sUnwanted Truthst (3 page)

‘I haven't got all day you know,' said the shopkeeper as Jenny's eyes darted around the penny box. Her fingers closed around the pink flying saucer.

‘Anything else?' he said, peering over his round spectacles.

‘Twenty Weights, please,' Jenny looked up at him and added, ‘for my dad.' But he was already slapping the packet down on the counter.

‘That will be two shillings and seven pence.'

The small parade of shops stood in the centre of the estate, halfway between the school and Jenny's home. It was late May, and the Whitsun school holiday. Jenny dawdled down the hill sucking the sherbet from its outer casing. The semi-detached houses that lined both sides of the road were occupied by families; a father, a mother, and two or three children. One prolific couple, with ten children, were allocated two semi-detached houses with a connecting door. The flats lay on the perimeter of the estate. First-floor flats were for families with one child. The ground-floor flats for older couples, or widows. Jenny stood and watched as a girl turned a skipping rope tied to the lamppost. It was Pamela Edwards, who was in her class. Another girl, who Jenny recognised as being in the year below, was breathlessly counting her jumps. With each leap her dress billowed like a tiny parachute, her thin legs hanging like cords.

‘Hello,' said Jenny.

‘Do you want a go?' asked Pamela.

Jenny shook her head and continued to suck her sherbet.

‘Eighty-one, that's my highest so far,' the younger girl gasped; the rope slack between her legs.

Pamela turned to Jenny, the handle clattering onto the pavement. ‘I've got to go in now. Do you want to help me bathe my baby brother?' She was the second eldest of a family of six. Her sister Patricia was in the year below, and her brother Philip the year below that. There was also an older brother of around twelve called Peter. All the children's names began with the letter P and Jenny imagined that they would continue multiplying until they ran out of names.

Jenny followed Pamela as she walked up the garden path dragging her left leg behind her. She wore a heavy high laced leather boot. Attached to the boot was a pair of metal callipers that reached to her knee. She had told everyone that she had polio when she was younger, and had spent a year in a long box like a coffin, that breathed for her.

Screams bombarded Jenny's ears. The younger children were laughing and chasing each other around the kitchen table. The toddler was naked from the waist down. They ignored the screams from the large black pram beside the boiler. Pamela nimbly avoided a full potty and the coloured play bricks that lay scattered across the floor. She went over to the pram. Jenny followed and peered inside. ‘Does he always cry so loudly?'

‘Only when he's hungry; and that's quite often.'

Paul, the latest addition to the family, lay red-faced and kicking, clad only in an off-white nappy and vest. Pamela scooped him up and thrust him into Jenny's arms, before disappearing through the side door and returning with a galvanised tin bath. Placing the bath on the Formica table she began filling it with jugs of hot and cold water. Jenny thought that although they were the same age, Pamela appeared years older; a housewife in miniature. She lay the baby on a threadbare towel, deftly undid the buttons on his vest and unpinned his nappy. Jenny's nose wrinkled. Once cleaned, Paul was lowered into the water. He immediately stopped crying. Huge blue eyes focused on Jenny as Pamela rubbed him with a bar of soap.

‘You can wash the soap off now if you like?'

‘Like this?' Jenny scooped up the water in her hands and splashed him.

‘Yes, that's fine.' Another towel appeared as if by magic, and Paul was wrapped and dried in seconds. Pamela's sister appeared clutching a curved glass bottle of milk. She grabbed Paul and sitting down in a threadbare armchair began to feed her brother. Jenny watched as his tiny hands grabbed the bottle and he began to slurp noisily on the teat. She compared Pamela's busy family life to her own quiet existence.

‘I do this every day to help Mum,' Pamela said, as if reading Jenny's thoughts. ‘Mum's giving Pearl her tea in the other room.' Pearl was the toddler.

Wanting to appear more grown-up in Pamela's eyes, Jenny considered telling her about what Alan had shown her, but was too embarrassed. Also she thought that in this house, it would probably not be worthy of amazement. Instead she blurted, ‘I can write with pen and ink now. They used them at the school I went to in London.'

