sUnwanted Truthst (6 page)

‘I expect you like Cliff Richard, don't you?' Martin asked.

‘No, not much; I prefer Paul Anka; The Everley Brothers; and Neil Sedaka.'

‘They're all American.'

‘It's not because they're American. I like their sound.'

‘I prefer instrumentals; The Shadows and Duane Eddy. I've got all their records. I'm saving up to buy a guitar. I reckon I'll have enough by Christmas.'

‘Do you fancy joining a group?'

‘A couple of mates have, but I've a way to go yet.'

They continued in silence. Jenny tried to think of something else to say, but the harder she tried the more the words retreated. She spotted the tracks of the railway through the trees, and hoped that he would want to see her again.

‘It's my sister's thirteenth birthday next Saturday afternoon. She's having a special tea for a couple of friends from school. Would you like to come?'

She thought it was as if he knew what she was thinking. ‘Won't your parents mind?'

‘I'll tell Mum you're coming; one more won't make any difference. She's very easy-going. Dad won't be there, he'll be at the café. It's more relaxed when he's not at home. It would be good if you could come.'

‘Yes, I'd love to. Have you just got one sister?'

‘Yes, she's enough. She's so annoying. What about you?'

‘No, I'm an only child,' she said, then adding, ‘but I don't mind, I have some good friends.'

‘What you never have, you never miss.' Martin smiled at her. ‘Not that I'd miss Anna; the house would be a lot quieter. She's a pain in the backside. Well, it looks as if we're back where we started.' They stood staring at the engine shed.

‘I'd better go,' said Jenny.

He turned to face her and taking both her hands in his, dipped his face and briefly touched her lips. ‘I won't be at the club on Tuesday, my uncle's coming down. So I'll meet you at the end of my street next Saturday, about three o'clock?'

*

The area to the south of the railway was known locally as “Poet's Corner”. At the end of the nineteenth century, a councillor with a literary bent decided to name all roads built surrounding the town's hospital after poets. Jenny leant her cycle against the wall of the house in Byron Street and looked at her watch: five to three. The ride down had not taken as long as she'd thought. She peered into the distance. Someone that looked like Martin was coming out of a house at the far end of the street, as he came nearer she saw that he was holding something in his hand. She should have bought a present for his sister. It was too late now.

‘You came on your bike then?' Martin said as he approached her. ‘This is for you.' He passed her a brown paper bag.

‘For me?'

‘Yes, look inside.'

‘It's Neil Sedaka, his latest,' she said, her face breaking into a wide smile.

‘Yes, you said you liked him.'

‘I do, thank you. I should have bought a present for Anna.'

‘Don't worry about that. She's got loads, and her friends will bring some more. You better put it in your saddle-bag,' he nodded towards the record.

‘Are you sure it's alright me coming? I mean with your mother.' Jenny took hold of the handlebars.

‘Course it is. Come on.' Martin draped his arm around Jenny's shoulders and they walked along the street.

‘Have you always lived here?' Jenny asked.

‘We used to live in the centre of Brighton. But I don't remember it. I think we moved here when I was about five. You can leave your bike here, behind mine.' Martin led Jenny through a side door, to where a bicycle with drop handlebars stood against the wall of the house. Jenny positioned her front wheel so that it lightly touched the rear wheel of Martin's bicycle. ‘Don't look so worried,' Martin said as Jenny bit her lower lip. He took her hand and led her through the back door and into the kitchen.

A slim dark-haired woman, wearing an apron with a frill around the edge, looked up and smiled at Jenny. She was turning a jelly upside down on a plate. ‘So you're Jenny?'

‘I hope it's alright me coming today, Mrs Barretti?'

‘Yes, of course it is. Martin hasn't stopped talking about you all week.'

‘Mum, for God's sake. Come on Jenny.' He took her hand and pulled her through the doorway.

‘Yes, take Jenny into the front room. I don't know if Anna's in there, her friends haven't arrived yet. I'm setting the food on the table in the dining room.'

