A Little Learning

by Anne Bennett

  A little later, Janet was on her way to Claire Wentworth’s with the letter safely in her pocket. It was a beautiful morning, she thought. Surely the sky had never been so blue, or the sun as bright, or the breeze as fresh. She wanted to leap off her bike and go singing down the road, and it was only the thought of one of the neighbours ringing Highcroft, the local mental home, that stopped her doing so. She realised it would be hard to complete a grammar school education encased in a straitjacket and housed in a padded cell.

  Claire was also feeling happy that morning. David had called to see her and apologised for his bad behaviour of the previous day. He could only say in his defence that he loved Claire dearly and was jealous of Janet Travers.

  Claire stared at David, amazed by his revelation. She understood his resentment of Janet – he had shown her that side of him before – but he’d never said he loved her. She wondered if he meant it, but he said nothing else and just stood looking at her.

  ‘Well, what do you want me to say?’ Claire said at last.

  ‘You could tell me you loved me,’ David said. ‘Do you?’

  ‘Well … I …’

  David’s nearness was affecting Claire so much her insides were churning, yet she made no move towards him when he put his arm round her shoulders, she just snuggled closer.

  ‘Claire,’ said David, ‘I love you with all my heart and soul, you must know that.’

  Claire said, her voice husky, ‘I wasn’t sure. I love you too, David.’

  ‘We haven’t known each other long,’ David said, ‘but I feel so strongly about you. Claire, darling, would you consider getting married?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Claire said, and when their lips met she was astounded by the heat of desire that shot through her body. It was consuming her. David’s probing tongue was spiriting her to peaks of passion, and even if she’d wanted to, she couldn’t have stopped him unbuttoning her blouse and pushing her gently back on to the settee.

  Janet shot off her bike and went down the entry to the back gate. She hadn’t time to wait for someone to open the front door. She was surprised that Claire wasn’t in the kitchen. She ran into the passage, pushed open the door to the living room then stood stock still on the threshold, too shocked to move or speak.

  Miss Wentworth was lying on her back and her top was bare. Her blouse was open, her brassiere discarded on the floor, and a man was lying on top of her, fondling her breasts. Miss Wentworth had her eyes closed and was making loud moaning sounds. Then the man kissed her and it was as if he was eating her up, but she had her arms tight around his neck and she was moving her body under his. Eventually he broke away.

  ‘Oh God, Claire!’ he said. He spoke, Janet thought, as if he had a sore throat.

  Then he bent his head and began kissing Miss Wentworth’s breasts. Janet’s hand flew to her mouth as she felt the bile rise in her throat. She ran out of the door and through the house, and was violently sick in the back garden. She went back to her bike, but didn’t attempt to ride it. She felt too churned up inside, her legs were all shaky and she was terribly afraid she was going to cry.

  She wandered aimlessly for some time, pushing her bike, until she came to Rookery Park. She slipped gratefully inside, glad to be off the streets where passing pedestrians had stared at her tear-stained face. There were lots of children in the playground, but Janet veered away from them and found an empty bench in the shrubbery at the park’s perimeter. She sat down, laid her bike on the ground and tried to make sense of what she’d seen.

  And suddenly Janet knew what they’d been doing – groping! That nasty word described perfectly the actions she’d just witnessed, and she could quite understand her Auntie Breda being annoyed at her dad doing it. She was sure her aunt was mistaken, though, for her mum and dad wouldn’t do a thing like that. And yet, she reminded herself, Mom was having a baby and she must have done something to get it. She must have done it before too, for her, Duncan and the twins. No wonder the doctor had been cross.

  Janet got to her feet. One thing she knew, she could never tell them at home, never. It must be her secret. She knew Miss Wentworth and the man hadn’t noticed her. No one would get to know what she’d seen. But it was in Janet’s head and she couldn’t rid herself of it.

  She was suddenly furiously angry with Miss Wentworth. Claire was everything Janet wanted to be – beautiful, clever and independent – and Janet’s whole desire was to be like her. She’d only wanted to go to the grammar school so badly because Claire Wentworth had been for it and Janet’s earnest wish was to please her. She’d enjoyed the extra tuition because it enabled her to spend time with her idol, and she worked hard in order that Claire would praise her, and not just for herself alone.