‘Miss Bruce said that we'll be using ink next term,' said Pamela as her friend came through the side door into the kitchen, her skipping rope trailing behind her.

‘I've been taught to dance, just like the grown-ups. This black man showed me. He's the son of an African chief from Nigeria.' Jenny played her trump card.

‘Where was that?' said both girls, staring open-mouthed at Jenny.

‘In London of course; at my cousin's house.'

Jenny left the two girls re-tying the rope around the lamppost and continued down the road. She could hear Pamela shouting, ‘two, three, four, five…' until there was only the sound of her own footsteps. In the distance the sails of the windmill rose above the roof of the church. She thought they were like ladders leading to heaven, and imagined angels climbing them. She lingered at the road junction and turned left, not wanting to go straight home; there was no one to play with. Gail, who lived opposite, had chickenpox. Wandering to the edge of the estate, where a grass verge bordered a field of ripening wheat, Jenny walked across and flopped down, watching the house-martins flash their white rumps at her, as they flew back and forth to their nests under the eaves. A ladybird landed on her cardigan. She encouraged it onto her finger, and counted the spots as it crawled up her hand.

Bored by the ladybird, she picked a stem of plantain grass. Making a loop around the square stalk she catapulted the seed head, repeating it, again and again, trying to beat her previous record. As the sun sank behind the houses, she drew her cardigan around her chest and wondered what time it was. She hadn't intended to stop this long. Standing up she brushed the grass from her dress, and looked around for the packet of cigarettes and change. She flattened the tall grass at the edge of the field with the edge of her sandals, exposing only scurrying insects. She wondered if she had left them at Pamela's house. She couldn't go back, not with all those children staring at her, anyway, she must go home. She retraced her steps to the road junction, her eyes searching the pavement and gutter, willing the missing items to appear.

*

‘Where on earth have you been? I was just about to come looking for you.' Her mother seemed taller as she spoke in the tone that Jenny dreaded. She hated upsetting her; she might be ill again, and it would be her fault.

‘I stopped off at Pamela Edwards' house.'

‘What, all this time?'

Jenny slipped past her mother and ran up the stairs.

‘Come here. Have you got Dad's cigarettes?' Alice said following her.

‘No, they didn't have any.' Jenny stopped outside the kitchen, feeling her cheeks redden as she stared at the squares on the lino.

‘Didn't have any? They've never been out of stock before. Well, give me the money back then.'

Jenny could feel her mother's eyes boring into her, seeking out her secrets. Why hadn't she thought about that? ‘I've lost it.'

‘Lost it, how can you lose money? You must have left it at Pamela's house. You'd better go back and get it.'

Jenny panicked. If she did that, her first untruth would be exposed.

‘No, I can't,' she cried. ‘They've gone out.'

‘What all of them?'

‘Yes. I can't remember where I left it anyway.'

‘I don't believe you, Jenny. Have you spent that money?'

‘No.'

‘If I find out you're lying, you'll be punished. You know that, don't you?'

Jenny nodded.

‘We've always brought you up to tell the truth. Never tell lies, Jenny; you'll always be found out.'

A key turned in the front door. ‘Gal, you know what Ernie Moore said today?' Charlie's voice echoed up the stairs. ‘He said that he'd go in on Saturday morning. That means we've all got to work now, I was hoping to have this Saturday off. I tell you Gal, I've had enough of that man. If only he'd keep his big mouth shut. Phew.' Charlie was out of breath by the time he'd reached the landing. ‘There's my girl.' He smiled at Jenny. ‘What have you been up to today?'

‘Something she shouldn't have, if you ask me,' said Alice. ‘Don't forget what I said Jenny.'

She ran into the sitting room, and lay along the sofa, supporting her head with her hand. Charlie followed, picking up the
News Chronicle
from his chair before sinking into the cushions. In her anticipation, Jenny forgot about the missing cigarettes.

‘Ethiopia,' he said.

‘Addis Ababa,' said Jenny.

‘Albania.'

‘Tirana.'

‘Finland.'

‘Helsinki.'

‘Luxembourg.'

