by Anne Bennett
‘I … I think I would like that, Dr Sanders,’ Jenny said.
She heard the doctor sigh and realised he’d been nervous and felt rather sorry for him. ‘Shall we say next Friday then, about seven?’ Peter said. ‘I’m not free till then anyway. I could pick you up from your house.’
‘That would be lovely, thank you.’
‘There’s just one more thing.’
‘Yes?’
‘Do you think you could manage to call me Peter? I don’t think I could last a whole evening with someone who calls me Dr Sanders.’
Jenny burst out laughing. ‘No, I suppose not,’ she agreed. ‘But really I didn’t know your name before, and anyway I wouldn’t have felt right to address you as anything other than Dr Sanders when I was consulting you professionally.’
‘Well, this Friday I won’t be wearing my doctor’s hat,’ Peter Sanders said. ‘So my name will be Peter, all right?’
‘All right,’ Jenny agreed, with a smile.
They had little time to say much else on the matter for the doctor had swung the car into the hospital car park. But when Peter Sanders stopped the car, leaned over, squeezed Jenny’s hand and said, ‘Go for it, Jenny, and don’t let anyone get you down,’ she was glad of his support. She waited for him to lock the car and they then walked into the hospital side by side.
TWELVE
All eyes were on Peggy the next day as she walked down the aisle on her father’s arm. She looked truly beautiful. Her hair had grown long enough for a shampoo and set, and it fell in lovely waves around her heart-shaped face. Jenny felt a lump in her throat as she saw her arrive.
But though everyone turned to watch Peggy’s progress, people were also intrigued by the smallest bridesmaid, who by concentrating very hard, walked slowly behind the bride with a barely perceptible limp. Some knew who she was, some had no idea, but most were aware that she’d stepped in when Peggy’s little sister had injured herself.
Linda took her duties very seriously. She knew she had to walk behind Peggy slowly, her steps matching the bride’s, and on no account was she to tread on the train which would be spread out behind her. Her hands, which were clamped around the dainty posy, were damp. Beads of perspiration stood out on her forehead, and her heart was thumping so loud she could hear it even over the strains of the organ playing the ‘Wedding March’. She wondered if Jenny was as nervous as she was, and worried that she wouldn’t be able to sing properly, though she’d practised for hours in hospital.
Glad to reach the relative safety of the pew facing the altar, she sank thankfully onto the seat. Jenny leaned across and pressed her hand and whispered, ‘Well done,’ and turned and flashed a smile at Bob sitting two rows behind them.
Bob wished Jenny could have sat by him. The service seemed interminable. He’d forgotten how long Nuptial Mass took. But still, he was glad he was there, it was important to Jenny, and Jenny, he was beginning to realize, was becoming more and more important to him. He wasn’t sure if he loved her; he’d seen many of his mates go down that road, some even getting married – often to people they barely knew. The excuse was always that there was a war on, and who knew whether you would still be alive the next day, week or month? But what if you did survive? Bob thought. Fancy finding yourself married to someone you couldn’t get along with, or even hated! No, he decided, when he married, and he didn’t intend it to be for years yet, it would be to someone he loved, war or no war.
Jenny wished she’d had time alone with Bob before the service. He’d come down to Gran O’Leary’s house, from where they were all leaving, to travel with them in the car. But Jenny had been busy and preoccupied, and she imagined there would be little time to talk together all day. And he’d have to leave the following evening. She wondered if it was wise to have invited him this weekend; it wasn’t as if he knew many people. Maybe it would have been better to have asked him to try and make it one ordinary weekend. Yet she’d wanted him there, to sort of show him off to the family. She wasn’t really being fair she knew, because everyone would assume he was her steady boyfriend.
However, it was too late to worry about any of that now. The bride looked a picture and her Uncle Gerry was as smart as she’d ever seen him. Now they’d been pronounced man and wife and the Mass was nearly over. It was almost time for Linda to sing.
