by Janet Tanner
‘I thought you were supposed to be supporting the local team!’ Marilyn said in the break between rounds.
‘Not this time – not this one!’ Jenny couldn’t take her eyes off Bryn, even now when he was slumped, legs splayed, on the little stool in his corner whilst his seconds sploshed water over his face and anxiously inspected what might be the beginnings of a cut over his left eye. ‘He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?’
At last it was over. Jenny was on the edge of her seat as the referee called the two boys to the centre of the ring. Then, as he raised Bryn’s hand high in the air, she whooped with delight.
‘Yes! Yes!’
After that, the remaining fights were something of an anticlimax. When the last one was taking place she saw Bryn again, standing at the back of the hall, and once again she had the fleeting impression that he had been looking at her.
‘Would you girls like a drink in the committee rooms?’ Keith asked.
‘The committee rooms, eh?’ Marilyn said, pulling a face at Jenny. ‘We are honoured! All right by you, Jenny?’
Jenny nodded. She had noticed some of the other team disappearing into the small smoke-filled room and the uppermost thought in her mind was: Might Bryn join them? Or even be there already?
They squeezed through the door and a small bald-headed man with a red face and wispy white moustache bore down on them. Stan Parker was the secretary of the Hillsbridge ABC.
‘Keith! Well done, lad! You put up a good show out there.’
‘Not bad.’ Keith grinned modestly. ‘This is my girlfriend, Marilyn, and her friend Jenny.’
‘Oh, I know Jenny.’ Stan beamed at her. ‘What are you having to drink, then?’
‘I’ll have a pint of bitter,’ Keith said.
‘Girls?’
‘Gin and orange, please,’ Marilyn said.
‘And you, Jenny?’
Jenny hesitated. She wasn’t used to drinking. ‘Rum and black, please,’ she said, thinking it sounded marginally more sophisticated.
The drinks arrived and Jenny sipped hers standing a little apart because Marilyn was hanging on Keith’s arm and everyone seemed to want to talk to Keith. She couldn’t see Bryn anywhere and she was beginning to feel despondent when suddenly a voice said: ‘Hello!’
She turned. He was standing right behind her. He had changed and his hair looked slightly damp as if he’d just washed it. She smiled.
‘Hello.’
‘I’m Bryn Thompson,’ he said. ‘I’m with the Armed Forces team.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I know.’
‘Go on then,’ he said. ‘Your turn.’
‘Jennifer Simmons. But my friends call me Jenny.’
‘Can I call you Jenny?’
She tipped her head to one side, looking at him over the top of her glass.
‘Why not?’
‘So – what are you doing here?’
‘Watching the boxing.’ She wasn’t trying to be clever, but it came out sounding pert anyway. She saw a light flush spread up his cheeks.
‘No – I meant … who did you come to support?’
‘Hillsbridge ABC, of course.’
‘Ah – the opposition. Anyone in particular?’
She realised he was fishing and grabbed the opportunity to let him know she was unattached.
‘My friend Marilyn’s boyfriend – Keith Hicks.’
‘Oh, I see.’
There was a small awkward silence.
‘You’re in the army then,’ Jenny said.
‘No. The RAF. I’m stationed at Colerne. I’m doing my National Service.’
So that meant he must be somewhere between eighteen and twenty.
‘Did the RAF teach you to box?’ Jenny asked.
‘No – I’ve been at it since I was ten or eleven. I boxed for my county when I was a schoolboy. Kent.’
‘Oh – right.’
‘What do you do, then?’
She told him, thinking how boring it sounded by comparison. But he listened with apparent interest and the way he was looking at her was giving her a funny fluttery feeling in her tummy.
He finished his beer and looked at Jenny’s glass. ‘Can I get you another drink?’
She hesitated. The one she’d had already seemed to be going straight to her head, making her feel light and floaty to go with the butterflies. ‘All right. Why not?’ she said recklessly.
He took her glass and headed for the bar, which had been set out on a trestle table.
