by Anne Bennett
‘Outside?’ Janet cried. ‘No wonder you’re cold. It’s bitter out there. Were you there long?’
Gloria shrugged. ‘Long enough,’ she said. ‘Tell you the truth, I was glad to get out. Our dad’s been at the pub since opening time and I wouldn’t like to be in when he gets home. He’s not touched me yet, not since I got back from hospital when I … lost … when I lost the … the baby, but I’ve seen the way he’s looked at me the last day or two and know it’s only a matter of time.’
‘That’s awful,’ Janet burst out. ‘He has no right to hit you like that. Can’t you stand up to him?’
‘Stand up to him!’ Gloria repeated incredulously. ‘Don’t be stupid. Can you stand up to a bleeding steamroller? Me mom probably could, but she’s either out at bingo, sleeping it off herself, or not that bothered, as long as he leaves her alone.’ She looked at Janet and added, ‘Why d’you think I was so upset at the hospital?’
‘Well, Mom said the doctors thought you were in shock,’ Janet told her. ‘I wondered if you were upset at losing the baby.’
‘Not the baby, you silly cow,’ Gloria burst out. ‘Your brother.’
‘My brother!’ Janet cried. ‘Did you love him then?’
‘Love him,’ Gloria said and appeared to consider it. ‘He’s the only person in my life that I have ever loved.’ She was quiet a moment then added softly, ‘I know my chance has gone. I’m not bleeding stupid, Janet. I know what everyone thinks, that the kid I was carrying could have been anyone’s. I’ve been a bloody fool. But most of them couldn’t have cared less. Only your Duncan was ever kind to me. The night he found me crying in the alleyway, he never touched me, even when I stripped off to show him the bruises where my old man had used his fists and feet on me.
‘Later, he took me out a few times and never tried anything on. Point is, I wanted him to, to sort of pay him back for being so nice.’ She looked at Janet and said almost defiantly, ‘And it was bloody good, it was, and your brother – well, it was his first time of going all the way and that made it special for me as well. It was okay till his mates started pulling his leg and telling him how many blokes I’d been with, and the bloody shame of it was it was all true. Duncan couldn’t take it – can’t blame him – and I tried making him jealous and that, but it didn’t work. Doesn’t ever, I suppose.’
She gave a sigh and Janet said: ‘Was the baby our Duncan’s?’
Gloria nodded her head slowly. ‘Bleeding right it was,’ she said. ‘After I’d gone with him, I couldn’t seem to get it together with anyone else. It was his baby, Janet, I swear it was. Still,’ she went on, ‘I didn’t want to tell my old man. I felt sorry for him a bit, your brother I mean, but then my dad kept laying into me and I suddenly thought, why not? It would get me out of this bleeding hell hole. I knew if I’d named anyone else they wouldn’t have cared, and it was Duncan’s kid anyway, so in the end I said whose it was.’ She looked earnestly at Janet and said, ‘I’d have made him a bloody good wife, you know. I know he didn’t love me or anything, but I’d have looked after him properly and not played around or anything. It would have been all right, you know.’
She looked so sad and forlorn that Janet felt tears start to sting her eyes. She wanted to put her arms around Gloria and comfort her a bit, but they’d never been friends before and Gloria didn’t seem to invite affection.
The fire had become a little brighter while Gloria was speaking and the room not so bitterly cold. She drank her tea gratefully, sunk in thought. Suddenly, the fire settled in the grate and orange flames licked around the coals, and Gloria gave a start as if she’d suddenly realised where she was.
‘So,’ she said, ‘I want you to tell your Duncan there won’t need to be a wedding now. I know he didn’t want one really and I ain’t going to hold him to it. I did a lot of thinking in that hospital when I stopped crying. Never had a lot of time for thinking before. One thing I decided, I’m fed up being a punchball for my old man and a joke on the estate, so I’m getting out.’
‘But where will you go?’
