by Anne Bennett
She didn’t mention this to Janet, for her friend was still reeling from the news she had just delivered. She was also feeling used, for she’d stayed faithful to a man who’d begun a sexual relationship with someone else. Janet vowed then that no man would ever again get close enough to her to hurt her so much.
As a child she’d never wanted to get married; she’d wanted to be free and independent. She’d thought Claire was the same, but now her friend had found a good man in Richard. But Janet imagined there were few Richards around; most men were like Ben Hayman or David Sunderland and, she told herself, she could do without either. She’d make her way from now on as Janet Travers, and if it was a lonely path, at least she’d walk it with her heart intact.
She thanked Ruth coldly for telling her about Ben’s marriage and Therese’s pregnancy and said she needed to be alone to think things through, but she didn’t ask Ruth to call again.
Ruth knew that in some way Janet was making her the scapegoat for what Ben had done, and though it wasn’t fair, perhaps she had to have someone to blame. She knew that she could never just call at the Travers’ house again, because without actually saying anything, Janet had made it clear that she would not be welcome. She hoped the rift that had been created by her brother would soon be mended. She said goodbye sadly and left knowing that if they were to remain friends, the next move had to come from Janet herself.
Janet wasn’t able to grieve openly for what might have been with Ben Hayman, for her parents were ecstatic about her A level results. Bert went around with a smile plastered to his face for he was tickled pink at having a daughter brainy enough to go to university, and he told everyone who’d listen. ‘Not of course that I’d ever doubted it,’ he said. ‘It was obvious she was clever, even from a nipper.’
Betty was also pleased for her daughter, and yet her joy and pride in Janet’s achievements was tinged with sadness. Janet had been moving away from them all for years, and she knew once she began university that the gap between her and the family she was reared in would be even greater.
But it wasn’t the time to think of herself, for Janet had done well, and she couldn’t and wouldn’t let her own feelings of the loss of her lass spoil the moment of glory. Janet herself didn’t seem as pleased as she might have been anyway, Betty thought, and wondered if she was yearning after Ben Hayman. Breda said it was bound to be a wrench for them both breaking up after they’d been so close, although it had been the only decision with them being so young and with their lives spread before them.
Neither Janet nor Breda, who Janet had confided in, told Bert or Betty about Ben’s marriage. Janet couldn’t bear to and Breda felt it wasn’t her place. Instead Janet dragged up every ounce of enthusiasm she could for the family who came en masse to congratulate and share in her good news. Her good health and bright future were toasted again, and though Janet thought her future looked bleak indeed, she smiled with the rest and raised a glass and drank with their best wishes ringing in her ears.
Bert took the family for a celebratory meal and embarrassed Janet by explaining to the waiter and in a loud voice that reached the ears of all the other diners, what they were celebrating. Again congratulations came from all around. ‘You see, love,’ Bert said, reaching over and patting Janet’s head, ‘everyone’s rooting for you and wishing you the best, and you deserve it.’
Janet felt tears in her eyes. She’d made everyone so proud and suddenly she felt a rush of love for her family and knew how much she’d miss them all. How could I possibly have gone to New York, she thought, when the idea of living a few miles away horrifies me? She squeezed her dad’s hand and said ‘I love you, Dad,’ and Bert, caught unawares, had to wipe his eyes surreptitiously.
Janet went to see Claire the morning before she set off for University College, Leicester. Claire was pleased to see her and Janet realised she would have been hurt if she hadn’t come, and they spent most of the afternoon and early evening reminiscing about the times they’d spent together.
‘A lot of water has gone under the bridge since I suggested you take the exam,’ Claire said. ‘You were ten. Do you remember?’
Janet smiled. ‘I remember my dad sounding off about educating girls being a waste of time. I thought I wouldn’t ever be given the chance to sit the eleven-plus. In the end, I think Dad turned out the proudest of anyone.’
The day grew dusky as they talked and remembered, and eventually Janet got to her feet. ‘I must get back,’ she said. ‘I said I wouldn’t be late. They’ll all be in to wish me the best, you know. Not that they haven’t done it already, but that’s as they are.’ She smiled in embarrassment and went on, ‘You’d think I was emigrating.’