Linda saw the sign Jenny made and, struggling to her feet, she made her way to the space in front of the altar, thinking she’d been mad to agree to perform and convinced she’d make an utter hash of it. Her damaged legs knocked together and her mouth felt dry as she faced the sea of unfamiliar faces. She was scared out of her wits.
But then as the organist struck up the opening notes, all nervousness suddenly left her and her voice rose sweet and clear. There was absolute silence as if the congregation had been stunned, and indeed many were. Among them was Bob. Jenny had not exaggerated the child’s talent, he realized. He knew she was the sort of pupil his mother had waited half a lifetime for, and when he wrote and told her, she’d come galloping back from Devon, and he knew she would train Linda as Jenny had dreamed – and not for money either. Her pleasure would be to see this young star reach her potential. But for now he would say nothing to either Linda or Jenny. He would write to his mother tonight and take it from there.
Bob was surprised to find how much he’d enjoyed the day. He was very glad to see that Jenny had ordinary, friendly relations to make up for the mother and grandmother he’d already met and hadn’t liked, however pleasant they’d been to him on the surface. He also enjoyed being able to hold Jenny legitimately close, as they danced to the band at the pub where the reception was being held. ‘What will we do tomorrow, sweetheart?’ he said as they danced almost cheek to cheek.
Jenny’s heart plummeted. ‘I can’t see you tomorrow, Bob,’ she said anxiously. ‘At least not alone. I must bring Linda.’ She saw his face darken and wished, once more, she’d been able to meet him before the service to explain.
‘You can’t give your whole life up for that kid, you know,’ he said, and though his voice was low, his face was grim.
‘I do know,’ Jenny said. ‘But my mother and grandmother were wicked to her last night. Not in what they said, but how they said it, you know. I didn’t expect a welcoming committee, but I did expect them to be civil to the child.’
‘Linda’s tough. She’ll survive bad manners.’
‘I know that, but it’s her first day.’
‘And tomorrow’s my last for some time.’
‘I know that too.’ Jenny could have cried. Both of them had stopped dancing; neither was in the mood. Bob took Jenny’s arm stiffly and led her to one of the tables. ‘I’ll get us both a drink,’ he said coldly, but he didn’t even bother asking what she wanted. I’ve done it again, Jenny thought, as she watched him walk away. He’ll not want to see me again now.
From across the room, Linda watched Jenny chewing on her lip nervously. She’d seen the strained conversation between Jenny and Bob on the dance-floor, and the abrupt way Bob had left Jenny sitting at a table alone, and she knew they’d had a quarrel. She could even guess what it was about. Linda herself had been neither surprised nor upset by the behaviour of Norah O’Leary and her mother, Eileen. It was only what she’d expected after the way they’d gone on at Christmas, and she’d steeled herself not to feel bad about it, but Jenny had been made miserable.
Linda was glad though that she hadn’t to stay in with them all day on Sunday. She wouldn’t have done anyway. She’d have made her way down to Maureen’s. But she was really pleased that she had arrangements made already, and was going out with Dr Sanders. Jenny hadn’t seen Peter Sanders outside the church door, she’d been fussing with Peggy’s dress in the porch, but Linda had gone to speak to him. Linda hadn’t been sure he was going to come and was delighted, but she hadn’t had time all day to say a word to Jenny about it.
She walked across and sat down at the table beside Jenny and smiled. ‘It’s been a great day, hasn’t it?
’ she said, though she was tired and her legs ached but she wouldn’t admit it and had stubbornly refused to use the wheelchair the hospital had given her.
‘Yes, yes it has,’ Jenny said, but her eyes still looked troubled as they scanned the bar.
‘I … I haven’t had a chance to talk to you till now,’ Linda said, ‘but I think you ought to know Dr Sanders has asked me to go out with him tomorrow.’
‘Out with him?’ Jenny repeated.
‘To see my mother’s grave,’ Linda said. ‘I told you he promised he’d take me when I was well.’
