by Anne Bennett
‘No, Miss Wentworth, you were in. But there was a man with you, and both of you were busy.’
Janet stressed the last word, and Claire flushed crimson on her face and neck. She felt faint and clutched for the back of a chair.
She remembered it so well: David’s kisses driving her wild, and knowing she wanted him to make love to her more than she’d wanted anything in her life before. She’d pulled away with difficulty, and tugging her blouse around her had turned the key in the kitchen door before leading the way upstairs to the bedroom. If she’d picked up Janet’s meaning correctly, the girl had arrived before she’d thought to lock up.
‘You saw …?’
‘I saw all right,’ Janet said, and her voice trembled as she remembered it all again. ‘I was so excited, so pleased, and I knew you would be too. I didn’t bother ringing the doorbell, but went straight down the entry to the back door. You were in the living room and had no clothes on your top. You were letting him … he was … you were just moaning, you weren’t doing anything to stop him!’
‘Don’t,’ Claire said, ‘please don’t say any more.’
Janet had a lump in her throat which she swallowed with difficulty. ‘Why?’ she demanded. ‘Are you embarrassed? I was disgusted.’ She saw that Miss Wentworth was crying, and she felt tears welling in her own eyes, but she was too nauseated by the whole thing to let them fall.
‘I know it must have been a terrible shock,’ Claire said eventually, her voice muffled with tears, ‘and I wouldn’t have had you see it for the world, but David and I love each other. We are going to be married.’
‘Married!’ exclaimed Janet. She couldn’t believe she’d heard right. ‘You’ll be giving up everything you’ve worked for, for a man.’
‘No, Janet, it doesn’t have to be that way.’
‘It does where I live,’ Janet spat out, suddenly angry. ‘Only Auntie Breda and Uncle Peter are different, and everyone says Uncle Peter’s henpecked and Auntie Breda wears the trousers.’
‘More marriages will be like your auntie’s in the future, Janet,’ Claire said. ‘Husbands and wives will both work and share the household jobs.’
‘They’ll share having babies too, I suppose,’ Janet said scornfully. ‘I mean, what if you had a baby?’
‘I won’t,’ Claire said confidently.
‘How can you be so sure?’ Janet said.
‘Look, Janet,’ Claire said, embarrassed afresh. ‘This is a conversation you should be having with your mother, not me.’
‘I didn’t see her doing anything.’
‘Well, I’m not going to tell you,’ Claire said, ‘except to say there’s things you can use, clinics you can go to. At the moment I don’t want a baby, but I may change my mind one day, when I’m married and we decide we want to start a family.’
Janet remembered Aunt Breda’s angry words to Peter the day of the doctor’s visit to her father: ‘I’m getting her down that clinic, to get her sorted out, as soon as that kid’s born.’
That was what Auntie Breda meant, she thought with sudden clarity, and wondered if her mother had chosen to have baby Sally like Claire seemed to suggest women were able to. Somehow she doubted Sally had been planned at all.
‘So,’ Claire said, ‘where do we go from here?’
‘Nowhere,’ Janet said flatly. ‘I want nothing to do with you. I’ll make my own way from now on.’
‘Janet, listen to me …’
‘No, I have listened. You made me feel I could do it, make a life of my own, and I can and will. If you’ve decided that’s not for you, that’s fine, but I don’t want you to teach me any more. You let me down. It made me sick.’
‘When you’re older you’ll probably understand a little more.’
Janet shrugged. Claire remembered the shrug of the previous day and said, ‘I’m sorry about your hand. I shouldn’t have reacted as I did.’
‘I wanted you to,’ Janet said, ‘but my hand’s fine now. I hated you for destroying my dream, but I won’t defy you again, I don’t care enough any more. And,’ Janet said, ‘you’d better have this back. I don’t want it,’ and she took the birthday locket from the sideboard and put it in Claire’s hand.
It was so unfair, Claire thought. She wanted to rant and rail at Janet and remind her of how much she owed her, but that would hardly make the child like or respect her more, and that was really what she wanted. There was nothing more to say, so she turned and went out of the house and neither of them said goodbye.
