by Anne Bennett
Auntie Breda had a way of explaining things, Janet thought, and she felt the burden of responsibility shift a little from between her shoulder blades.
‘Now then,’ Breda said, ‘stop thinking about your old exams and go and help your grandad choose some records to put on the gramophone.’
Sean’s gramophone and record collection were his pride and joy. Betty had often told her daughter how things had been in the slump and how every article a person had that was termed ‘luxury’ by those who determined the means test for poor relief had to be sold before a family qualified for help.
‘Ma sold everything we had except Da’s gramophone,’ she said. ‘Lots of items were pawned to pay the rent or buy food, but my ma hung on to the gramophone through all that. She said Da had lost more than a job, he’d lost his self-respect, and the gramophone was the only thing he had in his life that he cared about.’
Janet was always glad they’d been able to keep it. One of her earliest memories was of her grandfather turning the handle and the sound of the Irish music of his youth spilling out of the golden microphone that rested on the top of the spinning record and helping to drown out the sound of falling bombs.
Now she walked over to where Sean sat sorting through the record collection he kept in an old wooden box, and smiled at him. ‘Hello, my lass,’ he said. ‘You can help me choose the airs to play.’
‘Something lively,’ Janet said. ‘A reel or something.’
‘You’re on,’ Grandad said. ‘Something that would wear those two rips out would be welcome.’ He indicated Conner and Noel, who were careering around the room.
‘I think,’ Janet said, ‘we’d be worn out before they would.’
‘You could be right, Janet, aye, you could indeed,’ Sean McClusky said with a chuckle. He selected a few records. ‘These will do for starters.’
Janet had said she’d stay with the record player, but Brendan wouldn’t hear of it and scooped her up to gallop around the room. Janet couldn’t remember when she’d last had such fun. It had been a fraught time for them all for so long, and it still was of course, for her mother was no better and Janet privately thought she wouldn’t improve until the baby came. She watched her dad go off with a tray full of stuff from the table for Betty and crushed down the guilt she felt at having such a good time while her mom lay so ill.
Betty was glad to see them back from the party but gladder still at the shine in Janet’s eyes as she sat on the bed and told her all about it. It was the next day before Janet remembered that Patsy had asked about the baby’s name. She asked her mother if she and her dad had discussed it between themselves.
‘Sort of,’ Betty said. ‘Your dad asked if it was a boy, would I call it Timothy, or Tim, after a mate of his killed in the war.’
‘Timothy,’ Janet said, rolling the name round her tongue to see how she liked it. ‘That’s all right,’ she decided, ‘but what for a girl?’
‘I thought I’d call a girl Sarah after me ma,’ Betty said. ‘I know it would please her, and we could call her Sally while she’s small.’
‘That’s nice,’ Janet said, and added, ‘I hope it’s a Sally, but if it’s a Tim I suppose we’ll have to put up with it.’
‘We have to take what God sends,’ Betty said, ‘but … well, it can’t hurt to hope.’
Two days later it was Janet’s birthday, but no one seemed to remember it. The doctor was pleased with Betty’s progress and allowed her to get up, and Janet tried to be glad about that and not mind that no one had even wished her happy birthday, let alone got her a card. She kept the hurt feeling to herself.
Duncan was now supposed to make sure there was coal in for the fire and sticks chopped up. He also had to take turns with his father washing up after the evening meal, as this was Bert’s way of helping Janet out with the housework. Also, as part of the new arrangements, until school opened Duncan had to take the twins out to Pype Hayes park for two afternoons in the week, if the weather was dry, to give Janet some time to herself.
This Janet looked forward to most of all, and when Duncan suggested taking them with him that Tuesday afternoon, she was delighted and thought she might slip up to Miss Wentworth, even if she hadn’t remembered it was her birthday either.
She was, therefore, furious when her Auntie Breda came round and presented her with a long shopping list. ‘You don’t mind getting this for me, do you, Janet love?’ she asked. ‘I’d go myself but Linda’s got a racking cough.’
