A Class Apart

by Susan Lewis

  He looked at her, the question in his eyes.

  “Just say it, please.”

  “I can’t,” he said. “If you knew the truth, you would know that I can’t.”

  “Oh Bob,” she sobbed. “If you knew the truth, you would never have said that.”

  “The truth? What truth?”

  She looked down into her lap, and fiddled with the stem of her glass. “Nothing. Please, forget I said it,” and the pain and sadness in her voice hurt him more than anything throughout all this had hurt him. And he knew, now that it came right down to it, that he truly loved his wife. It was her whom he wanted to be with, for ever. But now it could never be.

  He stood up. “I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.”

  She looked up at him, and he thought if she asked him to go to her, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. But she didn’t speak.

  He walked across to the door. “Linda,” he said, not turning to look at her. “I’m sorry. You’ll never know how sorry I am,” and pulling the door open, he left.

  The following morning, just before six, Linda went upstairs to change. She had sat in the chair all night, unable to face their bed alone, knowing that he was in the next room. She had slept fitfully, but that was almost worse than not sleeping at all. Each time she woke, and found herself fully clothed, sitting in the chair, she would remember, and wave after wave of despair would come over her, until finally she could not bear to sit there any longer.

  She pulled her jodhpurs and riding boots from the cupboard and, slipping out of her dress, she put them on. She knew it would be painful for her, to go out riding this morning, across the fields that they had ridden together, but she had to get out. She had to be with her horse, feel him nuzzle her neck, and put her arms round him.

  When she got outside, she almost turned back again. The sun was so bright, it was going to be a lovely day. Nature did not share her grief. But she walked on; Barry had already saddled her beloved Petruchio. She took the reins from him, and led the horse out of the yard.

  As she jumped onto his back, she didn’t turn round. If she had she might have seen Bob, standing at the window, watching her. But she would not have seen the sorrow in his eyes, nor the tears on his cheeks. He watched her until she was out of sight, then turned away. He went into their bedroom and opened the drawers that contained his clothes. He stared at them for a long time, unable to bring himself to touch them.

  Finally he sat down heavily on the bed and tried to think. But he was so confused that one thought ran into another, until his mind was spinning so relentlessly he lay down, and closed his eyes.

  He must have fallen asleep; it was almost eight o’clock when he looked up again. He walked over to the window. No one was in sight. She was probably giving him time to go, and didn’t want to be here when he did.

  He picked up the phone and dialled. It rang several times at the other end, and then he heard his mother’s voice saying hello.

  “Mother, it’s Bob.”

  “How are you, dear?”

  “Fine. No, that’s a lie. I’m not fine.”

  “Oh, I see,” she said, and the way she said it surprised him.

  “There’s something I have to tell you, Mother.”

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe I should come and see you.”

  “Maybe,” she said. “But I’d rather you told me now.”

  There was a silence on the line, but she knew he was still there, so she waited.

  “It’s about Linda,” he said. “Linda and me.”

  He heard his mother give a long and drawn-out sigh. “So, you’ve told her.”

  So his mother had known too. He wondered how long she had known.

  “How did she take it?” Violet asked, when it seemed that he wasn’t going to answer.

  “Not very well.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “Riding.”

  “I see. Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?”

  “No, but I have to do it.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want to explain, Mother, just believe me, I have to.”

  “Do you love this other woman?”

  He hesitated. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “And what about Linda? Do you love her?”

  “Yes. Probably more than I realised. But there’s nothing I can do about it now.”

  “That sounds as though you’ve been trapped.”

  “It’s not quite like that.”

  “Well, I don’t want to know the details, but would I be right in thinking that, given the choice, you wouldn’t leave Linda?”

  There was a long silence.

  “Are you still there?”

  “Yes,” he said, “I’m still here.”

  “You haven’t answered my question.”

  “I can’t answer it. It’s too late now. It’s gone too far.”

  He heard his mother sigh again. “Sit down, Bob, if you’re not already. I think it’s time that you and I had a long chat.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Heather gave a delighted squeal and disappeared behind a tree. Jenneen went running after her, and the child screamed as Jenneen popped her head round, and whispered “Boo!”

  “Your turn to find me now,” said Jenneen. “Cover your eyes, and this time count right up to ten.”

  The little girl covered her face with her hands. “One, two, three . . .” The chubby fingers parted.

  “You’re cheating again!” Jenneen cried. “You’re not allowed to look.”

  Heather giggled, and pressed her face up against the tree. “One, two, three,” she began again.

  Jenneen ran behind the summer house, and crept in under the hedge.

  “. . . nine, ten. Coming, ready or not!” Heather shouted, and ran in pursuit.

  Vicky stood at the door of her parents’ old farmhouse, smiling as she watched Jenneen playing with, her young cousin in the garden. They had arrived on Friday evening. Jenneen had been so tired, it had been an effort for her to drag herself up to bed. And now, here she was, two days later, full of life, and ready to face the world again. Well, perhaps not the whole world, but certainly Vicky’s family.

