by Anne Doughty
‘Well, you’re here now and that’s all that matters,’ said Valerie easily as we went into the bedroom.
But Karen had not finished. As she twitched at her tight-fitting wool dress and adjusted its collar at Val’s dressing table, she watched us both in the mirror to make sure we were paying attention.
‘May I ask what time it is, Valerie?’ she began coldly. ‘Just as a matter of interest.’
‘It’s somewhere after nine, but the night is still young,’ Val replied, her tone as light as before.
How Val managed to keep a smile on her face and look easy and relaxed in the face of Karen’s tight-lipped expression and acidic tone was more than I could imagine. I stood watching her with admiration. I knew perfectly well that one more remark of Karen’s about Neville and I’d be looking for the nearest blunt instrument. But then, Val has always had a gift of lightness. When she’s feeling right in herself she has an almost magical quality about her. My father always said that if Valerie Thompson put her mind to it, she could charm ducks off water.
‘Isn’t Neville Secretary of the Social Committee this year, Karen?’ Val went on easily, as Karen peered at her pursed lips in the mirror.
Karen tossed her head and faltered as Val turned towards her, a look of attentive interest in her unwavering grey eyes.
‘Oh, I expect he is. He’s secretary of so many things, I can’t be expected to remember them all. I don’t see it’s any excuse.’
‘But Neville is here, Karen, isn’t he?’ she continued quietly. ‘Quite a few husbands have other commitments this evening, haven’t they? Colin, for one. Let’s be grateful for small mercies, shall we?’
Karen opened her mouth and closed it again, while Val turned towards me and put her arms round me.
‘Jenny, dear, it’s ages since I’ve seen you. I’m so sorry I haven’t managed to catch you,’ she said as she hugged me tight.
For a moment, the warmth of her body and the familiar floral scent brought such a sense of wellbeing, of so many good times shared, that the last thing I wanted to do was let go of her. But one glimpse of Karen’s knowing look in the mirror and all my anxieties came streaming back.
‘Don’t you think it’s time we were going down?’ she said abruptly and moved towards the bedroom door.
‘Why don’t you go ahead, Karen?’ said Val. ‘I’ll have to do something about Jenny’s hair. She’s gone and put it up and we can’t have that tonight, can we?’
As she spoke, Val ignored my half-hearted protests, manoeuvred me on to the stool in front of her dressing table, and reached for her hairbrush. I was really very grateful, for I knew my hair didn’t look right. I’d tried it down, lost patience with it, pinned it up and got it too tight. Besides, the thought of just a few moments alone with Val was very appealing.
Karen was standing by the door. ‘Aren’t you going to tell us the good news then, Valerie? Or are you trying to keep it quiet a bit longer?’
I saw the colour drain from Val’s face as she spun round to face her. ‘What good news?’ she asked quietly.
‘Why, the good news you’re planning to tell Jenny. Surely you’re going to tell me as well. I’ll be so pleased to hear when it’s going to be, after so long.’
‘When what’s going to be?’ Val’s voice had dropped to a whisper and her face had a crumpled look that I knew only too well. I held my breath, dreading what was to come next. I had a moment’s relief as Karen turned away, but then she delivered her parting shot, and it was just as upsetting as I had imagined it would be.
‘I’ll leave you two to talk it over,’ she said sweetly. ‘I’m sure, Val, you and I will have lots of time to get together now you won’t have the job to cope with any more.’
As the door closed behind her, Val covered her face with her hands and collapsed on the edge of the bed. Her shoulders shook and she sobbed as if her heart would break. I put my arms round her and held her tight.
‘Val, Val dear. What’s wrong? Whatever is it? Tell me.’
It seemed like an age before she could get any words out.
‘I didn’t tell her, Jenny. I didn’t tell her,’ she kept repeating. ‘You don’t think I told her, do you?’she sobbed, looking up at me, her face streaked with tears.