‘Yes,’ Jenny said. ‘I remember, but I thought we were going to go together.’ She felt strangely hurt.
‘Well, we will another time,’ Linda said cheerfully. ‘Dr Sanders did ask about you, but I said you’d probably be going out with Bob. You are, aren’t you?’
Was she? How the hell did she know! Maybe not. After all, he didn’t want to go out with an idiotic girl who’d thought Linda would be dependent on her for company. God, she felt stupid. ‘I suppose so,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘Well, here he is on his way back,’ Linda said. ‘You can ask him. Dr Sanders is picking me up outside the church after nine o’clock Mass.’
‘You’re going to Mass?’
‘I’m going with you. You did say you usually go to the nine o’clock one, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, I did. I do,’ Jenny said. ‘But there’s no need for you to go.’
‘I know that. I want to.’
‘I don’t want you to feel under any pressure.’
‘I don’t,’ Linda said. ‘I never went to any church before, but it’s not a bad way to start Sunday, and anyway I want to give it a try. After all, it must mean something to all your family.’
‘We were born into it, and brought up in it,’ Jenny admitted. ‘I never really thought about it, to be truthful.’
Linda didn’t say anything else because Bob was beside them, a pint in one hand and in the other a smaller glass. Jenny thought, from the colour of it, it was probably a port and lemon like she’d had before. Bob smiled a tight smile at them both and said to Linda, ‘Mrs O’Leary is looking forward to your company tomorrow. She’s expecting you to call.’
Jenny stared at Bob. Though he was addressing Linda, Jenny knew he meant her to hear what he had to say. He’d obviously gone to her gran and said Jenny hadn’t wanted to go out and leave Linda in the house on her own, and her gran had said the girl was welcome at her place. Why hadn’t she thought of that herself, or let Linda make her own plans? ‘Oh, I can’t tomorrow,’ Linda said. She gave a little smile and went on, ‘I’ve already got a date. I’ll go and see Gran and explain.’
Jenny watched her limp away and turned to Bob and said, ‘I’m sorry.’
Bob smiled. He sat down and took her hand. ‘It’s all right. I do know how responsible you feel for Linda.’
‘It’s just that … if you knew how it is at home …’
‘I do know. Anthony often talked of it,’ Bob said. ‘But I wanted you to myself tomorrow.’
‘Well, we’ll have the rest of the day,’ Jenny said softly. ‘After Mass, that is.’
‘Ah, Jenny you shame me,’ Bob said. ‘I should by rights be going to church alongside you. My mother would be pleased, but I’m afraid I’m out of the habit now.’
‘You’re a Catholic?’
‘I was brought up that way,’ Bob said. ‘As all children of a mixed marriage must be. My father was christened Church of England and never bothered much with any of it. I think he became a confirmed agnostic as the war began taking its toll of lives.’
‘What about you?’
‘I never thought deeply about any of it,’ Bob admitted. ‘My mother let Jules and me choose when we got to sixteen. I felt there were far better ways to spend a Sunday morning, but Jules carried on going for some time, till she went to Portsmouth, in fact.’
‘And your mother?’
‘Oh, she is a Catholic born and bred,’ Bob said. ‘She says it’s not something you choose to be, it’s what you are born into. Catholicism will never let go of my mother and she will never let go of it. It’s ingrained in her.’
Jenny understood that only too well. She’d never have missed Mass on a Sunday, unless she was near dying, and would have felt incredibly guilty if she had, even to go out with Bob. He saw her puzzled look and kissed her nose lightly. ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart. I won’t ask you to risk your immortal soul. I’ll pick you up after nine o’clock Mass with a picnic packed ready, and you pray for good weather.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘You’ll know soon enough.’
Jenny didn’t care where they went as long as it was together. She wondered if Bob guessed how much she thought of him, and how often. Possibly, it would scare him if he’d guessed. She was sure he wanted their relationship light and free and she knew her greatest battle to have Sunday off was still to be faced. Never ever for as far back as she could remember, had she had a free Sunday. After Mass she would make the dinner and then wash up the dishes while the two older women dozed and chatted before the fire. Jenny then, in an agony of boredom, would take herself to her gran’s or even Geraldine’s.