  Her cousin Paul and his wife had arrived unexpectedly that morning, declaring that they were staying for three days, en route to Cornwall. His aunt had been delighted to see them. Vicky had sensed an atmosphere when Jenneen first saw Paul, and guessed that he had probably been one of Jenneen’s conquests in the past. Most likely the night of Robert Blackwell’s party. Vicky set about trying to put them both at their ease, and Paul’s wife was such a vague woman, she probably wouldn’t have noticed if Jenneen had tried to repeat the performance in front of her. But she was a friendly woman, and talked to Jenneen, asking her all about herself and her family, and wanting to know everything about her life in television. Jenneen warmed to her immediately. Who wouldn’t when she was such an ardent fan?

  After lunch Vicky’s parents took their customary afternoon nap, and Paul and his wife went for a walk. Heather, their four-year-old daughter, had pleaded with them to let her stay behind with Jenneen and play. Vicky had some accounts she wanted to go over, and the afternoon passed peacefully.

  When her work was finished Vicky thought she might go and join Jenneen and Heather, but they were having such fun together, she felt she might be intruding, so she remained at the door, watching them playing in the sunshine.

  “Penny for them.”

  “Paul,” she said, turning round. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “You were miles away. Where’s Aunt Grace?”

  “Still up in bed. I’m afraid the Sunday afternoon naps are getting longer and longer these days. Where’s Susan?”

  “Gone to have a bath.”

  “Where on earth does that daughter of yours get all her energy?”

  “Her father, of course.”

  Vicky lifted an eyebrow. “Silly question, like some tea?”

  “I’ll put the kettle on.�
�

  Vicky sat down at the table, looking out through the open door at Jenneen and Heather. After a while she looked up and smiled to see Paul standing behind her, looking out into the garden too. He put his hand on her shoulder, and squeezed it.

  “Have you told her yet?”

  She turned to look at him. “Who?”

  “Jenneen.”

  “What about?”

  He looked at her, but said nothing.

  She turned away. “No, I haven’t.”

  “Are you going to?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know if I should.”

  He strolled over to the door, and put his hands in his pockets. “I think you should.”

  “You do?”

  “Mmm,” he nodded.

  “How do you think she will take it?”

  “You know her better.”

  Vicky shrugged. “Sometimes I do. But then there are other times . . .”

  “But isn’t that the same with everyone?”

  “It’s just, well, I don’t know how to tell her.”

  “It can’t be easy.”

  “Kettle’s boiling,” said Vicky. “You going to make it, or shall I?”

  “You can. I think I’ll go and rescue Jenneen. Heather can go and romp in the bath with Susan.”

  “Ah! You’ve got the kettle boiling,” said Mrs Deane, as she came into the kitchen. “Heard us moving around, did you?”

  “Heard you moving around?” said Paul. “We were beginning to wonder what you and the old man were up to, up there.”

  Mrs Deane giggled. “You’d be surprised,” she said, to Vicky’s surprise.

  “Dad coming down too?”

  “Yes. He’s getting dressed. Goodness, those two still out in the garden?” Mrs Deane remarked, as she strolled outside.

  “They’ve been out there all afternoon.”

  “And I’m about to go and relieve Jenneen of her charge,” said Paul, walking down the few steps to the garden.

  “Thanks, dear,” said her mother, as Vicky handed her a cup of tea. She took a sip. “Do you think your friend has enjoyed herself?”

  “I’m sure she has,” said Vicky. “You’ve all been so kind to her.”

  “Well, I won’t ask what was wrong, but she definitely looks better now than she did when she arrived.”

  “I think she feels it.”

  “You leaving tonight?”

  “Well, we were going to leave tomorrow, if that’s all right with you.”

  “Course it’s all right with me. You can stay as long as you like, you know that.”

  “Yes,” Vicky smiled, going to sit beside her mother.

  Mrs Deane stared down at her cup. “Is Jenneen . . .? Do you . . .?”

  Vicky laughed uneasily. “No,” she said.

  “I just wondered.”

  Paul came back, carrying Heather under his arm, Jenneen following behind.

  “There’s tea in the pot,” said Vicky, “help yourselves.”

  “Can I have some lemonade, Grandma?”

  “Yes, darling, I’ll get it for you.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Jenneen. “I’ll get it,” and she went to the fridge to pour some for herself as well. “I’m shattered,” she said, collapsing into a chair. “Children always amaze me, where they get their energy from. Or am I getting old?”

  “You’re getting old,” said Vicky, and Jenneen picked up Heather’s sponge ball and threw it at her.

  “Bath time,” said Paul, taking the glass from Heather.

  “I don’t want a bath, I had one yesterday.”

  “And you can have one today. Come on, Mummy’s up there. Perhaps we can all three get in,” and he turned to the table and winked at the others.

  “Just mind you clear up all that water when you’ve finished,” Mrs Deane called after them.

  “I don’t know about the rest of you,” Vicky said, getting to her feet, “but I’m going for a walk.”

  “I don’t think I’ve got the strength,” Jenneen yawned, then laughed as she saw Vicky’s look. “All right, all right, I’m coming.”

  “How about you, mum?” said Vicky.