It was by no means the first time I had seen Val as distraught as this, but it was the very first time that came into my mind as she continued to sob. It was winter, a chill grey day with flurries of snow. We had run home from school together, stopping only to see if we could catch a snowflake on our outstretched tongues. It was my turn to accompany her home, so we walked up her side of the Drive together. A little while later, after I had hung up my coat and put my slippers on, I heard a furious ringing at the door. I got there before my mother who had been baking and had to wash her hands.
Valerie stood on the doorstep, breathless, without a coat, the snow flying round her. Tears were streaming down her face and she was sobbing so I could hardly hear what she was saying as she flung herself at me. ‘Jenny, Jenny, my mummy’s dead and the little baby too. What shall I do? What shall I do?’ We’d known each other for three years. We were only eight years old.
The loss of her mother, a gentle, rather faded woman whose sweet smile I’ve never forgotten, was only the beginning of Val’s heartbreak. Within a year, her father, English by birth, a sturdy, no-nonsense character from the Black Country, who had come to Ulster to be headmaster of a boys’ preparatory school well-known for its strict discipline, had married his school secretary, a hard-faced woman as different from Val’s tender-hearted mother as it was possible to imagine. From that point onwards, Val’s father, always overbearing and intolerant of any weakness, regarded his two children as an intrusion into his new life. ‘Aunt Eleanor’, as their stepmother chose to be called, had little time for Val and none at all for Alan, the long-legged, awkward thirteen-year-old who had come chasing after his sister that awful afternoon.
Alan was despatched immediately to an English public school. Val went on living at Rathmore Drive until she was eleven. Then she too was sent to board at the Belfast school where I was a day girl. While both the Thompson children suffered from their mother’s loss and their father’s neglect, it was Val who was almost driven to the edge.
Since that winter day when we were children, there had always been times when Val would suddenly become so distraught, she’d scarcely know what she was doing. It could be set off by something quite small, a harsh word or a disappointment. A slight upset, of no significance to another child, would affect her so badly, she could do nothing but weep inconsolably.
Her aunt and uncle in Ballycastle had insisted that she be sent to doctors and psychologists, and they themselves provided a welcome retreat for holidays, but it was only when Val discovered her talent for sketching and painting at grammar school that things began to improve. Without her aunt and uncle, one or two teachers who knew the whole situation, and her much-loved brother, Alan, Val might never have made it through her teenage years.
However she tried, she just couldn’t get over the sense of total abandonment that had come with the loss of her mother, her father and her home. She longed for friends and made them easily. But when they let her down, the hurt it generated fell along the old fault line and so the price she paid for their failure was far greater than they could ever imagine.
I stroked her hair and talked to her, reminding her of promises we had made to each other as little girls, solemn vows and cross-my-hearts. I could have been talking nonsense, but it wouldn’t have mattered. When Val went to pieces, the only thing to do was remind her she wasn’t on her own. I had done this many times before. Gradually the sobbing subsided and she made an effort to collect herself.
‘I’ll be all right, Jenny,’ she managed. ‘As long as you don’t think I told her,’ she repeated, her voice wavering dangerously.
‘But of course I don’t, silly. You know Karen’s fitted with a built-in pregnancy detector. She’s a great loss to the medical profession.�
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She managed a ghost of a smile and I asked the question I knew I had to ask, as gently as I could.
‘Was it an accident, Val?’
‘No, that’s just the point,’ she began, shaking her head vehemently. ‘That’s why I wanted to tell you before anyone, even Bob. It was because of you I finally got there. Time and time again, Jenny, I’ve gone through it all. My fears about dying in childbirth, like Mummy, and the worry of being an awful parent like my father, and not being able to cope, like just now. And letting Bob down, when he’s been so wonderful. I went through it all again that lovely day we had up at Murlough,’ she went on, wiping her eyes on a minute scrap of lace handkerchief. ‘That’s what did it, Jenny. It was that day.’
‘What d’you mean, Val?’ I asked, confused, not even able to remember which day up at Murlough, one of our favourite places.
