by Anne Bennett
‘I told you all women were bitches, but you wouldn’t have it,’ Kenny said, angry that Simon had been made to look such a fool. ‘No, you said, Janet’s not like that – well, she bloody well is like that. They both looked bloody cosy if you ask me.’
Simon hardly heard his friend. He was in shock. They were parked across the road from the flats and he’d just watched Janet, with Ben Hayman’s arm around her, walk down the road. In the cover of the doorway, they’d kissed long and hard, then they’d almost tumbled inside, and the light was enough for Simon to see Janet’s dishevelled appearance and the way Ben’s hands disappeared under her clothes.
He felt sick. He could hardly believe what he’d just seen. The night before, Janet had claimed she missed and loved him, and said it as if she meant it, and yet here she was in Ben Hayman’s arms. Kenny had tried to discourage him from coming back here, but Simon had drunk enough to feel angry about how he’d been treated, and wanted to have it out with Janet that night. Kenny tried to dissuade him, but when he couldn’t he agreed to drive him over.
Simon had been about to get out of the car when he felt Kenny’s hand on his arm. ‘Wait,’ he said. He had seen the couple turn the corner draped over each other.
Simon had sat in the car and watched with horrified fascination as they approached. He seemed unable to turn his appalled eyes away from the sight of Janet and Ben Hayman clasped together. Then he sank back in the seat and said between gritted teeth, ‘I’ll kill the bastard!’
Kenny gave a grim laugh and started the engine. ‘You tried to do that once before by all accounts,’ he said, ‘and that did bugger all.’
Simon had to accept that Kenny was right. God, what a fool he felt. He wondered if Ben had been in his bed all week. How she must have laughed after the phone call. She must have spent the day with Ben and they’d come back to the flat only when they assumed he’d given up waiting for her. Bloody bitch! he thought angrily.
The intense pain would come later, but as the car roared away, Kenny was telling him he’d had a lucky escape. ‘The world’s full of women, old son. Why make a fuss about one, there’s plenty more?’
He’s right, bloody right, Simon thought, and I’m not going to be caught that way ever again.
If he’d looked back as the car sped down the street, he’d have seen the dejected figure of Ben Hayman coming out of the doorway. Ben was a frustrated and angry man. What a bloody tease Janet was, he thought, working him up like she had and then pulling back. She wasn’t playing him for an idiot. Who the hell did she think she was?
TWENTY-FOUR
Janet woke, stiff with cold, just before dawn. She struggled to sit up and suddenly felt extremely sick. She barely made it to the bathroom in time. She wondered what she’d eaten to make her so ill. As she sat in the kitchen with a cup of tea she’d made to settle her stomach, she watched the dark sky lighten to milky grey and then pink and realised the short June night was over. But she wasn’t ready to face the day. She was still very tired and she had no reason to get up, not yet. When the doorbell rang, hours later, she was stretched out in bed fast asleep, still drowsy and a little disorientated. She peered bleary-eyed at the clock – half past ten. It could be Simon at the door, she realised; his key would be of little use as she’d bolted and barred the place the previous evening. She struggled quickly to her feet, feeling for her dressing gown.
It was as she made to stand up that the nausea attacked her again, and as she ran for the bathroom, whoever was on the other side of the door began to pound on it. ‘Coming, coming,’ Janet called, but when she did she was surprised by the person on the threshold. ‘Auntie Breda!’
She’d never come unannounced like this; something must be wrong at home. But before Janet had the chance to ask the question, Breda snapped, ‘Mother of God, child, what’s the matter with you?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Don’t give me that. You look terrible, and what took you so long to answer the door?’
‘I was sick,’ Janet said. ‘Being sick, I mean. I must have had something that disagreed with me at Ruth’s yesterday.’
‘Oh, that’s where you were, was it?’ said Auntie Breda. ‘Your mother was for having the police alerted when she couldn’t reach you all day yesterday, especially after the strange phone call from Simon.’
Janet’s eyes widened in shock. ‘Simon,’ she whispered. ‘Simon phoned?’
