by Lulu Taylor
‘What’s up with Alice?’ asks Sophia Buxton, who is her opposite number. Sophia jumps up and down a few times, her cheeks bright red with cold. ‘She’s not herself this term.’
‘She’s not very well,’ Julia replies. ‘I’m not sure what’s wrong with her. She’s been under the weather since we got back. That’s almost two weeks now. She keeps going off to Matron.’
‘They’ll be sending her home at this rate. I heard Matron tell Jennifer Mason that this isn’t a hospital. Jenny’s been ill three times already with flu, she can’t seem to shake it.’
‘I expect Jenny would be better off at home,’ Julia says. ‘At least she’d be warm and get some decent rations. It’s no wonder she can’t get well here.’
‘So, do you think they’ll send Alice home? I’ve not seen her at one games lesson so far this term. They won’t like that.’
Julia and Sophia swap meaningful looks. They both know the almost religious fervour of the school’s approach to games. No one can miss too many lessons without questions being asked.
‘I suppose they might,’ Julia says. She has hoped not, but lately she’s begun to think that it might be for the best. Alice is evidently not herself, and the black mood doesn’t seem to have lifted at all. In lessons, Julia sneaks looks at her, and often sees her big blue eyes swimming in tears, and a look of abject misery on her friend’s face. But when she asks what’s wrong, Alice won’t tell.
Later, as they come back across the field, a little warmer now after the game, Julia sees the small dark figures of the men working over by the gymnasium. The builders went home over Christmas and New Year, but now they are back and hard at work on the construction of the gym. The dugout pool has been left while the shell is constructed round it. Julia strains her eyes to make out Donnie, or even Roy, but she can’t see that far and can only guess which of the little figures is Donnie.
I wonder if I’ll ever see him again. I don’t think I will, somehow.
Sadness grips her for an instant, and then she pushes it out of her mind.
Perhaps someone has a word with her, or perhaps she just feels a little better, but a day or two later, Alice rallies. She dries her tears and even smiles at Julia over breakfast, and teases her about her hair, which means she must be feeling better. Things seem a little more normal, and Julia is happy and relieved. She’s missed Alice, even if life is less risky without her high jinks to cope with.
‘What’s the matter?’ she asks over lunch, when there are just the two of them left at the table. ‘You’ve been awfully ill, haven’t you?’
Alice sighs, an air of melancholy enveloping her again. ‘Yes. I’m all right today. And perhaps I will be tomorrow, but I don’t know when I’ll be completely better.’
‘It’s funny because you actually look a bit healthier in lots of ways,’ Julia says, trying to offer some comfort.
‘I do?’ Alice lifts her eyes to Julia’s questioningly.
‘Yes. I mean, you’re . . . you’re definitely fatter than you were. Not . . . not horrible fat. I mean, healthy fat.’
‘Really?’ Alice starts to laugh. ‘That’s terribly funny.’
‘Is it? Why?’ Julia smiles at her, finding Alice’s mirth infectious.
‘Why? It just is!’ Alice laughs harder. ‘I can’t explain. But they don’t think it’s my body anyway. They think it’s my head. I’ve had to see two different head doctors already, men with glasses and clipboards and pencils and a big desk and a sofa I have to lie on.’ She leans forward to Julia, still laughing. ‘Not like Roy’s sofa. Not like that at all. They don’t touch me, they make me to talk to them. But they may as well not waste their time, because I’m not going to say anything. Not a sausage.’ She puts her finger on her lips and says, ‘Shhh.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Julia says helplessly.
‘Girls, quiet please, finish your lunch!’ It’s Mademoiselle, who is in charge of the dining room today.
Alice refuses to say anything more and then lunch is over and they don’t speak of it again.
Julia thinks about the head doctors all afternoon. What does Alice mean? A psychiatrist, she supposes. Perhaps that’s why she’s so depressed – anyone would be if the grown-ups had decided you’ve gone round the bend. But it’s awfully unfair, considering that they’re the ones who’ve made her that way. If her parents had just cared about her a little bit more, she probably wouldn’t be like this.
