by Anne Bennett
‘Save the lies, I’m through with them,’ Simon said. ‘I saw you, Janet, on Saturday, the day you made a fool of me. You weren’t exactly discreet about it. He almost undressed you in the sodding doorway. Did you make it upstairs or did he have you in the hallway? God, Janet, you must think I’m stupid.’
‘Oh, Simon …’
‘Save the tears, maybe Ben Hayman will be interested.’ Janet hadn’t been aware she was crying. In her mind she was screaming, no, no, this can’t be happening! ‘Kenny and I were across the road,’ Simon went on, ‘because, fool that I was, I waited all morning and was still keen to talk things through with you. I went back that night, Kenny drove me, and we saw it all. Has he shared my bed all week?’
‘No, no. Oh, Simon, you’ve got it all wrong.’ Oh, God, Janet thought, how was she to begin to explain?
‘Sod off, Janet! Go back to your Yank. That’s what you wanted all along anyway. Well, he can have you. I wouldn’t touch you now with a bargepole.’
Janet stared at the receiver which had gone dead in her hand, too shocked to move. When the bell went for the end of the dinner hour it startled her. As she made her way back to the classroom, she was turning the conversation over and over in her mind. He’d seen her and Ben at the flat. She wanted to die with shame. There was no point in going on if she lost Simon, for now, too late, she knew that Ben Hayman’s attraction was purely sexual. Breda, as usual, had been right.
The sex they’d enjoyed in their youth had been a wondrous, beautiful thing, but Janet realised now that even in that, Ben had often sought his own pleasure first, leaving her unsatisfied and unable to understand why. She’d never said anything and thought only to please him, and it was only with Simon, who set out to delight and satisfy her before himself, that Janet had found total fulfilment. And now she’d blown it. Simon had made his decision and that was that, and she was too devastated even to cry, for she felt her world had collapsed.
Later that evening Lou and Shirley both phoned. They’d been contacted by Simon on Saturday too, they told Janet, and were curious about where she’d been that she hadn’t told Simon about. They were tremendously excited about the interview she’d done for the television documentary, but worried about Janet’s reaction to it all. She tried to talk enthusiastically, but it was a vain attempt. She was fooling no one, and certainly not the two girls who knew her so well.
Lou put the phone down on Janet and looked at the receiver pensively for a moment or two before picking it up again and dialling Shirley’s number.
‘Hi, Shirl.’
‘Lou. Anything wrong?’
‘No. Well, I mean, I’m not sure. I’ve just rung Janet and … well, she seems odd.’
‘Yes, I rang her earlier,’ Shirley said. ‘Did she tell you about the television programme?’
‘Yes, but it was like she was telling me her pet dog had died.’
‘I know,’ Shirley agreed. ‘I asked her and Simon over for a meal, but she said they were too busy.’
‘I asked her too and she said the same,’ Lou said. ‘Something’s not right.’
‘D’you think they’re having problems?’ Shirley asked. ‘I mean, Simon said something about a row to me.’
‘I don’t know, Shirl. He told me that too, but it could be any damn thing really,’ Lou said. ‘D’you think it’s any of our business?’
‘Course it’s our business,’ Shirley said. ‘She’s our friend and we care about her, don’t we?’
‘And she is miserable,’ Lou agreed. ‘You don’t need a man on a galloping horse to work that out.’
‘So?’
‘Let’s get a couple of bottles of wine in,’ Lou suggested. ‘We’ll go straight round on Friday after work.’
‘With our husbands, or without?’
‘Are you kidding? This is all-girls-together stuff, Shirley. Send your old man to the pub or get him to mind the baby or something. We’ve got to rescue Janet from whatever demons of despondency are pursuing her.’
Somehow Janet got through the week, though much of it was a blur. She realised that she was being sick a lot, which was strange, for she wasn’t eating anything much, but she didn’t really care what was happening to her. Afterwards she didn’t remember teaching the children anything, but she must have done. She knew she looked ill, for the headmistress asked her a couple of times if she was all right, but she always said she was fine.
Twice Ben rang that week, and she put the phone down as soon as she heard his voice, and twice he called at the flat, but she recognised the hire car parked outside and wouldn’t open the door. Towards the end of the week a second letter arrived from Claire.
