The Lonely Life of Biddy Weir

by Lesley Allen

  But the teacher’s tone caught Biddy unawares. ‘Hello Biddy, pet, how are you?’ she smiled. Pet? thought Biddy, looking around her to see who was watching, waiting for the whispers and sniggers. But the other girls were too busy with the goal-practice session after the game to notice. Biddy looked at Miss Jordan, her eyes wide and startled, not sure what to say.

  ‘You don’t like games, do you, Biddy?’

  Biddy’s heart sank. Just as she thought. Her evasion of P.E. was over. ‘That’s OK,’ the teacher laughed lightly. ‘P.E. isn’t for everyone. Now, Art was never my thing, but I can see it most certainly is yours.’ She nodded towards the open notebook in Biddy’s lap, showing an exquisitely sketched seagull. ‘That’s quite exceptional, Biddy. You have a rare talent there. Mr Lynas must love you. I bet he doesn’t often get an art genius in his class.’ She smiled, and looked down at the sketch again.

  Biddy’s mind was racing. Nobody loved her, apart from her papa, of course. He had never actually said it, but she was certain he did. Mr Lynas, the Art teacher, certainly didn’t love her. She doubted he even liked her. Nobody liked her, so why, just because she could draw, would he? He always gave her high marks, and occasionally he’d mutter a ‘good, good’ and nod in what Biddy assumed was an approving manner, but, as with most of the teachers, he didn’t seem to pay much attention to her. But now here was this new teacher being nice to her. She had called her ‘pet’; she had complimented her art. She looked up, again expecting to see a row of faces laughing down at her, but the others were still engrossed in their goal practice.

  Miss Jordan stood up and blew her whistle. ‘Right, girls, that’s it for today. Julia and Jill, please collect all the bibs from your teams and return them to the store with the balls. Karen, you help too. The rest of you head on to the changing room.’

  Biddy went to stand up, but the teacher sat down beside her again.

  ‘Why don’t you just stay here while the others get changed, Biddy?’ she smiled again. ‘I thought it might be nice to have a little chat.’

  Biddy sat down again. A chat? People didn’t chat to her. Not even her papa. Well, not really. Obviously they spoke to each other, but they didn’t actually have conversations. Most of their life was spent in a comfortable silence, which they were both accustomed to.

  ‘Look, Biddy, I really don’t want to offend you or anything, and I’m not prying, but I just wanted to see if everything is OK with you.’

  Biddy couldn’t answer. She couldn’t move. All she could do was blink. She was both confused and terrified in equal measure. What was going on?

  ‘It’s just, well, growing up can be so complicated at times, and I know that this can be a tricky age. I am aware that there’s only you and your dad in the house, and I’ve been thinking that maybe sometimes some growing up, girlie type things might be a bit difficult for you.’

  Biddy’s stomach lurched and her head dropped. She’s going to tell me about periods, she thought, mortified. She knows what Alison and the others did in P7, and somehow she knows that I only started mine recently, and now she’s going to humiliate me just like they did. They’re all in it together. They must be watching or listening somewhere, having another laugh at me. Her eyes stung and the lump started crawling up her throat.

  But then the strangest thing happened. Miss Jordan took Biddy’s hands in hers and then gently tilted up her chin. Biddy jumped with shock.

  ‘Oh, Biddy, please don’t be upset. It’s probably none of my business, but I really do just want to help. And, well, you see it’s not that long ago really that I was your age, so I do remember what it’s like. Growing up, I mean. And I didn’t have a mum either.’ Biddy looked at the teacher, surprised. It had never occurred to her that other people didn’t have mothers. Obviously she knew that grown-ups, like her father, would eventually lose their mothers, but she had always supposed that her own lack of a mother was unique. It was part of her oddness, part of what made her such a bloody weirdo. But here was this person, a teacher, a woman who was not much more than a girl herself, and she had grown up without a mother too. Her head felt fuzzy. She took in Miss Jordan’s short dark hair, her tanned skin, bright blue eyes, and fit, slender figure. She couldn’t be very many more years older than she was herself – she certainly wasn’t old enough to be her mother. In fact, she thought, even though they didn’t look remotely alike, she could almost be her big sister. Except, of course, that Biddy was a weirdo, and Miss Jordan clearly wasn’t.