‘Luxembourg – see you didn't catch me out.' Jenny grinned at her father.

‘ ‘Persia.'

‘Tehran.'

‘Afganistan.'

‘Kabul.'

Charlie fumbled down the inside of his chair and produced his reading glasses. ‘I remember when we were up at the North West Frontier, wild tribesman up there you know Jenny; no trees, nothing except rocks and scrub. Then before you could say Jack Robinson, a bullet whistled past me – Pathans. By God we moved quick. You couldn't trust those tribesmen farther than you could throw them; one minute friendly as can be, next shooting at you. Mind you, they were good-looking men; never saw any women up there though. They weren't allowed out; all kept indoors; purdah they called it. Murder I'd call it, not purdah.'

‘And how are you today, Jennifer?'

‘Very well thank you.' Jenny answered exactly as Alice had instructed, but didn't look up from her library book…
Peking
–
is also called
the Forbidden City, because for five hundred years it was inaccessible. It has the best preserved buildings in China, and was the home to the Ming and Qing dynasties…

‘I hear that you're doing well at school.' Mrs Rowland pulled a pair of cream gloves over her manicured hands, pushing the material down between each finger. ‘Now, where did I put my handbag?' she muttered, looking around the room.

Jenny knew the handbag was on the chair next to her, hidden by the green chenille tablecloth. She bent her head lower over her book…
the traditional entrance was the Wumen gate where important ceremonies where held
…

‘So, what do you like doing during the holidays, Jenny?' Mrs Rowland asked as she looked behind a cushion on the
chaise longue
.

‘I like watching the birds.'

Charlie had inherited a small pair of brass binoculars from his father and Jenny spent hours kneeling on a chair at the window identifying the birds that landed in their back garden.

Mrs Rowland turned and gave Jenny a surprised look. ‘Oh, that's nice.'

Earlier that year, Alice had recovered sufficiently to apply for a cleaning position on two mornings each week. Mrs Rowland lived in a detached Edwardian villa to the north of Hove Station. On a glass panel above the front door was written the name BEAULIEU in large black letters. Alice had never met Mr Rowland, telling Jenny that he was ‘something in the city,' Jenny thought that he sounded like a building. He commuted to London Bridge early each weekday morning, and remained a moustachioed figure; one half of a wedding photograph that stood on the sideboard in the dining room.

‘Can I play with Mandy, Mrs Rowland?'

Mandy was a miniature French poodle with white powder puffs on her head and tail, and a jewelled pink collar around her neck. She was the only reason that made accompanying her mother bearable for Jenny. She hated seeing her mother cleaning someone elses house, it always made her tired.

‘Yes, you can, but make sure you take her into the back garden.' Mrs Rowland tipped the dining chair back. ‘There it is,' she tutted, as the handbag appeared from under the folds.

*

‘Why can't we have a dog? I could play with it, and take it for walks.' Since the age of five, Jenny had pestered her parents for a sister, a brother, a kitten or a puppy. But since helping Pamela Edwards bathe her brother, the first two had dropped off her list – their answer never varied.

‘You know we can't, not in a flat, it wouldn't be fair on the animal. Anyway the council don't allow it.'

‘But I would take it out before school, and when I get home. It wouldn't be any trouble.'

‘And how long would that last? No, we can't.'

‘Isn't it time to go yet?'

‘Just give me five more minutes. Put that book down and take this coal scuttle into the lounge for me.'

Jenny sighed and slid down from her chair.

Alice untied her overall, revealing a navy-blue calf-length dress. She kicked her old slip-ons into the hall cupboard and replaced them with a pair of black court shoes, completing her outfit with a cream jacket and matching hat. ‘Come on, Jenny. Let's go and buy your shoes.'

