A Little Learning

by Anne Bennett

  ‘What d’you mean?’ Janet asked, puzzled.

  ‘Because you didn’t like it,’ Shirley said, ‘and don’t want to have to do it again.’

  ‘No one has to do it again if they don’t want to,’ Janet said, smiling at Shirley’s naivety. ‘Okay, we’ve established what Stuart wants. Now what about you? Do you want full sex?’

  ‘God, no,’ Shirley said. ‘I’m bloody scared to death.’ Then, more honestly, she added, ‘At least I can say that now. It’s different when Stuart’s kissing me and stuff. I don’t always think straight then.’

  Janet remembered her time by the lake with Ben and their joyous, rapturous lovemaking. She knew only too well what Shirley meant. ‘What exactly are you scared of?’ she asked. ‘Getting pregnant? The act itself? What?’

  ‘Everything,’ wailed Shirley.

  ‘If it’s pregnancy you’re concerned about, there is something men can get. Barbers and places like that sell them.’

  ‘I … I suggested that,’ Shirley said, ‘but Stuart said it was no good for men with one of those things on.’

  ‘Now I know why my aunt said “bullshit” so often,’ Janet said. ‘It’s the only word to describe the crap your chap is feeding you.’

  ‘Then that isn’t true either?’

  ‘Nope,’ Janet said. ‘Tell Stuart it’s either use a rubber thing or keep his trousers on.’

  ‘Oh, Janet.’

  ‘Don’t be so soft,’ Janet said with a smile. ‘What else?’

  ‘Well, I’m scared. People say it hurts like hell and you bleed all over the place.’

  Janet sighed. Really, she thought, all joking apart, someone should tell girls something besides advising them to keep their legs crossed. Cast adrift as they were, fed crap by creeps like Stuart, it was small wonder so many girls became pregnant.

  ‘Does it hurt?’ Shirley asked again.

  ‘A bit the first time, but you hardly notice it,’ Janet said. ‘Some people bleed, not everyone and not that much.’

  Shirley’s eyes widened as she realised that Janet had done it more than once. ‘How many times did you …’

  ‘That’s none of your bloody business, is it?’ Janet said tersely.

  ‘Okay,’ Shirley conceded quickly, hesitant of making her angry again. ‘But was it good?’

  ‘For me, yes, it was very good,’ Janet said.

  ‘Well, what was it like?’

  Janet closed her eyes for a moment. ‘I couldn’t describe it,’ she said at last. ‘It was wonderful and magical for me and it’s really no one else’s business. I suppose,’ she went on, ‘it’s different for everyone.’

  ‘What … what happened to the boy you went with?’ Shirley asked.

  Janet considered telling Shirley that that was her own affair, but eventually she shrugged and said, ‘We were engaged. I loved him very much and thought he loved me.’ Her voice had dropped to just above a whisper and Shirley leaned closer. ‘But,’ she went on, ‘he didn’t love me enough. He married someone else.’ She was surprised at the stab of hurt it still gave her to say that.

  Shirley nodded. ‘My mother said all men are bastards, just after one thing, and if you let them do it they lose respect for you.’

  Janet considered Shirley’s words and then said, ‘I think Ben was more weak than wicked, and probably manipulated. But you,’ she said, ‘must either put the brakes on before Stuart gets too excited, or, if you decide to go for it, make sure he uses a Durex, or you’ll be left holding the baby.’

  After that the three girls’ relationship shifted a little. Shirley asked Janet if she could tell Lou, and they both looked at her with more respect. She was an experienced woman who they thought could help them with their tangled love lives. Eventually, Janet threatened to start charging for her services if they didn’t start thinking for themselves for a change, and they began to treat her almost as they had before.

  They applauded and agreed with her decision not to get too serious too quickly after such a bad experience, and though they continued to ask her out, they didn’t try to press her if she said no. They arranged girls-only nights, when they found they could have riotous fun without a man dancing attendance. Then one or the other would find the love of their life again and the girls’ nights would be curtailed – till the next time.

