by Susan Lewis
It’s Saturday June 8th now and very early in the morning. Robert Kennedy was pronounced dead about twenty-four hours ago.
I won’t be going into work today, but it doesn’t have anything to do with that. I’ve got some very serious news for our Susan now, which I’d be telling her if she was coming home tomorrow, but I had a letter yesterday informing me she’s back in detention. This means she’ll have to miss another exeat, and for the first time I won’t be able to go up to the church to see her. So, I’m afraid the news will have to wait. I can’t believe it’s happened. I’m so shaken up I hardly know what I’m doing or saying or even thinking. I don’t know how any of us are ever going to get over it.
Susan
Everyone’s been talking about what happened to Robert Kennedy. Some of the girls cried, and lots were saying that there’s an evil force taking over the world, so we must pray extra hard in church today in order to be saved. We were all very quiet at breakfast this morning – you could even hear the crunching of warm, crusty rolls as we devoured them in our usual hungry way. Then we had to go to our classrooms to memorise the collect for St Philip and St James’s Day. We always have to do this in silence, but today it felt different, as though all kinds of holiness and devilry might be mingling about in the room with us.
Robert Kennedy’s brother, John, was assassinated too, while he was President. That happened about four years ago, and I sort of remember it. His wife, Jacqueline, was in the car with him and she got covered in his blood. It was horrible. America sounds like a very dangerous place, and I feel extremely sorry for Robert Kennedy’s family. I hate death, I wish God would stop making it happen. He never listens though, except when He wants to, and that’s almost never where I’m concerned. I’m taking charge of my own life from now on, which means I won’t be writing to anyone any more asking them to talk Dad into letting me out of here. I’ll do it myself.
We’ve just come out of church and I’m looking around for Dad, but he’s nowhere to be seen. I bet he’s not coming because he’s angry with me for being in detention again.
‘Ah, Susan, there you are, dear.’ It’s Mrs Beach, Glenys’s mum. ‘I had a telephone call from your father this morning asking me to tell you that he can’t make it today. He says he’s very sorry, but he’ll be here next week as usual.’
Straight away I think, he doesn’t want to see me any more, and now he’s going to leave me here to rot. I’d feel even more upset if a whole gang of us weren’t in detention together, so at least I won’t be on my own today, but Dad doesn’t know that. I start to feel very angry with him for being so mean. I’m already being punished by having to stay here, so he doesn’t have to make it worse. I don’t think I’ll write him any letters this week, and if he sends me any I’m not going to bother to read them.
The reason we’re all in detention is because we got caught out of bounds the other night. We’d sneaked out to the back lane to meet some day girls who were supposed to be bringing some boys to see us. The next day they swore they had come, but as soon as they heard Cluttie shouting they scarpered before they got caught too.
We spent half the night facing the wall on the staff landing, which is where boarders get sent if they’ve done something seriously wrong when they’re supposed to be in bed. It is the spookiest place in the entire school, and I was extremely glad not to be on my own. The staffroom is definitely haunted. We all jumped out of our skin when something banged against the door, and when we heard something being dragged around inside we fled upstairs to our dorms without permission.
Dot gave us a good talking-to the next morning about how dangerous it could be for girls our age to wander out of bounds without supervision.
‘There are a lot of undesirable people out there,’ she told us, ‘and girls’ schools are often a magnet to some of society’s most unpleasant individuals. If you were to find yourselves in their hands the consequences could be very serious indeed. Do you understand me?’
‘Yes, miss,’ we mumbled. I know it probably was a bit dangerous, going out at night like that, and actually we were all dead scared, but what do they expect when they keep us locked up here like a bunch of criminals? Anyone in their right mind would try to escape.
‘While you’re here you are the school’s responsibility,’ she droned on, ‘and I do not want to find myself in the position of having to contact your parents to inform them that something terrible has happened to you. Please try to think of how upsetting that would be for them, and what a dreadful impact it could have on the rest of the girls. You’re grown up enough now to know the difference between right and wrong, and to behave in a responsible fashion, not only towards yourselves, but towards other people. You will all stay behind for detention this Sunday, and I’ll be writing to your parents to inform them why you are unable to go home.’