She grasped my hands and swallowed hard. ‘Just before the end of the holidays. That lovely sunny day. I didn’t mean to start talking about it, but it just came out, and you were so patient. You just kept saying that I mustn’t do anything till I felt right about it, whatever anyone said. And you reminded me how Bob always says it was me he married and not someone to be the mother of his children. You said however much Bob might like to have children it wouldn’t be right for him unless it was what we both wanted. Well, suddenly, a few days later, I just made up my mind it was going to be all right. I didn’t even tell Bob at first. I just flushed my pills down the loo when I was packing for that bargain break we had in Spain. When we came back, I didn’t bleed, but I thought it was just the heat. It was only when I missed again, Bob persuaded me to go to the doctor. I just couldn’t believe it had happened so quickly.’
The tears had gone, the sparkle had come back to her eyes and I knew Val was going to be all right. Yes, there were things she was still afraid off, worries and anxieties about coping, but they’d been through it all together and made their plans. As I listened, I felt relief sweep over me.
‘We’re going to have a nanny to begin with, but when I can cope, I’ll stop teaching and work at home. Bob says I must have my own studio, so we’re looking for an old farmhouse we can rebuild or extend.’ She broke off, her eyes shining. ‘Oh Jenny, say you forgive me for neglecting you. Say I’m not an ungrateful wretch, after all the agonising you’ve listened to. You’re not cross with me, are you?’ she ended breathlessly.
‘Of course I’m not cross,’ I said, giving her a little hug. ‘You just had me worried in case it was an accident. But if it was your decision and you’re happy, that’s all I need to hear.’
The colour had come back to her face and she was smiling so happily it was hard to imagine the havoc Karen’s exit line had produced.
‘I’ll only be cross if you lecture me now about my wifely duties, like Karen did this morning,’ I went on.
‘She didn’t!’
‘She did.’
‘I promise you, Jenny, never, never, never. Brownie’s honour!’
I started to laugh and found I couldn’t stop.
‘What’s so funny, Jenny?’ she asked, laughing too.
‘I don’t know. I really don’t know,’ I giggled. ‘It might just be your mascara.’
Valerie looked in the mirror and threw up her hands in one of those flowing gestures that would seem contrived in anyone else.
‘Eyes first and then your hair, Jenny. I’ve really messed you up, crying all over you like that. Sorry.’
We went on talking about her plans as she renewed her make-up. She and Bob had accepted that old fears don’t just melt away, so they’d worked out how they’d meet them when they showed up.
‘You know, Jenny, you were right about my work,’ she said suddenly. ‘You’ve always said it was painting kept me sane. And now, every time I get panicky about being at home with a baby, I just think about my studio and I’m all right. Isn’t that an absolutely awful thing to say?’
‘No, it’s just very honest, thank goodness. The most unhappy kids I’ve met are the ones whose parents pretend things. You can’t fool children. All you do is confuse them. They always see through an act in the end and that really does awful things to them.’
‘Jenny, you promise you won’t ever let me do anything like that. You’ll tell me, won’t you?’ she insisted. ‘I’m so afraid I’ll be an awful mother.’
I shook my head and smiled at her. ‘That’s probably your best defence, Val. The really awful ones are the ones who think they’re God’s gift to motherhood. Look at Karen.’
We exchanged glances in the mirror.
‘Karen’s got a shock coming, Jenny. Wait till she hears I’m not giving up work.’
‘And not caring for your own child!’ I added gleefully.
‘And not giving any more parties!’
‘Val, do you mean it?’ I cried in amazement.
‘Jenny dear, it’s not me any more. I wanted everyone to love me, but the people who love me don’t need parties. That lot downstairs don’t give tuppence about me. Good old Val. Great fun when she’s on form, and definitely to be avoided when she’s not,’ she said sharply. ‘Don’t look so surprised, Jenny,’ she said, laughing, as she finished brushing out my hair. ‘It’s all your own work, you know. You’ve been trying to tell me that for years. The penny’s dropped at last.’
She put down the hairbrush, rummaged in a drawer full of small scarves and neatly hemmed fragments of fabric, chose one and held it against my hair.