‘You seem to be getting on all right!’ Marilyn appeared at Jenny’s elbow, smirking.
‘Yes,’ Jenny said.
‘You want to watch it, though.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Servicemen,’ Marilyn said darkly.
Jenny looked towards the bar. She could just about see him. He was saying something to what looked like another of the Service team and they were both laughing. She felt a moment’s doubt.
‘You don’t mean …’
‘Here today and gone tomorrow. Just be careful, that’s all.’
Bryn was coming back with the drinks. Marilyn winked and considerately turned her back. The second drink slipped down more easily than the first as they went on chatting. Then a big burly man – one of those wearing a dicky bow, suddenly descended on them, intent on talking boxing to Bryn, and Jenny found herself sidelined. They were discussing some future event from what she could gather, and then the burly man dragged Bryn off to meet someone else.
‘Don’t go away,’ Bryn said to her.
But the minutes dragged by, he was still totally engrossed and Jenny began to feel awkward standing there alone. She looked at her watch – ten to eleven! She’d be in hot water with Carrie if she wasn’t in by eleven. She waited a few minutes more and still Bryn didn’t come back. She cornered Marilyn.
‘I’m going to have to go.’
‘OK. See you on Monday then,’ Marilyn said breezily.
‘But … Bryn … I don’t to lose touch with him …’
‘I did warn you,’ Marilyn said.
‘He got called away.’
‘Oh yeah – as they do.’
‘No – someone wanted to talk to him. Look, if he asks, will you give him my address?’
‘OK. If he asks.’ Marilyn’s tone implied she was almost sure he wouldn’t.
Jenny took one last despairing look at Bryn. His back was toward her and he didn’t see. She buttoned her coat – her new peachy-coloured ‘car-length’coat which she had bought out of the club Carrie had started running – and went out. She felt like crying.
It was a clear cold November night, the stars very bright above the tall whispering trees, the moon making their shadows dance and sway on the broad drive. She started down it, knowing she should run at least part of the way home and this, being downhill, would be the easiest, but not wanting to, reluctant even now to put distance between her and Bryn.
And then she heard running footsteps behind her and someone calling her name. She stopped, looked around, almost afraid to hope.
It was him.
‘I told you not to go away!’ he said, sounding almost hurt.
‘I had to,’ Jenny said. And then, because she didn’t want to admit to a mother who insisted on a curfew: ‘I thought you’d forgotten me.’
‘They were trying to fix up my next fight. I couldn’t get away.’
‘Whatever’s important to you,’ Jenny said flippantly.
‘I’m sorry – OK? Look, I’d offer to walk you home but our coach leaves in ten minutes.’
‘That’s all right.’
‘I’ll walk you to the bottom of the drive, though.’
In spite of the moon, in spite of the stars, when they left the bright floodlights of the hall behind the darkness closed in with the tall trees. He put his arm around her.
‘Can I see you again?’
‘Well – yes,’ Jenny said, her heart leaping. ‘But how … ?’
‘I’ve got a motorbike. I c
ould come over one night. Are you on the telephone?’
‘No, ’fraid not. My gran is …’
‘I don’t know that I want to phone your gran! Shall we say Tuesday?’
‘If you like.’
‘Where?’
Jenny thought for a moment. ‘There’s a pub not far from where I live. It’s on the main road to Colerne. The Jolly Collier. It’s got a butcher’s shop on the side of it. You can’t miss it.’
‘Will you be all right going into a pub on your own?’
‘Oh, I won’t be inside,’ Jenny said. ‘I’ll be outside. On the corner where my lane meets the road. There’s a seat there.’
They were almost at the bottom of the drive now, the steep bit where cars got stuck in slippery weather. Ahead, the main road was brightly lit, with traffic going past spasmodically, but on the rise the shadow was still deep and made deeper by a high bank and retaining wall.
‘I’ll see you on Tuesday then,’ he said.
And he kissed her.