  ‘It isn’t easy, Biddy. I do know that.’ Miss Jordan was talking again, and Biddy had to force herself back into a state of listening. ‘I was lucky enough to have an auntie who sometimes lived with us. She had a job that took her away a lot, but when she came home, she’d always stay in our house. It was great, but it meant my little brother had to bunk in my room when she was around. And yuck, the smell!’ she laughed, trying to put Biddy at ease.

  It worked. Biddy laughed back, surprised at how light the sound of her own laughter made her feel. ‘The best thing about Auntie Celia, apart from her colourful kaftans, was that she loved shopping, and with just my dad and that smelly little brother of mine in the house, I never got to shop for, you know, girlie things.’ Biddy didn’t know. Shopping? For girlie things? Did she mean Dr. White’s? Was this going to be about periods after all?

  9.

  Penny Jordan could see that she wasn’t making sense. All she wanted to do was reach out a helping hand to this sad, lonely girl, who, as far as she could see, had been ostracised by almost everyone in the school, pupils and teachers alike. But she felt she was making a mess of things. Since arriving at the school a couple of months back, there’d been something about Biddy that really bothered her. Not her strangeness – Penny believed that everyone was entitled to their own idiosyncrasies – but her desolation, her isolation, the heavy mist of persecution that clung to the girl. Penny knew all about persecution, and she sensed that Biddy was only going through the motions of life: alive, but not really living.

  She knew, of course, that she’d need to tread carefully. Extremely carefully. She had turned this conversation over in her head time and time again, and her partner, Sam, had warned her against it. ‘I know you feel sorry for the girl,’ Sam had reasoned, ‘but really, Pen, think of your position. You’ve only been there for the blink of a bloody eye; and you know you were lucky to get the flipping job in the first place.’

  ‘Well thanks for the vote of confidence,’ Penny had yelled.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Penny, be reasonable: you know what I mean! Just think about it. If it comes out, and then you’re seen to have a “special friendship” with this Biddy, well, you know as well as I do exactly what people will say.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so bloody melodramatic, Samantha. Mr Duncan is the only person in the whole school who knows that I’m gay, and as I don’t live, or socialise, in the town, how the hell is anyone going to find out? Biddy needs help. I just know it. And no one else appears to give a toss about her. As far as I can see, she has no friends and no home support, and, to make matters worse, I suspect she’s being bullied.’

  ‘Oh, Penny,’ sighed Sam. ‘Just promise me that you’ll be careful?’

  ‘Of course I will, Sam. I just really have to do this; you know?’

  ‘I know,’ said Sam, smiling. ‘You know your trouble, don’t you? You’re just too nice for your own damn good.’

  Sam’s words echoed in Penny’s ears as she sat on the gym bench now with Biddy, wondering how she could get to her point in the few minutes that were left before the bell. Biddy was staring at her expectantly, like a pathetic little puppy. It was obvious the girl didn’t have a clue what she was talking about.

  She drew in a deep breath.

  ‘You know Biddy – clothes, make-up, underwear. That sort of thing,’ she smiled, hoping that Biddy would respond with something. She hadn’t spoken at all yet. But, no, she still didn’t utter a word. She just shook her head slowly, still staring with that daze
d expression, still so obviously bewildered.

  ‘Don’t you ever go out shopping, Biddy, for new clothes or shoes, or a nice handbag maybe? You know, something nice and smart for a special occasion?’

  ‘No, Miss.’ Biddy finally spoke, albeit in a virtual whisper. ‘Not really. Sometimes when my shoes get too small, or I need a new school cardigan, or something like that, my dad takes me to the Chest, Heart and Stroke shop in the High Street. Or the Oxfam one. But we don’t ever have any special occasions, so I really don’t need anything smart.’

  At last Penny saw a chink of light. ‘Well, Biddy,’ she smiled, ‘there’s the school disco coming up in a few weeks. That’s a special occasion. Wouldn’t it be nice to get something smart for it?’

  ‘Oh no, Miss, I won’t be going to the disco,’ Biddy spluttered, almost choking.

  ‘You won’t be going?’ said Penny. ‘But I thought it was just about the highlight of the school year? Doesn’t everyone go? I must say, I’m looking forward to it myself. And do you know, I think I might just splash out and get myself a nice new outfit.’ She rattled the words out, hardly stopping for breath, and beamed at Biddy when she finally finished speaking. To her dismay, there wasn’t even the edge of a smile on Biddy’s lips or a glint of excitement in her eyes. Instead, all Penny saw was fear.

