sUnwanted Truthst

by Unwanted Truths (epub)

  *

  Jenny waited until everyone except Mr Winstanley had gone home before creeping down the stairs. After leaving the office, Jenny lingered in the snow looking into the dimmed interiors of the shop windows in Church Road; her eyes misty with fresh tears. When she could bear the cold no longer, she walked to the bus stop.

  ‘Jenny, Jenny, is that you?’ her mother’s words threatened her as she tiptoed to the top of the stairs. ‘I’m in here, in the kitchen. Come in and we can talk.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk. Just leave me alone. I’m alright.’

  As she passed the sitting room she heard a cough and splutter. She peered in. Her father was hidden behind the News Chronicle, only a shock of white hair showed above the headlines. Relieved, Jenny went into her bedroom, shut the door and went over to the pile of 45s by the side of her record player. Without looking at the label, she took the first one from its sleeve and balanced it on the arm of the turntable, then lay fully clothed on her bed and turned the volume higher.

  13

  February 1963

  Her seventeenth birthday fell on a weekday. Nothing had changed, yet everything had changed. Jenny thought that it must be like the first anniversary of a loved one’s death; a Sword of Damocles; looming ever closer, but once over, the next one wouldn’t be so bad.

  ‘I’m having something to eat with Dido after work. I won’t be late,’ she had said when Alice asked what she wanted to do for her birthday. Jenny had no intention of celebrating her birthday with anyone, only wanting to put the day behind her.

  On the morning of the twentieth-eighth she rushed downstairs to collect the post. ‘Yes!’ she cried, when she saw the post-mark Reading on a square envelope. He hadn’t forgotten. She could face the world and Dido.

  Sitting on the upper deck of the bus, she turned the envelope over several times reliving the excitement of seeing Mike’s handwriting. Eventually she pulled out the card, savouring the roses for a full minute. She smiled as she read the words inside and kept the open card on her lap.

  ‘Come on then, pass it over. You can tell a lot from what’s inside a boy’s card.’ With a flourish Dido flung the typewriter carriage across and waved her hands excitedly in front of Jenny’s face.

  ‘Oh, look, he’s even put some kisses, that’s a good sign; how romantic.’ She smiled at Jenny as she handed the card back. Dido leant down and reached into her bag under her desk. ‘Here’s my card, happy birthday. Don’t forget that you have to buy cakes for everyone. We must celebrate. Are you doing anything tonight?’

  ‘No, I can’t tonight. I’ve got to get home. But we could do something another evening?’

  *

  At five o’clock Jenny muffled herself against the wind by wrapping her scarf around her face, and picked her way along the icy pavements. The earlier winter sunshine had disappeared. Waiting for a gap in the traffic, she crossed the main road, and walked slowly down First Avenue to the seafront; the sea and sky now indiscernible in the darkness. She walked along one block and then turned up Second Avenue, returning to the main road. The evening traffic had thinned. She crossed the double width of Grand Avenue and turned down the next road. The curtains in a ground-floor flat had not yet been drawn. Children were playing in front of a fire, whilst a woman, presumably their mother, laid a table for tea. Jenny stopped and stared at the scene. She felt a pricking behind her eyes and walked on. Reaching the seafront for the second time, she stopped and rested against a lamp-post. She looked across to the line of beach huts and shivered. What was she doing here, in this unending blackness? Why hadn’t she gone straight home? She should be with her parents in front of their fire; it was her birthday. She turned around and walked back to the main road. The Victorian Town Hall loomed above her as she stared into a children’s clothes shop. There was a doll dressed in a white matinee outfit, she wondered if her real mother had bought something similar for her, and if she had kept it as a memento. Perhaps she hadn’t bothered to buy anything; glad to be rid of her. No longer able to feel her fingers and toes, she peered through the steamy windows of the coffee bar. After checking that there was no one inside who she knew, she pushed the door, and sat down in the far corner where she usually sat with Dido, and ordered a hot chocolate. She warmed her hands around the glass and sipped the steaming liquid, making it last as long as she dared. At eight o’clock she left.

