Cross My Heart and Hope to Die

by Sheila Radley

  ‘I didn’t go. That was Lynn Baxter. Or Susan Freeman.’

  ‘So it was. But you were the one I asked first! Anyway – no hard feelings, I hope?’

  ‘Not any more.’

  Andy excused himself. The vodka was making me feel quite woozy, so while he was away I finished off the crisps. I put the empty bowl on another table, to make it look as though the barman had removed it, and wiped my greasy fingers on a tissue.

  When Andy came back he suggested another drink, but I declined. I knew when I’d had enough. We agreed to go, and he steered me out to the car-park at the back of the hotel, and held open the door of a large car. Obviously it wasn’t new, but it seemed luxurious. By way of intelligent conversation, I asked him what make it was.

  ‘Austin Maxi,’ he said as he slid behind the wheel. ‘Know why I bought this model?’ He leaned over, one hand on my knee, and whispered in my ear: ‘Because it converts to a double bed …’

  I giggled, and pushed his hand away. I could imagine that Andy would have plenty of girl-friends who would make full use of the car. He was certainly attractive, and I thought it was very friendly of him to take time off from his conquests to give me a lift home.

  ‘Here we go, then,’ he said, doing a tight fast turn in the carpark. He zoomed out of town, but not on the road that led to Byland.

  ‘I’ve just got to have a word with some of me mates,’ he said. ‘Promised I’d meet them. You don’t mind, do you? Soon have you home.’

  He stopped at a small pub on the outskirts of Breckham Market. It was dingy, a real come-down after the White Hart. Andy apologized. ‘Sorry – not the sort of pub I reckon to take a girl to. We won’t stay long, though.’ He led the way inside, holding my arm. I was glad of that because it seemed a very rickety sort of place, the floor kept shifting under my feet.

  Two men were leaning on the bar. ‘Here he is,’ one of them called above the noise of the juke box. They were staring at me, but Andy just waved to them and didn’t introduce me.

  ‘Don’t want you to meet them,’ he said, ‘they’re not your sort.’

  He sat me at a vacant table, gave me a cigarette, and went over to the bar to fetch me a vodka and lime. ‘Cheers, Janet,’ he said. ‘I’ll just have a word with them, tell them I shan’t be joining them tonight. You all right here? Good girl.’

  I hadn’t asked for the drink and didn’t want it, but it seemed rude not to have a sip or two. Andy joined the men and said something to them. They all laughed, and the two strangers turned their pale, fuzzy faces towards me. I didn’t want to seem stand-offish so I raised my glass to them amiably. There seemed to be more in it than there had been in the glasses at the White Hart, so I reduced the level a bit more.

  The two men decided to leave. ‘See you some time, then, Andy,’ they said. I thought that one of them winked at me as they passed, but I wasn’t seeing quite straight so I couldn’t be sure.

  ‘That’s got rid of them,’ said Andy, sounding relieved. He came and sat down on the bench beside me. There was plenty of room, but he sat so close that our legs touched. I moved my knees away, keeping them firmly together and wishing that my skirt wasn’t quite so short.

  ‘What job are you doing now?’ I asked. At least, that was what I meant to ask, but I could hear myself asking it and what I actually said was ‘syob’. I corrected myself carefully.

  ‘Pipeline welder,’ he said. ‘On the gas feeder main from Bacton. Bloody hard work, but the pay’s good. Got five days off – but what can you do round here?’

  I sipped some more vodka and considered the possibilities. ‘Damn all,’ I concluded.

  ‘With the two of us, though, it would be different. Have some fun, eh? How about it?’

  I drained my glass absent-mindedly as I considered his proposition. I liked the idea of being in Andy’s friendly company, but on the other hand I didn’t want to take up any more of his time, considering how attractive he was and what a versatile car he had.

  ‘What about your girl-friends?’ I was trying to speak naturally, but the lower half of my face seemed numbed and my lips refused to form the words correctly. I knew that I’d said ‘Wash’instead of ‘What’, but it was all a giggle anyway.

