by Ray Connolly
The day before the wedding I went down to the Church Hall to see how the preparations were going. Terry was there, with his mother, who was in tears, while Jean was putting some flowers in a vase on one of the tables. As soon as I arrived Mrs Sutcliffe and Terry made some excuse about having other things to do, and left. They made me sick.
‘Does she still think Jeannette’s pregnant?’ I asked Jean. She nodded, and went on with her flower arranging. ‘What about Terry? Is that what he thinks?’ This time she didn’t answer. ‘He’s pathetic,’ I said.
Jean looked up as though she were going to defend him, but changed her mind, and didn’t answer. She really was an extraordinarily pretty girl for Terry to be taking out. Far too good for him. I was fed up with the whole lot of them.
‘Jean …’ I took a flower out of the vase she was holding and stuck it behind her ear. ‘Why don’t we go for a drink tonight … you and me?’
‘Oh … I don’t know. Aren’t you having a stag party?’ She was looking for excuses for me instead of for her. I knew I’d scored.
‘You’re joking. Tell you what … I’ll meet you under the clock at half seven. Just a quick drink, okay?’ And before she could answer I was off and away home to get ready.
I didn’t really want to be seen out with Terry’s girl the night before my wedding, so we went to a little country pub about fifteen miles away. No-one knew us there, and we could have a quiet chat. I’d told my mother that I was going for a drink with some fellows I knew (although she must have known I hardly knew any, and I never went drinking). I knew that Jeannette would be too busy doing her hair to want to see me. Terry was the only problem, since apparently Jean had promised to see him that night. Still, that was her problem.
‘Jeannette would go mad if she could see me here with you now,’ Jean said, sipping her gin and orange, and leaning back so that her breasts showed encouragingly under her sweater.
‘Oh I think she’d understand,’ I said, knowing that she’d be the last person on earth to understand.
‘Why are you getting married?’
That seemed a strange question. One that I’d never even considered. I just knew that I wanted to get married.
‘I dunno. Why does anyone … I mean, I want to.’
Jean looked at her drink: ‘Is it true about Jeannette?’
Even she thought it: ‘No, she’s not pregnant. Come on, let’s not talk about tomorrow, it’s making me nervous. Let’s have another drink.’
So we had a couple more drinks, until we felt quite jolly, in fact, and then we went back to the van and one way and another we ended up having a little chat parked in a wood.
Jean was good company. A really sexy, earthy woman Not the sort of girl I would have wanted to marry, but great for a night out. It was dark in the van, and I put my arm around her shoulder. She made it easy for me, and snuggled closer.
‘I always fancied you, you know,’ I said. And she kissed me.
‘It’s more comfortable in the back,’ I said, and she kissed me again.
And a bit later we found ourselves stretched out in the back on some cushions which I’d taken from my mother’s house that very evening in the event of such an occasion presenting itself, and it was very nice and intimate. And she smelled very sexy. Cheap perfumes are always sexy.
So I messed about with her and chatted and said ‘Come on, Jean, it’s my last night of freedom,’ and she admitted that Terry hadn’t, although another had, and then she said, not very convincingly that Jeannette was her best friend. And I didn’t answer, but kept on with my tempting.
And it wasn’t long before I had her, there on the cushions, in the van, parked in the wood, the night before I got married.
Marriages and funerals are, it would seem, man’s supreme moments of hypocrisy. No-one speaks ill of the dead (not the still-warm dead, anyway) and no-one says anything untoward at a wedding - not so that you can hear anyway. In his speech to all our relatives and friends, Terry made careful comment on how we had been close and good friends for so very long that it gave him great pleasure to be now related to me. While for my part I thanked Jean for being such a beautiful bridesmaid, though inside I despised her for being such a slag. Still, Jeannette didn’t know, and Jean was a fair old lay. If Terry ever got round to it he might even begin to enjoy himself.