  *

  ‘Oh good, you’re back. Did you have a nice time?’ said Alice.

  ‘Yes, it was O.K.’

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘Oh… a steakhouse in Church Road.’

  ‘What did you have to eat?’

  ‘Steak, chips, the usual,’ for God’s sake stop questioning me, Jenny thought.

  ‘Well come and open your presents and cards.’

  Jenny joined her parents in the sitting room, thinking that the fire had never seemed so welcoming. She opened her cards, and thanked them both with a kiss for the polo-necked jumper.

  ‘We’ve got something else for you.’ Alice smiled, and walked over to the bureau drawer, pulling out a flat brown paper parcel. A smile spread across Jenny’s face as she ripped open the paper to reveal the record ‘Love Me Do’ – the same words that Mike had written inside his card.

  14

  Spring 1963

  Snow had only recently disappeared from the centre of town. In the outlying estates, a dirty white covering still lay on the verges. Alice peered over the half net-curtain that stretched across the kitchen window and looked down onto the small rear garden. A sudden gust of wind caused the yellow trumpets of the daffodils to nod furiously.

  As she stared out of the window Alice reflected that it was about nine weeks since Jenny had confronted her. She had thought about it every day, the same question going around and around in her head. How could she have found out? Apart from herself and Charlie, no one else knew. Doris wouldn’t have told her – she might be lot of things – but she wasn’t cruel. It must have been to do with her work; she thought, but the Ministry of Pensions and National Insurance did not sound a likely place. Anyway, what did it matter how she had found out – she knew. Her stomach, always a barometer of her emotions, rose and fell whenever her daughter appeared. She wanted and needed to talk to her. She had especially wanted to talk to her on her birthday, but that chance had now gone. Jenny didn’t want to talk to her. She was deliberately avoiding being alone with her, preferring instead to shut herself in her room and play her records. She only spoke when necessary. She wasn’t rude. She still called them Mum and Dad; still kissed them goodnight; still said goodbye when she left the house; but there was a coldness in her words and actions.

  She remembered when Charlie had told her to ‘let her be,’ and he had said it again later when she had spoken to him about it.

  ‘There’s nothing to be gained by bringing it up again. Let it be, it will only upset her, and you as well Gal.’

  It didn’t seem right not to mention it now it was out in the open. But Jenny didn’t want to talk, so what could she do? Charlie was probably right, she thought. But then that’s what Charlie would have said. She knew him well enough. It had been the same when their son had been born. Charlie had been devastated. She remembered the look on his face as the midwife ushered him into the silent bedroom in Bradford. He had been summoned urgently from the barracks and was still wearing his army uniform. Tears had filled his eyes, and the line of his mouth had almost disappeared in a Herculean effort to keep everything from bursting forth. It was the line of his mouth that she remembered whenever she thought back to that day. It must have been especially hard for him to lose the son he had always wanted, and their only chance of a family. ‘No more I’m afraid, Mrs Porter,’ the doctor had said. She had been too shattered by her three day labour to feel anything other than exhaustion; grief and loss had come later. She knew that Charlie was the most in need of comfort. The words he had uttered that day played again in her head.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Gal. It
doesn’t matter.’

  Later when she had recovered her strength, she had tried on numerous occasions to talk about their dead son. But every time Charlie would say, ‘Don’t upset yourself Gal, don’t upset yourself.’ Then with a flick and a rustle Charlie would raise the newspaper in front of his face, or worse still. ‘Did I ever tell you ‘bout that time in Rawalpindi…?’ What had that to do with their son?

  She had wanted and needed to talk. Christopher may have been born dead, but he had been born; a full term baby boy – their baby boy. Alice had a niggling feeling that she wasn’t the one who would have been the more upset by speaking about him. So they never spoke. The pain of their loss had eased, when four years later they moved to Sussex and decided to adopt a baby girl. She had been pleased for Charlie’s sake that Jenny had idolised him. They had been inseparable when she was younger, the pictures every Sunday afternoon, and Jenny never tired of hearing his stories. He was so proud of her. As for herself, she still felt ashamed when she remembered what she had tried to do here in the kitchen, all those years ago. But the pain from her ulcer had been unbearable that day. All she had wanted was to join her dead child, until Jenny’s screams had brought her to her senses.