‘My mom’s sister,’ Gloria said. ‘She has the room now her youngest is married, and we’ve always got on. She lives by the hospital as well, and I’ve got to go there three times a week for physiotherapy for a bit. Later, when I can walk properly without my bleeding sticks, I’ll get a job. Something worthwhile and where I can live in.’ She gave a rueful smile and added, ‘I thought my chance of a decent life was gone when I lost the baby and your brother too, but now I know it’s all down to me. No one will know me by my auntie’s, and my name won’t be black as coal before I bleeding start.’
‘When are you going?’
‘Straight away. I’ve got stuff packed and hidden in the wardrobe. The old man don’t know anything about it. Our mom’s helping me before he kills me altogether. I’ve really come to say goodbye and to tell your Duncan thanks.’ She got up awkwardly and with difficulty, and leaning heavily on her sticks crossed to the door. Once there she looked back at Janet and said, ‘We ain’t never been mates, have we, you and me? My fault, I suppose, I was always so bloody jealous of you.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, you’re so bloody pretty and you got brains and a bleeding marvellous family – every damn thing that matters.’ She shrugged and went on, ‘Never mind, perhaps there’s another Duncan out there for me somewhere who’ll love me as much as I loved your brother, eh?’
Later, when Bert and Betty and the children came in and found Janet weeping, they assumed she was crying for Ben. Janet herself wasn’t sure whether it was Ben or Gloria she was so upset over, and she was too wearied by emotion to attempt to explain it to her family, but she wrote to Duncan and told him what Gloria intended to do.
The next day, Mr Marsden raised the house by pounding on the door and demanding to know where the bleeding hell they’d hidden his daughter.
Janet was glad then that she hadn’t mentioned the matter to her parents, because their genuine surprise and concern was too convincing to be a cover-up and Mr Marsden went home none the wiser as to his daughter’s whereabouts. Janet was able to tell her parents later of Gloria’s revelation to her. ‘Duncan was bound to think of that sooner or later,’ Betty said.
‘Maybe,’ Bert said. ‘Thank God it’s not our problem any longer.’
The general consensus of the family was that Duncan had had a lucky escape, but Janet couldn’t bring herself to join in the general outcry against girls like Gloria Marsden trapping lads into marriage. In Gloria’s position, growing up in the violent Marsden family, she could well have been tempted to do the same thing. So while she was glad Duncan hadn’t had to marry Gloria, she was immensely sorry for the girl.
FOURTEEN
Janet thought she’d never been so miserable. Christmas and New Year were over and her body ached with cold as she huddled over her books in her bedroom. All she could see ahead of her was a hard and dismal slog. She missed Ben like a physical pain and was depressed because all he’d sent her were a few picture postcards of the places he’d visited in the States. She hadn’t been able to write to him because he hadn’t been sure of where he’d be staying when he left England. He’d promised to send his address to Janet as soon as he knew it, but he’d obviously forgotten. She’d longed for a letter to say he missed her, but all she got were postcards so general they could have been read by any member of the family, and often were.
‘Be fair,’ Breda told her niece. ‘It’s his first time in America. He’s bound to want to see a bit of the place. I know you’re studying, but you can’t work all the time, and you shouldn’t sit and brood about Ben. Why don’t you and Ruth go out on your own?’
‘Because Ruth’s in love,’ Janet said disapprovingly. ‘His name is Samuel Oppenheimer and he’s very suitable. He’s handsome and Jewish and will be starting at Ruth’s college at Oxford in October – providing Ruth gets her grades, of course. He’s just spent two years working on a kibbutz in Israel and bores everyone to death telling them about
it.’
Breda laughed at Janet’s glum face and said, ‘Why don’t you like him, Janet?’
‘Because he’s arrogant and big-headed and too smarmy for words,’ Janet cried. ‘Even the crabby old grandmother loves him, can you believe that? There’s got to be something wrong with someone who can charm that vindictive old cow. Ruth said his mother is a widow and she and his two elder sisters run round pandering to dear Sam. Mind, she can talk, she really has got it bad, and I have to listen all the time to what Samuel said, or did, or even thought, for heaven’s sake. No one else gets a look in now. Any free time she can squeeze in is for lover boy, and I hardly think she’d find time to go out with me.’
‘You don’t think you could be the tiniest bit jealous?’
