06 Educating Jack

by Jack Sheffield

  ‘And are you happy?’ she asked quietly.

  It seemed a curious question and the pause before my reply seemed to last an age. A private cocoon of heavy silence surrounded us as I looked into her green eyes.

  ‘Yes, I am,’ I said.

  Suddenly, Beth and Pippa reappeared. ‘And what are you two plotting?’ asked Beth with a grin.

  ‘Nothing, big sister,’ said Laura smoothly, ‘just thinking that Jack here needs pointing in the right direction.’

  ‘Really?’ said Beth.

  ‘Yes,’ said Pippa, ‘to a gentleman’s outfitter.’

  ‘Poor Jack,’ said Laura. ‘But, sadly, I have to agree.’

  ‘I think my dear husband is too set in his ways,’ said Beth reprovingly. ‘Not exactly the new-age Eighties man, are you darling?’

  There was a moment when Pippa looked knowingly at Laura, who responded with a flicker of a smile. It was a brief communication that meant nothing to a mere man but, between women, spoke volumes.

  It had been a long day and, back in our room, Beth switched on the television set and turned the volume low. The film was They Call Me Mister Tibbs and we sat on the bed together watching Sidney Poitier in his iconic role while chatting about the evening and what we might do the next day.

  Later, the television was still on when I finally climbed into bed and it was almost midnight when Beth emerged from the bathroom in a nightdress I hadn’t seen before. Her honey-blonde hair looked slightly tousled as she walked barefoot towards me.

  ‘Are you really watching this?’ she teased. The new programme was Claire Rayner’s Casebook with a discussion dedicated to stressful marriages and divorce. I switched it off. ‘I don’t think it applies to us,’ I said.

  Beth smiled as she turned out the light. ‘I agree,’ she said as she climbed in next to me and we kissed. It was two hours later that we finally fell into an exhausted sleep.

  * * *

  Next morning I awoke first. I crept out of bed and peered out of the window at the view of the park and the countryside beyond. It was an eerie world of grey and ghostly images, all life blurred and featureless. Slowly, the dawn sun spread its warmth over the sleeping land and illuminated the moist vapours of mist covering the fields with a shroud of silence.

  It was then that I reflected on our perfect night, and I looked back at Beth and marvelled at her naked body. Making love with this beautiful woman had always been special, a journey of ice and fire, but somehow last night had been different. There was an insistence about Beth, a fresh urgency and a desire that could barely be satisfied. One thing was certain … I would never understand women. As I hunted for my shaving kit at the bottom of my sports bag I smiled. Life was full of surprises and I wasn’t complaining.

  Over breakfast Beth and I were still stifling yawns, but a new day awaited us in this beautiful city and it was ours to explore.

  ‘More coffee?’ asked Pippa after a breakfast of croissants and delicious Welsh honey from Fortnum & Mason.

  ‘Yes please,’ said Beth sleepily. I watched both Beth and Laura blow on the surface of their coffee before sipping it tentatively, mirror images across the table, but clearly with different moods on this beautiful day.

  ‘So what are your plans?’ asked Pippa.

  ‘Just a little exploring,’ I said. ‘Probably the Abbey and the Roman Baths.’

  Pippa looked across at Laura, who seemed deep in thought. ‘Laura and I have things to do, but we could meet you for afternoon tea – say three o’clock outside the Pump Room in the Abbey courtyard.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Beth. ‘Then perhaps a little shopping.’

  The thought of shopping with three women filled me with horror, but I said nothing.

  So it was that on a sunlit autumn morning Beth and I, hand in hand, walked the streets of Bath and marvelled together at this beautiful Palladian-style city designed by the architect John Wood.

  ‘You look happy,’ I said.

  ‘I am,’ she said simply, and there was peace in her green eyes and firmness in the way she held my hand as we strolled into the city centre. Two thousand years ago the Romans had arrived and had fallen in love with the natural thermal spas and so they built their elegant baths and temples. History touched every street and building, and I recalled that Jane Austen lived here from 1801 to 1806 and set parts of Northanger Abbey and Persuasion in the city.

  We walked into Bath Abbey, known as ‘the Lantern of the West’. The wonderful light that illuminated the interior explained why, and we sat on one of the pews to enjoy the mantle of peace that descended on our private haven.

  ‘I love you,’ I whispered.