She’d always steered clear of the parks, however nice the day, for no young man had ever asked her for a walk on a Sunday, and the sight of couples strolling arm-in-arm always produced a pang of envy. But now she had a young man to walk with, she thought, and her mother and grandmother could go to blazes if they didn’t like it. She was spending the day with Bob whatever they said.
Linda and Jenny sat together in the church, for Linda had no desire to sit at the front with the children. They all went to the Abbey School in Erdington as it was the nearest Catholic school, not Paget Road like her. She knew none of them and stuck like glue to Jenny. She saw them all go to the rails for Communion as well, like most of the guests had done the day before at the Nuptial or Wedding Mass. Jenny had explained all about Communion and what it meant in the Catholic Church, and that to be able to take part, you had first to be received into the Church and then fast from midnight the night before.
‘Why?’ Linda had asked.
Jenny didn’t think it was the time or place for a theological discussion. ‘It’s just something you have to do,’ she said. ‘It’s a sort of miracle.’
Linda knew all about miracles. They said Jesus could make the blind see and the lame walk and raise people from the dead. Now that, she decided, was a miracle worth seeing, but she didn’t feel there to be anything miraculous about Mass. She didn’t worry about it, though. It was, she decided, just one more confusing thing.
There were many other things that confused Linda about the Catholic Church and one of them was not eating meat on a Friday. Jenny had told her that it was because Jesus Christ had died on a Friday. But there was nothing Linda and her mom had liked better than a piece of fish if they had the money to spare. Egg and chips was another of her favourite meals. She didn’t reckon it was any hardship to do without meat on Friday, or any other day either.
The church was different from her last visit, which had been to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. She looked around. There were few flowers in the church itself and Linda was surprised because it had had flowers before, and that had been in December. Jenny whispered that it was because it was Lent. Linda didn’t understand what difference that made. The priest at least looked quite magnificent in his shiny embroidered purple robes and the stole of the same material around his neck.
She felt her eyes stray, as she knew they would, to the statue of Jesus hanging on the Cross. His eyes were open and His face creased with pain. Linda remembered that after her first visit, Jenny had told her that as well as bearing the suffocating pain of the crucifixion itself, He carried the sins of the world on His shoulders so that when people died they could go to Heaven, as no one who’d sinned could be let in.
‘Why not?’ she’d asked.
‘It’s the way it is. The Dev
il himself was a fallen angel who sinned and was cast into Hell. So, to protect the sinners of the world, Jesus died to save us all.’
It had seemed monstrously unfair when Jenny had first explained it, and it still did. ‘I thought you said God could do anything,’ Linda objected.
‘He can. He does,’ Jenny said, and added, ‘if you pray enough that is, and have faith.’
‘If I was God, I wouldn’t have let my son get crucified. I’d have let anyone I liked into my Heaven. I’d have told the Devil to go to Hell.’
‘He was there already, Linda,’ Jenny had said with a laugh.
‘Well, he could have stayed there for my money.’
‘People wouldn’t have been able to go to Heaven then.’
‘Course they would. I’d have let them in if I was God. You said God can do anything, that He is all-powerful. Jesus could raise the dead and all that. I’d have said that was a lot harder to do than letting the odd sinner into Heaven, wouldn’t you?’
And Jenny couldn’t really find words to argue. Many of Linda’s questions had caused her to examine her faith more closely. She’d been brought up to pray, worship and believe, but Linda had no such constraint. Norah and Eileen would have been scandalized if they’d heard some of the questions Linda asked, or the comments she made, but Jenny welcomed them because they made her think.
That morning, however, the Mass seemed to take forever. She hoped both that Bob would be waiting for her, and that the picnic he’d promised was substantial. She’d had no breakfast as she’d been at Communion and her stomach felt yawningly empty.
