Quarter Past Two on a Wednesday Afternoon

by Linda Newbery

‘Let’s go home, Anna,’ Rose whispered.

  ‘Our bags,’ Jamie reminded her. ‘In the bushes.’

  Anna picked up her own bag, and Rose and Jamie collected theirs, left side by side in the long grass. Rose had apparently forgotten about Jamie. He walked with them as far as the turning where he lived; then he said, ‘Are you all right now?’

  ‘Yes,’ Rose said, although she was still sniffling.

  ‘See you tomorrow then,’ he said, and Anna noticed he’d gone a bit red. He came close to Rose and kissed her cheek; she closed her eyes and accepted the kiss with the faintest quiver of revulsion. Jamie saw Anna watching, turned even redder and walked off quickly.

  ‘Has he done that before?’ Anna asked, as soon as he was out of earshot. ‘Was that why you went down the footpath? You left your bags in the bushes. Do you go there every day, to do kissing and stuff? Rose? Rose? What else does he do?’

  ‘Oh, shut up, will you?’ Rose flared. ‘I don’t care about stupid Jamie. I don’t want to see him ever again.’

  Because he killed the rabbit, she meant. That struck Anna as unfair. She thought of Jamie’s hand breaking the rabbit’s neck, and the same hand touching Rose’s arm, tenderly, as he kissed her. Why did she let him touch her, if she hated it? Anna wouldn’t have minded being kissed by Jamie. He had such lovely dark eyebrows, and there was the way his school shirt bagged out over the slender curve of his back. Anna knew that girls giggled and blushed when he passed them in the corridors at school. Rose had told him to kill the rabbit and he did, knowing how to do it quickly and efficiently. He could have said no, or told her to do it herself. She wouldn’t have been able to. Anna imagined her holding the rabbit, her hand poised to strike, her face tight with the effort of willing. You couldn’t do it half-heartedly; you’d have to do it, or not. Rose wouldn’t have been able to, and she’d have to put the rabbit back in the long grass to go on suffering, with its terrible bulging eyes.

  An ice-cream van came along the road, playing a snatch from Greensleeves, and Rose’s mood changed. ‘I’ll treat you,’ she told Anna. ‘I’ve got money. What would you like?’

  The ice-cream man was quite young, with a sun tan and blond hair, and he was chewing gum. When Rose went up to the van his jaws stopped moving and his eyes fastened on her with interest.

  ‘Hello, darling, what do you fancy?’ he asked her, and she giggled.

  ‘What have you got?’ she said, tossing her head and flicking her hair back. Her eyes were bright and shiny but no one would guess she’d been crying.

  ‘Well now, that depends.’ He propped himself on one elbow. When he smiled his mouth went up at one side but not the other. ‘Something with a bit of crunch? Or a long slow lick?’

  Rose’s expression was half shocked, half delighted. ‘What do you want, Anna?’

  ‘A Funny Face,’ Anna said, pointing at the picture on the glass window.

  ‘Oh yeah? I thought you already had one,’ the ice-cream man told her, straight-faced, then looked at Rose with his lopsided grin and half a wink. She made a prim face, but Anna could see her mouth twitching at the corners and knew she was only pretending to look disapproving. ‘Yeah, I know,’ the man said to Rose, leaning forward on his elbows, ‘it’s hard to make your mind up, with so much on offer. Take your time.’

  ‘A plain choc-ice, please,’ she said. Three younger children came up behind, jostling, holding up their money. The ice-cream man whistled Greensleeves as he passed over the Funny Face and the choc-ice, and when Rose gave him the money he took hold of her hand as well and pretended he was going to pull her inside the van. She giggled and snatched her hand away. The man grinned at her, then looked at Anna and pulled a long, miserable face. ‘Cheer up, ducky. It might never happen,’ he said in a Donald Duck voice.

  They walked away unwrapping their ice creams. When the van passed them the driver gave a cheerful toot-toot, and waved at Rose.

  ‘Rose!’ Anna reproached. ‘You’re so two-faced, you are! One minute you’re blubbering all over me and the next you’re flirting with that stupid man!’

  ‘Some people,’ Rose said, picking off the chocolate edging and eating that first, ‘would have said thank you for the ice cream.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Anna said sullenly. ‘But I thought you were so upset just now? Were you putting it on?’