  They were flat-hunting at this time, having had their fill of Mrs McPhearson, but it was proving more difficult than they had imagined to find accommodation that would satisfy all three of them. It was also time-consuming looking at flats when the end-of-year exams were looming ever closer.

  But before the problem of finding somewhere to live had been solved, Janet received the phone call she had been dreading.

  ‘The doctor says he has only days to live,’ Betty told her, ‘and he’s asking for you.’

  It was two weeks before the official end of term, but the exams were over and Janet’s essays were in. She packed her stuff and set off for home, stopping only to press her parents’ phone number into Lou’s hand at the station. ‘Keep me informed,’ she urged, and both girls promised they would.

  Janet waited downstairs, knowing that soon her grandfather would relinquish his faint hold on life. She’d sat and held his hands for hours, talking to him, for although he was unconscious, the doctor had told her that hearing was the last sense to go and he might be aware that she was there. In case he was, she talked as she had never talked to him when he was hale and hearty. She discussed university and her courses and finding somewhere else to live, and she told him how much she loved him. She wondered if she was doing any good, for even if Sean could hear her, he made no sign and couldn’t answer her in any way. But death was a lonely path to tread and, Janet told herself, maybe it gave a person comfort to know that they were not alone.

  They’d all been to see him, all the grandchildren: Duncan, the twins, Sally, Linda and Brendan’s two boys. Janet was the last and the one who stayed the longest.

  The priest arrived while she was there to give Sean the last rites, and Sarah, Betty, Breda and Brendan came in to be with him. Janet watched the priest anointing her grandfather with holy oils and mumbling Latin prayers, and doubted that Sean would have given his consent for the last rites if he’d been conscious.

  ‘Bloody mumbo-jumbo’ he would have called it, and tears stood out in Janet’s eyes when she realised that she’d never hear him say that again. Eventually the priest was done, and Janet went down with him and made him a cup of tea, leaving her grandad surrounded by his wife and children. It seemed right that way. Long after the priest had left she sat on, her cup of tea untouched beside her.

  Shortly after the keening of her grandmother signalled that it was all over, there was a knock at the door. Patsy’s pains had started and Brendan had to set off for home.

  Once before, the birth of twins had eased the pain of death. Now two girls, Finolla and Mairead, were born fine and healthy, despite being three weeks early, and everyone, while still grieving for Sean McClusky, knew that life went on. Gran, though, was like half a person without her man by her side, and Betty knew it would take her a long time to get over it all.

  The funeral was well attended. Sean McClusky had been a respected, well-liked man and St Peter and St Paul’s church in Pype Hayes was chock-a-block for the requiem mass.

  The brown mahogany coffin, so different from Chloe’s, seemed to dominate the church, the top almost covered with mass cards. The incense left a musty smell in the air and the Latin responses were like incantations, soothing to the soul.

  Afterwards, Gran’s house seemed to be heaving with people, and Janet saw the food she’d helped her mother and Breda prepare disappear at speed. Drinks of every description were piled in the kitchen, where Brendan was doing his best to dispense them. Muted voices rose and fell. Sometimes one or two voices would become very loud, and then they would be hushed, as if they’d suddenly remembered where they were, and the murmur would begin again.

  The house was full of unfamiliar f
aces. Many, Janet knew, were her grandparents’ people from across the water, relatives spoken of often but never seen. They spent a long time exclaiming over Janet and the other grandchildren and deciding amongst themselves who looked the most like Sean McClusky, talking in brogues so thick it was often difficult to make out what they said. Tearful women enveloped Janet in hugs, while their menfolk pumped her hand up and down, kissed her cheek or patted her shoulder. All told her that her grandad was one of the best – as if she needed telling.

  Later, when everything had returned to normal, the visitors gone back home, the children finishing the summer term at school and the adults back at work, Janet broached the subject of moving in with her gran during the holidays. She didn’t say they were worried about her, that they didn’t think she could look after herself or perhaps wouldn’t cook proper meals, for that, Janet knew, would cause her gran’s hackles to rise. Instead, she made it sound like a favour Sarah would be doing the Travers family as Janet explained how cramped Sally was now she was growing up, and how pleased Betty would be to find a solution to the dilemma. Her grandmother was delighted to have company, even if it was only sporadic, but hid her pleasure and said, almost grudgingly, that she didn’t mind if everyone else was agreeable, and Janet moved her things in almost immediately.

