The Teacher at Donegal Bay

by Anne Doughty

  ‘Jenny, my love. Are you quite, quite sure?’

  I kicked off my boots, caught up my clothes from the bed and dropped them on a chair.

  ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ I said, smiling at him. ‘At this moment, I’m absolutely sure. You don’t want me to predict the future, do you?’

  After we made love, I must have fallen asleep. I woke to find him stroking my wrist. He was standing looking down at me in his dressing gown, two mugs of tea perched on the bedside cabinet.

  ‘Oh Alan, how awful. Have I been asleep long?’

  ‘Yes. For hours and hours. I’m deeply offended,’ he said, a broad grin on his face. ‘I thought it was only drunken males in earthy novels about “oop north” who fell asleep after having their way with their women. Here, sit up and have some tea, before it gets cold.’

  He picked up Val’s sweater and tucked it round me as I straightened myself in the bed.

  ‘What about you? You’ll freeze to death out there. Come back in.’

  He shook his head. ‘If I did that, you mightn’t get any tea at all.’

  ‘I’ll risk it. Come on.’

  We sat up together in the narrow bed, pressed close against each other, and drank our tea. The air in the room was so cold we could see our breath rising to the low ceiling. The tiny windowpanes dripped with condensation.

  ‘Not the greatest cup of tea, I fear,’ he said, sipping the pale brew thoughtfully. ‘I think the teabags were damp.’

  I started to giggle, put my mug down hastily, and began to laugh uncontrollably.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ he asked, trying to keep his tea from spilling.

  ‘Alan, do you always say such passionately romantic things to the ladies you honour in your very cold bed?’

  ‘No. Not to the best of my knowledge,’ he replied grinning. ‘Perhaps I just fall asleep and don’t remember,’ he added. ‘Tomorrow, I may not even remember your name.’

  He took my empty mug, parked it on the cabinet and wrapped me in his arms again. We snuggled down and lay entwined, warm and easy, my head in the hollow of his neck. The lamp made a small hissing noise and threw long shadows on the steep pitched roof. Quiet and darkness enfolded the cottage. Even the murmur of the sea had faded, the tide now far out on the flats. In a moment, one of us would have to speak. Please, please, not yet, I said to myself. I couldn’t remember ever having felt such warmth and such comfort. Some time in the future, when warmth and comfort seemed an entirely impossible thing to hope for, I would remember this moment.

  ‘Which one, Jenny?’ Alan asked as we turned into Loughview Heights somewhere around three in the morning.

  ‘That one. With the white gates,’ I replied wryly. The very sight of the house brought down a pall of misery upon me.

  ‘Next to the formidable Mrs Karen Baird,’ he said lightly. ‘Does she keep permanent watch?’

  I laughed in spite of myself. Alan had known Karen as long as I had. ‘If you see the curtain move, I suggest you wave,’ I said tartly.

  ‘And what about you?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought about me. Do you think I have the look of a fallen woman?’

  My tone was light and ironic. He laughed and shook his head as he stopped by the gates. But the ridiculous phrase repeated itself inside my head. Fallen woman? I supposed the origin must be Biblical as in ‘fall from grace’. I smiled to myself. You could only fall from grace, surely, if you were in it in the first place. There was nothing in the relationship between Colin and me that had the slightest touch of grace about it. That was one thing I was sure about.

  ‘As far as Karen Baird’s concerned, I think you fell a long time ago,’ he said quietly.

  ‘You could be right,’ I said, as I rummaged in my bag for my keys. ‘In fact, I’m sure you are. She’ll think the worst anyway, so we needn’t worry, need we?’ I gathered up my party clothes and turned towards him. ‘If I go and open up, would you bring my takeaway presents?’

  ‘Of course I will.’

  I put on some lights, dropped my things on the telephone table, went through to the kitchen, took bacon and eggs from the fridge, switched on the kettle and plugged in the toaster.

  ‘You haven’t changed your mind, have you?’ I asked, as I turned round and found him standing in the doorway holding sprays of bracken and hawthorn with one hand and the few late roses carefully cupped in the other.

  ‘No, I must confess I’m absolutely ravenous.’