  ‘For goodness’ sake grow up, Anna,’ Rose said. ‘It was only a rabbit.’

  They didn’t speak for the rest of the walk home. Anna ate her Funny Face almost without noticing, she was so cross with Rose. When they got indoors, Mum said, ‘What’s wrong with you two?’ and narrowed her eyes at each of them in turn.

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ Rose said. ‘Annie’s in a bit of a mood, that’s all.’

  Chapter Six

  Monday, and Anna was back in the office, behind her desk close to the front window, where she could see passers-by as they looked in at the properties displayed there. Sunila, the branch manager, was at a meeting at Head Office all morning, so it wasn’t until after lunch that she called Anna into her upstairs office to tell her that the trial period was more than satisfactory, and the post could become a permanent one, if Anna accepted.

  Anna agreed and thanked her, and Sunila said, ‘Excellent! That’s great. I’ll get on to HR straight away and they can organize the contract. I’m really pleased you’ll be joining the team properly.’

  As she went downstairs, Kiran and Sophie were looking at her with expectant smiles. Kiran made prompting gestures. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Anna, and at once both were out of their seats, hugging her, talking of celebrating after work on Friday. Anna laughed with them, feeling, for the moment, happy. Now she would have colleagues, a routine, a regular salary. She liked them both: Sophie, with her cynical one-liners, and Kiran, fresh from university, ambitious and urbane, with a taste for sharp suits and ties that made him the butt of teasing.

  The moment was broken when the young couple who’d been taking an interest in the window display came inside, and Kiran sprang to attention. Anna and Sophie, exchanging smiles, went back to their desks.

  Anna took out her mobile and began texting a message for Martin: Job now permanent. She could have it all, just as Bethan had said: the home, the job, Martin – he’d assume she’d taken his advice and was seeing it his way, behaving like an adult at last.

  What was she doing? These things were assembling themselves around her; she wasn’t choosing them, only surrendering control. She cancelled the message without sending it.

  Last night she had dreamed her Rose dream again, the one where Rose came back. She came back only for Anna to push her away. The dream played itself like a film Anna had seen many times, familiarity only intensifying its horror. They’re in a plane together, sitting side by side. There are magazines, drinks, smiling attendants; she looks out at blue sky dotted with flat-based clouds of improbable regularity. Rose, in the window seat, is laughing, relaxed against the seat-back, turned towards Anna; she isn’t afraid of flying. Anna is always afraid. Her stomach clenches; Rose’s warm, laughing face makes something harden in her. Her intention is reflected in Rose’s widening brown eyes. Rose shifts against the restraint of her seat belt and presses herself against the arm-rest nearest the window; her gaze holds Anna’s. Anna has to close her eyes to do it. She stretches out both arms and pushes. She knows what will happen: the sides of the plane, the window, soften and sag like Dali wristwatches, rubbery, melting, holding Rose briefly as in a hammock, then thinning and splitting into chewing-gum strands with a mesh too loose to stop her from falling, spinning away into the immensity of sky and space.

  A cry catches in Anna’s throat. Her arm lunges into a futile, too-late, meaningless grab. No one has noticed what happened, but she feels blackness close in as the sides of the aircraft reshape themselves around her. She sits tight and alone. No one knows what she has done, but she feels the terrible irrevocability of the outstretched arms, the push. The intention. She must hide her secret, but guilt
chokes her and crushes her into her seat.

  Gasping for breath, hooked out of her dream like a fish, she surfaced into her body, into her bed. Usually Martin’s sleeping warmth was close by; she could snuggle close and be calmed, even though he was quite unaware. Last night she reached out for him but found only the cool sheet, her hand sliding over the edge of the bed; she registered the shape of the wardrobe, the unfamiliar position of the window, and realized that she was in her old room at home. Her heart was thumping, the dream still vivid.

  Rose had done this. Rose would never let go.

  Letting herself into the flat, Anna thought of telling Martin her news. Now he’d approve of her; she’d go off to work every morning, and her salary would appear in the bank account every month. But she felt herself resisting. Had she bought herself a safety net, or was it, instead, a tightening mesh, strangling her when she tried to struggle free?