‘We'll go in there first then,' said Martin, throwing a grin at his mother.

‘Don't you dare,' she laughed.

Jenny relaxed, picking up on the easy atmosphere, and followed Martin along the hallway and into a neat sitting room.

‘Well, Anna's not in here, that's good.' Martin sank into the sofa. ‘Sit down here,' he patted the seat beside him. ‘I'll put some 45s on the record player in a minute. That will get us into the party mood.'

‘I like you in those trousers. They suit you.' Martin looked down approvingly as Jenny sat beside him.

‘They're Capri pants. I always wear them when I cycle.'

There was a thundering of feet on the stairs. The door burst open. ‘There you are. Where's my money?' A girl with straight dark hair and a fringe faced them, with both hands on her hips.

‘What are you talking about?' said Martin.

‘You know what I'm talking about; my birthday money. I had five pound notes, on my bed-side table. Now I've only got three. You've taken them. No one else would.'

‘No I haven't,' Martin said.

‘You're a liar and a thief.'

‘And you're a rude brat. We've got a guest, and all you can do is scream and shout. Aren't you going to say hello?'

‘No I'm not.' Her dark eyes flashed from under her fringe. ‘Not ‘til you own up and give me my money back.'

‘Anna, Anna, what on earth's going on? It's your birthday.' Mrs Barretti stood behind her daughter in the hallway. Her hands were white with icing sugar.

‘I don't care. I want my money.'

‘Martin, did you take it?'

‘No, of course I didn't. She's just lost it. It's probably lying in all that mess under her bed. She never cleans her room.'

‘We'll sort it out later Anna. You don't need it now do you? Just calm down, and go and get ready. Your friends will be here any minute. I'm sorry about this Jenny. Your first visit, what must you think of us?'

‘It's alright,' said Jenny, thinking that she had never experienced the rough and tumble of family life. She remembered Pamela Edwards' house, and then thought of her dead brother. He would be nineteen now; her own childhood would have been very different had he lived.

‘I'll get you later.' Anna flashed her eyes at her brother.

‘Don't bet on it,' said Martin mockingly as his sister ran back up the stairs. He turned to Jenny. ‘She takes after Dad, always exploding at the slightest thing.'

‘Martin, there's no need to say that,' said his mother.

‘Well, it's the truth.'

‘Can I help you with the tea, Mrs Barretti?'

‘Thank you Jenny. That would be nice. I'm even more behind now. My husband's at the café this afternoon; Saturday's always their busiest time. Mind you, he wouldn't help if he was here. Italian men,' she sighed, ‘more trouble than they're worth.'

Jenny followed her into the kitchen.

‘Martin said that you live up at West Blatchington,' she said as she placed silver balls onto the circles of white icing that capped the tiny sponge cakes.

‘Yes, opposite the windmill.'

‘It's nice up there; near the Downs. I used to live near the New Forest, just outside Southampton. My sister still lives there. Unfortunately, it's all houses and traffic round here. I prefer the countryside. Right, that's the fairy cakes finished. There's just the butter icing for the birthday cake to do, then I'll be finished.' There was a ring on the doorbell. ‘Anna,' she shouted, ‘answer the door, your friend's here. Jenny, would you mind taking this jelly through to the dining room?' She passed her a strawberry mould in the shape of a rabbit. ‘I expect your mum used to make these for you?'

‘Yes, she did.' Jenny remembered the bright green jellies and pink blancmanges of her childhood.

Jenny placed the jelly in the centre of the table decked with paper plates and serviettes. She thought what fun Martin's mother seemed. She imagined her laughing and dancing and contrasted her with her own mother.

‘So, how old are you Jenny? I can never tell with young people these days.' She picked up the baking tray of fairy cakes. ‘Could you pass me that plate, the one with the cherries round the edge?'

‘I'll be fifteen in February,' she said, worried that she might think her too young to be going out with Martin.