Janet glared at her, but knew she could say nothing. Respect for her elders had been drummed into her all her life. She wanted to cry. It wasn’t fair. It was her birthday, for goodness’ sake. Why couldn’t her aunt take Linda round to her gran’s and do her own shopping? But she knew she could say nothing, and she took the list and the purse with money in without a word of protest.
The shopping took simply ages. Aunt Breda wanted items from the grocer, the greengrocer, the butcher and the newsagent. Every shop had a queue and the people in front of Janet seemed in no hurry as they exchanged news and snippets of gossip with the shopkeeper, along with their order. Janet hopped from one foot to the other in impatience as she willed them to hurry up. Her fidgety behaviour only caused the shopkeeper to look at her sternly and made no difference at all to the chattering shoppers.
Aunt Breda had produced two bags for her to carry the shopping in, but the weight of them dragged Janet down. She felt as if her arms were being pulled out of their sockets. It’s all right for Auntie Breda, she thought crossly, stopping for the umpteenth time to rest her aching arms. She packs the shopping around Linda in the pram, or hangs the bags from the pram handle. She doesn’t have to carry anything.
Slowly she carried the bags to Breda’s house, only to find her aunt was out. Rage boiled through Janet’s body. Linda’s hacking cough, that had prevented Breda from shopping for herself, had not stopped her going out somewhere else.
‘And I bet it wasn’t to the flipping doctor’s,’ she muttered as she bumped the bags back to her own door.
There a surprise awaited her. Everyone was there: her mom, pale but up and sitting in a chair, Auntie Breda, Gran, Grandad, Duncan and the twins, and as she entered they all shouted: ‘Happy birthday, Janet!’
‘Did you think we’d all forgotten, Janet pet?’ Gran said, seeing the tears filling Janet’s eyes.
‘Sorry we had to send you for the shopping,’ Breda said, ‘but we had to get you out of the way.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with Linda then?’
‘Linda’s as right as rain and asleep on your bed this minute,’ Breda said, ‘but we wanted it to be a surprise for you.’
‘You wanted what to be a surprise for me?’ Janet said.
In answer, her family stepped away from the table they’d been hiding from her, and she saw the party food arranged there. In the centre was a cake with ‘Happy Birthday Janet’ written on in icing, and eleven candles, and arranged around the cake were parcels and cards. Janet was speechless.
‘Peter will be along later, and I’ve phoned work and said I won’t be in because I’m sick,’ Breda said.
‘And Brendan and Patsy will come after work,’ Gran said, ‘and your dad, of course.’
Janet could only gape at them all.
‘Are you going to catch bleeding flies all afternoon?’ Breda asked with a laugh, and Janet began to gabble.
‘How did … who … who … how did you do it and who did it?’
‘Me and Ma,’ said Auntie Breda. ‘After you working so hard and all, we thought you should have a bit of a party. Mammy did some, she made the cake as well, and I did the rest. Then we had it all piled in Mammy’s kitchen and we had to get you out of the way and the twins too, or they would have demolished it before you’d even seen it.’
‘Oh, thank you, thank you.’ Janet was crying, throwing her arms around her grandparents and her aunt and her mother while tears poured down her cheeks.
‘Here, here,’ said her grandmother, ‘l
ess of the water-works, girl, you’ll have us drowned in a minute. Open up your cards and presents and we’ll leave the food until the others get here.’
From Auntie Breda was a watch. ‘You’ll need to organise your life from now on,’ she said to Janet as she strapped it to her wrist. Her grandparents gave her a fountain pen and a bottle of ink.
‘Put it to good use, my lass,’ said Sarah McClusky.
‘I will, said Janet. She knew it was a good pen, and an expensive one. ‘I’ll look after it, I promise.’
There was a pencil, a sharpener, a notebook and a rubber from the twins, and a geometry set from Duncan.
‘I asked the form teacher at school before the holidays,’ he said, ‘and he said you’d need one of those at the grammar school.’
‘Thank you, Duncan.’
There was one more parcel, which Janet supposed was from her parents, but Betty told her that Bert was bringing their present on his way home from work. This parcel was from Gran’s people in Ireland: a wooden pencil box into which all the twins’ gifts fitted neatly.