Things were so hectic for the next two weeks that Janet hadn’t time to think about the rift between her and Claire Wentworth. At school, she was barely polite. The first day back was the hardest, because all the kids in the class expected a repetition of Tuesday and were waiting in anticipation for an explosion that didn’t happen.
Girls who had never bothered with Janet before spoke to her at playtime and she was invited to join in their games, but Janet was wary of such overtures. She knew they were only asking her because of the way she’d stood up to Miss Wentworth. Once they realised there would be no repetition, she’d be dropped again. Unfortunately, she was proved right.
No one in the family seemed to think it odd that Janet no longer went to Claire Wentworth’s, and there were no questions asked. They seemed to think there was no point now, and anyway, Janet had little free time and could always see her teacher at school if she wanted to.
It was over three weeks after Betty was taken to hospital that she came home with the tiny bundle that was Sally Travers. She placed the baby in Janet’s arms while she hugged and cuddled the twins, and Janet looked down at the sister she didn’t want and was seized by an inexplicable and totally unexpected wave of protective love for the scrap of humanity she held.
She was so very tiny and helpless, but very beautiful. Her eyes were a vivid blue, with long dark lashes. She had a little rosebud mouth and her hair was like golden down on her head. Each day Janet thought she became more and more beautiful. She knew her sister would have the blonde curls and deep blue eyes that Duncan had and she couldn’t explain the love she had for her.
Despite the novelty of the new baby, Janet was worried, for since Sally’s birth Betty seemed to have forgotten all about the grammar school and the uniform list that Bert knew nothing about. One afternoon after school she tackled her mother about it.
‘Give me a couple of weeks to get myself together, love,’ Betty said. ‘It’ll be all right, don’t worry.’
But Janet did worry, and it was towards the end of May before the matter was broached with Bert. Duncan, Janet and the twins were sent into the garden, and they heard Betty arguing with her husband.
Unknown to Bert, Betty had gone off on her own to town and looked in the Co-op at the prices of the uniform. She had been appalled. Gaberdine coat, barathea blazer, even the felt hats and summer boaters were ridiculous prices. She said none of this to Bert, but spoke to her sister of going back on the twilight shift, and asked the Co-op man to call and see her about a cheque. Her Janet had got this far; no one would take it away from her now.
Bert had surveyed the uniform list mournfully and asked the foreman to keep him in mind for any overtime going. With yet another mouth to feed, he found that his money didn’t go as far and he was able to save nothing, and he worried about it.
‘Why don’t you ask about grants and things?’ Breda said, knowing her sister was concerned.
‘I wouldn’t know who to ask.’
‘Don’t be so gormless, Bet,’ Breda cried impatiently. ‘Go and see your Janet’s teacher.’
So, unknown to Janet, because she didn’t want her to be embarrassed, Betty went one lunchtime to see Claire Wentworth. Duncan and Janet had their dinner at their gran’s, who also minded Sally and the twins.
She explained to Claire about the uniform list.
‘We want her to go so bad,’ she said, ‘but I don’t know how it’s to be done, I really don’t. I was wondering if there were grants I could get, like.’
Claire didn’t know – Janet was the first child she’d got through the eleven-plus – but she promised to enquire. She knew the financial strain the family were under and was anxious to help despite Janet’s feelings towards her. She spent several days getting together the relevant information and forms to fill, and because she knew Betty would probably like notice, she told Janet that she would be calling at her house the following evening.
‘Why?’ Janet asked, at once hostile.
‘I have some business with your parents,’ Claire replied, and there was nothing Janet could say.
She quizzed her mom when she got home. ‘She’s finding out about grants and such like to help out with the cost of the uniform,’ Betty said crossly, annoyed at Janet’s attitude. ‘I mean, you do want to go to this school, I suppose?’
‘You know I do!’
‘Well then, we’ll have to afford it, but money doesn’t grow on trees, you know.’
‘I’m not stupid.’
‘Maybe not,’ snapped Betty, ‘but you’re impertinent all right.’