  *

  While Alice was staring out of the window, Jenny was sitting opposite Dido daydreaming. She was going to meet Mike. It had been ten weeks since she had last seen him. She had written every week, apart from the two week gap at the end of January. Mike had written back twice; she would have liked him to have written more frequently, but decided that he must be very busy, reading and essay writing. She had never visited Reading, or any other university, and imagined him hunched for hours over his desk, a bright desk light illuminating his writing and constantly referring to the books scattered around him.

  Jenny knew on the day following her trip to London that the last thing she wanted to do was to talk about her adoption. It would be embarrassing and upsetting. She certainly didn’t want any cosy chats with her mother. Dad hadn’t said anything at all to her. It was as if he didn’t know that she had found out. But he did know. She had heard them talking that evening. So why didn’t he say anything? She had decided that day must be erased from the calendar; there were now only three hundred and sixty-four days in 1963.

  *

  ‘How much longer are you going to be in that bathroom? I want to get in and clean.’

  ‘I’m just coming out,’ said Jenny.

  ‘About time too, anyone would think you’re going to meet the queen.’

  ‘I wouldn’t take so long if I was,’ Jenny shouted. In Mike’s last letter, he had suggested they meet at his house this Saturday afternoon, and Jenny had replied by return of post. Then she started to worry. What would she wear? Should she change her hairstyle? No, best not to. Suppose it rains? Her hair always went frizzy in the rain.

  Last weekend had been a trial run. She had pulled a heap of jumpers from the bottom of her wardrobe and discarded each in turn. It couldn’t be too short; it had to be long enough to cover her bottom. It couldn’t be too loose either, but tight enough to show the curve of her breasts. She had turned left and then right, and then back again in front of her bedroom mirror. What colour? Her trousers were mustard yellow, so the turquoise and lime green jumpers were cast aside, as was a light-brown one her mother had hand-knitted, it was the right colour and fit, but she didn’t want Mike thinking that they made their own clothes. Eventually she decided on her green birthday jumper that had earlier been consigned to the bottom of the pile.

  She couldn’t face any food, so left the house as soon as she was ready, deciding to walk to use up the time. The verges were now clear of ice for the first time since Boxing Day, but the dirty grey remains of earlier snowfalls still stood in piles on the grass as she passed the windmill. A snowman, gradually disappearing in the sunshine smiled lopsidedly at her. Forty minutes later she reached the lagoon that lay behind the seafront. People were walking briskly up and down the promenade. Jenny checked her watch and joined them. The beach huts were still padlocked, their bright-coloured doors optimistically facing out to sea. She reached three fishing boats drawn up high on the beach and checked her watch again. Mike had said about two, but she remembered Dido’s advice.

  ‘Never be too keen. Boys don’t like that; they like a challenge.’ Jenny wondered why Dido didn’t seem to practice what she preached; but she wasn’t going to take any chances with Mike.

  With renewed confidence she returned to the Lagoon, crossed the south coast road and turned into the first road on the left. Jenny wondered why all the houses had hydrangeas in their front gardens – badges of acceptability – she decided. Her stomach knotted as she pressed the doorbell. Please let him be here – please let him be here. She could hear footsteps behind the door, and then the latch being pulled down.

  ‘Look at you, little Jenny-wren. Come in, come in.’ He smiled, reminding her again of Martin.

  He shut the door and drew Jenny to him, kissing her full on the lips. ‘It’s so good to see you. Have you missed me?’

  ‘You know I have.’ Jenny unwound her scarf and pulled off her gloves.

  ‘I hope you’ve been a good girl, while I’ve been away?’ Mike lifted her handbag and placed it on the floor. He took her coat and hung it on the wooden coat stand.