‘Janet, it’s a big thing for them,’ Claire said. ‘I’m surprised they didn’t suggest a party.’
‘They did,’ Janet said. ‘I said no.’ She looked at Claire bleakly and said, ‘Who would I ask? Ben and his new wife? Ruth? Duncan is waiting to be demobbed and most of his friends are doing their national service or are scattered about. I told Mom and Dad not to fuss, I’d be home at Christmas, possibly before.’
‘You haven’t seen Ruth either?’ Claire asked gently.
‘Not since she told me about Ben getting married. I thought it best,’ Janet said. ‘I can’t understand why people change like Ben did. He was crazy about me one minute, and the next he’s with someone else.’
Claire sighed. ‘Look at David,’ she said. ‘I thought we were so much in love, we’d be able to take on the world, yet he wasn’t able to cope with one small daughter who wasn’t quite as he imagined.’
‘Do you ever see him?’ Janet asked.
Claire shook her head. ‘It’s just as if Chloe and I have never existed in his life. He used to pay maintenance, but that stopped some time ago and he disappeared. We’d have been under some financial strain, despite my pay cheque, if I hadn’t met Richard. He applied to adopt Chloe when we got married, but our solicitor hasn’t been able to trace David. He doesn’t even know how ill Chloe is.’
Janet knew. She’d seen the pallid child lying in bed struggling to breathe. She’d sung her her favourite songs, read her favourite stories and eventually tiptoed from the room when her eyelids fluttered shut. ‘What’s the news on that front?’ she asked now.
‘We wait daily for a summons to the hospital. I’ve given up work indefinitely to be with her and I just pray it will be soon.’
So did Janet, but she said nothing. It was time she was off. At the door she turned and put her arms around Claire. They’d never done that before, but it was strangely unembarrassing.
‘Thank you,’ Janet said. ‘Thank you for everything. I’ll be back at Christmas to tell you how it is.’
The next day she met Shirley Tate and Lou Burrows, who were to share her dormitory in Greystones Hostel for Young Females. It was used to house many students when the halls of her dormitory in residence were full. It was quite a large place and noisy, for as well as students, the hostel was home to working girls. Janet’s dormitory was on the third floor, and though there was a fourth bed, it was never occupied. They were given a set of rules when they entered; these were also plastered on every available surface and dealt with such things as when and how often to use one of the two bathrooms, which were shared by everyone on the floor, who numbered about eight. Light snacks only were to be made in the kitchenette adjoining the dormitory, the rules said. The rest of their meals were prepared and they ate with everyone else in the dining room.
It was all rather grim and not at all welcoming for girls who’d left home for the first time, and like Janet, both girls were half excited and half terrified. During induction week the three rallied one another’s spirits and by the end of it were firm friends and they toured the district around the hostel which was on Howard Road in the Knighton Fields area of the city. It was a little way from the city centre they found, although the bus service was good and the university itself backed on to Victoria Park. The girls found that in fact there wa
s a lot of countryside around Leicester and the three went on many a ramble at the weekend in the first few weeks.
Janet soon realised how wise Claire had been when she’d advised her not to apply to universities too close to her home. ‘Universities are more than lectures and essays,’ she’d said. ‘The social scene is very important and you really need to be on site. Also, at university you learn to look after yourself, stand on your own two feet and often make lifelong friends.’
So Janet had applied to Leicester, too far to travel daily, but near enough to make a dash for her own hearth if homesickness became unbearable. At first as Janet, Lou and Shirley helped each other cope, Janet’s room mates became intrigued by her attitude to men.
‘What is it with you?’ Shirley asked Janet one night as they sat on their beds removing make-up and discussing the evening.
‘Nothing!’
‘Nothing?’ Shirley said indignantly. ‘Well, you were pretty shirty with that gorgeous man with the blond hair.’
‘I didn’t like him, okay?’
‘He was dishy,’ Shirley protested.
