Highly Unsuitable Girl

by Carolyn McCrae

  “I’ve never used contraception not once in the, how long is it, seven years since I started having sex.”

  “Seven years! You could only have been what? 14?”

  “It was 23rd May 1964 so I was 13 years 9 months and 17 days old. Five thousand and thirty six days to be precise. I’ve worked it out.”

  “That’s pretty young. Under age, statutory rape as the Americans would say.”

  “So?”

  “How many boys, men, have you been with?”

  “Don’t ask Geoff. Hundreds. It’s not important.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Absolutely not. Practice, as they say, makes perfect. And I’m pretty good at it wouldn’t you say? I wouldn’t be so practised if I’d only done it once or twice now would I?” She ran her fingers up and down his body, lingering in the places she knew were the most sensitive but Geoff was not to be distracted.

  “What about VD or whatever?”

  “Nothing to worry about there. My best friend is a doctor and he’s made sure that I get checked out. I’m OK. Clean as they say. No problems.”

  “Stop it Anya. This is serious. You’ve had sex…”

  “…hundreds of times. And no, I’ve not been pregnant once. I can’t.” She wasn’t sure he understood what she meant as she distracted him by wriggling down underneath him, tempting him to make it one more time.

  After, as they lay with their heads touching on the pillow, each was thinking very different thoughts.

  Anya was glad Geoff wasn’t pushing her to explain more. She was persuading herself it wasn’t necessary to tell him. They would probably go their separate ways at the end of the year and he would never have needed to know. It was too hurtful, too personal, too demeaning to tell anyone until she really had to. So she would keep quiet.

  Geoff was wondering vaguely why Anya seemed different. They had been apart for three weeks yet she was more composed, more in control and then he realised she had lost her accent.

  “You sound different. Have you been taking elocution lessons?”

  “Sort of.”

  He lay back thinking perhaps he was in love with her. She was clever, she was beautiful, she satisfied all his needs. They had been together for months with only that one argument when she had wanted to go south with him at Christmas. He decided he wouldn’t make that mistake again. Next time he went back to Kent Anya would go with him.

  His mother would absolutely hate her.

  Chapter 5: Introductions

  Kent, July 1971

  Geoff and Anya moved out of the hall of residence and into the third floor flat in a Victorian semi-detached villa overlooking Sefton Park the day before Geoff left for Kent.

  They had had something of an argument when Anya discovered his plan to leave her alone for a week but he insisted he had things to do and people to see.

  They’d had several arguments since Geoff decided to spend a fourth year in Liverpool. They had argued first about what she should do after graduation. If she had had the courage to do what she really wanted she would have left Liverpool to travel around Europe, to see all the places she had studied but Geoff pointed out all the arguments against that plan and pushed her to stay with him for another year. So belatedly she applied for, and was accepted on, a year’s BPhil course. The second bone of contention had been the flat. Geoff had paid the deposit and several month’s advance rent before Anya had even seen it. That was a manufactured argument on her part as she liked the light, airy flat with its large rooms and lovely view through the trees. Then they had argued about the cost, it was far more than Anya could afford but Geoff had said that if she insisted on sharing the rent she could contribute her half in other ways. Then they had disagreed about what to do during the long summer vacation. Anya suggested hitching round Europe, but Geoff had said that he would buy a car and they could drive anywhere they wanted to go. Anya began to worry that whenever she and Geoff disagreed it was his view that prevailed.

  By far the longest running disagreement had been about the week Geoff wanted with his family before Anya joined him in Kent. When he had told her about his sister’s engagement party any pleasure she had had from apparently being accepted into his other life was crushed when he told her he would travel south alone and she would join him a week later, travelling by train, and stay for just two days. ‘You’ll find two days of my mother and sister will be quite enough.’ When she had changed the subject asking him what she should wear for the party he had said unhelpfully ‘something beautiful’. They had argued again when he had reached for his wallet and Anya had said coldly that there was no need for him to buy her anything, she had just the dress.

  When she stood on the doorstep watching as he threw his bag into his new car and climbed into the driving seat she was resigned, but still angry that he had not understood her feelings. “Remember, you’re meeting Tim underneath the clock in Charing Cross Station at 6 o’clock on Thursday night.”

  “Why can’t you meet me in London?”

  “I’ll probably be running around doing all sorts of things. Anyway Tim works in London, it’ll be much simpler if you meet him at the station. Don’t worry, everything will be fine.”

  She walked back up the three flights of stairs and let herself into the empty flat and sat at the unfamiliar table. “Everything will be fine he says. He hasn’t the first idea what this is like for me.” She spoke out loud addressing the flat that was to be her home for a year. The furniture was basic; a square wooden table with four chairs that didn’t match; a worn settee and two arm chairs that were threadbare, a modern looking but rickety side table with a green phone. She thought it was worse furniture than Tennyson Street and it reminded her of the week she had spent with Harold the English student. She supposed landlords didn’t spend any more than they had to. “Pull yourself together girl.” She told herself in her best BBC accent. “There are so many things you can do in a week.”