Chapter 12
And so Jeannette Sutcliffe married Jim Maclaine and they lived happily ever after …
We were certainly happy together. For a honeymoon we went to the Isle of Wight. It was hot and we sunbathed and swam every day. And because it was early in the summer and the holiday season hadn’t yet begun it was quiet, and we were unobserved. And then when we came home I worked hard in the shop, running deliveries around in the van, and planning grandiose schemes of taking over Safeways in five years’ time, while Jeannette went back to being the pretty receptionist at the hairdresser’s. It was a strange time for everyone: none of us knew quite how to behave living together, and I was often very embarrassed when Jeannette and I went to bed in the evening because I was sure my mother could hear what was going on. But the alliance between the two women grew stronger every day. At first I was pleased. My mother had always wanted a daughter and she was genuinely fond of Jeannette. But eventually it began to get under my nails.
We’d been telling the truth when we’d been denying that Jeannette was pregnant before we got married. I’d never touched her, but the minute I did Bingo! and it wasn’t long before she began every morning with a biscuit and a glass of milk to prevent her from being sick. The two grandmothers-to-be were delighted, but I wasn’t sure. Children were like anchors. We still hadn’t found a place of our own to live, the shop wasn’t doing very well, and then the doctor decided that it would be better if Jeannette gave up work early. It wasn’t that she was ill, just delicate, he said, and we’d have to look after her. Jeannette said it wasn’t necessary, and I’m sure it wasn’t, but my mother took it as an excuse to lavish an extraordinary amount of attention on her. Sometimes I began to feel almost neglected, and I was certainly bored. Bored out of my mind.
To please everybody I’d enrolled in a course of business management at night school, but I wasn’t interested in the work, and the way the shop was going it began to look as though there soon wouldn’t be any business for me to manage anyway. The supermarkets in town were taking a lot of our trade, and my modernisation schemes hadn’t been the success I’d hoped. As a little subsistence family shop it was fine. Grandad, my mother and I had managed well on it, but with Jeannette pregnant it soon became clear that it wouldn’t be able to maintain a family extended by two for very long. Eventually my mother began getting at me to get a job. Jeannette never mentioned it, but I knew from her silences that she thought I wasn’t doing enough to help.
So the months passed, with my mother niggling me, Jeannette getting bigger and grandfather noticing nothing. After a while I dropped out of night-school, and instead spent my evenings at the Floral Hall watching the groups. We never got anybody very exciting down in Somerset, but I liked the music, and it was good to get out of the claustrophobic atmosphere of the house.
Eventually the big day came – almost nine months to the day after the wedding, and I became the father of a son. We called him James Michael. My mother was beside herself with excitement, and told everyone who came into the shop about him. It was good to see her so happy, though I hadn’t got much to say about the event myself.
The Sunday after Jeannette and baby James came out of hospital the families Sutcliffe and Maclaine had a celebratory tea party. Terry was away at university so he couldn’t come, but Mrs Sutcliffe brought her husband and Jean along with her to join in the congratulating. It was one of those dreadful family situations which I’m sure are devised by women to demonstrate their tyranny, situations where men are clearly shown to be irrelevant, and where the ladies can jostle and score catty points over each other under the guise of amicability.
I’d been happy nursing
the baby until they all arrived, but no sooner were they through the door in their best dresses and hats and gloves with matching handbags, than my mother was across and taking the baby from me as though I wasn’t fit to hold it.
‘I think I can see a lot of you in him, Mary.’ Mrs Sutcliffe was being saccharin sweet. Before Jeannette and I were married she’d hardly bothered to say hello to my mother, let alone chat to her on Christian name terms.
My mother looked pleased: ‘Yes …’ she said, though she sounded doubtful.
‘It must be quite a handful for you having a new baby in the house?’
‘Oh no, he’s as good as gold … just like Jim at that age.’
‘Were you as good as gold then, Jim?’ Jean had come across the room, and was sitting next to me, away from the baby-admirers. I sensed a slight tease in her voice. Since the wedding I’d carefully avoided her and always made sure that I was out when she came to visit Jeannette.
Over my shoulder I could hear my mother and Mrs Sutcliffe continuing their chatter.
‘We don’t know we’re born with him, do we Jeannette?’
‘Now Jeannette, I hope you aren’t letting everyone run around after you too much, are you?’
