*
‘Where on earth have you been? Your dinner’s in the oven, what’s left of it. We’ve waited over an hour for you. This isn’t a hotel you know.’ Alice faced her daughter at the top of the stairs.
‘I didn’t ask you to wait for me. Why don’t you get a telephone like everybody else? Then I could phone you if I’m going to be late,’ said Jenny, imagining future impromptu evenings in the coffee bar.
‘We’ll have none of your cheek here, my girl. While you live here you do as we say,’ Alice said.
‘I don’t want your stupid dinner anyway.’ Jenny stormed into her bedroom slamming the door behind her.
‘I’m not having her behave like that, Charlie, go and do something.’ She could hear her mother remonstrating outside her bedroom door.
‘What am I supposed to do, Gal?’ Jenny listened at the door knowing that her father hated emotional scenes. He would always retreat to his chair and carry on watching T.V.
‘Well I don’t get any help from you, do I? You’re either still in the bloody army or watching T.V. It’s no wonder I’m always ill.’
*
Mr Winstanley was the deputy manager of the Hove office; a benign, rotund man of middle age. He arrived each morning dressed in a dark pinstriped suit, matching waistcoat and a bowler hat. His presence went unnoticed until lunchtime.
‘Quick Jenny, it’s nearly one, he’ll be leaving in a minute.’ Dido left her shorthand translation in mid-sentence, and rushed across to the sash window.
Jenny stopped filing and joined her friend to peer at the road below.
‘There he goes. He looks just like a penguin.’
‘He waddles like one too,’ Jenny dissolved into giggles.
Every day at one o’clock sharp, Mr Winstanley would leave the office and walk across to the floral clock, which sat on an island in the middle of the main road. With his furled umbrella tapping each step, he would cross the road and walk along the tall terrace of Regency houses that curved behind a public garden. He would then vanish from their sight. At one fifty-five precisely, they would watch him return by exactly the same route.
‘Where do you think he goes every lunchtime?’ Jenny said.
‘To meet his boyfriend of course,’ said Dido.
It was common knowledge among the staff that Mr Winstanley was unmarried and lived alone. Speculation was rife.
‘He might just like to go for a walk along the seafront, or he might meet a woman,’ said Jenny.
‘What with a walk like that? He wriggles like Marilyn Monroe. He’s a pansy. No normal man walks like that.’
Jenny had to admit he did have a strange walk, and so on that basis, Mr Winstanley’s sexual preference was decided.
*
‘What did you do at the weekend?’
Jenny looked up from the pile of family allowance applications. She couldn’t believe that Dido was asking her something.
‘Oh. On Friday evening I met up with some friends from school, at the youth club I used to belong to.’
‘That sounds fun.’
‘Not really, I’ve known them for ages. They always do the same old things. That’s why I don’t go there any more.’ Jenny hadn’t told Dido that she still went there, thinking that it would spoil her desired image. She wanted and needed to keep her two worlds separate. Apart from being interested in what Gail was doing, she also wanted to hear any news of Martin and his family. She clung to the hope that he would return. Gail told her recently, that she had heard he was still working in a bank in Southampton.
‘By the way, I’ve finished with Peter.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Jenny thinking that her friend didn’t seem very upset.
‘I’m going out with Reza now. He’s as sharp as one too.’ Dido laughed at her own joke. ‘He’s much more mature. Peter was so shallow, he’s such a flirt. I got bored with him.’
Jenny recalled Reza. He was one of the group at the Gondola. She thought he looked much the same as Peter, but quieter, and with a larger sports car.
She now spent every Wednesday evening with Dido and her friends. She basked in Peter’s flirtatious remarks. They helped her forget about Martin. She told her mother that she had been invited to spend Wednesday evenings at Dido’s house. When she added that her father was a bank manager, it was never questioned.
It was Jenny’s responsibility to open a new file for each family allowance application. The allowance was only paid on the birth of the second child, so Jenny needed to verify both children’s birth certificates and the parents’ marriage certificate. She enjoyed seeing the names that parents gave to their children. Mark, Kevin, Karen and Nicola seemed the most popular choices, with the occasional exotic Francesca and Sebastian. The naming of a Crispin or Hermione would reduce Jenny and Dido to giggles. To relieve the tedium they would fantasise about the names they would give their own children.