I wanted to try and persuade her not to bother my dad, because he’s got enough to worry about without her adding to it, but I knew she wouldn’t listen, so I just left with the others and agreed with Sadie that Dot was a coward for not expelling us. At least then we’d be able to go home and never have to come back. And anyway, even if Dot’s letter does make Dad upset and worried, it’ll be his own fault for sending me here in the first place.
We thought, after Robert Kennedy was shot, that she might let us off, or even forget all about it, but no such luck. So here we are, walking back to school while everyone else disappears off to the zoo or Blaize Castle with their families if they don’t live in Bristol, or home if they do.
Little does Dot know that we’re supposed to be meeting Slash and his mates at four this afternoon, if we can manage to sneak out to the lane. I keep imagining how fab it would be if I met someone who really loved me, and you never know, I might.
We eat our lunch in the dining room. Cook serves us herself, because the rest of the kitchen staff have the day off. The food’s quite decent for once, roast beef, mashed potatoes, carrots and gravy, with jam roly-poly for pudding, yuk! Celery (Miss Ellery) eats with us, but she doesn’t speak to us because we’re in disgrace, and we’re not allowed to utter a word either. When we’ve finished we have to clear the table, sweep the floor, wash and wipe up, and hang the dish towels on a line to dry. Then we’re sent off to bed to lie down quietly for two hours, no records, no talking, no anything, and at three we have to report to the nursery to find out what our punishment is.
It turns out to be folding endless piles of bed linen, which is as rough and stiff as cardboard it’s so full of starch, but luckily it doesn’t take long, and by a quarter to four we’re free to do as we want for an hour.
Straight away we run up to Speedwell dorm where Sadie and I have hidden everyone’s make-up, and we quickly start using it on one another ready to meet the boys. Cheryl does the mascara, Sadie the foundation, I put on the lipstick and Peg draws in the eyebrows for those of us who need it. Then we make our stockings as long and our suspenders as short as we can, before putting on our day kilts, because we can roll them over at the waist to turn them into minis. Worse luck there’s nothing we can do about our black lace-up shoes, because they’re all we have, but Peg has a fantastic idea.
‘We can leave them next to the tennis courts and go barefoot,’ she says. ‘Like Sandie Shaw.’
So that’s what we do.
It’s quite a warm day, and there’s no sign of anyone as we creep outside. Woe betide us if we’re spotted with all our make-up and back-combed hair, but so far, so good. We tiptoe past the classrooms round to the walled garden, and when we’re safely tucked out of view we kick off our shoes and run as fast as we can to the opening into the lane.
Sadie looks through first.
‘Can you see anyone?’ Cheryl asks in a whisper.
‘No.’
‘They definitely said four, did they?’ Peg wonders.
‘That’s what Christine said,’ Sadie replies. Christine’s the second-form day girl who’s bringing the boys. She lives in Westbury-on-Trym and apparently she
’s been out with Slash and says he’s a really good kisser.
I wonder which one of us he’s going to fancy.
I know it won’t be me.
‘Ssh, someone’s coming,’ Sadie whispers, and spinning round she bumps right into us as she tries to dive out of sight.
Giggling and squealing, we all tuck ourselves in behind the bushes to wait. Sure enough there are voices, and then someone, a boy, is saying, ‘Is anyone there?’
Sadie nudges me to go out first.
I shrink back, shaking my head. ‘No, you,’ I whisper.
‘You go,’ she tells Peg.
Peg won’t either.
‘All right, I will,’ Cheryl declares, and giving her hair a quick pat she steps up to the gap in the hedge. ‘Hello,’ we hear her say. ‘I’m Cheryl. Who are you?’
‘I’m Slash,’ someone answers, ‘and this is Jimmy, Mike, John and Christopher.’ That means there are five of them, and six of us, so someone’s going to be left out. ‘Where are the others?’ he asks. ‘We were told …’
‘They’re here,’ Cheryl tells him. ‘We had to hide until we were sure it was you.’