  ‘And I love you, Jack,’ she said quietly, resting her head on my shoulder. ‘We needed this time for the two of us.’ Her words were like balm on a wounded heart and, for a fleeting moment in the sanctuary of this grand medieval cathedral, I understood the meaning of unconditional love.

  Later we walked down North Parade Passage past Sally Lunn’s, the oldest house in Bath and, nearby, we called into a coffee shop. We ordered filter coffee with hot milk as well as the local delicacy, a rich, round toasted brioche bun based on the famous recipe of the young French refugee, Sally Lunn.

  Above the counter, in preparation for Hallowe’en, a huge orange pumpkin had been hollowed out. With a sharp knife, circular holes had been carved for the eyes, plus a triangular nose and a rectangular mouth complete with tombstone teeth. A candle flickered inside. It was a gruesome sight and we both smiled. It was good to relax together and I realized we had eased smoothly into holiday mode.

  ‘Happy?’ I asked.

  Beth grinned and blew on the surface of her hot coffee. ‘Perfect, Jack, simply perfect.’

  A short while later we stared in wonder at the historic Roman Baths, dating from the first century AD. It seemed a pity that the city was now a spa in name only. Sadly, a few years ago the ancient pipework had revealed serious contamination and, since then, the precious hot mineral water had been simply diverted into the River Avon.

  ‘Look at this, Jack,’ said Beth, pointing to the guide book with a smile. In 1668 Samuel Pepys had written in his diary, ‘Methinks it cannot be clean to go so many bodies together in the same water’. I recalled the shower Beth and I had shared this morning but kept this precious thought to myself.

  Then we continued up the hill to the Assembly Rooms and enjoyed browsing in the Bath Antiques Fair. From there we continued round the elegant curve of the Circus up to the magnificent eighteenth-century Royal Crescent, a semi-elliptical terrace of thirty grand houses, complete with over a hundred giant Ionic columns. We stopped and looked in awe. This really was a triumph of eighteenth-century geometric engineering. ‘Isn’t it wonderful, Jack?’ said Beth, holding my hand. Above our heads a scattering of squirrels darted with quick and nimble steps along the branches of a gnarled oak tree. Her soft hair touched my cheek as I kissed her and we walked on, happy in our private world.

  Finally we returned to the Abbey Churchyard outside the Pump Room where Pippa and Laura were waiting for us. Afternoon tea was a brief, simple affair as the three women planned an afternoon’s shopping together which held no interest for me. Schoolwork seemed a long way off and, as we sat there, I watched the people passing by and listened to a local busker playing Paul McCartney’s ‘Yesterday’, which really did feel so very far away.

  ‘See you back here in a couple of hours, Jack?’ said Pippa. It was another of her rhetorical questions and I smiled, grateful for the opportunity not to be involved. The three women set off shopping and I settled down with another pot of tea and a copy of the Bath and West Evening Chronicle. The local news seemed to be dominated by an article about two hundred members of the Wiltshire Motor Cycle Action Group who were protesting against the wearing of helmets. It looked as though the days of the open road and wind in your hair were numbered.

  After a while I decided to get some fresh air and enjoy the last of the low afternoon sunshine. The nights were drawing
in now and soon it would be dark. I stood outside the Pump Room under the Colonnade, nine equal bays studded with ten classical Ionic columns, and looked at the busy shoppers in Stall Street.

  To my surprise, Laura was walking towards me, carrying a variety of smart womenswear bags. As usual she turned heads in her beautifully tailored narrow skirt, a checked blouse and a fashionable Sherpa woollen quilted waistcoat. Her silk scarf matched her eyes. She looked as if she was about to be photographed for the cover of Cosmopolitan. ‘Jack,’ she said, ‘we hoped you might look after these for us while you’re waiting.’ Her high cheekbones were flushed as the warmth left the earth and cool darkness spread its cloak.

  ‘Yes, fine,’ I said, ‘I’ll take them back to the tea shop and stand guard.’ I glanced down at the expensive-looking bags. ‘You’ve been busy.’

  There was an awkward moment of silence and then Laura turned. ‘Well, I’d better get back to the girls.’

  I put my hand on her arm. ‘Laura, are you OK?’

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘It’s just life, Jack. It’s complicated.’ She bowed her head and her long hair hung loosely around her shoulders. I knew she was right. Life had never been that simple for either of us … rather a maze of mistaken opportunities.

  ‘Laura, you must know there never was anything serious between us,’ I said. ‘Nothing permanent. And nothing really happened. We were just friends.’

  ‘Were we?’