‘ ‘I’m going to call my daughter Araminta,’ Dido said grinning.
‘That sounds like a Polo,’ said Jenny. ‘I’m going to call my son Peregrine.’
‘Isn’t that a bird?’
Jenny laughed until her side ached.
*
‘The rain’s stopped. Do you fancy going into Brighton this lunchtime?’ said Dido as she walked over to the window to wait for Mr Winstanley to leave the office.
‘No, I can’t today Dido, I’ve got to go to the library.’
‘The library – what do you want to go there for?’
‘There’s a book I want to read. I’ve got to reserve it.’
‘A book – what’s it about?’
‘Tibet.’
‘Tibet,’ Dido threw her a puzzled look, as if she was trying to remember a long forgotten geography lesson. ‘Doesn’t that Lama person come from there? I always thought they were animals.’
Jenny had said the first word that came into her mind. She hated lying, but having promised Gail on Friday evening that she would meet her for lunch, she didn’t want Dido questioning her, or worse still, asking if she could join them. Gail was from a past that she was trying to escape from.
As she left Jenny glanced up at the window to check that Dido wasn’t watching, and then walked in the opposite direction to the library. She had arranged to meet Gail at one-fifteen, and wondered why she had been keen to meet again so soon. Thinking back to Friday evening she remembered that she had seemed quieter than usual.
‘I’m so glad you’ve come.’ Gail was already waiting outside her office; her shoulder-length straight hair contrasting with her pale face. ‘Shall we go up the road to the Wimpy?’
‘If you like, I can have one of their strawberry milkshakes. What will you have?’ asked Jenny.
‘Nothing, I’m not feeling well.’
‘Why didn’t you cancel if you’re not well? You could have phoned and we could have made it another day.’
‘I couldn’t, I had to see you today Jenny, quick, let’s get inside out of the cold. I’m freezing.’ Gail rubbed her hands together.
‘We can sit over in the corner,’ said Jenny, wondering what was so important. She shuffled along the plastic-covered bench seat.
Gail sat opposite and fiddled with the lid on the large plastic tomato. ‘Jenny – I’m pregnant.’
‘What! You can’t be.’
‘Yes I am. I’ve been throwing up every morning before work, and I’m two months late. What am I going to do? Mum will kill me. I’m so scared. She’s going to guess soon.’
‘You can’t be. How? What happened?’
‘Stop saying I can’t be. I tell you I am. I’ve tried doing loads of exercises, stretching, running up and down stairs. I’ve had hot baths. I’ve even drunk half a bottle of Dad’s gin that he’s been saving for Christmas. But nothing’s happened. I have to tell somebody, or I’ll go mad. I thought you would know what to do. You know lots of things, Jen. What am I going to do?’
Jenny panicked as she realised that she didn’t know what to do either. She remembered
Gail telling her a couple of months ago that she was seeing an older man who she’d met at a dancehall in Brighton. ‘Is it Chris?’ she said.
‘Yes, it must have happened the first time we did it. We didn’t use anything, I didn’t think you could get pregnant the first time. It was late at night and I’d had too many drinks. How could I have been so stupid?’ A tear rolled down Gail’s pallid cheek.
Jenny sat in silence, fiddling with her straw. How could this have happened to Gail? She wanted to be a teacher.
‘Does he know?’
‘No, I keep thinking I’ll come on, and it will be alright, but I’m just kidding myself.’
‘Do you want to marry him?’
‘I don’t know Jen, I’m only seventeen, I’d have to get Mum and Dad’s permission, and I know they won’t like him. He’s not like the boys at the club, he’s twenty-five. He’s even done National Service. That’s what attracted me. He’s a man, not a boy. You’ll still be friends with me won’t you?’