  Janet put her head in her hands and wept for the woman she’d thought she knew. They’d talked for hours about everything – at least, Janet had told Claire everything, but Claire must have kept things back, big things too, judging by what she was allowing that man to do to her.

  And who was he? Claire wondered, knowing that, since the previous October, Claire had had precious little time to meet men, what with her job and teaching Janet too. If she’d only just met the man, it made it even worse. Janet made her way home with a heavy heart.

  Janet told her mother she didn’t have to go to Whytecliff High School with her. Auntie Breda had offered, if Betty didn’t feel up to it, but Betty told Janet not to be silly, of course she was going. Now Janet sat in the hall where she’d taken the second part of the exam, listening to Miss Phelps, the headmistress, talk to the parents of the new girls, and felt ashamed of her mother.

  She was ashamed of being ashamed, but there it was. She wished her mother had accepted Auntie Breda’s offer of the loan of a coat. Auntie Breda’s coat was a lovely blue and would have covered her up properly. Instead, she wore her dingy old brown one that barely met in the middle and was pulled together with a belt. It made her look like a badly packed sack of potatoes. Janet saw many of the girls, and even their mothers, look with slight disgust at the swell of her mother’s stomach.

  And did she have to wear those old shoes, trodden down, shapeless and so out of fashion? Especially when Auntie Breda had offered her those lovely sandals with little heels. Then there was the ridiculous hat, slapped down on top of hair that hadn’t seen a hairdresser for some time. The mass of unruly curls – all that was left of a very old perm – proved too much for the grips and hat pins, and the hat had been pushed up higher until it perched on the top of her head like the one the clown had worn at the circus Janet had been taken to once. The unconfined hair then escaped in untidy strands around her face, over her ears and down her back. Betty seemed unaware of her dishevelled appearance, or how embarrassed her daughter was of her outfit, and that included the bag she’d bought especially for the occasion. She thought it was smart, but Janet thought it cheap and tawdry, and it screamed ‘plastic’.

  Janet was amazed by the size of the school when they were taken on a tour, and wondered how on earth she’d ever find her way around.

  They saw the dining hall, the science laboratories, the art and music rooms, the domestic science kitchens and the sewing rooms with their rows of Singer sewing machines. On the next floor the staff room was pointed out to them, but the sixth-former accompanying them explained that no girls were ever allowed inside. Then they moved on to the lecture theatre and the library, where they were given a uniform list.

  Betty heaved a large sigh as they left. ‘Thank God that’s over,’ she said. ‘I thought it was going on all blooming day.’

  ‘Yes, it did drag on a bit,’ Janet said, but she was watching the girls playing tennis in their white skirts and shirts in the courts alongside the school, and seeing herself doing the same thing soon.

  ‘Let’s make the most of it and take a bus into Sutton and have dinner out,’ Betty suggested, adding recklessly, ‘Hang the expense for once. Mammy said she didn’t mind seeing to the twins, and we could do with a treat.’

  I
t was as they were eating their mixed grill that Betty said, ‘You’ll have to tell Miss Wentworth all about it. She’ll be interested.’

  Betty didn’t notice Janet’s reticence, though she might have done if her swollen legs hadn’t been giving her such gyp. ‘Feather in her cap for her as well, I suppose,’ she said, ‘and you can’t say she hasn’t worked hard with you.’ She winced a bit and said, ‘I did intend taking the bus to Erdington to look in the Co-op at the cost of the uniform, but if it’s all the same to you, lass, I feel as if I’ve done enough for one day. I could do with getting home and putting my feet up.’

  ‘Okay,’ Janet said. ‘We haven’t got to get anything yet anyway.’

  ‘Not a word to your dad about the uniform list, mind,’ Betty warned. ‘It’ll only worry him to death.’

  ‘No,’ Janet said. ‘I won’t tell him how tired you got either. We wanted you to let Auntie Breda come with me. It was too much for you.’

  She thought the same thing next morning, and before she left for school, she asked, ‘Do you want me to stay at home today?’ She felt guilty because it wasn’t only worry for her mother that made her want to stay away from school.