They were all drinking a cup of tea Breda had made when Brendan and Patsy came in and handed Janet another parcel. Janet was almost too overawed to mutter her thanks when she pulled a brown leather satchel from the wrapping. It was so beautiful and she stroked it almost reverently.
‘Oh,’ she cried, ‘oh, it’s lovely. Oh thank you, thank you.’
Inside, despite her happiness, Janet was feeling quite desperate. Everyone expects me to pass the eleven-plus, she thought, no one has even considered the fact that I may fail.
She caught her mother’s eyes on her and forced a smile. ‘Shall I … shall I make another pot of tea?’ she said, and escaped to the kitchen.
‘I wonder what’s keeping Bert,’ Betty said as they were finishing their second cup of tea. ‘I won’t be able to keep the twins off the table indefinitely.’
‘Nor Linda,’ Breda said, for Linda, awake from her nap, was toddling round the room, grabbing hold of anything she could find. Twice already she’d had to be distracted from tugging on the dangling tablecloth and bringing all the party food down on her head.
There was another knock at the door.
‘That’ll be him now,’ Betty said. But it wasn’t. It was Claire Wentworth.
Janet was totally unprepared for her entrance into the room and was so surprised that she hardly noticed Uncle Peter, who had come in after her.
Janet did not say a word as Claire strode across the room. ‘Happy birthday,’ she said, handing her a small parcel and card. Then she looked at Betty and said: ‘I’m glad to see you up, Mrs Travers. Are you feeling stronger?’
‘Yes, a little,’ Betty said. ‘I’ll be …’
But whatever she was going to say was forgotten as Janet cried out, ‘Oh, oh, but it’s beautiful. Thank you, thank you.’
Dangling from her hand was a silver locket she’d withdrawn from a velvet lined box. ‘I’m glad you like it,’ Claire said. ‘I had it inscribed.’
Janet turned the locket over. Written on the back was: ‘To Janet, with love from Claire Wentworth, 1947.’
‘Thank you,’ Janet said again.
Claire was glad Janet liked the gift, because she’d argued with David over it.
‘You can’t give a present to just one child,’ he’d maintained.
‘Janet has become like a friend to me.’
‘Even so,’ David insisted, ‘you’re making too much of her.’
‘It’s a gift for her birthday, that’s all.’
‘You’re giving her an exaggerated view of her own importance.’
‘I am not,’ Claire retorted. ‘Surely you’re making too much of this?’
‘No, I don’t think I am,’ David said. ‘I don’t think you’re fully aware what you’re doing, buying expensive presents for …’
He got no further. He’d failed to see the anger sparking in Claire’s eyes and the two spots of colour in her cheeks. But he couldn’t mistake the ice in her tone as she said:
‘What I do with my own money is my affair. I don’t need your permission or approval. I think you’d better go now!’
She watched as he turned on his heel and left without another word, and then she took the locket to town and in a spirit of recklessness had it inscribed. It was almost worth the row to see the joy in Janet’s face, though she’d spent a miserable day waiting for David to come back. She longed to make the first move herself but a stand had to be made somewhere.
There was still no sign of Bert, and the twins were becoming restless and Linda fretful, so they decided to make a start on the buffet laid out on the table. Claire Wentworth was pressed to stay and Janet was over the moon with happiness to have all her family and Miss Wentworth together for her birthday.
They’d almost finished eating when Bert arrived. It was obvious from his demeanour that he’d called into the pub on the way home. ‘How could you, Bert?’ Betty cried. ‘On our Janet’s birthday.’
Bert looked round the company: his affronted wife, his mother-in-law with her accusing eyes and clamped mouth, his father-in-law’s calm gaze and Breda’s eyes flashing in temper. He could see that Peter, Brendan and Patsy were embarrassed, and there was a young woman he’d never seen before. Janet was flushed red. She was mortified at the possibility of a scene in front of Miss Wentworth.
Bert knew he was in the wrong, so he blustered and became angry. ‘What’s the matter? It’s a party, isn’t it? I had to get the man a drink, didn’t I?’
‘One drink?’ Betty asked sarcastically.