Sadie’s grinning all over her face. So are Peg, Sally and Melanie. They’re all really excited. I am too, except I don’t want to be the one who ends up being left out. I’m bound to be though, because the others are all much prettier than me, so I say, ‘You go, and I’ll keep a lookout in case anyone comes.’
‘No, you have to come too,’ Sadie insists. ‘It’s not fair if you don’t.’
‘I don’t care,’ I tell her.
She doesn’t argue any more, and one by one they jump down into the lane leaving me on my own under the tree.
Actually, I really don’t care. Why should I when I’ve got Robert? I’ve told everyone how we kissed after he took me for a ride on his motorbike, and I told them all about Mandy Hughes and what we did up the shows at Easter. I’ve done lots more things than they have, so it’s only right that they have a turn with the boys first.
I wonder what Slash is like. Christine says he’s really dishy. I bet he goes after Sadie, because she’s the prettiest. Actually, I can imagine him thinking Cheryl is, or Peg. Sally and Melanie are really sexy too, so it could be any of them. I know he wouldn’t like me very much, because I’ve got ginger hair and freckles and I’m starting to get spots now too. Cheryl’s covered most of them up with Hide ’n Heal, but I can’t help thinking my eyebrows look silly, all thick and black, although everyone insists they look really cool. Even if they do, Slash wouldn’t like me, because no one does. I used to think Dad did, but I know he doesn’t now. It was all a pretence, just like with Mum. She went off and left me too, but I don’t care. They can all get lost as far as I’m concerned.
I can hear everyone chatting and laughing down in the lane, then suddenly I spot a car coming up the drive. Bloody hell! It’s only Dot’s.
‘Everyone stay where you are,’ I hiss, pressing myself into the undergrowth. ‘Dot’s going by. Don’t make a move.’
‘Who’s that?’ one of the boys asks.
‘Ssh,’ Sadie says sharply.
‘It’s Su Lu,’ Cheryl whispers. ‘She’s our lookout.’
‘What’s she like?’
Everyone goes silent and I feel myself turning hot and cold. I can imagine them screwing up their noses and pretending to be sick. I expect Peg is mouthing Really ugly and I want to smash her face in. I could easily run over to Dot now and report them all. I don’t of course, but if they’re being horrible about me it would serve them right.
When we get back to the dorm they’re all chattering non-stop about who said what in the lane, which one they fancy and when they’re going to see them again, so I take out my pictures of Davy Jones and the letter I had from Robert. I don’t mind that I can’t join in, because they’re talking about immature boys who are nobodies, and my photos and letter are from grown-ups who are famous and ride motorbikes.
I wonder what Dad and Gary are doing now.
I’m nearly crying, which makes me mad. It’s Dad’s fault I’m upset. He should have come today.
Eddie
Doubt. Despair. Demoralise. Depress. Dismay. Degenerate. Despise. Death. Destination. Difficult. Devastating.
I wrote all these words down because I’ve been feeling a bit depressed and demoralised lately with all that’s been happening in the world, and in our family, but having worked hard on the washing today, and sat for a while watching the sun shine after some rain with the clothes drying nicely on the line, I started to feel more hopeful. Then my thoughts began to degenerate, and very soon I was filled with doubt and dismay again.
Death is hard. It leaves us full of despair. I despise it, even though I know, as a Christian, I should embrace it. Or at least I shouldn’t fear it, or reject it as though I have a choice. Sometimes I long for it, but then I think of our Susan and Gary and I know with all my heart that I don’t want to go anywhere until I’ve done my best to bring them up, and I can be sure they don’t need me any more.
The road to that destination seems to stretch a long way ahead of me, and I’m certain it’s going to traverse some very difficult terrain. It’s already as bumpy as one might imagine the road to hell, full of sorrow, and the kind of confusion that tests my belief in God.
Back to doubt.