‘How’s the van running?’ said Jean suddenly, and very softly. I wondered whether Jeannette had heard, and turning slightly I positioned myself in between the two girls so that Jeannette wouldn’t hear anything else Jean might be stupid enough to mention.
‘It isn’t … I’m going to sell it, if I can find anyone to buy it.’
‘Oh … that’s a shame.’
What a cow, I thought. Trying to pull me in front of my own wife. The bloody arrogance of it all.
By the tea table my mother was still going on extolling the virtues of Jeannette and the baby: ‘You know… I never had a daughter of my own … but your Jeannette.’
‘Terry wants us to get engaged after his finals … so it looks as though we’re going to be relations,’ said Jean.
‘Bugger me.’
‘That’ll be nice, won’t it?’
I looked at her. She looked pretty tempting in her Sunday suit and blouse with her hair newly washed. I wondered, had she washed and set it for my benefit? The bloody little bitch.
‘You know,’ I said, shaking my head fondly at her as I talked, ‘you know, you and Terry make a lovely couple. You really deserve each other.’
There can’t have been any way that Jean could have expected such a brush off because she went very red, and then, controlling herself, turned to join the happy family. For a moment I caught a glimpse of Jeannette watching her.
‘I always told Albert we should have bought a business … didn’t I, Albert?’ Poor Mr Sutcliffe shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
‘Well it’s not doing everything it should at the moment …’ I could feel my mother’s eyes on me.
‘Oh dear … of course I always impressed upon Terry the importance of qualifications,’ said Mrs Sutcliffe, and smiled, resplendent in her little victory.
‘More tea, anyone?’ said my mother.
It seemed an eternity but they were all gone by six o’clock, and I went outside to work on the van. If I was going to sell it I’d have to get it working, so, fetching a rug, I lay down and wriggling under the bonnet, examined the engine. God only knew what was wrong with it.
‘What was Jean on about this afternoon?’
From where I was lying I could see Jeannette’s feet and ankles. I decided the best place to avoid giving myself away was under the van so I began tapping on the bottom of the engine as though I were busily at work.
‘Oh, nothing.’
The feet didn’t move so I carried on tapping.
‘Jim, before we were married … did you ever … you know … take her out?’
I wondered how much she knew, but I didn’t dare show myself in case my expression betrayed me.
‘Jean? Oh come on …’
‘Did you Jim?’ she insisted.
I’d have to reassure her, I decided, so I wriggled out from under and stood up: ‘No … never. Jean …? Never. You know that.’
Jeannette smiled, quite satisfied: ‘I wouldn’t have minded. I just wanted to know.’
So the weeks passed, and the boredom got worse. Sometimes I’d play with the baby, but he was usually taken from me by either his mother, or one of his adoring grandmothers. Since the arrival of baby James in the household there was no keeping Mrs Sutcliffe away, though I knew for a fact that my mother thought she had too high an opinion of herself.
More and more frequently I found myself driven out of that stifling atmosphere just to hang around the streets at night, or go along to the Floral Hall whenever there was a good group playing. I wasn’t bothered about women. I was getting all I needed at home. It just seemed that there had to be something more for me in life than working in a little shop in the back-of-beyond.
More and more I spent my hours drawing and scribbling nonsense rhymes. One drawing I did of Jeannette with the baby I copied from a Picasso picture I saw in a magazine, and then being embarrassed that I was so blatantly pinching ideas, I wrote a couple of lines to go with it so that it wouldn’t look as though I took my drawing seriously, although I knew I did.
4 D. Jones
Was 2 D. faced
Mother and child
Came double,
Picasso’s in trouble.
Jeannette never really understood what any of my drawings or poems were supposed to be about. But that didn’t bother me. It gave me an area of privacy, which was difficult to find in that overcrowded little house.
‘What’re you writing?’ she said as she came into our bedroom one night. I was sitting up in bed scribbling in a notebook.
‘Oh, just a poem.’
‘Let me see.’
Of all the poems I’d ever written this was probably the one I least wanted her to understand. She took the notebook from me, and began looking through it, laughing at the silly little sketches. Finally she came to the most recent entry.