‘No,’ Janet burst out, and then, ‘Oh, maybe, I don’t know. But she can be sickening about him. Don’t laugh,’ she complained, catching sight of Breda’s face. ‘I know I can go on about Ben, but I’m too miserable to be very understanding about Ruth’s romance.’
‘Oh, pet,’ Breda exclaimed, ‘you’ll get a letter any day, you’ll see.’
But when the letter finally arrived, it didn’t help Janet feel better at all. ‘He tells me what a good time he’s having,’ she fumed to Breda, where she’d fled to read the letter in peace. ‘And about the skyscrapers, yellow taxis and more traffic than he’s ever seen in his life. There’s not one bloody word about missing me, wishing I was with him or any other damn thing, and he talks constantly about a person called Therese Steinaway, who’s apparently at medical school with him and is interested in mental health too, and about how he was delighted to find she had a place on the same course in New York.’
‘Never mind,’ Breda said, catching sight of Janet’s worried face. ‘She’s probably fat and ugly with crossed eyes.’
She was in fact willowy and beautiful. She had black hair to just past her shoulders that shone blue like Ruth’s, her skin was flawless, and she had a rosebud mouth, a small nose and vivid green eyes. Before long Ben was halfway in love with her and yet almost unaware of it.
She’d been one of the women he’d thought of as hard-faced when he first started medical school. Therese hadn’t been interested in him either then, thinking him too immature, but she’d found he improved on acquaintance and set out to attract him.
‘He’s almost engaged to some girl in his own town,’ her friend Lydia told her. She was going out with Ben’s best mate Lucas and was a handy friend to have.
‘Jewish, is she?’ Therese asked, and Lydia shook her head.
‘Lucas says not,’ she said.
‘Then she can move over,’ Therese said. ‘I’m having this man.’
She’d wangled a place on the American course and Ben, who wasn’t aware she was going, was gratified to find one face that he would know amongst the sea of unfamiliar ones. It was natural that they would take coffee together at break to discuss the lecture they’d just left, or have dinner in the evening. When Therese suggested they use their free afternoons and weekends to see the sights, Ben readily agreed, and when she caught hold of his hand and linked arms as they walked he thought it was a friendly gesture. Now and again, he’d feel guilty about Janet, especially after his good night kiss to Therese was more prolonged than he’d intended. Then he’d buy a postcard and send it to her.
Back in London he met Therese often, always seemed to be bumping into her, in fact. He thought it strange that he’d never noticed her around before, for now everywhere he turned, she seemed to be there. Time and again, Therese’s face would be the one that floated into his mind as he went to sleep, invaded his dreams, and was there when he woke up. He couldn’t understand himself. He loved Janet, had proposed to her, for goodness’ sake.
Many times in the first days of term he took up his pen to write to Janet. He knew she’d be taking her mock exams and would value an encouraging letter, but he would sit staring at a blank sheet of paper and not know what to write. Sometimes he’d find it hard even to remember what she looked like. And then Lucas would be at his door suggesting going out for a few jars, and Ben would push the paper away thankfully and go with him, and promise himself he’d write soon.
He’d told Janet he’d try to get home for some weekends in the new year, and he’d meant it when he said it, but soon he found that he didn’t want to go home. The weekends were when everything happened: someone would be giving a party, or a crowd were going to the cinema or a dance. Then came the trials for the football team. Ben had always been quite good at football and had played for his school a few times, but he didn’t think he had a chance of getting into the university first team and he knew that the opposition was stiff. However, Lucas was very keen to try, so he went along with him and was delighted to be accepted.
He wrote to Janet:
I didn’t for a minute imagine I was good enough, though Lucas is hot stuff on the field. Anyway, we’re both in and that means matches every Saturday, which puts paid to my coming down at weekends until the season is over …
Ben enjoyed the football and the status it accorded him, for even at practice sessions, the field would be ringed with enthusiastic girls. Lydia always came to cheer Lucas on, and brought her friend Therese to keep her company, and they’d both cheer their heads off. Later they’d go and get the drinks in at the bar while the chaps got washed and changed.