‘He phoned Betty when he couldn’t find you here,’ Breda said, ‘and when she realised she’d not heard from you herself all week, she tried ringing the place all afternoon and evening. In the end I said I’d take a ride up with Duncan, who was coming up this way to a car auction, and see you were still living. Now what’s the matter with you?’ she asked, for Janet had put her head in her hands and groaned.
So Simon had been at the flat, but he hadn’t stayed. Janet knew how his mind would have worked. When she hadn’t been at the flat, he would have tried to find out where she’d gone, and when he couldn’t, he’d have assumed she had no interest in saving the relationship. ‘Oh, Auntie Breda,’ Janet cried, ‘I’ve been such a bloody idiot.’
‘Don’t take on, lass,’ Breda said. ‘You won’t be the first nor the last. Let’s go and have a nice cup of tea and you can tell me all about it.’
And Janet told her. She told her about Ben arriving and the kiss that Simon had interrupted, and Breda didn’t comment but Janet heard her give a slight gasp at that. Janet soldiered on, explaining the punch and how she’d got Ben to hospital and the miserable week during which her energies had been concentrated on Simon and how to contact him and get him back, and how she tried his office only to be told he was on a week’s leave. ‘I’m phoning him again this Monday,’ she said. ‘I know they don’t really allow personal calls and he hates me phoning there, but now I know he was here at the flat, I must ring and apologise and try and explain.’
‘Did you know he was coming round?’
‘Yes,’ said Janet in a small voice. ‘He phoned Friday and told me. I didn’t know what time he’d come, though, and I never thought to ask for his number.’
‘But why the hell go to Ruth’s, of all places on God’s earth, after that business with Ben?’ Breda burst out. ‘Honest to God, Janet, you need shaking. What will it look like to Simon? He finds you, his fiancée, carrying on with another man and walks out leaving you to mull it over for a bit. Then he decides that what he has is worth saving and phones, and you agree to meet the following day, and when he comes round you’re out. That’s bad enough, but when you ring up and tell him you were at Ruth’s, where Ben might easily be …’
‘I couldn’t help it,’ Janet cut in, ‘and anyway, Ben was in Bristol.’
‘Well, that’s one blessing in all this,’ Breda said. ‘At least he was safely out of the way.’
Janet closed her eyes and bit her lip. She couldn’t admit that she’d seen Ben again, and what she’d nearly done. Oh, dear God, even to think of it now made her blush. Thank God, she thought, no one knew about that foolhardy act but the two of them. But Breda, watching her niece, knew she was keeping something back for her face, which had been chalk-white when she opened the door, was now flushed crimson.
‘Janet,’ Breda said flatly, ‘what do you feel for Ben Hayman?’
The eyes Janet turned on her aunt were haunted. She knew this was the one person she could tell the truth to. ‘I … I don’t know, really … I mean …’ she stammered.
‘How did you feel when he kissed you?’
How had she felt? Wonderful, throbbing with excitement laced with fear. She’d wanted to feel his hands on her body. She’d wanted him to make love to her. How could she say all this? ‘Oh, Auntie Breda.’
‘Oh, God, you still love him, don’t you?’
‘I … I think so.’ Janet’s voice was just above a whisper. ‘Can … can you do that, love two men?’
‘Course you can,’ Breda said. ‘Bit far-fetched to think there’s just one man for each of us in th
e whole universe. But the bugger of it is you can only have one at a time, and Ben is already married and a father.’
‘I know.’
‘Is that why you went to Ruth’s, to talk about it?’ Breda asked.
‘God, no. Ruth knows nothing,’ Janet said. ‘And I didn’t go to Ruth’s straight away.’
‘Then where were you?’
Then Janet told her aunt about the TV interview, and how she’d meant to leave a note but had overslept, and how she’d rung as soon as she could and carried on ringing and thought Simon hadn’t bothered turning up. ‘I couldn’t bear to just come back here and wait,’ she said. ‘I’d done that all week. I … I really was very unhappy and … and I know it was all my fault and it’s no good complaining, but I do love Simon too, and very much.’
‘What a bloody mess, eh?’ Breda said. ‘Ben is no good for you, pet, charming and handsome though he may be.’