If it weren’t for my religion I doubt I could have coped over these last two years since Eddress went. Her death sometimes seems to fill up the whole of my life. I miss her in ways I could never have imagined before it happened, and I’d never dreamt that time would just go on and on making it feel worse. I am incomplete as a person, inadequate as a man and incapable as a father. I try to stay cheerful, playing football out on the grass with Gary, writing jolly letters to Susan, taking Florrie to bingo and getting as involved as I can in the union. World affairs have always interested me, but the way things have been happening lately, I have to wonder what it’s all about, or if it’s even worth going on.
Earlier in the week Gary came first in the tunnel ball relay. He was as pleased as Punch, and so excited to tell me when I came home from work that he tripped as he ran to me and cut his mouth on the step. I thought we might be on our way back up the hospital, but it didn’t turn out to be as bad as it looked.
What kind of God trips up a little boy in his happiness?
What kind of God leaves two young children without their mother?
What kind of God could do what He has to our family?
I could ask the question a thousand times over and no one will ever be able to give me the answer. I know it’s wrong to question my faith, but after what happened at the beginning of June, how can I help it?
We’re three weeks into July now and our Susan’s home for the summer holidays. I know she’s still upset with me for not going to see her at church on the day she missed an exeat, but the time hasn’t been right yet for me to explain why I couldn’t come.
If I live to be a hundred the time will never be right to break this news. I’m still trying to come to terms with it myself, but I don’t think I ever will.
She’s in bed now after a long day coming home from school and unpacking. I don’t know if she’s asleep. I turned her light out a while ago, so she might be. I’ll have to wake her up if she is, because I can’t let her find out what’s happened from anyone else.
‘Susan?’ I whisper, going into her room.
She doesn’t answer, so I go to sit on the edge of her bed.
‘Are you awake, my love?’ I ask.
I turn on her bedside light and her eyes flicker open. ‘What do you want?’ she complains. ‘I was asleep.’
‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ I say. ‘It’s not very good news, I’m afraid.’
I sense her stiffen and wish there was something I could do to make this easier, but there isn’t. Robert’s been killed on his motorbike,’ I tell her as gently as I can.
I see her eyes grow wide with shock and feel the cruel punch to her hea
rt. It’s brutal and devastating. I sense her shrinking away, as though trying to escape me, yet she hasn’t actually moved. I know she’s trying to fight off the truth, and who can blame her? I remember when I told her about her mother, and how after a few tears she decided to go back to school. She wanted to carry on as if nothing had changed, as though if she ignored it it wouldn’t be real. It upset and confused me at the time, but I understand it now. It was too much for her to take in, and I feel this is, too.
‘It happened over on Warmley Hill,’ I tell her. ‘A car was coming up as he came down … He was on his way home after seeing his girlfriend.’
Tears well in her eyes and spill on to her cheeks.
I smooth her hair. ‘I’m sorry, my love,’ I murmur, close to crying myself. How many tears have I already shed for that lovely young boy who was so full of life, who we all loved, but who didn’t make it to his seventeenth birthday? How many for our Doreen and Alf whose lives have been shattered? For young Doreen whose world isn’t making sense any more?
What kind of God rips out a family’s heart? How many times will He do it to ours? First Bob, then Eddress, now Robert. They were all so young, but he was still a boy.
‘Would you like to say a prayer?’ I ask.
‘No,’ she answers. Her tone is unequivocal and savage.
How can I not understand her fury, or her rejection of the Lord? What can I do to soothe her pain? What can I possibly say to make her world whole again? The answer is, nothing, because there are no words that can right this wrong, nor any actions that can turn back time.
Chapter Eleven
Susan
I HAVEN’T DONE very much since we broke up from school. I was going to, but then I didn’t feel like it any more, so I’ve mainly stayed in my bedroom playing records, or reading books, or writing in my diary. I hate God for taking Robert away. I really, really hate Him. He’s broken Auntie Doreen’s heart and mine too and everyone else’s. Why do all the people I love have to die? It’s not fair. I’m never going to love anyone again, because there’s no point when God just takes them away. I want Mummy and Robert and Uncle Bob to be here with us, where they belong. Dad keeps saying what he always says, that we have to take one day at a time, but I think we should just snatch whatever we want when we want it, because for all we know the next day might not even come.