They walked hand in hand towards a footbridge over the south coast railway line that separated the residential areas of the town from George Street. As she jumped over each join between the pavement slabs, Jenny muttered, ‘If I touch a crack – I'll get a whack.' The aroma of freshly ground coffee wafted up the street and led them into the shoe shop. The interior was dark and smelt of polished leather. Jenny ran over to a dappled grey rocking horse – that to her chagrin she had now outgrown – and pushing its head forward, watched as it bounced to and fro. Alice pointed the assistant to a pair of brown lace-ups in the window, and after they were fitted and prodded, Jenny was led to a large machine standing benignly in the corner. She put her feet in the gap at the top of the steps and looked down into the eyepiece. The machine whirred and her metatarsals glowed luminous green.

‘They're fine, plenty of growing room,' said the assistant.

‘You can hold them.' Alice passed Jenny the brown paper bag as they left the shop. ‘If we hurry we'll have time for a sandwich in De Mario's before the bus comes.'

Jenny returned to jumping over the pavement cracks, knowing that a sandwich in De Mario's also meant ice cream.

*

The bus swung around the northern edge of Hove Park. Jenny sat by the window on the upper deck swinging her legs and looking down into the gardens, imagining herself chasing her puppy around the lawn: they would be inseparable. She stared into the distance, thinking that her mother was unusually quiet. A road ran along the top of the Downs, an occasional vehicle breaking the line of the horizon. She wondered if Gail would be at home. She might be her very best friend, but she was a goody-goody, always saying she had to be home on time, and never keen to explore. Although this holiday she had managed to persuade her to play in the manor house that stood opposite the church. It was being demolished, and the rooms were exposed to the sky; like a giant doll's house. Every day they would run from room to room pretending that they lived there and playing hide and seek amongst the rubble. Once when she was crouching behind a fallen door, she had found a glass perfume bottle complete with a puffer spray, and had taken it home for her “special box”.

‘I know you would have liked a brother or sister Jenny,' said Alice.

‘No – it's alright. I'd rather have a dog – a poodle like Mandy.' She had already decided on a name, “Bella”.

‘You had an older brother,' said Alice.

Jenny froze. Her right foot suspended in the air. Pamela Edwards' baby brother, red faced and screaming flashed before her. Her heart raced.
What did “had” mean? Had he disappeared?
Should she be upset, or pleased that she had a brother?

‘Where is he?'

‘He died soon after he was born, Jenny. It was freezing cold in Bradford that January. I thought everything was normal, being my first, but by the time the doctor came it was too late. Of course it would never happen nowadays.'

‘No,' Jenny whispered. ‘What was his name?' It was important to know.

‘Christopher Charles. It was 1941, so he would have been thirteen now, a young man. That's why we moved down here. I couldn't go back to London after the war, not with all your father's family there. Anyway, there was nowhere to live; most of the houses had gone in the blitz. Then you came along and we could smile again.'

Jenny knew that her parents had lived in Yorkshire during the war. Charlie had lost his right eye in an explosion in India, turning his hair white overnight and rendering him unfit for active service. Instead, he became a regimental instructor at Catterick barracks. Alice was always reminding Jenny – whenever she complained of the cold – that compared to Yorkshire, Sussex was virtually sub-tropical. In Yorkshire, she said, ‘They had to wear several sheets of newspapers under their clothes to keep warm.'

Her mother didn't say anything else, but stared straight ahead. Jenny glanced up. Her mother's cheek glistened in the sunlight. She thought she ought to say something, but didn't know what to say. It seemed unkind to change the subject. Shocked at what her mother had told her, she suddenly hated her for providing this unwanted information. She stared even more intently out of the window. A combine harvester was creeping around the contours of the field. They sat in silence.

The sails of the windmill appeared above the semi-detached houses. As Alice stood up, Jenny rushed past her and down the stairs of the bus. She had to get away from her mother and the weight of unwelcome knowledge.

Gail was standing in her front garden waving her hands above her head. It was a signal that she could come out. Jenny returned a low wave, from left to right across her chest. There would be no play today.

Pulling the front door key through the letterbox, she opened the door and ran upstairs into her parents' bedroom at the rear of the flat. Lifting the binoculars that she had left on the windowsill, she trained them on the deep pink breast of a male chaffinch, as it pecked at the ground beneath the apple tree. She stared at the bird until it flew away, trying to replace the picture that filled her mind, of a baby with her father's face and white hair.