  ‘They do say making love burns up as many calories as a brisk walk.’

  He laughed and put the full-blown roses gently down on the draining board. ‘I think I’ll just go and inspect your very superior plumbing.’

  I took the sheaf of bronze and gold foliage from him. ‘Do. Have a look round the house while you’re about it. I won’t be very long, but I’ll call before I put the eggs in.’

  He was back before I called.

  ‘What do you think of the establishment?’ I asked, without turning round.

  When there was no reply, I glanced over my shoulder. He was looking very uneasy.

  ‘Don’t worry, Alan. I told you how I felt about it. You don’t have to pretend you like it. Unless of course you do,’ I added hastily, as I slid the second egg onto a plate and switched off the battery of lights over the cooker.

  ‘I think it did take me back a bit,’ he said, as I poured coffee and picked hot toast gingerly out of the toaster.

  ‘You mean it wasn’t quite what you expected?’

  ‘No, that was the trouble. It was just what I had expected, given your description, only worse.’ He paused and then added, very deliberately, ‘It isn’t really you, is it?’

  ‘No, Alan, not me at all,’ I said easily, as we devoted ourselves to our bacon and egg. ‘Did you go into my study?’

  ‘No, just the bedrooms and the bathroom. And a quick blink at the lounge. I liked your chrysanthemums.’

  ‘I’ll show you my study before you go. You can see the lough from there. It’s not a patch on Drinsallagh, but it’s something.’

  I refilled our cups, dropped more bread in the toaster, and wondered when food had last tasted so good. It was some minutes before I realised how silent he had grown. I glanced across the table and saw a look which made me most uneasy.

  ‘Alan?’

  His eyes responded, but the sombre lines of his face did not soften.

  ‘Alan, you look so . . . sad. You’re not upset? I mean, you’re not sorry . ..’ I broke off unhappily.

  He shook his head firmly and put his hand over mine. ‘No, Jenny, I’m not sorry.’

  ‘Then please tell me what you were thinking.’

  ‘I was thinking about this house. And you living in it. With Colin,’ he added, awkwardly.

  ‘And that makes you sad?’

  ‘Yes, it does. Does that bother you?’

  ‘No. It’s a great comfort to me. Until tonight, I didn’t think that anybody cared very much what happened to me. Except perhaps Val and Bob, and my father. I don’t know how things managed to get like that, but that’s how it felt. Now I know something has to change once and for all.’ I went on, more slowly, ‘I felt awful when we stopped outside the house, but I hardly noticed it when we came in together. I don’t think it can get at me the way it’s been doing. But other things. . .’ I broke off, my voice shaking dangerously. ‘I’m not sure which things can get to me and which I can cope with. I suppose I’ll just have to wait and see.’

  ‘Does that frighten you?’

  ‘I’m afraid it does . . . I. ..’

  ‘Go on, Jenny, say it. Tell me. Please.’

  ‘I’m afraid I’ll see too much, that it will all come at me at once and I’ll panic, or go to pieces, or give in . . . or something awful.’

  He moved our coffee cups out of the way so he could take both my hands. They had gone stone cold.

  ‘Listen, Jenny. I can’t promise it won’t happen like that, but you can use Thompson’s Law. It’s helped me out of many a spot.’


  ‘Thompson’s Law,’ I repeated, weakly. I was so agitated, I wondered if Thompson’s Law was one of-those things you learn at school and forget as soon as you leave.

  ‘Uncle John. In Ballycastle. Do you remember he was an income tax inspector before he retired?’

  I nodded and waited for him to go on.

  ‘Dear man that he is, Uncle John never tires of telling me that while tax evasion is a criminal offence, tax avoidance is simply good management. You have to avoid where you can, Jenny. Don’t try to do it all at once. Save your energy for what really matters.’

  ‘And remember what you said about not acting being a course of action.’

  ‘Yes, never forget that. And sometimes you have to wait your moment. Waiting isn’t letting circumstances dictate to you, it’s making things easier by giving you more options. Once you’re clear what you want to do, you choose your moment and then strike, swift and hard.’