She wrote that she and Richard intended returning home by the first week of the summer holidays, in plenty of time anyway for the wedding. She was sure Janet would be as pleased as she was about her special piece of news, she continued, and Janet read in amazement about the baby boy, Anthony Richard, 7lb 5oz and just perfect, that Claire had given birth to a couple of weeks before. She said she hoped Janet would understand why she’d said nothing till he was born. She was really looking forward to meeting Janet and her fiancé, she wrote, and ended with lots of love. Janet threw the letter to the floor and cried as if her heart would break. She tried to feel glad that Claire was coming home and dislodge the knot of misery she carried around inside her. Claire had had more than her own share of heartache and she deserved some happiness now, and Janet vowed that however she felt inside she wouldn’t let it show when Claire came back. No way would she spoil her friend’s homecoming.
But though she promised herself this, by Friday she was feeling so ill she was just glad it was the weekend. There was little in the flat to eat, but since she wasn’t hungry it didn’t matter. She hadn’t been hungry for days and couldn’t remember when she’d last shopped.
When Lou and Shirley knocked on the door, she’d reached the lowest point in her life ever. The two girls looked in horror at their friend and then at each other. ‘Bloody hell,’ Lou burst out, ‘what have you done to yourself? You’re as white as a sheet. You look like a walking corpse, if you don’t mind me saying.’
Janet gaped vacantly at Lou and Shirley, the last people she’d expected to see. They’d been laughing, but the laughter had died as they stared at Janet. Suddenly Janet felt light-headed, and the hall began to dip and sway around her. She put her hand to her head and staggered, and swiftly Lou stepped forward to hold her and help her to a chair in the living room. ‘Make a cup of something,’ she suggested to Shirley. ‘She looks all in.’
Shirley came in with a steaming mug a few minutes later. ‘There’s hardly a thing in the house,’ she said. Janet made no reply, but she took the cup from her.
‘When did you last eat?’ Lou demanded.
Janet shook her head. ‘Can’t remember,’ she said.
Lou jumped to her feet. ‘What are you playing at, you bloody fool?’ she said. ‘I’m going out to get three portions of fish and chips this minute.’
‘I couldn’t eat them,’ Janet said. ‘I’ll choke.’
‘You’ll eat them if I’m buying,’ Lou said, ‘and I’ll see you do, if I have to ram them down your throat myself.’
Janet found herself smiling at Lou’s fierce face. She’d forgotten how good her friends were. The next minute she was crying as though she’d never stop, and far from urging her not to upset herself, Shirley was holding her tight and telling her to cry it out, while she signalled to Lou to get going.
Janet was calm by the time Lou returned. As well as the fish and chips, she’d popped into a small grocer’s she found still open and bought bread, butter, milk and cheese and popped them into the fridge.
‘I’ve bought another two bottles of wine too, to go with what Shirley and I’ve already brought,’ she said. ‘I’ve a feeling this will be a long night.’
Janet ate the fish and chips, which she found surprisingly good, and drank plenty of wine, and told the tale of Simon and her old lover who had entered
her life again. She held nothing back, although she stumbled over the bits she was ashamed of. When she cried, often Shirley and Lou were moved to tears themselves, and they held Janet and cried together and it was, strangely, more comforting than anything. When she finished, they didn’t pass judgement, or issue advice, they just looked at Janet in sadness.
‘It’s a bitch,’ Lou said at last.
‘Isn’t it?’ Janet said. Her sunken eyes were red-rimmed and her face was swollen and puffy from crying, and yet she felt moderately better. The two people sitting in her living room with her were on her side totally. ‘The point is,’ Janet said, as Lou filled their glasses again, ‘now that I’ve come to my senses, as it were, and know I don’t want Ben and truly love Simon, he’s decided he’s had enough.’
‘You don’t deserve him if you’re not going to fight to get him back,’ Lou commented. ‘After all, he’s got hold of totally the wrong end of the stick.’
‘Yes,’ said Shirley, ‘you can’t leave it there, just like that. You and Simon have been an item for years.’
‘Forever,’ Lou said.