  ‘I chose Beth because I loved her, Laura. You know that.’

  ‘Love makes fools of us all, Jack.’

  ‘And I’m happy with my life,’ I said.

  ‘That’s good, but who knows where we shall come to rest,’ she stepped into the shade of the Colonnade, ‘in shade or in sun,’ she said with an enigmatic smile and I wondered at the meaning behind these words.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I said.

  Laura looked at me with sadness in her eyes. ‘You will one day, Jack, and, in the end, you’ll see … she’ll hurt you.’ Then she turned and I watched her slim figure stride confidently across Stall Street.

  ‘I still don’t understand,’ I said, but my words were like seeds on the wind, scattered thoughts cast upon the soft breezes of the approaching night.

  There had always been something about Laura that intrigued me, but I couldn’t understand what it was. Then I looked around me. Above my head a huge triangular stone pediment surmounted the nine perfect archways of the Colonnade. On its face was a carving of Hygieia, the goddess of good health, and her companion was a serpent. With a wry smile I picked up the bags and walked back towards the tea shop near the Abbey.

  Later, back in Henrietta Street, there was a tap on our bedroom door. Beth and I were relaxing before going out. It was Pippa. ‘Bad news, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘Laura’s not well, so it makes sense for me to stay with her and you two can go out and enjoy your last evening in Bath.’

  Beth went across the landing to see Laura and returned ten minutes later. ‘She’ll be fine, just a headache after overdoing it at work and then suddenly relaxing,’ she said in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘So where shall we go?’

  ‘Well, we passed a cinema today, but I don’t know what’s on,’ I said.

  ‘Let’s find out,’ said Beth, grabbing her coat. She appeared full of energy again.

  When we arrived outside the cinema we stared up at a large poster. It read:

  Lewis Collins in Who Dares Wins (AA)

  and

  Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan

  ‘Well, what do you think?’ I asked dubiously.

  ‘I think I’d rather buy a bottle of wine and go back for an early night, Jack. How about you?’

  It suddenly occurred to me how much I loved this beautiful woman and I couldn’t recall feeling so at peace with my life. Ragley School seemed far away now and, as I held her in my arms and kissed her, the wind changed direction and a scurry of fallen leaves scattered around our feet like the wings of fragile butterflies. A turbulent past was behind us and we had relaxed in the harmony of our lives, together at last and sharing a new pathway.

  ‘I think we should go in peace and prosper,’ I said. ‘At least that’s what Mr Spock would say.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ said Beth with a mischievous grin and she held my hand and led me back to the house, via the nearest wine bar. Finally, in the early hours and in each other’s arms, we shared the time of the quiet mind when peaceful slumber descends like a tranquil mist.

  On Wednesday morning the wind had turned in its groove and an iron-grey sky was filled with a cold rain that stung our faces as we packed the car.

  Goodbyes were brief, and Laura stayed in her room as Beth said farewell to her. Pippa gave me the obligatory double air-kiss, wished us a safe journey and we were on our way through the mist. As we left the city a flock of starlings with a scattering of wings rose suddenly into the sky. In a world of white noise the sound was soothing and we both settled back with our own thoughts. It had been an eventful few days.

  As the day wore on we approached the familiar countryside of Yorkshire. Ploughing had begun on the fertile plain of York, combing chocolate stripes and attracting the rooks from their lofty perches.

  Finally, as darkness fell, back in Bilbo Cottage I glanced at the kitchen calendar and smiled. In a few days I would be back at school and returning to a world I could understand … unlike the minds of women. For me, they would always remain a mystery.

  Chapter Five

  A Penny for the Guy

  County Hall sent the document ‘Rationalization, Value for Money and a Better Life – a Vision for the Eighties for Small Schools in North Yorkshire’ to all village schools in the Easington area, explaining why the high costs of maintaining small schools needed to be addressed.

  Extract from the Ragley School Logbook:

  Thursday, 4 November 1982

  HEATHCLIFFE EARNSHAW PRESSED HIS nose against the window of Pratt’s Hardware Emporium and stared in awe at the Standard Fireworks Bumper Box. The lid had been removed to reveal the treasures within. It was early morning on Thursday, 4 November and excitement was building for the children of Ragley School.

  ‘Terry, ’ave a look,’ he said to his brother, barely able to contain his excitement. ‘They’ve got ev’rythin’ – Cath’rine wheels, snow fountains, a Mount Vesuvius, jumping crackers, a big Roman candle, an’ two big rockets.’