‘Perhaps I just lust after him,’ Janet said, and Breda saw the ghost of a brave smile hovering on her lips.
‘Perhaps,’ she agreed. ‘Do you lust after Simon too?’
‘Sometimes,’ said Janet, ‘but somehow it’s not just sex with Simon. It’s … I don’t know, it’s hard to explain. I like Simon, he’s a great person, good fun to be with and yet considerate. He puts up with a lot, I suppose, because I’m often short-tempered and impatient with him and I know many wouldn’t take it, Ben for one. He’s too selfish and egotistical. So I like Simon but I don’t really like Ben. I told him that too, Ben, I mean.’
‘And what did he say?’ Aunt Breda asked.
‘He said he didn’t want me to like him and then started kissing me.’ And more than kissing, Janet thought, but she said nothing more.
Breda glanced at her niece. Janet had told her that Ben had kissed her just once before Simon had come in on them. This didn’t sound like the same incident. God forbid that it should have gone much further than that. She’d met men like Ben before – selfish, self-centred bastards with a sort of animal magnetism – and generally they were not nice people who most of the time made lousy husbands.
She held Janet’s hands and said earnestly: ‘Now, you listen to me. Liking is more important than loving. The rapturous thing you had going with Ben was marvellous for the short time it lasted, but believe me, it wouldn’t have helped you get along together in the mundane day-to-day living most mortals have to do. Not if sex was all the relationship was based on, not if there wasn’t mutual respect for each other as well. Do you remember how, much as he was supposed to love you more than life itself, he wouldn’t meet you halfway about your university course?’
Janet remembered all too well.
‘He’s dangerous, Janet,’ Breda went on. ‘He’s made a balls-up of his own life, but that’s probably half his fault and certainly not your problem. He’s probably too selfish ever to make good husband material. Now my Peter, I didn’t love him – and believe me, I knew what love was, but none of my lovers survived. Who knows, if any of them had, what bloody awful marriages we might have made. Peter was just there and we went out together and had fun and I liked him, and when he proposed I thought why not, we got along all right. I found I was getting fonder of him as the years went by, and now … well, now I’m damned if I don’t love the silly bugger.’
Breda brushed the tears away from her eyes and remarked with an embarrassed little laugh, ‘Must be going bloody soft in my old age.’ She gripped Janet’s hands and said, ‘Get your man back, Janet. Phone him and do whatever it takes to convince him that you want him and only him. Get down on your bleeding knees if you have to. And now,’ she went on, ‘get dressed, you’re coming home with me to make peace with your family.’
‘I can’t,’ Janet cried. ‘Simon might …’
Breda shook her head. ‘He’ll have too much pride to come back today,’ she said. ‘The next move has got to come from you.’
And when Janet noticed the bare place on the top of the wardrobe where the holdall usually sat, that she’d failed to see earlier that morning, she knew her aunt was right. She opened the cupboards and drawers, but they had been emptied of Simon’s clothes. Somehow that affected her more than anything else and she felt the tears well in her eyes. ‘Auntie Breda,’ she cried, ‘Simon has taken his clothes.’
Breda swore under her breath and followed her niece into the bedroom. ‘He’s cleared out of my life,’ Janet cried.
Breda thought she might well be right, but to agree wouldn’t help. ‘Don’t be so bloody dramatic,’ she said. ‘He was angry, that’s all. Men do that sort of thing. I’d say you’ve got your work cut out to get him to believe what you say, but he loves you, you’ll be all right.’ And she hoped to God she was right.
‘Oh, Breda, what shall I do?’
‘For now, nothing,’ Breda said, ‘for there’s nothing you can do. Let’s do one thing at a time. I’ve come to fetch you home for a Sunday dinner with your family.’
‘Oh, I’m not hungry.’
‘That’s between you and Betty,’ Breda said grimly. ‘You fight it out, I’m just the messenger. Betty was going to come herself, but she has more to see to than me, so I offered. And hurry up,’ she urged, for Janet had made no move to get dressed. ‘Duncan will be here soon.’
