams of water and foam trickled from his nose, covering his chin beneath his happy grin. His chest was covered in sparkling blood bubbles.

Greatly shocked at her reaction he wiped his face and spread more of his vital fluid across his face and up into his eyes and hair. A large quivering mass of blood-stained bubble clung to one side of his head giving the appearance that his brain had exploded out of his scull.

Jane screamed again and threw a towel at this vision of a ghoul that was her husband of twenty five years. ‘Wipe your face, wipe your face.’

The flickering of the candles now turned the room into a sinister chamber of horrors she had only ever seen before in spine chilling movies.

Gone was the romantic atmosphere, gone was the loving ardour of half an hour before. Out ran Jane from the room.

John cleaned up the bathroom and they watched television for a while as they usually did before going to bed and a small brandy each helped to restore the frayed nerves a little.

As John predicted, they haven’t ever been back.  

Now, I think if our John and Jane books at school had them doing that sort of thing we might have paid better attention.

Cheers,    Cynthia.