  ‘No, no, Miss Jordan. I d-don’t go to the discos,’ Biddy stammered.

  ‘You don’t go?’ asked Penny, softly. ‘Why ever not, Biddy? Sure they’re great fun.’

  ‘I don’t like them,’ said Biddy quickly, looking down at the floor, so Miss Jordan couldn’t see the tears threatening.

  ‘Have you ever been to a disco, Biddy?’ asked Penny, trying very hard not to sound patronising. This could go either way and she had to keep Biddy on her side.

  Biddy shook her head. Penny could see that she was forcing back tears.

  ‘You know, Biddy, I’ve just had a fantastic idea. Since you’ve never been to the disco before, and since I’ve never been either, to the school one I mean, perhaps we could sort of go together? Well, not actually go together, as I have to be there early to help set up, but you know, look out for each other when it starts. I’ll be a bit nervous myself, you see, as it’s my first one at the school and I still don’t know too many people. So it would be just great to have someone there for some moral support. Go on,’ she nudged Biddy playfully, ‘I bet you’re a terrific dancer!’

  Despite herself, Biddy started to smile. But almost as soon as the idea of going to the school disco formed the shadow of a possibility in her head, an image of Alison, Julia, Georgina and Jackie laughing and pointing at her shattered the illusion. She knew she couldn’t go. Of course she couldn’t go. How could a bloody weirdo like her go to a disco?

  Penny saw Biddy’s expression change from hope to despair in the blink of an eye. What was this poor child so frightened of? ‘What is it, Biddy?’ she asked softly. ‘What’s the matter? Please tell me. Perhaps I can help?’

  ‘I can’t go, I can’t go. How can I go to a disco? I bet they don’t let bloody weirdos into discos, do they?’ Biddy almost shouted, finally bursting into tears. Why was Miss Jordan doing this to her: pretending she was normal when she wasn’t? This was all just another big joke. She stood up and made to run for the door, but Miss Jordan blocked her way and held her shoulders.

  ‘Biddy, Biddy, stop. Please calm down,’ she soothed. ‘What on earth is all this “weirdo” business? Has someone been saying this to you?’ Penny gently guided Biddy back to the bench and pulled a tissue from her tracksuit pocket. ‘Here, it may look a bit grubby, but I promise you, it hasn’t been anywhere near my nose.’ Biddy managed to smile a little through her sobs, and relaxed slightly. Maybe this wasn’t a joke after all – maybe Miss Jordan didn’t know she was a bloody weirdo. After all, she reasoned, she hadn’t been at the school very long, so perhaps no one had told her yet.

  ‘OK, Biddy, I want you to tell me what this is all about. Why would you think you are a weirdo?’

  ‘Oh, but I’m not just a weirdo, Miss,’ said Biddy. ‘I’m a bloody weirdo. That’s the weirdest kind of weirdo there is.’

  ‘Someone has been telling you this?’

  Biddy nodded. Penny took a deep breath. ‘Biddy, has your father been saying this?’

  ‘NO!’ choked Biddy. ‘Oh no, no, Miss Jordan. Not Papa. He doesn’t know I’m one. Or if he does, he would never say. Really, it’s not my papa.’

  Penny felt a stab of relief; the girl’s reaction was too instinctive to be a lie. ‘I’m sorry, Biddy,’ Penny said, taking her hand. ‘Really, I’m sorry. Of course your father would never say anything like that to you. But someone has. Will you tell me who?’

  ‘I can’t,’ said Biddy. ‘I can’t. If they found out, they’d . . .’ Her voice trailed off.

  ‘What would they do, Biddy?’

  ‘I don’t know. They’d think of something.’

  ‘Biddy, look at me,’ said Penny firmly, forcing Biddy to make eye contact. ‘Now firstly, you are not a bloody weirdo, you are not a weirdo and you are not weird. Do you understand?’

  Biddy shook her head. ‘Yes, I am. They’ve always said that, so I must be.’

  ‘Well, you are not. You may not be quite the same as them, but that is not a bad thing. Actually, that’s a good thing, because, quite frankly, if that’s the way they behave, would you want to be?’ Biddy shook her head again.