  ‘I haven’t had much choice, have I?’ Jenny said, thinking that she would never have asked him the same question.

  ‘The parents are out. I was hoping they would be. I don’t know for how long though.’

  His words hardy registered with Jenny as he pulled her towards him again. She responded with a passion that surprised her.

  ‘God, that feels good. What a welcome, I’d have come home before if I’d known.’ Mike whispered the last few words and they fell against the wall. ‘Wow, take it easy Jenny. Let’s go to my room.’

  They embraced and kissed their way to the top of the stairs.

  ‘We’d better leave the door open.’

  Collapsing together on the single bed, Mike reached around her and released the clasp to her bra. Pushing her clothes up, he kissed each breast in turn. Jenny pulled his jumper and shirt loose and caressed his back. He unzipped the side of Jenny’s slacks and pulled them over her hips. Following his cue, Jenny undid his trouser belt and caught a flash of white underpants. He pressed his lips and body against hers and started to pant. ‘I can’t stop Jenny, sorry… ah… sorry…’ he lay still, squashing her. She felt dampness seeping through her knickers onto her skin. After smothering her neck and face with kisses he reached across to the bookcase and grabbed a crumpled handkerchief. He wiped himself, dabbed Jenny’s knickers and put the handkerchief under his pillow.

  ‘Sorry about that Jenny, I just couldn’t help myself. I wasn’t expecting this to happen today; you know, for you to be so…’

  ‘Eager?’ Jenny finished his sentence, thinking that she hadn’t expected this either, at least, not today. She couldn’t believe she had wanted him so much.

  She lay back on the bed and stared straight ahead. A picture of Che Guevara pinned lopsidedly on the wall opposite seemed to mock her. She stared at his bandana, thinking how she had imagined Mike and herself going for a walk, holding hands, kissing and petting like they had done on earlier dates. ‘I suppose I must have really missed you.’

  ‘I’m going to have to keep an eye on you, little Jenny-wren.’ Mike leant over, his hair flopping against his forehead and kissed her gently on her lips, ‘Cigarette?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ I expect all the girls at Reading smoke, she thought.

  Mike reached across again to the bookcase and pulled two from a packet, placed one in Jenny’s mouth and then one in his own and lit them with one flick of his lighter. He fell back on the bed, inhaled deeply and sighed. ‘You certainly surprised me this afternoon, Jenny-wren. Let’s get between the sheets, you’ll get cold.’ He sat up and balanced his cigarette on a black ashtray, then slipped out of his trousers and underpants. Jenny copied him, and embra
cing they lay side by side.

  ‘Tell me what’s been happening these past weeks? Do you still go to the Gondola with Dido?’

  ‘Yes, only on Wednesdays though.’

  ‘You haven’t been out with any of those students, have you?’

  ‘No, of course I haven’t.’

  ‘I know Dido does. She likes a good time. You’re not like her.’

  Jenny was unsure whether to take his remark as a compliment.

  Mike kissed her on the lips. ‘So tell me what’s been happening lately. What did you do for your birthday?’

  ‘I went out for a meal with Dido.’

  ‘Just Dido?’

  ‘Yes, just Dido.’ Jenny desperately tried to think of something else to say, but the memory of her discovery smothered everything. ‘I’ve been busy at work.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound very exciting.’

  Mike sat up and stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray and took Jenny’s barely reduced cigarette from between her thumb and forefinger. ‘Now – you’re much more interesting.’ He covered her lips with his and they explored each other’s mouths. She felt him harden against her. ‘Just a sec – don’t move. I’ll be back.’ He went over to an antique chest and opened the top drawer. Jenny lay motionless, staring at his hand-knitted black jumper that contrasted with his white buttocks. Leaving the drawer open he returned to the bed and sat with his back to her. ‘I’ve put something on. We can do it properly this time.’ He slipped under the covers and stroked her between her legs. Jenny pulled him on top of her. He raised his body and pushed against her, felt the resistance and pushed harder. Jenny winced. They lay still savouring their closeness. He started to move.