  ‘I know what I want all right,’ I said sharply. ‘I want to be me. I want to be free to make my own decisions. And to put an end to this whole shabby show.’

  ‘Knowing what you want is more than half the battle,’ he said encouragingly. ‘You’ll manage. I’m sure you will.’ He looked so tired and the small movement he made reminded me that he ought to go. But the thought of his leaving was quite unbearable.

  ‘Alan,’ I said quickly, ‘I know it’s time you went, but please, come up and see my study. Please. It won’t take a minute. Just let me put my roses in water so we can take them with us.’

  I led the way upstairs, the small jug of roses in my hand. ‘I won’t put the light on. You can see the lough better if I don’t. Here, sit down at my desk. That’s the best view.’

  The moon had reappeared, so low on the horizon that it poured light all around us. To the west, the waters of the lough were ink black. Strings and scatters of light marked the shore. To the east, the calm water was silver grey. Where the moon’s path lay across it, tiny ripples flickered with dazzling brightness.

  ‘I think I see some old friends.’ I watched Alan as his gaze swept from the wide windowledge, where I keep my collection of stones and pieces of wood, rest a moment on the worn surface of my antique desk, and pass on to my sketches and photographs and Val’s watercolours hanging on the walls.

  ‘But of course you do. All my precious things are here. There’s hardly anything new, except these lemon geranium cuttings for Val,’ I said, laughing.

  He turned to look at me. Suddenly, I was aware of the room as it must appear to him. A secret place, a place where I could hold together the shreds of my real self. The realisation filled me with anxiety. At least I had this. How on earth would I manage if I had to leave even this and make a life on my own?

  ‘Alan,’ I began, determined not to cry, ‘Do you know why I can’t bear to let you go?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Then tell me, please.’

  ‘I think you are a brave girl, Jenny, but you’ve been on your own for far too long. “Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness,” says the Desiderata. And it’s true. You’ve been wearied by your life and you’ve felt your isolation. Perhaps you think if you can’t see me, touch me, feel my arms round you, you’ll be all on your own again. But you won’t. I’ll be there. I’ll help you do whatever you decide you want to do.’

  ‘I don’t know what’s going to happen,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘But I do need to know you’ll be there. Does that bother you?’

  ‘No. Not in the slightest. But it’ll be best, I think, if you contact me. Valerie will always know where I am. And I’ll come whenever you call.’ He stood up, took me in his arms and kissed me gently. ‘Don’t come down with me. Stay here till I’m gone and then go to bed. I’ll be thinking about you.’

  ‘And I’ll be thinking of you too, Alan. Whatever happens, I’ll never forget Drinsallagh. And those two clean hankies.’

  ‘’Bye, Jenny.’

  He kissed me once more, not so gently this time, and went quickly from the room, leaving me alone with the lough and the moonlight. I stood looking out over the still water, listening for the car. I heard it start and move off. I went on listening, long after the silence had erased entirely its fading ribbon of sound.

  ‘Never again from this window by moonlight.’

  The words came into my mind unbidden and I did not push them away. Fatigue, or insight, or was it premonition? There was no need to puzzle over what the words meant. Time would make their meaning clear enough. And I felt sure Time was not going to be long about it.

  Chapter 12

  The strange, rhythmic sound was the call of a bird with but two notes, a great tit, or a cuckoo. Standing in sunlight on the fringe of a pinewood drifted with bluebells, I thought what a pity one discordant note should break the tranquillity of the early spring morning. Near my feet, clumps of primroses bloomed on a small mossy bank, a tiny garden, perfect in itself, without weeding or tidying. A gift garden, I said to myself, given without asking and without effort.

  ‘Come here, come here, come here.’

  The call of the bird grew insistent. I hunched my shoulders and refused to look around. If I paid attention to the bird, the flowers would disappear. Magical gardens always disappeared if you took your eye off them, even for a second.

  ‘Come here, come here, come here.’

  I woke in the darkness and reached for the alarm clock. It was silent, but the telephone down in the hall was shrilling its head off. Daddy was ill. It had to be Daddy for anyone to ring in the middle of the night. I leapt out of bed, flung open the bedroom door and was blinded by sunlight as I raced along the landing and down the stairs. Brilliant golden beams poured through the south-facing windows and the frosted glass of the front door. As I skidded to a halt, I caught sight of the hall clock. Ten forty-five.