She wants to tell Alice her conclusion and tell her how sorry she is, and how unfair it is, but there isn’t a chance. They sit far apart in Latin and are in different sets for Maths. Then they are outside for the afternoon lacrosse match, and Alice is attack, while she is defence, so they don’t cross paths for long enough to talk.
It rained the previous night and there was no frost, so the ground is soft and muddy, easily churned up by lacrosse boots and sent splattering up legs and over arms. They are all filthy when they get back from the field.
‘Showers, please, girls!’ yells Dunleavy, and there’s a universal groan. Everyone hates showers. They don’t have them very often because it means the girls are slower getting dressed again, but it’s inevitable today. Julia looks over at Alice and sees a look of horror on her face. Julia feels the same – she detests the humiliation of the shower but there’s nothing for it. They have to do it.
Julia strips off her kit until she is in her gym knickers and vest. This is the most awful moment. She can’t bear revealing herself to the eyes of the others, even though she tries not to look at them and is sure they feel just as she does. She quickly pulls off the vest and then the knickers, picking up her towel and shielding herself with it as she pads along the cold tiles to the showers. They are all on, hot water and steam filling the narrow room, with its rows of heads bent over the one single channel. Nowhere to hide. No privacy. Miss Dunleavy stands at the door, taking towels from girls as they pass. They are supposed to shower using the small white bars of soap in the little cubby holes by each shower head, and then return via Miss Dunleavy for their towel on the way back to the changing room. Julia reaches the games mistress and hands over her towel, then runs for the nearest shower, staring at the floor. The only good thing about the whole process is that the water is hot, hotter than anywhere else. Perhaps it’s closer to the boiler room or something. She faces the wall and stands under the stream of water, letting the mud on her legs and arms melt and flow away. Then she notices that someone is under the shower next to her, and she can’t help glancing over, her gaze still lowered, to see who is there. She sees a naked form facing the wall as she is, with slender legs and a neat behind, a straight strong back and fair hair curled up into a rough bun to keep it from the water. But that is not what draws Julia’s eye. Instead she finds herself following the curve of the belly as it protrudes outwards from just above the pubic mound, sticking out before rounding upwards towards the breasts, like the side of a pear.
Julia’s gaze continues up and she meets the candid and yet deeply sad eyes of Alice, staring back. She makes the same sign she did at lunch, pressing her finger to her lips, mouthing, ‘Shhh.’
Oh no, thinks Julia as she understands what she has seen. Oh no. It can’t be. Can it?
Alice knows she knows, but nothing is said. Julia can’t think what to say, or who to tell, or how to ask for help. No one else has noticed. Not even Dunleavy, as she held out a towel and Alice scampered past, her arms folded across her front until she was able to snatch the towel and hide herself. She tries to imagine going to a teacher, or writing to her mother, or to Alice’s mother, but she can’t think of what she could possibly say, or how it would help matters.
But how much time have we got?
She realises how little she knows about what is happening to Alice. She knows the theory of human reproduction and has looked at the biology textbook line drawings of tubes and ovaries and sperm ducts like everyone else, but she has only the vaguest idea of the practice, or how it all even starts, except that intimacy m
ust take place, whatever that might be. Kissing, she supposes, and touching of some kind. Whatever happened in the caravan when she and Donnie were outside. That must have caused it.
An idea bursts over her with a rush of inspiration.
Of course. Donnie. And Roy. That’s what I have to do.
Julia finds the journey undertaken on her own much more terrifying than the excursions she made for Alice’s sake. It is strange and frightening to be setting off alone to sneak out of the dormitory and down through the cold, empty school to where the canvas sheeting is still tacked over the door. It goes against her nature to be so wilfully disobedient, but it is the only thing she can think of to do in this awful situation. There’s less wind now that the walls of the gymnasium and the pool room have gone up, with holes left for windows at the top. She is glad to discover that there is not yet a door for the back of the gym, just a makeshift piece of wood that is easy to push open wide enough to slip through. Then, with the help of her pocket torch, she follows the route she remembers from the last time she did this, when she followed a flighty Alice through the hole in the hedge.