  ‘An’ a Fairy Rain,’ said Terry, looking at the tall thin firework at the side of the box.

  Heathcliffe grunted in disapproval. ‘Ah’m not too fussed abart a Fairy Rain. Y’allus get one o’ them, but all t’rest are brilliant.’

  ‘But we’ve no money, ’Eath,’ said Terry shaking his head mournfully.

  However, as always, the fire of optimism burned in Heathcliffe’s brave heart. ‘Don’t you worry, our kid,’ he said. ‘Ah’ve gorra plan.’

  Terry smiled. He always had faith in his big brother and with a spring in their step the Earnshaws continued their circuitous journey towards school.

  The quickthorn hedges of hips and haws flew by as I drove on the back road from Kirkby Steepleton to Ragley village. I pulled in where the York Road meets the High Street and parked on the forecourt of Pratt’s Garage. Victor Pratt came out to serve me from the single pump.

  I wound down my window and asked the inevitable question. ‘How are you, Victor?’ Our local garage owner usually had some ailment or other and the list was about to grow longer.

  He unscrewed my filler cap and inserted the nozzle. ‘Ah’ve gorra belly ache,’ he said mournfully. He rubbed his tummy with a greasy hand and winced. ‘Ah’m a martyr t’me stomach,’ he said. ‘In fac’, ah’m off t’see Dr Davenport this morning. It could be one o’ them sceptical ulcers, ah reckon.’

  ‘Perhaps it is,’ I replied, suppressing a smile. I guessed that Dr Davenport might have sceptical tendencies as well.

  ‘Nine poun’ f’six gallon, Mr Sheffield,’ he said. ‘Keeps goin’ up, du
nt it? Ah blame t’government.’ I gave him a ten-pound note and he shuffled off to get my change from his ancient till. ‘An’ ah’ll see y’tonight in t’Coffee Shop. Our Nora’s serving all t’locals wi’ a free ’ot drink,’ he said. ‘Should be a good do. There’ll be a load o’ Pratts there.’

  Meanwhile, in the flat above the Coffee Shop, Nora Pratt felt like a film star. It was the twenty-fifth anniversary of the opening of her shop and she had bought a new dress.

  Nora looked in her full-length mirror and studied the reflection of the short, plump forty-five-year-old that stared back at her. Although she had ‘filled out’ a little in recent years, in her mind’s eye she could still recall the time in 1957 on her first day in the Coffee Shop when she had a slim waist and a curvy figure. It occurred to her that, with a little luck, she could have been a famous actress. However, the fact that the furthest she climbed up the ladder of success was a non-speaking extra in Crossroads had nothing to do with her acting ability. Rather it was because a certain letter of the alphabet had always proved elusive for this voluble lady. She called downstairs to her assistant, Dorothy Humpleby, ‘Dowothy, come an’ look. Ah’m twying on one o’ them top-o’-the-wange polyester cocktail dwesses … in bwight wed.’ It was a quarter past eight and Nora’s big day had begun.

  * * *

  Next door, Nora’s younger brother, Timothy, was sellotaping a poster to his shop window. It read ‘LIGHT UP THE SKY WITH STANDARD FIREWORKS’. Then he selected a top-of-the-range spirit level and checked the poster was exactly horizontal. Timothy liked precision and only when the bubble in the plastic transparent tube on top of the spirit level was exactly central did he relax. It was then that he needed to seek comfort in the familiar and he turned to his collection of screws.

  In his Hardware Emporium on Ragley High Street, the pursuit of tidiness was a way of life for forty-two-year-old Timothy. However, once again, in his beautifully organized world, the realization dawned that there were customers who did not understand that, without order, life was not worth living. He stared in dismay at the two-inch dome-headed screw that had been picked up by a customer and replaced in the box of one-and-ahalf-inch flat-headed screws. It lay there like a pork chop at a vegetarian tea party, incongruous and unwelcome. He picked it up with a sigh and replaced it in its rightful home. Then he went to arrange the boxes of light bulbs so that the labels all faced outwards and, as he did so, he smiled. He knew that in the village he was known affectionately as ‘Tidy Tim’ and pride filled his beating heart. For, as his mother had told him, ‘Tidiness is next to godliness’ and Timothy was content in his hardware heaven … well, almost. Some boys had obviously been pressing their noses against his window and there were smudges. He took a polishing cloth from the pocket of his spotless and neatly ironed brown overall and hurried outside to buff up his window.