She stood in the circle of his arms, with the nearness of him and the unaccustomed alcohol making her head spin, and the collar of her coat tickling her chin in a sensuous way, and felt she was floating ten feet above the ground. He kissed her twice, three times, and then he drew back, trying to get what little light there was to catch the luminous hands of his watch.
‘I’m going to have to go or I’ll miss the coach.’
She didn’t point out that he couldn’t miss it because the only way out of the Scouts’Hall car park was the steep narrow drive on which they were standing.
‘See you then.’
He turned to walk back up the drive and she went out on to the main road. The warm glow of alcohol and happiness went with her.
On Tuesday evening she was a bag of nerves. They jumped in her stomach and skittered in her throat as she hurried down the steep lane to the Jolly Collier. She’d been ready for the last hour, changing into a clean jumper and skirt as soon as she’d had her tea, putting on fresh make-up and trying to do something about her hair. It was due a wash but there was no time for that. She puffed some Gem dry shampoo into it and brushed it out again, and was pleased with the fluffy, nice-smelling result. When she was ready, she tried to do a bit of shorthand homework whilst she was waiting time, but she couldn’t concentrate. She kept watching the minutes tick by – so slowly! – and then suddenly the hands of the clock seemed to move all of a rush and she realised if she didn’t go now – this second – she’d be late.
‘What time will you be home?’ Carrie asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well – no later than half past ten, I hope,’ Carrie said. ‘Your dad and I will want to go to bed.’
But at least Carrie allowed her to go out with boys now. Thank goodness! She couldn’t have stood to go through all that hole and corner stuff again.
She half expected him to be waiting but he wasn’t. She checked her watch. Two minutes after half past seven. Her heart thudded uneasily. Marilyn had said he probably wouldn’t turn up. But then, supposing he’d arrived on time or even early and she hadn’t been there. He might have thought she wasn’t coming and gone again, especially if he’d thought it was later than it was. Or what if something had happened to his motorbike – a breakdown – a puncture …
A leather-jacketed figure materialised around the corner of the pub building, coming towards her. Jenny’s heart leaped again.
‘Hi,’ he said.
‘Oh!’ she said stupidly. ‘Where’s your motorbike?’
‘I parked it around the corner.’
‘Oh – aren’t we going on it, then?’
‘You don’t want to go on it, do you?’
‘I love motorbikes!’
‘Mine’s only a 350. Anyway, I can’t take passengers. I haven’t passed my test.’
‘Oh.’ She felt a bit let down.
‘I never seem to have time to take it,’ he said. ‘What with training and everything.’ He looked in the direction of the Jolly Collier. ‘We could have a drink here, couldn’t we?’
‘Well yes, I suppose so.’ Jenny thought she might feel a bit awkward so close to home.
The lounge bar this early in the evening was half empty. Bryn looked so handsome in his black leather jacket that Jenny actually felt a little disappointed that there were so few people there to see them. He bought her a rum and blackcurrant – he remembered my drink! she thought, pleased, and a pint of bitter for himself, and they sat side by side on one of the overstuffed leatherette sofas by the fire. And talked. And talked.
He told her his home was a village just outside Maidstone, that he was nineteen years old and his trade in the RAF was fitter. Unlike some, he didn’t mind having to do National Service, in fact he thought he might sign on as a Regular when his two-year stint was up.
‘Unless I get an offer to go professional as a boxer. But if not, the forces are pretty good to sportsmen. They let you have time off for training and stuff – they like it when you can represent them and get them some kudos.’
She told him about her dream of writing for a top newspaper, and about the tragedy of Linda’s death. That wasn’t something she’d meant to talk about, it was hardly the sort of conversational gambit to make a first date go with a swing, but there was an ease between them – Jenny felt as if she’d known him all her life – that went far beyond physical attraction, strong as that was. As she talked, he covered her hand with his, gently stroking her fingers, and she thought that nothing before had ever felt so right.
‘It must have been awful,’ he said.
She nodded, staring into her rum and black.