‘There are grants,’ Claire Wentworth told them that night, ‘but they’re not automatic, they’re discretionary. That means we have to fill in these forms about your income and outgoings and how many children there are in the family and so on, and I write a letter explaining why I think you should have a grant.’
‘It’s very kind of you, Miss Wentworth,’ Betty said.
Bert expressed doubts about putting down his income, but Claire soothed him. ‘It’s confidential,’ she assured him. ‘No one else will know. I’ll help you fill the forms in if you like, or I’ll leave them for you to do on your own.’
‘Oh,’ Betty said, ‘I’d rather have help, if you don’t mind.’
Claire brought other things besides forms. Her mother, who was, she said, a terrible hoarder, had still got the white games skirt and Aertex shirt Claire had worn at her grammar school, and her old hockey boots. ‘I didn’t go to Whytecliff,’ she said, ‘but the games uniform is usually the same, and hockey boots are just hockey boots. Janet can pad the toes for now if they’re too big.’ She pulled the items out of the bag beside her. ‘She has my old hockey stick as well, and tennis racquet, but …’ she gestured helplessly, ‘I’m afraid I couldn’t fit them in. I’ll have to bring them over another time.’
Bert and Betty laughed, and Betty looked at her daughter sternly, wondering why Janet – who’d had good manners drummed into her since the day she was born – should appear so ungrateful and sullen with her old teacher. ‘Have you nothing to say?’ she snapped at last.
‘Thank you,’ Janet said woodenly. ‘Please thank your mother for me.’ She felt bad she couldn’t be more gracious about it, but there it was.
‘We’re so grateful for all you’ve done for us,’ Bert said sincerely. ‘We couldn’t begin to tell you, and that’s not counting the extra work with young Janet.’
‘She has a good brain,’ Claire said. ‘Janet was my first eleven-plus success and my last for a time. I’m not taking the top class next year. I didn’t want the work involved, to be honest. I’m getting married and my husband wants to see something of me.’
Janet, dispatched to the kitchen to make another cup of tea, was stopped in the doorway by Miss Wentworth’s news. She stared at her across the room while her parents were showering Claire with congratulations, and inside she was crying, ‘Oh, Miss Wentworth.’
SEVEN
How was it, Janet thought, that you could long for something with all your heart, work towards making it happen, and when you achieved your heart’s desire be dissatisfied and unhappy? That was how Janet felt about Whytecliff High School, and though she promised Claire she’d come and tell her how things were going, she daren’t go near her, for she knew she would realise immediately how despondent Janet had become as the days passed.
She’d not met anyone at the school who even spoke as she did, and the other girls were always mocking her accent and making fun of her generally.
She was furious one day when Belinda sneered at her for calling her parents Mom and Dad. ‘Mummy and Daddy, my dear,’ she said patronisingly, ‘or Mother and Father would be acceptable, but then good manners cannot be expected from a guttersnipe.’
Janet’s hard fist connected with Belinda’s nose, and she watched with satisfaction as the blood spurted on to the other girl’s white shirt. But, ‘Do not bring your street manners to this school,’ Miss Phelps told Janet sternly, ignoring the glare she was giving her. ‘Belinda was most distressed, and so, I might add, was her mother. Write out five hundred times, “I must control my temper” and apologise to Belinda. That will be all.’
Janet apologised, though the words stuck in her throat. In the streets she’d been brought up in, you didn’t go sneaking to adults, but she knew here she’d have to be a bit more devious. Belinda accepted Janet’s apology, commenting again that such behaviour was only to be expected with her upbringing. When, the following morning, she fell heavily on her way into assembly, no one saw Janet’s foot trip her, but everyone saw Janet helping her up.
‘We’re even now, you stuck-up pig,’ she hissed as she smiled sweetly at the odious Belinda.
The grant had not provided the money for everything, and Janet’s skirt had been purchased from the Co-op. It was a slightly different shade and style from those of the other girls, and the fact was seized on immediately by her tormentors.
‘Where did your mother buy your skirt, council house brat?’ Millicent asked. ‘At a jumble sale?’