‘What about the man who wanted to buy us all a drink last night?’ Lou put in. ‘You nearly bit his head off.’
‘He wouldn’t take no for an answer,’ Janet said.
Just then there was a knock on the door, and when Janet opened it one of the girls from the ground floor was there.
‘Phone call,’ she said, ‘for someone called Janet Travers.’
Janet’s heart was racing as she followed the girl down the stairs. Something must be wrong. No one would phone just for a chat; her mother was afraid even to use the phone. The booth was in the hall. Janet had only ever heard the phone ring twice, and she’d never taken any notice of it, certain that it wouldn’t be for her.
‘Hello,’ she said tentatively.
‘Janet?’
‘Mom!’ Janet’s voice was high with surprise. She knew it wouldn’t be a social call. ‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘Janet,’ Betty said, her voice heavy with sadness, ‘you’ll have to be very brave, pet. I thought you should know straight away. Little Chloe died at five o’clock this evening. Richard phoned us from the hospital. Claire had to be sedated. It was a complication with her heart from the operation …’
Janet dropped the receiver, cutting off Betty’s flow of words, as if by not hearing them they’d cease to be true. They couldn’t be true, she told herself, Chloe couldn’t be dead, she was only a little girl.
The small hall began to tilt and sway, and the walls refused to stay still. Janet put a hand to her head to try and stop the dizziness. Her eyes were rolling in their sockets as she tilted forward, and she lost consciousness before she hit the concrete floor. From the dangling phone came Betty’s agitated disembodied voice: ‘Janet! Janet! Are you there? Say something! Janet! Janet, for God’s sake!’
Shirley and Lou found their unconscious room mate and replaced the receiver, but by that time Betty Travers had rung off.
SIXTEEN
The church was packed and there was a lot of sniffing and nose-blowing, but apart from that, the place was hushed and silent. There was no whispering or chattering, just an immeasurable sadness across the whole congregation.
Janet couldn’t believe she was here, sitting with her parents, dressed head to toe in black. Chloe would hate this, she thought, she liked bright colours and happy music she could sing along to. Janet hardly listened to the service, for she couldn’t keep her eyes away from the tiny white and gold coffin in the centre aisle. It seemed somehow obscene that soon it would be laid in the black earth and piled over with dirt.
When Janet had been roused from unconsciousness by her room mates and had tearfully told them the news from home that had caused her to faint, they had been a tower of strength to her. Shirley had helped her pack a few things in a holdall, while Lou enquired about trains, organised a taxi and phoned her parents with news of Janet’s plans. She’d eventually arrived home at around five o’clock in the morning. She let herself in quietly and, too churned up to sleep, sat in the kitchen trying to come to terms with the tragedy and drinking endless cups of tea.
She’d gone to Claire’s as early as she decently could. ‘What will you say?’ Betty had cried, and Janet had shaken her head helplessly.
In the end she’d said nothing. She had hugged Claire only once before, in gratitude for what she’d done for her, but the Claire she saw that morning looked so lost and so sad that she put her arms around her instinctively, as she would have done with a child, and they cried together. Richard found them later, entwined and weary from their combined sorrow, and tried to rally them with tea and toast. He was glad Janet was there; he had things to do and hesitated to leave Claire alone. Janet, glad to be of any help, readily agreed to stay. Claire seemed unable or unwilling to talk, and Janet didn’t try, for she had nothing to say either.
Claire sat staring into space, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy. She held Thumper, Chloe’s white toy rabbit, turning the ear round and round in her fingers as Chloe used to do. She seemed unaware of anything. Janet wondered if she’d ever recover from the tragedy that had taken the light from her eyes and pinched the skin tightly across her face, tugging at her mouth and hollowing her cheeks.
Mary Wentworth came when Janet had been there about an hour, and she was shocked by the older woman’s appearance. Richard had told her that Mary had been with them at the hospital till the early hours, and it looked, Janet thought, as if she hadn’t slept since.