  ‘Oh, them,’ said Andy. ‘Haven’t known any of’em for more’n five minutes.’ He leaned towards me with his eyes half-closed, and I could smell whisky and cigarette smoke on his breath. ‘But you and me, Janet, we go back a long way, don’t we? ’Nother drink?’

  ‘No, thanks. Better be going home. Whish way’s the Ladies?’

  He piloted me towards a door. It led straight into a damp poky little loo with a cracked seat and a dirty washbasin, but I was happy, beyond caring.

  Before going out again, I peered at myself in the mirror. My mouth was curved in a silly smile and I tried to straighten it with my fingers but couldn’t. I picked up my cigarette from where I’d parked it on the wooden shelf below the mirror, noticing that I’d left yet another burn mark on the grubby pink paintwork, dropped it into the loo and then opened the door.

  I could see Andy waiting for me but the floor between us was an undulating acre, impassable alone. A good friend, he realized my predicament and came over to take my arm. We negotiated the main door, an irresistibly comic obstacle, and then I staggered as the night air hit me. ‘Upsy-daisy,’ Andy said, catching me and half-carrying me to his car.

  It was very comfortable in there. All I wanted was to go to sleep, but once we were on the road Andy reached for my hand and placed it on his thigh. I was a bit surprised but it seemed unfriendly to snatch it away. Besides, I found that I rather liked the contact, and the movement of his leg muscles under my hand as he drove the car.

  When we stopped, I roused myself blearily. ‘Are we home?’

  ‘Nearly. In the lane, just by Spirkett’s Wood. Remember Spirkett’s Wood?’

  I pointed out that it was an irrevelant question. I tried the word again, but it still wouldn’t come out right. I giggled, and when Andy said, ‘How about making up for what we missed?’ and slid his arm round me, I saw no reason to resist. In fact I enjoyed being drawn into his arms and leaning comfortably against his solid chest while I let my eyelids droop.

  ‘Hey, come on!’ he protested. ‘Come on, don’t go to sleep on me now –’ He leaned across to lower the window on my side of the car. The inrush of night air made me sit up, and then he started to kiss me.

  It came as a complete shock. Not just because I hadn’t expected it, but because I’d never been kissed by a man before. I was astonished by the emery-paper scrape of his chin, so different from Kate’s smoothness. His mouth seemed enormous, engulfing mine so that at first I couldn’t breathe.

  But then I got the hang of it, and began to like it. It was neither better nor less good than with Kate, just different. It had exactly the same effect on me, though, and that was another surprise, because I’d thought it was the effect of being in love, not just of physical contact.

  Anyway, there was no question of my doing anything about it with Andy. Kissing and cuddling was nice, but I didn’t intend it to go any further. When he muttered, ‘Let’s move to the back seat,’ I said, ‘No, thanks.’

  He kissed me again, harder. His hands were roving about, pulling at my tights. I panicked and tried to push him away, but he persisted. ‘Oh, come on,’ he said, breathing fast. ‘Don’t play hard to get. You know you want it, just relax and enjoy it.’

  It was only then that I realized exactly what I’d been doing: letting him chat me up and fill me with alcohol, convincing him that I’d be a pushover.

  I was horrified by my cheap behaviour, by the sordidness of what I’d led him to expect. A car ride, a few drinks, a few kisses, and he thought I’d be easy. And I very nearly was, because I was too tired and silly and fuddled that it was the hardest thing in the world to say ‘No’.

  Was that how it had been with Mum and the American who’d fathered me?

  ‘No!’ I shouted. And I pushed Andy as hard as
I could and wrenched open the door and rolled out of the car, stumbling along the verge of the lane with brambles pulling at me. I heard him following, turned my head, and then my foot caught on a tussock of grass and I fell, Andy pounced.

  ‘Gotcha!’ he laughed. ‘Want me to play it rough, eh?’

  ‘No,’ I gabbled, ‘I don’t want it at all, don’t, please don’t –’

  I was saved by the three glasses of vodka and lime, drunk on an empty stomach. It rose unstoppably in my throat, and Andy scrambled out of the way just in time.