‘Of course I will,’ said Jenny. But no sooner had she spoken than she thought of the embarrassment of being seen with her friend as she became noticeably larger. Then she thought of Dido. This would never have happened to her. She would never allow the undesirable consequences of passion to disrupt her life. ‘We’d better go Gail. I’ve got to get back,’ she poked her straw into the ice cream that still sat at the bottom of her glass.
‘You’ll meet me next week, won’t you? You won’t tell anyone?’
‘No, of course not,’ Jenny thought there was no likelihood of that. As she walked back to the office she veered between sympathy for Gail’s predicament, and thinking how stupid she’d been. She remembered her walk with Phil Goldstein. A few minutes, she thought, that’s all it takes. A few minutes, that could decide a girl’s future. She mustn’t be hard on Gail. She’d been carried away in the heat of the moment, just as she had been. She wondered what she would do if she was pregnant, and decided that having to tell her parents would be a fate worse than death.
‘Golly, you look so serious. I don’t think you’d better go to the library again if that’s how you look when you come back,’ said Dido.
‘Oh, I’ve just got cold that’s all, it’s freezing outside.’
‘Well my girl, I’m the bearer of good news. There’s a party on New Year’s Eve. That will cheer you up. It’s at Nick’s house, well his parents’ house actually, but they’ll be away. He’s a friend of my brother. You’d better come. He told me to bring a friend, the more the merrier.’
I am her friend, Jenny thought, thrilled to be asked.
The following Monday was the start of Christmas week. A new junior had made a half-hearted attempt to decorate the upstairs offices by draping paper chains around the filing cabinets and the few spider plants that were hanging onto life. Jenny thought continually about Gail and wondered what she could say to her when they next met.
*
‘Have you told Chris?’ Jenny bit into a beef burger.
‘I hated having to tell him. I was dead scared; but he was good, said he’d stand by me. I was so relieved. I’m not sure about getting married. But I can’t bring a baby up on my own, can I?’
‘You could have it adopted. Then you needn’t marry him if you don’t want to, and once it’s born you can carry on as if it had never happened.’ Jenny felt pleased with herself to have come up with what she considered the ideal solution.
‘I still haven’t told Mum, I’m petrified she’ll throw me out.’
‘Well, whatever you decide, she’ll have to know, Gail,’ said Jenny with the conviction of someone not in the same predicament.
‘I know you’re right.’ Gail picked half-heartedly at her burger. ‘Let’s meet again after Christmas? I can wait another couple of weeks until I decide what to do. It’s been such a relief to talk things over with you. I’ll phone you at work.’
‘O.K.’
Jenny arrived at the door to the office at the same time as Mr Winstanley. ‘I trust you enjoyed your lunch break Miss Porter?’ He tapped his furled umbrella three times on the entrance step and removed his bowler hat, revealing a shiny bald head with a fringe of dark hair above his ears.
‘Yes, Mr Winstanley,’ said Jenny.
‘Good, good, glad to hear it, glad to hear it. I like to think we run a happy ship here.’
11
December 1962
I remember when we had to do all our Christmas shopping late on Christmas Eve,’ said Alice. ‘My poor dad had to work well into the evening before he was paid. Then we’d go up Green Street market. It stayed open ‘til late, back then. There’d be hot chestnuts and bagels, and we’d search the stalls for our presents, not that we had much to spend; but we loved every minute.’
Jenny gave a large sigh, as she heard her mother’s annual reminisces, and picked up her book – Casablanca, principal city of Morocco and largest port of the Maghreb was enlarged by the French in the early twentieth century. The Old Medina is still partially walled and the vast Mosque Hassan 11 stands nearby, on a promontory overlooking the Atlantic…
‘Then, when we’d get home, we’d make paper chains and hang them. It was magical. On Christmas Day we’d find a tangerine and some nuts at the bottom of our stockings. If we were lucky there’d be crayons and a colouring book.’
Jenny didn’t glance up from her book.
*
They opened their presents after breakfast on Christmas morning and once the wrapping paper had been scrunched away, Charlie opened a bottle of sherry – their annual aperitif. The kitchen table covered with a festive tablecloth was carried through into the sitting room. ‘It’s got all the trimmings,’ Alice said, as they tucked into the roast chicken. Timed to perfection, they finished eating their Christmas pudding the minute the queen started her speech. Alice and Charlie raised their glasses and watched in reverential silence.