  “No. No thanks, dear.”

  “You’re so lucky, you know,” said Jenneen, as they strolled into the tiny copse that marked the border between the Deanes’ land and that of the farm beyond.

  “Lucky? Why?”

  “I don’t know. Having all this, I suppose,” said Jenneen, waving her arms towards the trees. “And your family. They’re such wonderful people. I wish my family were like them. And now, of course, I feel guilty for even thinking it.”

  Vicky smiled.

  “It’s not that I don’t love my family, I do. But my life is so different from theirs now. And that makes me sad. It’s like living in two separate worlds. I know theirs, of course, but they don’t know mine, and it’s almost as if they’re afraid of it.”

  “I’d like to meet your family one day.”

  Jenneen turned to look at her, and smiled. “It would be nice, but I’m afraid it would never work. They’d be so uncomfortable, and it would embarrass you, and me. But thank you for saying it.”

  “I meant it.”

  “I know you did.”

  They walked on in silence for a while, pulling the early autumn leaves from the trees, and picking up fallen branches, using them as sticks. There was no one else around, and Jenneen felt as though they were in a small part of heaven, where everything was perfect. She smiled at her thought.

  “What are you smiling at?”

  “Just thinking. It’s so beautiful here. It makes you feel you never want to leave.”

  “I know,” said Vicky. “But you can always come again.”

  They came to the edge of the wood. Jenneen climbed the stile, and sat on top of it. Vicky leaned against it, beside her.

  “Vicky,” said Jenneen, after a while.

  “Yes.”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “What kind of question?”

  “A personal one, I suppose.”

  Vicky shrugged. “Try me.”

  “Have you ever been in love?”

  Vicky looked at her, surprised at the question. “Yes, I have. What makes you ask?”

  “I don’t know,” said Jenneen. “Probably because you’ve never talked about it.”

  “There’s not much to tell, really. What about you? Have you ever been in love?”

  Jenneen pondered the question a while, and then shook her head. “No, I don’t think I have.”

  Vicky smiled.

  “Of course, there have been times when I’ve thought I was in love,” Jenneen went on, “but when I talk to Ashley or Ellamarie, well, then I know, I’ve never felt the way they do, about anyone.”

  “You will.”

  “That’s what everyone says. Mr Right is just round the corner. He’ll be here any day, sweep you off your feet.”

  “Tedious, isn’t it?”

  “Very.”

  Jenneen got down from the stile, and began walking back towards the woods. “Do you think he is, though? Just round the corner, I mean.”

  “Maybe it depends on whether you want him to be. Do you?”

  “Yes and no. I don’t know if I’d know it, even if he was there, not any more.”

  They reached a small clearing in the woods and Vicky stopped and leaned against the old gnarled oak tree where she and Paul had so often played as children. Jenneen stooped to pick the daisies; sitting on the ground, she started to make a chain.

  Vicky watched her and smiled at how childlike she seemed. “Jenn,” she said after a while, her voice quiet, “you’re going to have to face it sometime, you know.”

  Jenneen stopped what she was doing, but she didn’t look up. “I know.”

  “Have you ever thought about why you do it? What it is that makes you do it?”

  Jenneen shook her head.

  “There must be a reason,” Vicky continued. “Somewhere there must be a r
eason. I can’t understand why you want to hurt yourself like you do.”

  “I don’t understand it either.”

  “Does Matthew know?”

  “About Mrs Green?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, he knows everything.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Jenneen turned to face her. “Maybe you should ask Matthew that question. What is he going to do?”

  “But I’m asking you.”

  Jenneen got up and walked over to a tree close to the one Vicky was leaning against. She began to pick at the bark. “I think I’m going to kill him.”

  Vicky watched her but said nothing.

  “I’ve got a gun.” Jenneen turned round and leaned her back against the tree.

  “And you really intend to use it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “If you kill him, he will win.”

  “I know.”

  They stood in silence.

  “That’s not the answer, Jenn, is it?”

  “No, maybe not. Why do you think he hates me so much?”

  “Who knows the workings of a mind like his?”

  Jenneen gave a dry laugh. “Or a mind like mine?”

  Vicky smiled. “Yes, or yours.”

  There was a scuffle nearby in the undergrowth, and they watched a squirrel run up the trunk of a tree and disappear.

  “I don’t like doing it, you know. I hate myself afterwards. But I just don’t seem to be able to stop myself. Perhaps it’s the same with Matthew, who knows?”

  “No,” said Vicky. “Matthew is sick. Really sick. He’s an alcoholic, remember. His brain is tortured by whisky.”

  “Not always.”

  “And that is why he is truly sick. He’s a sadist. There’s little point in trying to analyse why he does what he does, we neither of us could come up with an answer.”

  “My mother always used to tell me that there is some good in everyone, even the very worst people.”

  Vicky laughed. “Mine too. But people like Matthew, well, I suppose there are exceptions to every rule.”

  “Do you think he gets pleasure out of what he does to me?”

  “Who knows?” Vicky shrugged. “In a perverse way, yes, he probably does. And you, do you get any pleasure from Mrs Green?”