  ‘Oh God …’ he said disgustedly, standing over me as I retched and heaved. ‘Serves you right, you stupid little bitch,’ he added, and then he walked back to his car. He pulled out my grip, and dumped it on the verge. ‘And I hope you get pneumonia, an’all.’

  I don’t know how long I lay there after he’d slammed the car door, reversed and driven back down the lane towards the road. I heard the sound of the engine fade, and then everywhere was quiet.

  I looked up at the stars for comfort, but they were no longer the friendly, twinkling eyes that had once guarded Dad’s small girl. They were cold and hard and a million miles away, and I was down here on my own.

  I wiped my face as best I could, got to my feet and trudged home.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The following day. A quiet evening at home.

  Mum knitting: clicking, sniffing, coughing, sucking, clucking over the television programme. Me sitting at the table pretending to read, but in reality trying to think rationally about what I’ve done and what I’m going to do.

  I’ve been a fool of course, no need to tell me that. Letting myself get entangled in emotion and sex, just like the girls I used to despise when I read their letters in the agony columns of Mum’s Woman’s Weekly. And I’m doubly ashamed, because I’ve had better opportunities than most of them have had, so I should know better. But all the education in the world doesn’t help you cope with real life, and with flesh-and-blood people.

  Oh, I can find plenty of excuses for myself. Dad’s death, for a start. That, and the shock of knowing about Mum, threw me completely. I was so unhappy, so lonely in London, so desperate for affection and human contact that I clung to the first person who was kind to me. And when Kate shook me off, I was only too willing to let Andy pick me up and practise his seduction technique on me.

  I’ve been wondering what would have happened if my stomach hadn’t chosen that particular moment last night to throw up. Would I have gone on saying ‘No’? I’d like to think so, but to be honest I found Andy so attractive that I might well have let him make use of me.

  And wouldn’t that have been ironic? A chip off the old block, me. I was so disgusted when I thought about Mum and the Americans, but now I know how easy it is to get carried away I’ve had to revise my judgement.

  Besides, I’ve never heard Mum’s side of it. Perhaps she had some valid excuse. Perhaps she really was in love with the man who was my father, and he loved her, only there was some reason why he couldn’t marry her.

  But I’d have had no excuse for having sex with Andy Crackjaw. No love, no relationship of any kind. Just a couple of hours together, with too much to drink, a few kisses in his car, and then a squalid tumble in Longmire Lane.

  I might even have ended up pregnant, as Mum did. That would have been rich, wouldn’t it? Her little mistake – me – following her example a generation later. I can just imagine her outraged respectability and her frantic attempts to marry me off, regardless.

  That at least would have been one part of the pattern I wouldn’t have dreamed of repeating. But what a lovely juicy scandal for the village women to chew over! And Mrs Vernon and Mrs Hanbury would have been so superior about it, as though my being a fool proves that you can’t ever expect anything better from people like us. I would have let poor Dad down so badly. And the other people who encouraged me, Mrs Bloomfield and old Miss Massingham. Mum, too, come to that.

  Luckily she was so surprised and pleased to see me last night that she didn’t nag too much about the condition I was in. I accounted for my sour breath by saying I’d eaten something that disagreed with me, and for my muddy skirt by saying I’d been tripped by a bramble when I was walking up the lane from the bus. So Mum knows nothing at all about what happened, and things are back to normal – except of course that Dad isn’t here.

  It’s desolating without him. I just can’t believe I’ll never see him again. I cried myself to sleep last night, missing him so desperately. But at least I can cry now, and that helps a bit.

  They say that you get over grief, in time. I didn’t believe I ever could, in the first weeks after Dad died, but I think they must be right because I have to admit that when I was obsessed with Kate I sometimes forgot about him for hours. Days, sometimes. And then I’d remember, and the guilt of having forgotten would be sharper than the sadness.

  So I know I’ll come to terms with it eventually. And things will be better when I go back to college in the New Year. I’ll be able to make a fresh start, take an interest, join in. I might even get to like the place, and if I don’t it will be my own fault.

  I know now that if I want happiness I’ve got to make it for myself. No use relying on anyone else. I’m not going to be impulsive and get involved with people again, because that way you only get hurt. I’m going to be independent, self-contained, a private person, because that’s the only safe way of living. After all, it’s not as though I’m alone in the world. If I want human contact, there’s Mum.