It’s Friday again and the campsite is quiet, as she’d hoped. It’s easy to recognise the caravan at the back of the field with the metal steps where she sat with Donnie. A light is on in the interior, the flimsy curtains drawn. Julia shivers as she picks her way over the dark field towards it. It’s so cold and the sky feels low and heavy. When she reaches the door, she pauses and listens. The sound of tinny music comes from within. Surely that means that Donnie is there. She is excited and scared at the same time, and more than a little shocked at her own audacity in coming out here alone without being asked. After all, she has only met him once, weeks ago. For a moment, she wonders what on earth she is doing here. Then she remembers Alice’s burgeoning belly, taps lightly on the door and waits. There’s no answer and she wonders if her knock could be heard over the noise of the radio, so she knocks again with more force. A moment later, the music stops abruptly and footsteps cross the caravan. The door opens a touch and she sees a face peering out through the gap.
It’s him.
Her insides curl in a somersault that makes her blood rush and her head spin. Now what is she going to say to him? How on earth can he help her? But she is sure that he is the only person she can tell who will understand.
The door opens a little further, and Donnie is there, looking out at her, a little stooped in the doorway, an expression of astonishment on his face.
‘You,’ he says in surprise.
‘Yes.’ She manages a small smile. ‘I know you weren’t expecting me. I need to talk to you.’
‘To me?’ He frowns. ‘What about?’
She looks beyond him into the caravan but can see nothing. ‘Is Roy there?’
‘He’s down the pub,’ Donnie says briefly. ‘With all the others.’
‘Why don’t you go down to the pub?’ she asks shyly.
He shrugs. ‘Not my cup of tea. I’d rather stay here and get a bit of peace. Listen to my music.’ His accent is gentle, not as strong as Roy’s, but still there. ‘So . . . what do you want? I’m afraid I don’t have whiskey, if that’s what you’re after.’
She flushes. ‘I don’t want that.’
‘Then what do you want?’
‘I told you. To talk to you.’
He laughs drily. ‘What can you have to talk to me about?’
Julia stares at him, and bites her lip. An expression crosses his face that she can’t quite read, but she knows he’s guessed something of what she’s come to say.
‘All right,’ he says finally. ‘You’d better come in then.’
Inside, she sits on the cushioned bench underneath the window where she sat the last time she was here. The place seems bigger without Roy’s vast size in it. She’s relieved he’s not there.
‘So what’s the trouble?’ Donnie asks, handing her a tin mug of tea he’s brewed up for her. ‘Your girl’s in a bad way, is she?’
Julia takes the tea and nods. ‘I’m afraid so. She’s been very down in the dumps for ages. I thought she must be ill or something, or else in the most frightful bad mood there’s ever been. But then, yesterday, I guessed what it is. And I don’t think she’s going to tell anyone either. But they’re bound to find out sooner or later, I’m just amazed no one’s noticed already. She’s learned to hide it, I suppose, but she can’t do that forever.’
‘Young girls can go the whole way and never show,’ Donnie says wisely. ‘I’ve seen it.’ He shakes his head. ‘Poor lasses. It’s never a good way to be.’ He lights a cigarette and blows out a stream of smoke. ‘It takes two to make the baby, but only one of ’em has to carry it, and that’s the one the world blames.’
Julia looks over at him, not knowing what to say. She is hopelessly shy about these things and when she remembers that she is sitting across from Donnie, the boy she has been dreaming of all winter, she can hardly believe that they are talking about babies. It’s as though she’s been transported to the grown-up world in a blink of an eye, without really knowing enough about it.
Donnie puffs on his cigarette again, his foot tapping as though his music is still playing.
Perhaps he’s hearing it in his head.
‘So the poor girl is in the club. Why’d you want to talk to me about it? I don’t know what I can do.’
‘I thought . . . I thought perhaps you could tell Roy and he might know what to do.’