There was a peal of laughter around the room, and Annabel remarked, ‘Perhaps it wasn’t bought at all. It’s such a rag, perhaps it was put out in the bags of rubbish even a jumble sale couldn’t use.’
Janet longed to pound their stupid faces against the wall. Instead, she bided her time. Next day, in the art room, she tripped, flinging scarlet paint over Annabel’s still-life picture. It dribbled like droplets of blood, causing the colours to run and merge together like a crazily patterned kaleidoscope.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Janet said, while Annabel wailed noisily.
Miss Masters, the art teacher, who was crossing the room to find the reason for the commotion, saw Annabel almost leap away from Janet and shriek, ‘You hateful pig, you did it on purpose, but then what can you expect from someone of your type?’
Miss Masters’ sympathy for Annabel’s spoilt picture was wiped out by the last remark. Janet, she noted, looked suitably chastened and repentant. Janet suppressed a smile at the firm set of the teacher’s mouth as she looked angrily at Annabel and remarked stonily, ‘Now, now, Annabel, what a fuss over an accident. I’m sure Janet is truly sorry she spoilt your picture, and there was no need to make personal comments about her background.’
Later, Janet, who was cleaning the floor of spilt paint, heard Annabel whisper menacingly in her ear, ‘I know you did that on purpose, you filthy little guttersnipe.’
‘Dear Annabel,’ she replied, smiling sweetly, ‘it takes one to know one.’
‘She’s getting above herself, uppity bitch,’ Belinda said.
‘Yes, but she’s clever enough not to get caught,’ said Millicent, still limping from Janet stamping on her bare toes in the changing room. That had come about because they’d made fun of her hockey stick. Despite Brendan smoothing out the dents and giving it a coat of varnish, it still looked nothing like the pristine new ones of the others, and they noticed immediately.
‘A prehistoric monstrosity,’ Millicent called it, and added, ‘Perhaps her father fashioned it himself. After all, they’re little removed from savages on these council estates.’ Her feet were swollen and painful for the rest of the day.
The teachers were aware of the antagonism surrounding Janet Travers but couldn’t understand it. ‘She’s one of the brightest girls in her year and totally attentive in class, yet she’s completely friendless,’ said the English teacher, Miss James, perplexed.
‘No one will partner her for anything,’ the games teacher rep
orted, ‘and she’s the last to be picked for teams, though she’s reasonably good.’
‘Could be her background,’ someone suggested. ‘It is what the socialists would describe as “deprived”, I believe.’
‘Sod her background,’ the maths teacher put in angrily. ‘She has one of the best and most receptive brains I’ve had the pleasure to meet in this dump. I am fed up with teaching genteel young ladies who believe maths is “not quite the thing”. Janet Travers, on the other hand, grasps new concepts almost before they leave my lips, works diligently in class and hands homework in on time, neat, legible and usually correct.’
Janet would have been gratified to hear the teachers’ opinion, because she was achingly lonely. No one linked arms with her in the yard, or asked her home to tea. Keeping away from her tormentors meant skulking in the playground alone and isolated and scurrying to and from the bus stop as quickly as possible.
She could hardly confide in her family, puffed up with pride as they were that their Janet was at the grammar school, and she’d had little in common with other girls on the estate of her own age since she’d begun working for the eleven-plus. And how could she arrive at Claire’s door and admit how miserable she was at the school when Miss Wentworth had worked so hard to get her in in the first place? Not to mention all the time she’d spent with Janet during the summer holidays, teaching her all sorts of things so that she wouldn’t feel inadequate next to the other girls.
Even the desk she worked at at home was due indirectly to Claire, and it had also been the means of healing the rift between them. Early in the summer holidays, Claire told Betty that she had an old desk she had no use for and offered it to her for Janet, but Janet, still angry and disappointed with Claire and uncomfortable at the influence she was having in her family, refused to even consider it.
‘I don’t understand her and that’s the truth,’ Betty said to Patsy and Brendan, when she visited to admire their new baby, Liam. ‘I mean, it isn’t that she doesn’t need a desk, and what she could have against that nice Miss Wentworth I don’t know, and after all she’s done for her.’