  It was no good. Something was pushing her away from her own life. Happiness was on the other side of an invisible barrier. Even when it seemed within her grasp, it was only there to mock. Happiness was something other people could do.

  He’d be late back, she remembered; she’d better do something about food. Meanwhile, another decision made itself, and Ruth was the person she chose to tell, on the phone.

  ‘I’m moving out of the flat. Martin and I are splitting up.’

  She heard Ruth’s intake of breath; then, ‘What? You can’t mean that!’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘But why?’

  Anna searched for a reason. ‘Things weren’t working out.’

  ‘But you seem – he seems – so, so—’

  ‘Don’t say happy. We’re not. I mean weren’t.’

  ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘It hasn’t, exactly. Not yet. I haven’t told him.’

  A beat of silence, then Ruth said: ‘So it’s your idea, not his? Anna, whatever’s gone wrong, it can’t be that bad. Don’t do anything in a hurry. You’ll only regret it.’

  ‘But I am. I’m moving out.’ Anna felt obstinacy hardening inside her.

  ‘But why? You don’t mean – Is there someone else?’

  ‘No! I need to be by myself, not part of a couple.’

  ‘Oh, I meant— So, you’re saying you want to live on your own, find a place, but Martin doesn’t know? Have you done anything about it?’

  ‘No,’ Anna admitted. She had thought only as far as staying at home in Sevenoaks while she found somewhere to live; but that would seem like tamely giving in, becoming a teenager again. Also, it would mean telling her parents, a prospect she didn’t relish. And total immersion in her parents’ concerns and muddles would never help to clarify her thoughts.

  ‘You could stay here,’ Ruth said. ‘If it helps. Patrick’s room’s spare while he’s in Edinburgh. Don’t do anything drastic. Come and stay for a few days, or a week. Give yourself time to think.’

  ‘Are you serious, Ruth?’

  ‘Course I am.’

  ‘But – why?’

  ‘You’re helping me, aren’t you?’ said Ruth. ‘I can do this in return. It’d be an easy enough commute, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, straight in on the Central Line. When shall I come?’

  ‘Tomorrow, after work, if you like. But – think about it first. You might change your mind.’

  ‘I won’t,’ Anna said.

  How quickly new plans were making themselves! It lent her a kind of recklessness. She would trust her instincts, see where they led. But this feeling of light delirium lasted only as long as it took to go into the bedroom and choose clothes to take to Ruth’s, packing them in her wheeled case. After all, she still hadn’t done anything for herself; she was simply falling in with another person’s suggestions.

  ‘Why the suitcase?’ Martin asked when he got in, and went into the bedroom to throw off his tie and jacket. ‘I thought you said your mum was OK?’

  ‘She is. But first I’ve got good news.’

  She told him about her conversation with Sunila, the contract being drawn up. Martin looked delighted. ‘That’s brilliant – well done!’ He embraced her, kissing her ear; then, sensing resistance, looked into her face. ‘What made you decide?’

  ‘It seemed too good a chance to miss.’

  He gave her an isn’t that what I told you look, but refrained from saying it. ‘We must celebrate. Dinner on Saturday? I’ll make a booking – where shall we go? You choose.’

  ‘Thanks, but …’

  He looked puzzled now. ‘What’s up? The suitcase – where are you off to?’

  ‘I’m going to stay with Ruth.’

  ‘With Ruth,’ he repeated, incredulous. ‘Why? What’s going on?’

  ‘You needn’t make it sound like a conspiracy. She just … invited me to stay.’ Baulking now at telling him the rest, Anna despised her own cowardice.

  ‘You and Ruth aren’t exactly best friends. Why this, all of a sudden?’

  ‘I like her,’ Anna said defensively. ‘And she likes me. And I’m helping her.’

  ‘Helping how? I can’t see how, during the week. What’s the point of going there now?’

  ‘I think she needs the company, to be honest.’

  ‘Well, that sounds nice and cosy.’ Martin had turned away, reaching for a glass, taking a bottle out of the cupboard. ‘Fine, if that’s what you want.’

  ‘I wasn’t asking for permission,’ Anna said coldly.