Donnie laughs incredulously. ‘He won’t have a clue. He’s got four kids already; last one was born over Christmas but it died. He’s been drinking like a fish ever since he got back here. It’s shaken him up. He’s lost his appetite for having his parties with your friend, anyhow. She’ll get no help from that direction.’ He shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry for your girl and all, but she must have known she was taking a risk. I suppose the school will be shot of her. Her family will have to look after her. She’ll have money if she’s at a place like this. She’ll be all right. It’s worse for the girls who have nothing, and who end up in homes, with their kids taken away from them, and ruined for life.’
Julia blinks at him. She’s never heard of such places or dreamed that things like that can happen. What did Alice do to get herself into this situation? Surely they would take Alice’s baby away from her too. How on earth could she keep it? And would she really have to leave school? All the questions she hasn’t yet considered flood her mind, and they sit in silence for a moment.
At last she glances over at Donnie, and says, ‘Should we tell Roy about it? It’s his baby after all.’
Donnie shakes his head. ‘No. We mustn’t tell him, not unless he really needs to know. Does she want him to be a father to it?’
‘No,’ Julia says, embarrassed. ‘I don’t think so.’ She thinks of Alice’s breezy dismissal of Roy as being just a builder, and doesn’t want to repeat such a thing to Donnie.
‘Well then. It’ll only make him mad. Their little fling is over now.’ He makes a face. ‘I always knew it would end up in no good. Someone was going to suffer. I’m sorry it’s your friend.’
‘What do you think will happen to her?’
He shrugs. ‘She’ll be smuggled away to have it. The kid will be adopted. She’ll be okay. I told you, she’s got money. It buys the way out of trouble.’ He glances over at her. ‘You’d better tell her mother. That’s the only thing there is to do.’
‘I can’t do that,’ Julia says unhappily. ‘Alice would never forgive me.’
‘Then persuade her to do it herself. Better to do it now than wait for everyone to notice.’ He stubs out his cigarette. ‘Come on. You shouldn’t be here. I’ll walk you back to the school. No point in you getting yourself in trouble as well.’
He stands up and puts out a hand to her. She takes it and he helps her to her feet. They gaze at each other for a long moment, their hands still locked together, warm and smooth, aware suddenly of their physical connection and the feelings it is provoking in them. For an
instant, she thinks he will pull her towards him, bend his head and kiss her, and she wants him to with everything in her. But he doesn’t. He releases her hand, looks away awkwardly and says, ‘Let’s go then.’
They walk back across the field, past the dark caravans. Julia wonders what it is like when the place is full of men, the caravans crowded and noisy.
‘How long do you expect to be here?’ she asks. ‘When will the work be finished?’
‘Another three weeks or so,’ Donnie says. ‘Not too long. It’s slow at first, then it speeds up. You’ll see.’
They reach the new pool building and he says, ‘I’ll leave you here then.’
‘Goodbye,’ she says. ‘And thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. Tell your friend good luck.’ Then he turns on his heel, his hands stuffed in his pockets and trudges away, back towards the caravan field. Julia watches him go, then hurries back inside, to make her silent dash for the dormitory.
The strangest atmosphere exists between her and Alice now. Whenever she looks at her friend, she sees not just Alice but the burgeoning life inside her. A baby. What does it look like, tucked up inside Alice’s body? Is it half finished, like the clay head she was moulding in pottery but never got round to adding the finer details to, or is it perfect but in miniature, simply amplifying by the day? Julia has so little idea of how these things come about, and while it has never seemed important or relevant before, it does now.
One lunchtime, by unspoken consent, they walk around the grounds where they are permitted to go during breaks, and Julia knows she must say something, before the opportunity is lost.
‘You know you mustn’t do games anymore,’ she says as they walk down one of the gravel paths bordered by lavender plants that are stringy and brown in their winter dormancy. Above them the sky is a yellowish grey.
‘Yes, I know,’ Alice says. ‘It is getting tricky. I can’t seem to run as fast as I used to.’