  Janet’s presence in the house seemed to cheer Sarah McClusky. There were times, though, when certain things – the sight of an odd sock, a certain tune or song, or coming upon one of Sean’s discarded pipes – would remind her of her devastating loss and bring tears to her eyes. She hid them from Janet, who was finding it hard enough herself to cope with the fact that her grandad was gone forever. He’d been so quiet and unassuming, and yet he’d been the king pin of the family, and no one had quite realised it till he was gone.

  Janet was bored. The children still had a few weeks of school left. Her summer job at the factory was not yet available. Breda and her mother were at work most of the day and Gran had gone to Brendan’s to look after the family. Patsy was home now, but unable to do much, and Mrs McClusky said that good as the neighbours had been, it was time the family took a hand. She was glad to do it, Janet knew. There was no time for moping, for she was too busy.

  Janet longed for the children to be home and wandered aimlessly round the shops or visited the library, missing Claire as she never imagined she would.

  She’d wondered often how Claire was, and where she was. Disappearing the way she did had left a big hole in Janet’s life that no one could fill totally, and yet she knew Claire wouldn’t have just gone without even getting in touch unless she’d had a good reason. She often wondered if she’d become ill; she’d even thought she might have died, given up as it were. After Chloe’s death she must have felt she’d lost everything dear to her, and though Richard had been a tower of strength, she wondered if Richard alone would be enough for Claire without her daughter. Could you die from a broken heart? Janet didn’t know, and there was no one to ask. She longed for news. Just a short note to say that Claire was fine would help to still the fear in Janet that something had happened to her special friend and adviser.

  Then one day she had a call from Lou to say they’d found a flat in the last few days of term, and that made her feel a little happier. ‘It’s on the London Road,’ Lou told her. ‘Everyone knew we were on the lookout and we heard about it on the grapevine.’

  Janet was cheered a little by the knowledge that she wouldn’t have to go back to the hostel and sourpuss McPhearson. She’d told Breda more about her room mates and McPhearson than anyone, except perhaps her grandad.

  ‘What are they like, the girls you share with?’ Breda had asked.

  ‘They’re great,’ Janet said enthusiastically, and went on, ‘Shirley’s a scream. She’s got orange hair. I don’t mean auburn like yours, I mean orange, like a carrot, and there’s a lot of it, it sticks out like a bush. She’s always complaining about it, and yet she’s stunning-looking, with this super skin and not a spot in sight and deep-brown eyes, and she’s tall and slim, with a figure like a model.’

  ‘And she can’t see it, I suppose,’ Breda said.

  ‘No, she can’t,’ agreed Janet. ‘All she can see is her hair, which isn’t that awful either. Anyway, Lou got fed up hearing about it and offered to put a rinse on it to tone it down a bit. Only we all forgot about it and she came out glowing like a Belisha beacon.’ Janet was laughing at the memory as she went on, ‘She washed her hair about fifty times, didn’t speak to Lou for weeks and had to go about with a hat on for a fortnight.’

  ‘I’ve been there,’ Breda said. ‘I was forever doing things to my hair. My mother always said I’d be bald by the age of thirty.’

  ‘She was wrong,’ Janet said, but added with a mischievous grin, ‘though I do think it’s thinning out on top a bit now.’

  ‘You cheeky bugger,’ Breda said good-naturedly, giving Janet a swipe.

  She was pleased to see Janet in such good spirits and so obviously enjoying herself. For years her niece worried about the family, and then there was all that business with Ben, the tragic death of Claire’s daughter and now her beloved grandad, yet Janet had seemed to rise above it all.

  ‘No one stolen your heart yet, Janet?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ Janet said, ‘and I haven’t met anyone I’d like to give it to either.’ She might have added ‘since Ben’ but thought better of it.

  ‘What’s the other girl like that you share with?’ Breda asked. ‘Lou, is it?’