  ‘Good. Secondly, whoever they are, they need to be stopped because they’re making you very unhappy. They are doing a bad thing. Do you understand, Biddy?’

  This time Biddy nodded.

  ‘Great. Good,’ Penny nodded too. ‘Now, I will completely understand if you don’t want to tell me who these people are, but you need to tell someone. You absolutely must. Your father, perhaps?’

  ‘No,’ said Biddy quickly.

  ‘All right. Well, what about someone else in your family? An aunt or a cousin or someone?’

  ‘There is no one else. Just me and Papa.’

  ‘Perhaps you could talk to Mr Duncan – he’s a really nice man, you know.’ Biddy shook her head. ‘OK, well, what about a friend then, or a neighbour: someone you trust?’

  Biddy bowed her head again: ‘I don’t have any friends, and the only neighbour I know is Mrs Thomas from number 21. She smiles sometimes, and she says hello to my papa, and once she gave us a lift when it was raining. But I don’t actually know her.’

  Penny felt her chest tighten. She wanted to hug Biddy close, she wanted to cry herself, but she knew she had to stay in control. ‘Yes, Biddy, you do have a friend, you have me.’

  Shocked, Biddy looked up at Miss Jordan’s face. Her expression was serious, but there was an unmistakable kindness in her eyes. For the first time in her life, ever, someone had called her their friend. Miss Jordan may be a teacher, but she was a person too: a real person who didn’t think she was a bloody weirdo. And she said she was her friend. It was almost too much for Biddy to comprehend and in a split second she made one of the most important decisions of her life.

  ‘Promise you won’t say anything?’

  Miss Jordan nodded slowly. ‘I promise, Biddy.’

  ‘Alison Flemming and her gang,’ she blurted quickly.

  ‘You mean Jackie, Georgina and Julia?’ asked Miss Jordan. Biddy nodded. She felt sick and lightheaded, but also strangely energised. ‘And the other girls in your class?’

  She swallowed and shook her head. ‘Not so much. They just go along with it, but they aren’t as bad. It’s mainly Alison.’

  ‘How long has this been going on, Biddy?’

  ‘Since primary school,’ sighed Biddy, the relief that she was finally telling someone almost overwhelming her. ‘It started when I was nearly ten.’

  Penny was trembling with an intense fury she had to fight very hard to contain. Her instincts had been right, and she understood something of Biddy’s pain. She had been bullied herself at sixth-form college, when her sexuality was exposed by Joanna Dunn
e, a so-called friend in whom she’d mistakenly confided. But at least she’d had the confidence and maturity to stand up for herself, and she was able to lean on other friends outside of college for support. Biddy had been suffering this torture for almost half of her life with no support at all, and she was plainly deeply damaged as a result.

  The bell shrilled, piercing Penny’s thoughts and jolting Biddy back to the reality of her life.

  ‘Oh, Miss,’ she gasped, shaking. ‘I’ll be late for my next class.’

  ‘It’s all right, Biddy, don’t worry. Who do you have next?’ Penny asked calmly.

  ‘Mr Matthews. History.’

  ‘Well, I’ll tell you what, you go and get changed and I’ll write a note for Mr Matthews, explaining that I kept you behind to help me with something, and that if there’s a problem, he can take it up with me later. OK?’

  Biddy nodded and turned to go, suddenly aware of the sweat that was trickling down her armpits and an overwhelming need to go to the toilet. She couldn’t make sense of what had just happened, and her body was reacting to it.

  ‘Biddy,’ Miss Jordan called after her. ‘You did the right thing telling me. But this conversation isn’t over. You do know that, don’t you?’

  Biddy stood with one hand on the gym door and looked down at the floor, unable to meet the teacher’s gaze. The familiar feelings of shame and agitation rushed through her, churning her stomach, making her need to go to the toilet even more acute. But from somewhere, something else, a sensation totally unfamiliar and wholly unexpected, made her nod. ‘Yes, Miss,’ she croaked, not quite believing the words had come from her own mouth. And then she ran.

  10.

  ‘Hello, Biddy.’

  Biddy looked up to find Miss Jordan beaming at her. ‘Nearly bumped into each other there,’ the teacher laughed. ‘I can barely see over this lot,’ she nodded at the pile of tennis rackets stacked in her arms.