‘But what can I do?’ Janet cried. ‘I can’t ring him at work again – I doubt he’d speak to me anyway – and I don’t know where he lives.’
‘Write to him,’ Lou suggested. ‘Tell it just as it was and address it to his office.’
Janet felt hopeful for the first time in ages. It might not make Simon come back, but it would put her side of the story and maybe make her less disgusted with herself. She wondered why she hadn’t thought of that herself. ‘I’ll do it tomorrow,’ she promised.
‘Great,’ said Lou and Shirley together, and as they chinked their glasses, Shirley said, ‘And remember, we’re both for you, whatever you decide.’
Janet thanked God for her two good friends and doubted in all honesty that she could have gone on much longer on her own. Although she felt as bad as ever about what had happened between her and Simon, her friends’ love and concern had given her back some measure of self-respect, and for the first time since that dreadful phone call to Simon she felt a stirring of hope.
TWENTY-FIVE
Lou and Shirley sat on into the night with Janet, supporting her with their presence and plying her with wine till she went to bed tipsy, but happier than she’d been for a long time. She slept till morning and wasn’t surprised to wake up with a headache and feeling nauseous, but at least, she told herself as she was sick into the toilet bowl, she knew what had caused it that morning and only had herself to blame.
She was immensely glad that Lou and Shirley had turned up on her doorstep, for she’d felt so ill before they arrived. As soon as her stomach stopped churning and her thumping headache had dimmed to a dull ache, helped by tablets and a cup of tea, she settled herself at the table and began to write the all-important letter to Simon.
It took a long time to write and she made several drafts. She held nothing back. She told him of Ben’s first visit to the flat, which he’d interrupted, and the kiss that had so angered him. She assured him that what Ben had said was a lie – she didn’t love him and she’d never said she had. She explained about the confusion on Saturday and why she hadn’t been at the flat, and how she’d gone to Ruth’s when she couldn’t get hold of him, believing Ben to be away. But Ben had returned unexpectedly and had been running her home, after an evening spent with Ruth and Phillip, when Simon saw the second incident between them. She said she bitterly regretted what she had done, and the hurt she had caused him, as she loved him so very, very much. She assured him that what he had seen between her and Ben was as far as it had gone, but she knew that that was bad enough, and she begged his forgiveness. She had no feelings for Ben Hayman, and she loved Simon with all her heart. She signed it ‘With all my love, now and forever’ and addressed it, marked ‘Private and Confidential’, to his office.
She decided to post it straight away, and was making her way to the door when the bell rang. She automatically looked out of the living room window to see if it was Ben, but there was no car outside, so, wondering who it could be, she opened the door. There on the threshold was a smiling Ben Hayman, in total command of himself.
Had she known it was him, she wouldn’t have answered the door. She’d been working on avoiding him, knowing he couldn’t stay here indefinitely and must soon return to America. But as she looked at him, she knew she couldn’t hide for ever. She must face him, not run away, or the business between them would always be unfinished. So she flung open the door and said, with a confidence she didn’t feel, ‘You’d better come in.’
Ben was furious, and controlling his emotions with some difficulty. He was no man to be picked up and dropped. He thought he knew what Janet wanted, but she was playing bloody hard to get and he’d had enough of it. He hadn’t much time left to go chasing after her; he had to be back in the States in just over a week, and if she wanted to follow him out there, he would have to start making arrangements as soon as he returned. ‘What are you playing at, Janet?’ he said. ‘Twice I’ve been here when I knew you were in and you wouldn’t answer the bloody door.’
As Janet stared at him, she felt none of the trembling of her limbs or thudding of her heart she’d expected. Ben might be any casual friend popping in for coffee, and she suddenly realised that he no longer had any power over her. She was released and totally unafraid.
He walked past her in the doorway, so close he rubbed against her arm, and she felt nothing. From the other side of the room, he stared at her. He couldn’t believe how thin she looked. Her face appeared drawn, with a greyish tinge, her eyes were red-rimmed and her hair hung in lank strands. This wasn’t the Janet Travers he knew. She looked plain, even ugly, and he wondered if she were ill. Ugliness offended Ben. He liked bright, pretty things and people around him. There was something else different about her too, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Janet continued to stare at him without speaking, and the silence grew uncomfortable. Ben wasn’t used to feeling uncomfortable, and in the end he had to say something. ‘Are … are you all right?’ he said. ‘You look …’
‘I’m perfectly well, but busy,’ Janet said shortly, ‘so could you please tell me why you’ve come.’