Janet seemed not to hear what her aunt said. She still sat on the bed as if stunned, and Breda urged, ‘Come on, love, forget about Simon until Monday and get ready to tell your family about the television interview. You can practise on Duncan on the way back.’
Janet gave a sigh, got to her feet and began to pull her clothes on.
All the family were pleased to see Janet, and while they were interested and excited at the thought of Janet being on the telly, Betty was inclined to be critical of her not leaving Simon a note. ‘Proper put out he was,’ she told Janet. ‘Stands to reason he’d be concerned.’
‘Oh, Mom,’ Sally said dismissively, ‘who’d think of a silly old note when they were going to be on the telly. Simon would understand.’ She gazed at Janet across the dinner table and said, ‘Did you look dead glamorous, Jan? Did you see any TV stars? Did you wear lots of make-up? What a pity they didn’t give you more time and you could have had your hair done.’
‘Whoa a minute,’ Janet said, blessing Sally for deflecting her mother’s attention. ‘No, I didn’t see lots of TV stars, and I suppose I looked all right. It wasn’t a fashion programme I was doing.’
‘I know, but even so …’
Bert and the twins were more interested in how the whole programme was put together and where the cameras and mikes were positioned and so on, while Gran declared that it was all wonderful and she’d never heard the like of it before.
‘Did you enjoy yourself anyway, lass?’ Bert asked.
‘When I got over being scared to death I did,’ Janet said. ‘To be honest, Mark Taplow was thoroughly nice, and there were only the sound engineers and cameramen there. It wasn’t as if it was live or there was an audience; that would have been really frightening. And afterwards Mark took Ruth and me to lunch.’
‘Yes, well, I hope you ate more of that than you have of my dinner that you’ve just moved around the plate,’ Betty said sharply, for Janet had eaten virtually nothing.
‘I’m sorry, Mom, I really wasn’t hungry.’
‘Janet, there’s not a pick on you,’ her gran said. ‘Lord, lass, you can’t be eating enough, you’ll be ill.’
She looked ill, Betty thought, and she was heartsore for her daughter, for she knew she was in trouble of some sort. It was all linked to that phone call from Simon in some way, of that she was sure. Mind, she’d never liked the way Janet treated her young man. Thoughtful and considerate to all her family and friends, she’d often been offhand and less than kind with Simon, and she’d wondered sometimes how and why he’d stood it.
She’d often wondered whether Janet had been more shaken over the Ben Hayman business all those years ago than she’d let on at the time. Bert would have pooh-poohed the notion and
said she read too many magazines and the whole thing was a lot of bloody nonsense, but still Betty wondered.
Something anyway was eating her daughter, for she wasn’t her usual self. Many would put it down to excitement because of being asked to appear on the television, and yet Betty knew it wasn’t that. There was a restlessness about her and she was jumpy, nervous. She was obviously worried, and Betty hoped with all her heart that nothing had gone wrong between her and her young man, but she was too afraid to ask her. Janet was glad when dinner was over, and explaining that she had a mountain of work to get through before Monday, she was able to escape back to the flat.
After another sleepless night of lying wide-eyed, composing what she was going to say to Simon when she rang him, Janet was unable to face breakfast and was so nervous she was sick again before she left the house. Never had a morning appeared so long, or dragged so much.
But eventually she was in the secretary’s empty office dialling Simon’s number with clammy hands, a dry throat and a heart thudding against her ribs. She felt weak at the knees when she heard his voice. ‘Simon?’ she said.
‘Janet?’ he replied. ‘What do you want?’
He sounded so cold and distant, Janet thought. She had no idea of the struggle he had to keep his voice like that and not betray what he really felt for the girl on the other end of the phone.
‘I … I wanted to apologise,’ Janet said. ‘I’m sorry about everything, that time in the flat.’
‘Which time now are we talking about?’
Janet was puzzled. ‘Come on, Simon, you know which one.’
‘Do I?’ Simon was whispering, but it wasn’t a gentle sound, more a savage hiss, and she guessed that he didn’t want anyone to hear what he was going to say. ‘I know I saw Ben Hayman kissing you in the flat the once,’ he said, ‘but I think there was a lot more I didn’t see.’
‘What do you mean? I didn’t …’