  ‘Oh, she’s small, with short dark hair and freckles. She’s always up to something, always in a hurry, and she’s attractive rather than pretty. Her mouth is like mine and her nose is bigger and her eyes a sort of nondescript hazel, and yet you forget all that when you talk to her. Her face gets all animated, and when she smiles or laughs – and she does both often – it lights up.’

  ‘I’m really glad you get on so well,’ Breda said. ‘It’s nice to see you making friends.’

  And Janet realised that Lou and Shirley had become friends, and that part of the reason she wasn’t enjoying her holiday was because there was no one for her at home any more. There was no Claire and no Ruth. The family had found out that Claire and Richard had left the area, but they knew no more than Janet of why or where they had gone, and they’d accepted that she and Ruth had naturally grown apart. Yet Janet would have loved to knock on Ruth’s door as if they were still friends, as if she’d never spoken those words at Chloe’s funeral.

  But it would never do for anyone – and most especially perceptive Auntie Breda – to guess at her unhappiness. So she smiled back at her aunt and said, ‘Lou nearly got us all in terrible trouble one night. It was turned midnight and she wasn’t in and you need a late pass to stay out after eleven.’

  ‘Dear God,’ Breda exclaimed. ‘They treat you like school-children.’

  ‘Worse,’ said Janet, and added thankfully, ‘But at least we won’t be so restricted next term.’

  ‘Well, what did she do when she found herself locked out?’ Breda asked.

  Janet laughed before she said, ‘She tried to wake me and Shirley by throwing gravel at the window, but I thought it was just rain. I was half asleep, you know, and just lay there thinking how wet Lou was going to get, and then I heard scrabbling on the wall and we leaned out the window, me and Shirley, and saw Lou trying to climb up the ivy, only she fell and cricked her ankle. There was no way we could get her in the front door without rousing Mrs McPhearson and so we rushed down to let her in through the downstairs bathroom window. Only trouble was, in her haste to clamber in the window, Lou knocked all the stuff off the ledge with her handbag and made such a clatter the whole hostel was woken up and McPhearson came to investigate.

  ‘We hadn’t time to invent a good story and couldn’t risk McPhearson seeing Lou, so Shirley, who was fairly decently clad in her dressing gown, went to the bathroom door. We hid behind it and prayed she wouldn’t just barge in, while Shirley explained to McPhearson that she’d fallen
off the toilet and that was what had caused the noise. McPhearson took one look at the stained and crumpled dressing gown Shirley had hastily tugged around herself and the orange hair standing out on her head and her face crimson with embarrassment, and asked, with a very expressive sniff, if she’d been drinking. I mean, it was hardly any of her bloody business. Shirley said afterwards that she thought falling off the toilet stone-cold sober was something McPhearson might find suspect, so she said she’d had a few, even though she’d had nothing stronger than tea all night. McPhearson said she’d see her in the morning.

  ‘Then we tried to get Lou up the stairs quickly, which wasn’t so easy as she was unable to put any weight on one ankle and was biting her lip to stop herself giving little yelps of pain as we stumbled unsteadily from step to step. Next morning McPhearson gave Shirley a lecture on the demon drink. “Not only were you so drunk you fell off the toilet,” she said in this high, disapproving whine of hers, “but as if that wasn’t enough, I heard you later, making your way to bed, almost too intoxicated to climb the stairs. And,” she added, “if I ever see you in that state again, I will consider it my bounden Christian duty to write and inform your parents.”’

  ‘The interfering old bitch,’ Breda burst out. ‘You’re best out of that place.’

  ‘I know,’ Janet said fervently. ‘She sees sin everywhere.’

  Only a couple of weeks after her chat with Breda, Janet was thankfully packing her suitcase under the watchful eye of her grandmother, who, she realised, would probably feel very lonely when she had gone back to university. ‘Bye, Gran, see you soon,’ she said, kissing the crinkled cheek.

  ‘Bye, my bonny lass, it’s back to your real life now,’ said the wise old lady, and Janet marvelled that her gran, above all others, knew that her granddaughter had just been marking time.

  ‘I love you,’ Janet said, and Sarah McClusky smiled.

  ‘I know, lass,’ she said. ‘I know.’

  EIGHTEEN