When a few jars had been sunk and the game had been replayed again and again by Lucas, Ben and any of the other team members in the vicinity, Lucas would give Ben the nod and he and Lydia would slip away. It seemed churlish of Ben, then, to leave Therese on her own. After all, Lydia wouldn’t want her tagging along any more than Lucas would welcome Ben’s company, so they were both at a loose end really.
It was so gradual, that Ben was almost unaware of it happening, but a couple of months after they’d returned from the States, he realised that he and Therese were being regarded as a couple, an item. He was quite appalled at first. He knew how the rumour had begun, because they had been seen together a lot and he’d taken her to the cinema, drinks in the bar and parties, and occasionally, especially at parties, he could get quite amorous and Therese never seemed to mind. Afterwards he’d tell himself it was because he was missing Janet so much. It meant nothing, just a bit of fun, and he was sure Therese saw it the same way.
He still wrote to Janet fairly often, and was unaware of how many times Therese’s name cropped up in the letters. In fact, every letter was like a dagger in Janet’s heart, for in each one Ben was becoming more and more remote. Sometimes she hardly recognised him as the man who’d held her close and swore he loved her. This Ben Hayman she didn’t know.
‘He doesn’t love me any more,’ she said to her Auntie Breda one day.
‘Of course he does.’
But Janet knew he didn’t and she knew why. She’d been too eager for sex. She was filled with shame every time she thought of it. She’d read all about it in the women’s magazines her Auntie Breda and her mom bought. Men were just after one thing, they all told you that, and lost respect for any girl who allowed them liberties too easily. Even her aunt had tried to warn her and told her it was up to girls to put the brakes on, but she’d disregarded her advice and now Ben thought her fast. She was in despair. ‘What shall I do, Auntie Breda?’ she cried in anguish.
‘Write and tell him how you feel,’ Breda advised.
But she couldn’t pour out her feelings to the man she felt she hardly knew any more. When she did put pen to paper it was because many things had happened that he needed to know about. She scoured the finished letter in case it should show any trace of bitterness or recrimination and was eventually satisfied. No one reading it, she was sure, could possibly know that she’d grovel on the floor for a crumb of attention and love from Ben Hayman.
Dear Ben,
I’m writing this to give you the news about Richard Carter and Claire, who are getting married the weekend before our school breaks up for Easter. Your terms are shorter, so you m
ight already be finished, and of course we are both invited. The reason they are having it before the school officially closes is because of Chloe, who’s had a lot of chest infections this winter. It’s been found she has a bad heart, something to do with the valves – you’d probably know more than me. She needs to have an operation, but the doctors are worried the infections have weakened her and advised Richard and Claire to take her abroad somewhere where the air is dry and the temperature warm. With this in mind they are flying out to Spain after the reception.
Another bit of news is that Mom and Dad are getting a phone installed, so I’ll be able to phone home from college (talk about counting your chickens!).
Duncan has about six or seven months of his national service left, but when he’s finished him and a mate called Larry Sumners, who is also doing car mechanics in the army, are thinking of renting a lock-up workshop and garage on Tyburn Road. Dad’s worried they’ve bitten off more than they can chew, but they both seem pretty confident.
I’m glad you’re still enjoying the football and I hope you’re looking forward to the Easter holidays as much as I am.
Mom and Dad send their love, as I do of course.
See you soon,
Janet.
Claire was a beautiful bride. She wore a long-sleeved cream lace dress caught in at the waist with a peach sash. Flowing layered petticoats took the skirts to halfway down her legs, and she wore cream sandals on her feet and a coronet on her head similar to those worn by Sally and Chloe, her flower girls.
Janet had seen the dress before, had asked to see it before she’d chosen her own outfit, but she’d never seen Claire wearing it, and the effect was stunning. She saw the absolute amazement and love on Richard’s face as he watched her walk towards him, and it brought a lump to her throat.
She looked at Ben’s profile in the seat beside her and wondered what the matter was and what she’d done to alienate him so much. She’d taken such care with her appearance. Her dress was powder blue with lace around the neckline, which was the lowest she’d ever worn. That wasn’t saying much, for as the girl in the shop had commented, she was too thin to have much bosom.