‘You just don’t expect someone more or less your own age to die,’ she said. ‘It was bad enough when it was Grandpa, but at least he was old.’
‘I know.’ And he told her about a friend he’d joined up with who had been killed in an accident and again she felt that he understood, that they were communicating on the same level.
‘Shall we go for a walk?’ he asked when they had finished their drinks, and she got up without answering because she wanted to be alone with him, really alone, more than anything in the world.
He put his arm around her and she leaned against him, loving the feel of his strong body, loving the smell of his leather jacket, feeling a need she had never felt before and could scarcely put a name to, so strongly that it drove all other thoughts from her mind. As soon as they were off the main road, away from the lights of the pub and away from the passing traffic, he kissed her and immediately her body was pulsing with urgency and the desire to be close to him, closer than it seemed possible two people could ever be whilst still inside their own skins. And it seemed he felt the same, for he unzipped his jacket and folded them both inside it, pressing the whole length of his body against hers. She could feel the swell of his desire in the hollow between her legs and the sweet sharp response it evoked in her was a delightful surprise. She pressed back against him and the sensation grew until it was almost unbearable in its sweetness and urgency. She opened her lips to his, tasting the softness, drinking it in. The world around was lost to her, the sounds of the night, the traffic passing a few feet away on the main road, an owl hooting somewhere in the distance, went unnoticed. They might have been alone, the only two people on the entire planet and the sweetness of the sensations of the flesh entered her heart, making it sing with happiness.
After a while they walked again, past the row of back-to-back cottages where the lighted windows behind their drawn curtains dotted the darkness with small oases of brightness, stopping frequently to kiss again because they could not get enough of one another. A cat leaped from a wall and crossed their path, a man in cap and muffler passed them, heading for the pub, and they only looked at one another and smiled, their eyes meeting in the private world made rosy by the glow of the street lamps.
The football field was deserted, the grandstand a dark cavernous shell. Beneath their feet the perimeter grass crackled with frost.
Jenny could feel the cold sharp and aching on her face but the whole of her body was aglow. She showed him the hut with the flat roof that was her secret place and they kissed again, Bryn leaning against its wall, Jenny leaning against him.
‘When can I see you again?’ he asked.
‘Whenever.’
‘Thursday? I think I could get down again on Thursday.’
But Thursday seemed a lifetime away – two whole days when she wouldn’t see him. She was missing him already.
‘I’m going to have to go now,’ he said. ‘I have to get back. I’ll walk you home.’
He walked with his arm around her and when they reached Alder Road Jenny worried a little that someone would see and tell Carrie. But there was no way she was going to tell him to remove it.
Outside her gate he kissed her again, but this time it was a light, chaste kiss, and Jenny, with one eye on the front-room curtains in case Carrie was looking out, was grateful if frustrated.
At the point where the path curved around the house to the side door she paused, looking back to watch him walking back along the road. She felt sick with happiness and excitement and slightly unreal, as if she was living a dream.
Jenny knew, without a shadow of doubt, that she was in love.
They met as often as they could, and Jenny felt as if she was living in a dream world where everything was wonderful and yet somehow not quite real. She had to tell someone – the way she felt she was bursting with it – and the person she most wanted to tell was Heather. Whenever she mentioned Bryn to Marilyn she acted strangely, pretending cool indifference, and there was no question of talking to Carrie. She’d already said she was of the opinion that Jenny was seeing far too much of Bryn and no good would come of it, and though she no longer actually prevented Jenny from going out with a boy, her disapproving manner cast a dark cloud. Once, Jenny had asked Bryn in for a coffee when he took her home after a date and Carrie’s stiffness was almost as embarrassing as David, moping in the chair and contributing nothing to the conversation – David had moved back home following Linda’s death. Jenny hadn’t asked Bryn in again – the atmosphere only spoiled for her what had been a lovely evening. No, she certainly didn’t want to tell Carrie about the way she felt. But Heather – Heather would understand. Heather would be pleased for her.