  ‘No, obviously I’m the last person you’d think of considering.’ Martin clattered things about in the utensil drawer, looking for a corkscrew. ‘You keep telling me I don’t understand you, but if you don’t give me any help, what do you expect? How long’s this for?’

  ‘Till the weekend, at least. We’re doing more house-clearing on Saturday, and probably Sunday too.’

  ‘So you don’t want to go out on Saturday and now you’re busy on Sunday as well. You might have said.’

  ‘I just did say.’

  In bed that night they turned away from each other, lying separate and apart. Anna stared into the darkness, irritated by the steadiness of Martin’s breathing.

  On Tuesday evening, at Ruth’s, Anna unpacked her clothes in Patrick’s room. The walls were midnight blue, patched with posters of his favourite bands; books and CDs overflowed the shelves.

  ‘He’s phoned a couple of times from Edinburgh,’ Ruth had told her. ‘He’s thinking of working with a friend for a while, selling hi-fi systems.’

  Anna hadn’t met Patrick often enough to feel at ease with him. Now that she was stockpiling grudges against Martin, it was convenient to add one that had nudged at her from time to time: his apparent reluctance to involve her with his sons, as if she were some passing girlfriend rather than his partner. Patrick had been sixteen when she first met Martin, old enough to have a pressing social life of his own, and to find excuses not to come with Liam on his regular visits. His wariness towards Anna, the new woman in his father’s life, had gradually been replaced, as he matured, by indifference that bordered on hostility. Anna tried not to feel intimidated by him. He had Martin’s good looks and dark colouring, and a smooth-skinned youthful sexuality that seemed to acknowledge Anna and simultaneously despise her.

  She knew from Martin that Patrick had done barely enough work to avoid being thrown out of the sixth form at the selective school he and Liam attended. Having been marked out as academically gifted from an early age, he’d achieved disastrous results in his A-Levels – deliberately, as Martin saw it. When most of his year group had been busy with UCAS applications, he treated the whole business with open scorn; university didn’t appeal to him. Now, he was having what Ruth euphemistically called a gap year, again without much sense of purpose. While his peers set off on the Thailand–Australia–US trail, or for community projects in Africa or South America, Patrick had been filling his days with nothing very much, his evenings behind the bar at a local pub. When Martin fretted about his son’s indolence – incomprehensible to someone as
work-driven as he was himself – Anna had taken the line, ‘He’s only eighteen. Plenty of time to find out what he wants to do.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind, if he hadn’t squandered the last two years,’ Martin would argue. ‘He’s turning his back on all the chances he’s been given.’

  ‘At least he’s around. At least he phones you sometimes, tells you where he is.’

  Martin didn’t get this reference. ‘Yes, when he wants money.’

  Now, hanging her clothes in the limited space Ruth had cleared in Patrick’s wardrobe, Anna felt uneasy. It wasn’t like staying in a guest room; wasn’t neutral territory. It was stepping aside from her own life to invade Martin’s, the half where she had no part, no business to be prying. She should have said no to this, made her own arrangements. Maybe she’d only stay a night or two. But then what? She’d have to find herself a flat.

  ‘Anna!’ Ruth called up the stairs. ‘I’m opening a bottle of wine.’

  They ate pasta with ham and mushrooms, and salad. With Liam there, the reason for Anna’s visit couldn’t be discussed, for which she was grateful. Liam didn’t remark on her presence, beyond asking, ‘Is Dad coming?’

  ‘No, darling, not today. Anna’s staying with us for a bit.’

  Afterwards, when he’d gone into the sitting room to watch TV, Ruth made coffee. Now, Anna thought, there would be questions: questions she’d struggle to answer. But Ruth, instead, returned to the subject of Patrick.

  ‘Martin thinks I’m too soft with him – but, honestly, try telling an eighteen-year-old what to do! And Patrick can be so obstinate. Well, they both can. The more Martin tries to cajole or persuade him, even threaten, the more determined Pat is to do exactly as he likes.’

  ‘Who does he go around with?’

  ‘He’s made new friends at the pub – older boys, mainly – well, young men. Now he’s gone off to Scotland to be with this girl, Rhiannon. I’m not sure if she’s his girlfriend or just a friend.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound so terrible,’ Anna remarked. ‘It’s not what Martin wants for him, but Martin can’t run everyone’s life.’