‘Was this it?’
I nodded.
‘You’re a funny one,’ she said, and began to read:
‘At first
I weaved daisy chains around your toes
Hung cherries from your ears
And got you drunk on buttercup wine.
But the wine curdled from too much cream
My cherry love’s turned to stone
And now the chains have turned me crazy,
Daisy,
And there’s no love for you.
At last
I’m leaving
Before the nettles get us.’
She looked at me perplexed: ‘I don’t know, you and your Daisy, Daisy. I never know what you’re on about half the time …’
Thank God, I thought.
‘What was all that about the nettles getting us anyway …?’
I thought quickly: ‘Oh, I dunno. I suppose I’m a bit of a prick …’
Chapter 13
I’d always known that Johnny Swinburn would do well, ever since that day years ago in the coffee bar with Terry. He had that little bit more push than most of the other people I knew, and he wasn’t fettered by any academic aspirations. I’d often wondered how he was getting on when I’d seen rock bands playing, but I never expected to ever see him again. We met, of all places, back in the coffee bar. I hadn’t been in very much since I’d been married, but one unhappy Thursday after a humiliating interview at the Labour Exchange, where I’d been told that unqualified people like me would be wise to join the Regular Army, I wandered in to take stock of my dismal existence.
Johnny saw me first: ‘Hey, Maclaine,’ he shouted and beckoned me over to his table. There were four of them, all wearing leather jackets and all with long sideboards like the ones I’d had when I was on the fair. They looked a likely lot. ‘How’re you doing?’
‘Not bad.’ I hesitated, unsure of what to say next. ‘How’s the band?’
O
bviously I couldn’t have asked Johnny anything he would care to talk about more.
‘Fantastic. We’ve lost a couple of the lads from school now, so there’s only Stuart and me left who you’d know.’ I looked round the table for Stuart. He’d changed almost beyond recognition. Three years had aged him considerably.
‘We’re semi-pro now, you know,’ Johnny was beaming with delight.
‘We’ll be professional when we get a decent amplifier,’ said Stuart. He’d always enjoyed putting Johnny down.
‘And we’ve got a recording session coming up next week.’
‘It’ll be the London Palladium the week after.’ Stuart was teasing again.
‘Good money?’ I asked.
‘Not bad. We’ve just finished playing Butlins. Twenty quid a week each …’
‘Christ,’ I said. That was good money, and I thought I was expected to sound suitably impressed.
‘You used to play harmonica, didn’t you?’ said Johnny. I was flattered that he remembered. ‘We saw a blues group in London the other week. They weren’t bad. One of their blokes had one. You should have kept it up.’
‘I did … played for a while with Stormy Tempest,’ I said, and wondered immediately why I’d lied. But once said, I had to follow it through: ‘Know him?’
Johnny nodded, unsure of whether I was telling the truth or not.
‘I left when they weren’t getting anywhere … anyway, what are you doing back here again?’
‘We’re playing the Floral Hall tonight. Why don’t you come and see us?’
‘Well, yeah. Maybe I will. If I’m free,’ I said nonchalantly, though I knew I would.
It would have been better if I hadn’t gone to see them. They were a good little band now, and Stuart’s singing had improved one thousand per cent since they’d been at school. It was only the Floral Hall but up there on stage, with their amplifiers turned full on, and their leather jackets shining in the lights they looked and sounded like stars. They were good and Johnny knew it. When most groups played at the Floral Hall the kids would jive, but no-one was jiving that night. Instead everyone crowded round the stage to watch the local group that was making it in the big time, the local group turned semi-pro who acted as though they didn’t care two hoots about their audience and who were just up there having a good time for themselves. I didn’t want to make myself too obvious when I saw the effect they were having on everyone around them, because Johnny had done enough showing off for one day, so I stood by the door, sheltering behind some people. But he saw me all right. I don’t know whether my envy showed, but his look of triumph did when he spotted me. Johnny Swinburn was well on his way to making it, while I was lumbered with a wife, baby, mother and a grandfather whom I had to wash, shave and dress. It just didn’t seem fair.