‘How about this? Just softly caught back, about here.’ I nodded weakly and leaned my elbows on the dressing table. The scarf was a perfect match for my skirt and much nicer than the crumpled black velvet ribbon which lay in front of me, but suddenly I felt overwhelmed by weariness. The thought of going downstairs to face the noise and smoke and the need to talk to people was more than I could bear.
‘Jenny?’ Val’s voice was full of concern.
‘I’m fine, just a bit tired,’ I said, making the effort to sit up straight again. ‘I could do with a drink,’ I added feebly.
‘I did notice how pale you were before I started weeping all over you. Something’s wrong. No secrets, Jenny.’
I bit my lip and sat twisting my engagement ring. ‘No secrets’ was a bit of our private language, like ‘Brownie’s honour’. I didn’t want to hide anything from Val, but I just didn’t know what to say.
‘Something is wrong, Jenny.’
‘No more than usual.’ The look on Val’s face told me I’d spoken far more sharply than I intended. ‘Perhaps it is all getting a bit much,’ I went on. ‘Maybe I should be starting a family too. There’s not much point putting it off if I’m going to. At least I’d have you for company.’
‘Jenny! What on earth are you talking about? Has Colin’s mother been getting at you again?’
‘No,’ I said weakly. ‘But I’ve been offered the head of department and I have to decide by Monday. And Colin’s so wrapped up in the directorship business he hasn’t found time for a phone call to discuss it.’
Val paused, her expression full of concern. ‘Yes,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘he talked about it all the time when I tried to ring you. And Alan said it was just the same the night he tried.’
‘Alan? Phoned?’
Dear friend that Alan is, a phone call from Scotland was not something I would ever expect. To begin with, he hates the phone. Besides, we’ve always kept in touch by letter. And our famous postcards. We have an ongoing competition to see who can say most in the space available.
‘Didn’t Colin tell you that Alan phoned?’ asked Val cautiously.
‘No, he never mentioned it,’ I said shortly. ‘He didn’t even tell me about your party. I found out from Karen this morning. You can imagine how pleased she was about that,’ I said crossly.
‘Oh, Jenny, I’m sorry. It’s Colin, isn’t it?’ she asked gently, her voice soft, her eyes shadowed. ‘Do you think it’ll be better when he gets it? Is he just anxious?’
I shook my head
sadly. ‘No, Val, it won’t be better when he gets it. I’d like to think it would, but it won’t. It started going wrong as soon as we drove off the Liverpool ferry. Since then, not one single thing I’ve said has had the slightest effect on him. I’ve tried to make excuses for him. I’ve tried to blame myself, the job, his family, my mother, the time of the month, the season of the year. It’s no good, Val. Colin’s not going to be any different. And I haven’t the slightest idea what I’m going to do about it.’ I stood up and hugged her briefly. ‘Val, the show must go on. Your show,’ I reminded her. ‘Do you realise what time it is?’
‘Oh Jenny, what can I do to help? Let’s have an evening next week. I’ll pick you up from school and we’ll have a meal together. I know I’m not as good as you at sorting problems, but at least let me try.’
We settled on an evening. It was only as we turned to go downstairs that I remembered Alan.
‘Why did Alan phone, Val?’
‘To ask you and Colin to come out for a celebration meal with us last weekend. Colin said there was a firm’s dinner.’
‘Oh, Val,’ I said sadly, ‘Alan was home and I missed him. Damn that bloody dinner. When did he go back?’
‘He didn’t, Jenny. That’s the point. He’s just got a job with the Textile Research Institute and he wanted to tell you himself. That’s why he rang. But when he couldn’t get you, he thought perhaps he should wait till tonight. He’s probably skulking in the kitchen, wondering what on earth I’ve done with you. He’ll have my life for making him wait so long. You know how much he loves parties,’ she said wryly.
‘You mean he’s here?’ I said stupidly.
‘Yes, Jenny, he’s here,’ she nodded, taking my hands. ‘And perhaps that’s a very good thing. Maybe he can help you more than I can. You’ve always said Alan never lets his feelings get in the way of the facts. Not like me. I feel like murdering Colin because he’s hurt you.’