She had never seemed old to Janet, exuding an attitude of youthfulness. It wasn’t only her beautifully set hair arranged in waves and curls around her face and carefully rinsed so the auburn highlights showed not a hint of grey; nor was it her skilfully made-up face with its rouged cheeks and pink lipstick: it was her whole demeanour. Now she walked with a heavy step and her face was ravaged with grief. Her hair looked as if it hadn’t seen a comb that morning and her face was ashen grey. Janet noticed for the first time that Mary’s mascara-free eyelashes were auburn like her hair, and today the blue smudges round her eyes were due to tiredness rather than make-up. She saw for the first time the broken veins on her cheeks that powder had hidden, as it had hidden the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth.
Mary smiled at Janet, but before either of them were able to speak, Claire called out. Janet was hardly able to recognise her voice. Before it had always carried the authoritative tone of a teacher, but the ‘Mom’ she wailed now could have come from a child as young as Sally.
Mary sprang forward and held her daughter, rocking her as she sobbed. ‘There, my love,’ she was saying over and over, ‘there, my lamb.’
Janet couldn’t bear it. She felt stifled by sadness, and Claire and Mary no longer needed her, so she went home. She found the house quiet and her mother sitting motionless in the kitchen. It was odd to see Betty still, and Janet sat down opposite her heavily. ‘How was it, love?’ Betty said, and Janet answered tearfully:
‘Awful, Mom, I’ve never seen Claire like that. I don’t know if she’ll ever get over it.’
‘No, poor lass.’
‘And Chloe, Mom. It’s so bloody tragic.’
‘I know, pet.’ Betty put her hand over Janet’s and went on, ‘The point is, you must believe that young Chloe has gone to a better place.’
‘Do you really believe that?’ Janet said. ‘Not just as something we tell the children?’
‘I must believe it,’ Betty said. ‘How else would we make sense of anything? You think little Chloe lived six short years and when her life is snuffed out there’s nothing but a big black hole she’s dropped through?’ Betty put her hand to her head. ‘God, girl, that’s an awful thought. Isn’t it better to think she’s gone to Jesus and is in His arms now?’
‘But is it true?’
‘The Church tells us it is.’
‘Yes, but …’
‘No one knows, lass, not really, but what’s the alternative when all’s said and done?’
Janet shook her head.
‘Your dad and I will be going to the funeral,’ Betty said. ‘We didn’t know the little girl but we know her mother and we’ll go to show our support.’
Janet was surprised and touched. ‘Thanks, Mom,’ she said.
‘Breda is seeing to the children after she gets in from work today,’ Betty said. ‘I didn’t think you’d welcome them leaping all over you when they come home.’
‘No, no, I wouldn’t.’
‘Sally knows,’ Betty said. ‘Not that she understands death, of course, but you know how sensitive she is.’ Not waiting for Janet’s nod, she went on, ‘She picked up that I was upset this morning. I thought of palming her off with some excuse, but she’s that knowing, she’d probably tumble to the fact I was codding her. Then, of course, there’s always the worry that someone might tell her at school. I thought it best to be straight.’
‘You did right,’ Janet said, and then was overcome with a huge yawn and was aware suddenly of how weary she was. She wanted to put her head on the table and sleep and sleep, and yet she doubted she’d get any rest with her mind jumping about as it was.
‘I’m off to St Peter and Paul’s to have some masses said for wee Chloe,’ Betty said, heaving herself to her feet.
‘She’s not a Catholic, Mom,’ Janet snapped.
‘I don’t suppose the good Lord minds about that,’ Betty retorted, ‘and it can’t do any harm, now can it?’
‘No, no, it can’t,’ Janet said, suddenly sorry for her short temper. ‘Take no notice of me, I’m so tired I don’t know what I’m saying.’
‘Try and rest,’ Betty advised, ‘or you’ll make yourself ill.’
Janet did go and lie down on her bed, but though her eyes were smarting, every time she closed them her head was filled with visions of Chloe and she’d jerk them open again. Two or three times she told herself to get up, find something to do, but a strange lethargy filled her body and she stayed beneath the covers. When Betty woke her, she realised she had dozed, but it had been an unrefreshing, fitful sleep and she felt worse, rather than better.