Ben stared, open-mouthed. ‘Don’t give me that,’ he said. ‘I’m not your bloody Simon and don’t you treat me that way.’
‘What way?’
‘Come on, Jan,’ Ben said. ‘I know what we are to each other. You were ripe for it the other night, you just got cold feet. So stop playing hard to get. I haven’t got time for this, I go back to the States soon.’
Janet made no reply, and Ben snapped angrily, ‘Say something, for Christ’s sake.’ He wanted to shake her, she stood so still and mute, and he felt the confidence that she would fall gratefully into his arms begin to dribble away. ‘You belong to me,’ he burst out defiantly, ‘and always will.’
‘What exactly are you offering me, Ben?’ Janet asked quietly.
‘You know damn well.’
‘Ah, but you see, I don’t,’ Janet said. ‘You say we belong together. Who exactly does your wife belong to, and your son? What happens to them?’
‘Nothing happens to them,’ Ben said, as he caught hold of Janet’s hand. ‘Therese has lovers, she always has had, and plenty of them. She won’t care.’
Janet shook off his hand, as if it had contaminated her. ‘But you see, I do care,’ she said. ‘That’s where we differ. I bitterly regret what happened between us. Do you know what this letter is, Ben?’ and she waved it in front of his startled eyes. ‘This is a letter to the man I love, begging his forgiveness. He loved me once so much, possibly more than he loved himself. He wanted me as a life partner, not a mere distraction to help him cope with a boring marriage. You and Therese must work out your own salvation and I must work out mine. I hurt Simon badly. Maybe it will be too hard for him to forgive me, and maybe he’ll never be able to trust me again. If that’s how it is, I must accept it – it’s my own fault, after all – but there is
no reason on God’s earth why I should make do with second best.’
‘I’m not bloody second best.’
‘You are for me,’ Janet said, ‘for I don’t love you. You want to have your cake and eat it, Ben, and I couldn’t settle for that even if I cared more for you. As it is, at this moment, I think of you only as the brother of a friend.’
‘You’re fooling yourself,’ Ben yelled. He wasn’t used to being thwarted. ‘You do love me, you always have!’ he cried defiantly.
Janet smiled a sad, slow smile that infuriated Ben, and said, quietly but firmly, ‘Goodbye, Ben,’ knowing that if they met again it would be as mere acquaintances.
‘You’ll be sorry,’ Ben said, making for the door Janet had opened for him. His face was crimson.
‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ Janet said, and as Ben stepped over the threshold, she shut it with a satisfying crash.
Simon was desperately unhappy and trying to prove he was having a great time. The first week with Kenny he’d taken as leave, and when he got smashed out of his brain early on in the evening and insisted on going on to a club at closing time, Kenny had gone along with it, thinking he’d eventually get over it. Since the second incident with Ben Hayman and Janet, Simon had, if anything, got worse and Kenny was worried.
He wasn’t able to keep up with Simon every night and doubted that Simon could carry on at this pace. In the morning, he looked terrible, was hell to get up in the first place and late for work almost every day, but whenever he tried to talk to him, Simon told him to stay out of his life; he was having a bloody good time and it wasn’t anyone else’s business. Kenny would shrug, knowing he’d gone a bit wild when his fiancée had done the dirty on him, and she’d not even flaunted it in front of his nose like Janet had with Simon.
Simon in fact was getting used to waking up feeling like death, with a raging hangover and a dry throat and cough from the cigarettes he’d begun smoking again. Janet had hurt him badly and damaged his self-confidence, but he could almost convince himself he was happy when he was drunk, and he still had it in him to pull the birds. Janet might have spurned him, but there were plenty who didn’t. Some, he sensed, wanted more than a one-night stand, but he always shied away, taking Kenny’s advice to ‘love ’em and leave ’em’ literally.