‘Shhh,’ they said as Jenny opened her mouth.
‘Another good speech; I don’t like those corgis though,’ said Charlie. ‘I remember Major, the Bull-Terrier I had in India. One man dogs they are, you know, wouldn’t go with anyone except me, superb guard dog. Anyway, one of the natives had spotted a krait in the shrubbery by the barracks – deadly poisonous they are, small, mind you, and nowhere near as big as a cobra or python but they’d kill a man easily. The natives searched the bushes with sticks but couldn’t find it. Anyway, Major hated snakes, he’d stand his ground against a leopard, but hated snakes. One morning, he started growling and barking. That was unusual, so I jumped out of bed to see what the commotion was about, and there curled up at the back of the toilet was this krait. Major had found it. I tell you Gal, I’d have been a goner if it hadn’t been for that dog, saved my life he did.’ He drew a deep breath and turned towards his daughter. ‘Come on Jenny. It’s Christmas.’ His intact eye sparkled, while his glass eye stared solidly from its socket.
Jenny knew that apart from the obligatory games of whist and rummy, spiced up for Christmas by playing for money, the rest of the day stretched ahead. But she had the New Year’s Eve party to look forward to, so could afford to be charitable.
‘Saudi Arabia,’ said Charlie.
‘Medina.’
‘Iraq.’
‘Baghdad.’
‘Damascus.’
‘Syria.’
‘Beirut.’
‘Lebanon.’
‘Jerusalem.’
‘Israel.’
Charlie had kept to a biblical theme. ‘We can do some more tomorrow.’
‘I’m going to my room now.’ Jenny left them watching television and lay on her bed listening to Elvis Presley. She thought of Martin, as she always did when she was on her own, then wondered whether Gail would find the courage to tell her mother. She imagined a scene from a recent film. Gail’s mother would be crying, and her father would shout, ‘Get out of this house, and don’t darken our door again.’
*
The house stood in one of many roads that led f
rom the centre of Hove to the sea. Jenny approached with trepidation, realising that the only person she knew who was going to the party, was Dido. Why didn’t she think of asking to meet her first, then they could have arrived together? She had been so thrilled at being invited, that the reality of turning up on her own, and ringing the doorbell, hadn’t entered her mind. How would she know if Dido was already there? She wouldn’t. She could only hang around and see who turned up. If a girl appeared, she would go in with her. It was bitterly cold, and loud music blared out from behind the drawn curtains. She walked up and down the road to keep warm.
‘Are you going to Nick’s party?’ said a voice from behind, as she was on her sixth walk down the road. She turned, and saw a tall young man dressed in a corduroy jacket. Fair hair flopped over his forehead and a college scarf was wrapped around his neck.
‘Yes. I was worried that I might be late.’
‘Good God, you’re not late.’
‘I’m supposed to be meeting my friend there.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘It’s Diana but I call her Dido.’
He smiled at her, ‘So do I. She’ll be there already. In fact, I expect she’s been there all afternoon, Nick’s her brother’s friend.’
‘Yes, she told me.’
‘I’m Mike by the way. What’s your name?’
‘Jenny.’
‘Well, let’s go in, little Jenny-wren.’ His smile reminded her of Martin. The door was on the latch and they went through into the hall. ‘We can leave our coats here.’ He removed his jacket and scarf, and laid them on top of the pile draped over the banister. Jenny did the same.
‘Look what I found outside,’ Mike announced as they entered a darkened lounge heaving with people.
Jenny turned bright red. She didn’t have time to wonder what she should do next, as Dido was pushing through the bodies towards her.
‘Where’ve you been? I’ve been waiting ages for you. Don’t take any notice of Mike.’
‘What do you mean, don’t take any notice of me. Let the girl decide for herself. She might want to take notice of me. Don’t you go too far away little Jenny-wren. Remember I was the first to spot you.’
sUnwanted Truthst Page 9