  ‘Ooh, he’s a laugh, that short one! Do you fancy a drink, lovey? I’ll put the kettle on as soon as the programme’s finished.’

  ‘All right, I can take a hint. What do you want, tea or coffee?’

  ‘Don’t mind. Whichever you want.’

  ‘All right, Nescafé then.’

  ‘Oh. Oh, well, if that’s what you fancy –’

  ‘You’d rather have tea, wouldn’t you? Why on earth couldn’t you say so!’

  ‘Sssh, you’re spoiling the programme.’

  Snarling quietly, I stalked into our perishing cold kitchen. The big enamel water jug was empty. It would be. I pulled on my old anorak and gloves, and went outside and round towards the lane, where the pump is.

  I didn’t need a torch, because everything was as bright as day. The moon was lodged like a great white dinner plate in the top branches of the elms in Spirkett’s Wood, and all the hedges and the winter veg in our front garden were covered with frost. An owl hooted, making me shiver with loneliness and loss.

  Then I heard the clink of a bucket. A tall figure appeared on the Crackjaw’s path, on a similar course and with a similar purpose. Hadn’t set eyes on him since last night and couldn’t think what, if anything, to say. But too late now to turn back.

  ‘’Lo, Janet.’

  ‘’Lo, Andy.’

  We converged on the pump. It stood fixed to the front garden wall, muffled in old woollies.

  ‘Give us your jug,’ he said.

  I handed it over, and stood clapping my gloves together while he filled it. He lowered his voice, although no one but the owls could hear.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘’Course I’m all right.’

  ‘I just wondered, considering you’d been sick.’

  ‘I must have a weak stomach. I spent a whole afternoon in Oxford being sick, once.’

  He hesitated, still holding my jug. ‘Look, Janet, I’m sorry. I mean, I thought you were willing – you know, you being a student in London an’all …’

  ‘My own fault. I shouldn’t have drunk so much.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have left you like that, though.’ He handed over my jug and began to fill his bucket. ‘I s’pose you don’t think very much of me, after what happened?’

  ‘I’ve hardly thought of you at all,’ I said truthfully. ‘I’ve been too busy thinking badly of myself.’

  ‘Well, I’d like to make it up to you. Don’t want you to think I don’t know how to be
have myself, just because I was brought up rough.’

  I was quite touched. After all, until he’d started to get randy, I’d thought of him as a very agreeable companion. Considering his background, and his brute of a father, he’d turned out a lot better than anyone would ever have imagined. And he hadn’t had the benefit of my educational express lift, he’d only had his own bootstraps to pull himself up by.

  ‘That’s all right, Andy,’ I said. ‘You don’t have to do any making up. Let’s just forget about it.’

  ‘But I’d rather put it right. Look, how about going out together tomorrow night? No messing about, honest. Not for a pub crawl, either. I’ll buy you a meal somewhere – tell you what, let’s go back to the White Hart, they do a good dinner there.’

  I was staggered by the suggestion. It seemed so unlikely to be invited out for a meal by anybody, let alone by Andy Crackjaw, let alone after last night.

  ‘Well – er –’

  ‘I won’t muck about, promise. I’m asking you as a friend. After all, we’re both stuck at home for a bit, but I’ve got the car so we might as well make use of it. No reason why we shouldn’t have an evening out together in a decent place for once, seeing how the other half lives.’

  It was a handsome offer, but there was no question of my accepting it, of course. I’d only just decided that I was never going to act on impulse or get involved with anyone again, so it would be crazy to go out with Andy Crackjaw, however well he behaved himself.

  On the other hand, I really did appreciate his offer. It seemed unfair to give him a blunt refusal, but I was too cold to stand about talking any longer.

  ‘Thanks, Andy,’ I said. ‘D’you mind if I think it over, though? You know, it’s all a bit unexpected.’

  ‘Fair enough. Let me know in the morning, then.’

  He picked up his bucket, and we parted to make our way up our respective garden paths.