  After clearing away the breakfast things she phoned the Hills, she hadn’t spoken to them for far too long and now she had a home she should get back the things they had stored for her.

  “Anya, my dear, how wonderful to hear from you, my brother and I were wondering how you were getting on.”

  “I’m so sorry I haven’t been in touch.”

  “I suppose you’ve been busy, though we did appreciate your Christmas Card.”

  “I should have done more.”

  “Of course you shouldn’t you silly girl! You’ve had a lot of work to do and no doubt a wonderful social life.”

  “But I should have invited you to graduation.” Geoff hadn’t wanted his mother and sister there so they had invited no-one, standing together, away from the crowd of fellow graduates and their families taking photographs on that sunny afternoon at the end of June. She should have overruled Geoff and invited them, they would have appreciated it.

  “Don’t you worry about that. Now, when are we going to see you?”

  The misery that had threatened to overwhelm Anya disappeared.

  “This afternoon?”

  The journey back to Birkenhead was a familiar one. As she walked around the deck she thought of the changes in her life in the year since she had last taken the ferry. Then she had been heading home, to Tennyson Street, to her mother, to a long summer holiday working in the laundry. So many changes, such a different life, such different prospects, she felt she was a different person.

  “You look so well Anya dear.” Miss Hill welcomed her with a hug.

  Anya couldn’t say the same about her old headmistress. Anya was relieved not to have to reply as Dr Hill appeared behind his sister and ushered them into the small front room, crowded with photographs.

  “We believe congratulations are in order.”

  “Thanks, I got my First. And it’s only because of you, both of you.”

  “We are so proud of you.”

  “You knew about the First?”

  “Of course we did. I haven’t been a headmistress for
ten years without having some contacts who will always let me know how my girls have got on. Fifteen of my girls graduated this year, three from Liverpool.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean I was special.”

  “But you are special Anya, you were the only one who got a First.”

  “And the only one who had such difficult circumstances to deal with.” Dr Hill added as he turned opened a drawer in the sideboard and took out a blue box.

  “I know I shouldn’t say this but you’ll possibly be quite pleased to know that Henrietta Hodge scraped a 2.2. You two were always so competitive I remember.” Miss Hill seemed anxious, almost nervous as her brother handed the box to Anya who carefully opened it.

  “It’s absolutely beautiful.” She stared at the gold locket on a chain.

  “Isn’t it?” Miss Hill agreed. “It was given to me by a young man but I never wore it.”

  Anya remembered the conversation when she had learned that generations weren’t so very different. She thought of a young man, soon to die in a burning plane giving the locket to the girl who would have been younger than she was now. It had been a promise for a future that would never happen.

  “I want you to wear it but you must be very careful whose picture you put inside, that person must be with you for life. You will wear it won’t you?” Miss Hill’s enquiry seemed urgent.

  “Of course I’ll wear it, but are you sure you want me to have it? Are you sure you want to give it away?

  “I’m absolutely certain my dear. Wear it to remind you of so many things.”

  “Always remember the courage of the lady who gave it to you.” Dr Hill looked at his sister with deep affection. “In your life you will have difficult decisions to make, hold onto the locket and think what Dot would have advised you to do. It will remind you always to meet Dot’s standards.”

  “Yes, you must think of me as Dot. There’s no need for ‘Miss Hill’ now.”

  “You must explain to that boyfriend of yours who has given you this so he doesn’t think you have another man in tow.”

  “What boyfriend?” Anya had asked the question but then she realised that, of course, Dot would have had reports of her activities through the year.

  “A mathematician and computer scientist I believe.”

  “Is there no way of keeping a secret from you?” Anya smiled. “His name’s Geoff. He’s from Kent and we do see rather a lot of each other. In fact we’ve just got a flat together. Just for a year. He’s doing a fourth while I do a BPhil.”

  “Having a steady boyfriend can do you no harm at all. I should probably tell you not to rush things but instead I’ll tell you that if he’s right for you and he makes you happy then grab him and don’t let him go.”

  “I don’t know about that but I am going to meet his mother next week.” It sounded so respectable.

  “Conforming at last?”

  “Oh no! I’ll be completely unsuitable! Geoff said that his mother will absolutely hate me.”

  “Well just don’t be too outrageous dear girl, I’m sure Geoff’s mother loves him dearly and you wouldn’t want to hurt her, or anyone else, unnecessarily would you?”

  “I can’t promise that. From what Geoff says she a bit of a cow but I’ll take her as I see her. If she’s nice to me I’ll be nice to her but if she isn’t, then we’ll see.”

  “She can’t say fairer than that can she?” Dr Hill asked his sister with a wink.

  “I’ll be in touch in when I get back. I’ll tell you how it all goes.”

  The afternoon went quickly as they had tea and Anya collected her boxes. Dr Hill insisted on driving her back to Liverpool. Months later Anya wondered why he hadn’t taken the opportunity to tell her Dot was ill but had simply used the time to warn her. “Be careful, your Geoff may be sound enough but don’t throw your lot in with him until you’re sure he can cope with your situation.” He was obviously choosing his words carefully. “By the way, we love your new accent but don’t change yourself too much, just for a man.”