  ‘Helen’s . . .’

  The familiar voice sailed in, without a moment’s pause, in the familiar way. Surely I wasn’t still in bed on a lovely morning like this. Harvey had arrived early and he was coming over right away to fetch me, so I’d better hurry up and get my face on. Harvey was looking so well and so was Mavis. So wear something nice and don’t keep Harvey waiting. She rang off before I had time to think of saying coldly I was in the bath or had been working at the bottom of the garden.

  I sat on the padded bench, my heart banging loudly, perspiration breaking out on my bare skin and waves of nausea flowing over me. Your own fault entirely, Jenny. You shouldn’t move that fast. No wonder you feel like passing out. Stick your head between your knees.

  I tried it, but it made me feel worse. A blinding headache had struck me as I lifted the phone. It felt as if the throbbing would blow my forehead off. I took some deep breaths and staggered into the kitchen for a glass of water.

  As I sat, sipping it slowly, I stared at the red checked tablecloth and the eggy plates and thought of my early-morning breakfast with Alan. Slowly the nausea eased and my breathing calmed. ‘That bloody woman,’ I said aloud. ‘Put your face on and wear something nice,’ I mimicked. I didn’t know which was worse: the everyday unvarnished hectoring tone or the sugar-coated version we got when Harvey was around.

  ‘Why do you put up with it, Jennifer? Why ever don’t you tell her exactly where to go?’ I asked myself crossly. ‘Why don’t you just ring back and say you’ve too much work to do. School work or thinking work. Either way, there’s a hell of a lot to do before Colin gets back.’

  I stood up cautiously, took two paracetamol and drank some more water. After what I’d said about my mother last night, I shouldn’t be surprised if all the old questions were turning up this morning. But however differently I saw her part in bringing about the disaster I now faced, the brute facts hadn’t changed. If I told my mother exactly what I thought of her, it wasn’t me that would suffer, but my father. And goodness knows, he had enough to cope with.

  I washed up the dirty dishes and rearranged the table for a solitary breakfast. I had no wish to share the details
of my evening with Harvey and at the speed he drives, he was bound to turn up long before I would be ready to leave.

  ‘Why don’t you call it off, Jenny? Do your dying swan act and say you’ve got a migraine.’

  The prospect was very appealing and I knew I could carry it off. Five minutes’ droop with half-closed eyes and hand on head, and another five listening to the professional advice Harvey would not be able to refrain from giving, and the rest of the day would be my own. Enough time to plan next week’s work properly and still have a couple of hours in the garden to think things through before Colin appeared.

  The idea was so enticing, I knew there had to be a catch in it. No, it wasn’t worth it. My mother would turn it to her advantage somehow, Daddy would be genuinely worried, and Susie would be disappointed. Susie is my youngest niece. She is two weeks older than my marriage. I first met her twenty hours after her birth and I’ve been her willing slave ever since. The thought of that small, vulnerable face crumpling into tears got me back upstairs and under the shower in record time.

  Dear Susie. If ever a child were to tempt me to motherhood it would be Susie. But when I find myself going weak at the knees, I remember her sister, Janet, and her brother, Peter. That sobers me up immediately.

  I opened the wardrobe door. ‘Wear something nice.’ I heard my mother’s voice over my shoulder and I almost put out my hand for my jeans. ‘No, Jenny, no. Thompson’s Law.’

  I smiled to myself. If I was going to hear voices, I was glad Alan’s would be one of them. ‘Save your energy,’ he would say. ‘Only tackle the issues you are ready to tackle or ones you can’t avoid. Remember, avoidance isn’t evasion.’

  I flicked along my skirts and dresses and fingered the sleeve of a grey jersey-wool suit and laughed aloud. How about that, with the jumper from the knicker-pink cashmere twin-set? My mother had bullied me into buying the suit and when Karen saw it, the day of my interview for Queen’s Crescent, she’d said how elegant it was and how exactly right for me. Since then I’d only ever worn it for speeeh days and parents’ evenings.