  She dreaded meeting Miss Wentworth, and was scared that in her mind’s eye she’d see her lying underneath the man, moaning and letting him do unspeakable things to her bare breasts. She shut the image out of her mind and said again, ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right?’

  ‘Yes, fine,’ lied Betty, and added, ‘But you could just pop into your gran’s on the way to school and ask her to come round. Maybe she could take the twins off my hands.’

  ‘All right,’ Janet said, but she left her mother unwillingly. She took the twins into the kitchen and gave them a big slice of bread and jam and a cup of milk each, then left them her mom’s button box to play with, waved them goodbye and warned them to be good before running quickly round to her gran’s.

  When she got to school, the bell had gone, the children were inside and Miss Wentworth was taking the register. It was common courtesy to stand by the teacher’s desk and give your reasons for being late. Some of the teachers automatically gave you a smack across the hand with a ruler or strap. Miss Wentworth only did it to persistent offenders.

  However, Janet did not stand by the teacher’s desk, but slunk to her own, her head bent. Miss Wentworth had seen her, but pretended not to. She noticed Janet’s dejected air and wondered if she was worried because she hadn’t yet heard about the grammar school. She was surprised herself; she did think she would have had the results by the time they returned to school. Or maybe Mrs Travers was ill again, she thought, and Janet was anxious about that. She’d been absent the previous day, the first day back after the Easter holidays, and it might explain why Claire hadn’t seen her for a few days, since the day of the party, in fact.

  She continued to take the register, and when she got to Travers, she barely heard the mumbled ‘Present, miss.’

  Claire looked up. ‘Janet,’ she said, ‘were you ill yesterday?’

  ‘Yes,’ came the muffled but terse reply.

  What’s wrong with the child? Claire thought. She knows that’s no way to answer. She saw the other children listening, amazed that Janet Travers had been rude to the teacher. They were watching to see what she’d do. She couldn’t let it pass, it would affect discipline.

  ‘Yes, Miss Wentworth,’ she rapped out.

  Janet looked at her. Claire recoiled from the look in those eyes. ‘Yes, Miss Wentworth,’ repeated the girl in a singsong voice that bordered on the insolent.

  Claire was puzzled and a little angry. ‘Well, what was the matter with you?’

  Janet was staring at the floor. ‘I was ill, Miss Wentworth,’ she said in the same droning tone.

  ‘Have you brought a note?’ Miss Wentworth snapped.

  Janet gave a shrug. No doubt now about the intended insolence.

  ‘Well, have you or haven’t you?’

  ‘No, I haven’t,’ Janet said. There was a significant pause, and then she added, ‘Miss Wentworth.’

  ‘You must bring a note, you know that.’

  Claire knew she wasn’t handling the situation very well. If anyone else had behaved like this – and she knew the ones to watch – she’d have had them hauled before her desk and administered a few strokes of the strap to remind them of their manners.

  She was aware of the amused glances and the odd titter from the class, who were delighted because Janet was sort of laughing at the teacher. The fact that it was goody two-shoes Janet Travers who was doing it just made it more interesting.

  Janet was aware of the amusement, and it pleased her. She’d make Miss Wentworth suffer. She was a well-liked teacher, but if Janet was to spread around the school what she’d seen her doing, she wouldn’t be quite so popular, even though Janet knew many wouldn’t believe it. She didn’t even like thinking about it, but she couldn’t help it. Every time she looked at Miss Wentworth she saw her lying panting and moaning under that man.

  ‘Can’t get no note,’ she said now. ‘My mom’s bad …’ again that pause, ‘Miss Wentworth.’

  ‘Janet Travers, you are being impertinent.’

  Janet glared at her. ‘No I’m not,’ she said. It wasn’t exactly a shout, but she hadn’t spoken quietly. There was a gasp of admiration. Claire’s face flushed and two spots of anger burned in her cheeks. David hadn’t recognised them but Janet did, because Janet had seen Miss Wentworth cross before. She smiled.

  The smile enraged Claire. ‘Come out here this instant,’ she said, and banged the desk with her hand so hard the box of chalks and the board rubber jumped.