  The following Friday Anya stood on the platform watching the train wind laboriously into the station and grind noisily to a halt. She tried to feel less nervous, she had never been on a train where she had to open the carriage door and wasn’t sure whether to close it behind her or leave it open for other passengers. She found a seat near the buffet and placed her canvas bag on the rack above. She worried whether she had packed the right things, her bag containing her sponge bag, two bra and pants sets carefully chosen on her shopping trip the day before, a pair of high heeled sandals and her mother’s dress, carefully folded in tissue paper, seemed inadequate. Too late she realised she should have bought something to read but took too long to decide whether or not she had time to get to the kiosk and back, in the end deciding she should stay put.

  For the hours of the journey she had only the view from the window to take her mind off the weekend to come. She worried that she wouldn’t know anyone to talk to at the party and that if she did speak to anyone she would let Geoff down. Nervously she put her hand many times to the locket around her neck trying to absorb Dot’s confidence in her. Frequently she looked down at her mother’s ring wondering what her mother would make of her life now. She had decided to wear the ring all weekend as she wanted Mrs Philips to notice it and hoped she would think that Geoff had given it to her. ‘Let her think her son is really serious about me.’

  As the miles passed the world began to look different, there were more cars in the station car parks, more houses and fewer fields along the route. As they reached the suburbs of London she stared out of the window at the seemingly never ending walls and blocks of flats and thought of Marion. She should have asked Dot about Marion.

  By the time the train finally stopped at Euston it seemed to Anya that London had already gone on forever and she was only just reached the northern part of it. She steeled herself for the trip across the capital and the meeting with Tim.

  Geoff had given her clear instructions. First she had to get a taxi to Charing Cross Station. He had told her it would be easy but she had to find the queue and then wait for twenty minutes as black cab after black cab came and went and the queue very slowly grew shorter. As she drew nearer the front of the queue she watched other people climbing in the taxis to see what they did and decided she would tell the cabbie her destination then open the door to get in. It seemed an important thing to get right. When it was her turn she found the window to the cabbie shut so all her planning had been wasted. The journey to Charing Cross took longer than she had expected, though there was no shortage of things to look at. She recognised the British Library, she loved the narrow streets of Covent Garden but was disappointed not to see more well-known sights such as Trafalgar Square or Buckingham Palace. The cabbie pulled into the courtyard of the station and she handed over the exact money for the fare, smiling into the disdainful face of the cabbie.

  Her second instruction from Geoff had been to buy her ticket and be under the clock in the main concourse at exactly six o’clock. As she turned away from the ticket office it wasn’t yet five-thirty. At first she stood, looking around at the endless stream of people who all seemed to know exactly what they were doing and where they were going. She looked up at the clock again and there were still over 20 minutes to go so she hitched her bag over her shoulder and walked out of the station. Looking in the shop windows as she walked along the street she knew to be the Strand she was disappointed to see they were exactly the same as the shop windows in Liverpool, the only ones that were different were the tourist traps filled with tacky souvenirs. She reached the Savoy and stood staring down the access road wondering what went on behind those revolving doors. She turned back towards the station and found heading in the same direction as the crowds made the walk a lot easier. As she re-entered the concourse she glanced at the clock, she was still a few minutes early so she followed the signs to the Ladies where she checked her make-up. Staring at her reflection she remembered Harold’s words at Christ
mas ‘have the confidence to be who and what you are whether other people like it or not’ She held her head high as she climbed the stairs and headed for the clock.

  Tim was standing in the bar watching the concourse. He was on his second pint, as were Dave and John. Every evening they met in the station bar to have a drink or two, to wind down from the day’s work and wait for the trains to be less crowded. They shared a flat and spent all their leisure time together playing golf and cricket, they even commuted on the same trains. The only thing that separated them was work, Tim was an accountant, Dave on the road to being a solicitor and John was a management consultant earning more than the other two put together.

  “Bet that’s her.” Tim felt a nudge and looked in the direction John was indicating with a jerk of his head. “You reckoned Geoff couldn’t pull anything smart so I bet that’s her.” The girl they laughed at was overweight and badly dressed, the remains of an ice cream staining her mouth.

  “What do you know about the girl?” David asked before draining his glass.

  “She’s called Anya.”

  “We know that.” David showed his impatience at Tim’s deliberate unhelpfulness by speaking slowly, as if to a particularly ignorant client. “What I mean is how do we recognise her?”

  “She’s 21 years old.”

  “Obviously old chap, she’s just graduated.” John was pleased at his deduction.

  “She could have been a mature student; you know some 30 year old spinster who gave up finding a man and took to academia.” Tim nudged Dave “Like that one.” Their eyes followed another dowdy woman in late middle age as she dragged a shopping basket on wheels across the station forecourt and their laughter was the laughter of men utterly confident of their positions in life.

  “Geoff said she got a First.”

  “So she can’t be thick.”

  “He seemed impressed.”

  “But it was only Liverpool.” Tim shared the views of his future mother-in-law regarding provincial universities.