‘We got talking, it isn’t a crime,’ Bert said. He winked at Janet. ‘Happy birthday, pet. Come on outside, I’ve got a surprise for you.’
They all trooped into the front garden, and what Janet saw took away all the irritation she’d felt at her father’s late arrival, for leaning against the house was a blue bicycle.
Janet couldn’t believe her eyes.
‘It isn’t new,’ her father said. ‘Some chap at work bought it for his wife a year or two back, but she never took to it and I asked him if I could buy it.’
‘Oh,’ Janet breathed, ‘I can’t believe it.’ She could see the bike was hardly used. Even the tyres were fairly clean and unworn, and the chrome was shiny silver. It had a basket in front and a carrier behind, and it was the loveliest thing Janet had ever seen.
In the midst of her happiness and excitement, Janet saw Duncan detach himself from the admiring crowd and slope off to the back garden. Later, after she’d thanked her parents and said that she couldn’t believe how lucky she was, she took her bike round to the garden shed at the back and found him there.
Duncan had never had a bike – there’d never been money for those kind of things – and Janet felt almost ashamed that now she had one and her brother hadn’t.
‘You can ride it any time you want, Duncan,’ she said.
‘A lady’s bike!’ Duncan exclaimed scathingly. ‘Are you kidding? I wouldn’t be seen dead on it. Don’t you worry about me, I’ll be earning in just over a year and I’ll get my own bike if I want one, only mine will be new.’
‘I’m … sorry.’
Duncan didn’t answer, and after a while Janet went back inside. Claire Wentworth was leaving and her father, obviously forgiven, was eating the leftovers from the table. ‘We didn’t cut the cake,’ Gran said. ‘Miss Wentworth, you can’t go without a piece of cake.’
‘We didn’t light the candles or sing “Happy Birthday” either,’ Betty said. ‘We were just going to, if you remember, when Bert arrived.’
‘Let’s do it now.’
When the candles were all lit, there was a rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ which was enthusiastic and noisy rather than tuneful. And then Breda was saying: ‘Blow them out with one blow and you can have a wish.’
Janet took a deep breath. She knew it was stupid and childish, but she really felt that if she blew the candles out in one blow, it would be a perfect end to a perfect day.
> The candles were out and around her they were crying, ‘Make a wish! Make a wish!’ Janet’s eyes met those of Miss Wentworth and she closed them tight. There was only one thing to wish for; she knew it and Miss Wentworth knew it.
I wish, she thought, I wish with all my heart that I’ve passed the exam to Whytecliff High School.
FIVE
When Janet got up the morning after her birthday and saw the brown envelope on the mat, she stopped stock still for a minute and looked at it. Then Duncan was at her elbow.
‘Go on then,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that what you’ve been working for?’
‘I’m scared,’ Janet said. ‘Oh, Duncan, what if I’ve failed?’
Duncan shrugged. ‘What if you have? It isn’t the end of the world, is it?’
‘Isn’t it?’ Janet said with feeling. ‘It might be for me. Look at the stuff I got yesterday. Apart from the watch, the locket and the bike, they were all for using at the grammar school.’
‘Talk sense, Jan,’ Duncan said irritably. ‘You’d use a pen and the stuff the twins got you whatever school you went to. Even the geometry set. It’s best for you to have your own stuff wherever you go.’
‘At grammar school maybe, but how many have sets like that at Paget?’
Duncan hedged. ‘I don’t know, in the top group they might.’
‘And they carry it to school in a leather satchel?’ Janet said sarcastically.
‘No, you know they don’t,’ Duncan burst out angrily. ‘Now open the damned letter, can’t you? Then you’ll know whether you can use your leather satchel, or whether you’ll have to exchange it for a book on how to survive failing the eleven-plus.’
If he expected Janet to laugh he was disappointed, so he went past her, picked the envelope up from the mat and ripped it open.
‘You’ve done it, Janet, you passed!’ he cried. ‘They’ve offered you a scholarship to Whytecliff High School. You’ve got to go to see round the place Monday.’ Duncan pulled a face, then grinned and went on, ‘Jammy beggar, I’ll be back at school by then.’