  There was a moment of absolute stillness, and Claire actually thought for one awful moment that Janet would refuse. But then, slowly, so slowly, as if she had all the time in the world, Janet stood and sauntered between the aisles. There was a collective sigh, as if all had been holding their breath. The boys who were usually in trouble leaned forward eagerly. Someone else was going to get it for a change.

  Claire stared into the grey eyes she thought she knew so well, but the brooding look she saw there was unfathomable. Claire’s own eyes were pleading for Janet to stop this behaviour. She was more than a pupil, she was a friend, and Claire had never had occasion to censure her before, let alone strike her. She didn’t want to do it now.

  Janet blinked. Again the smirk crossed her face, and she said: ‘Going to beat me into submission, are you?’

  The other children thought Janet had gone mad. Claire thought so too. She wondered for a moment if the strain of the examination preparations and her mother’s illness had been too much for her. But whatever the reasons, Claire could not tolerate behaviour like this. Already the class were moving and muttering in a way they wouldn’t have dared to do the day before.

  ‘Silence,’ she rapped out. ‘Get out your arithmetic and start the next exercise.’

  ‘Please, miss,’ said a boy called Williams from the back, ‘you haven’t finished the register.’

  Claire had forgotten about the register. She was flustered, and she could see that Janet, beside her, was enjoying it.

  ‘Why don’t you just hit me?’ the girl suggested, with a smile so scornful Claire longed to swipe it from her face. ‘Then you can get on with the lesson.’

  Right, Claire thought, I will. She’s asking for it.

  She took the strap from the drawer, then changed her mind and instead drew out the thin, whippy cane that whistled as it flew through the air. It was used only sparingly, and then only for serious misdemeanours, and the class murmured in disbelief. ‘Hold out your hand,’ Claire demanded.

  She marvelled that Janet’s hand was so steady and her face unafraid. But it was contempt for this woman now about to hit her that kept the shakes from Janet’s hand and the fear from her eyes.

  The cane whined through the air, and when it landed across Janet’s palm a sympathetic ‘ooh’ went up from the girls in the class. Janet, however, did not flinch, or make a so
und. She felt as if her hand was on fire and she had an insane desire to grab the cane from Miss Wentworth’s hand and beat her about the head with it. The outstretched hand trembled slightly, so that Claire’s next slash missed the mark and hit her fingers.

  Oh God, it hurts, Janet cried to herself, but still she made no sound. Claire saw the spasm of pain cross the girl’s face, but she didn’t cry out. Suddenly it was important that she did. Claire had to establish control.

  She lashed out again and again, and eventually Janet let out a strangled sob. The children by then were utterly silent, staring at the teacher. Her eyes looked wild, her hair had come undone and was tumbling around her shoulders, and sweat glistened on her face. She was crimson and panting slightly, and feeling ashamed of the way she’d lost control and laid into Janet.

  Janet felt as if she was going to pass out. She saw the cuts either side of her palm and the ridges across her hand that she knew would turn to weals. She felt she would die with the pain that ran right to the top of her arm and made her feel sick. The feeling of nausea brought back the time she’d been sick in Miss Wentworth’s garden, and the reason why.

  It was agony to move. She wanted to sink to the floor and cry because it hurt so much and Miss Wentworth had caused that hurt. She wanted to tuck her hand under her arm for a measure of comfort. But more than either of these things, she wanted to lash out at Miss Wentworth, to hurt her back. She stared at the teacher and said, in a voice that trembled just slightly, ‘Have you finished?’

  Miss Wentworth leaned on the desk, her chest heaving. She knew she’d lost. ‘Get out,’ she said, but she was too weary and worn down to shout properly. ‘Stand outside the door!’

  Janet turned and walked out. Her legs were shaking but she knew that as long as she kept moving, no one would know. Her injured hand hung by her side, and everyone in the class realised that Janet Travers had guts.

  She didn’t wait outside the door. She walked out of the school gates and into the street, where she looked about her furtively, for the primary school opened on to Westmead Crescent, the road her grandparents lived in. Even if they were safely in the house, she could be spotted by any of the neighbours, and she knew they would feel a pressing need to tell the family they’d seen her wandering the streets when she should have been in school.