‘Martin's birthday's in February, the second. I can't believe he'll be seventeen next year.'

‘Oh, mine's not ‘til the end of the month – the twenty-eighth.'

The doorbell rang once more and the baking tray clattered to the floor, throwing fairy cakes everywhere. ‘Oh, no, look what I've done now, the tray just slipped out of my hands.'

‘I'll pick them up for you.' Jenny bent down and began picking up the cakes that lay scattered like pebbles under the kitchen table.

‘I can't throw them away. They'll have to be alright.'

‘They'll be fine, Mrs Barretti, they're in their cases. I'll put them on the plate,' said Jenny, concerned that she might be blamed for chatting to her.

‘What's going on out here?' Martin leant against the doorpost smiling. ‘Two women in the kitchen; always a bad idea.'

It's just me being clumsy,' said his mother in a shaky voice. ‘Anna!' she shouted.

*

‘Did you enjoy this afternoon?' Martin asked later as he closed the back door behind them.

‘Yes, it was great,' said Jenny.

‘What, even with Anna throwing a tantrum, and her friends screaming and running wild?'

‘Yes, even with Anna and her friends. It was fun.'

Martin pulled her towards him and kissed her softly. Jenny wished that moment could last forever.

*

The following weekend Martin was waiting by the gate to the farmyard that adjoined Hangleton Church. Jenny braked and stood down from the pedals.

‘Do I get a kiss then?' Martin grinned.

Jenny hesitated and then leant towards him and pressed her lips to his. She drew back, unsure how long she should keep them there.

‘He's a big boy, isn't he?' Martin nodded in the direction of a bull with a ring through its nose that was standing in a patch of shade in the yard.

‘Yes, he is.' Jenny squinted at the animal, his tone made her think he wasn't referring to the animal's bulk. ‘I've brought some lunch for us.'

‘I thought we might take the track of the old railway to the Dyke, what do you think?' Martin kicked his pedals round and threw his leg over the saddle.

‘As long as we can go to Poynings afterwards – I like it there. Don't forget you've got gears, and I haven't. You better wait for me on the hills.'

‘I might, or I might not,' he turned and grinned.

Breathless, they stopped at the top of the hill. To their right lay the hamlet of Saddlescombe. A pair of tile-hung cottages fronted the road, behind them sat a large pond. The muddy brown water had shrunk from the cracked edges to form a shallow puddle in the middle. A few ducks waddled and quacked in the midday heat.

‘We can have our lunch over there.' Jenny pointed to a grassy bank opposite the pond.

The tall grass was interspersed with light blue scabious flowers. Jenny reached into her saddle-bag and with a flick of her wrists patted the check cloth as flat as she could on the grass.

Jenny passed Martin a sandwich wrapped in greaseproof paper. ‘They're cheese and tomato, hope you like them?'

‘I eat anything. I've even been known to eat cardboard.'

‘I don't believe that.'

‘True – you can ask my mum.'

They sat side by side eating. A lone swallow skimmed over the water chasing a meal. ‘I've brought two apples to finish off with, or we can save them for later,' said Jenny.

‘Let's save them for later.' Martin leaned back in the grass, his arms folded to support his head. ‘You – you are my girlfriend, aren't you Jenny?' his voice wavered.

Jenny brimmed with happiness. ‘Yes.'

‘Good, I can really talk to you. Not like some of the other girls at the club. I knew that as soon as I saw you. It's just that…'

‘Just what?' asked Jenny, immediately thinking he must have another girlfriend.

He pulled her back beside him. ‘It doesn't matter.'

‘No – tell me.'

‘I'll tell you later. I'm not going out with anyone else,' he said, as if reading her thoughts.

Jenny relaxed and shielded her eyes from the rays of the sun that pulsed down. Half a dozen swifts circled above, like tiny anchors cast adrift in the sky. ‘They'll be gone soon,' she said.

‘What will?'

‘The swifts, I hate it when they go.'

Martin slid his arm under her neck and shoulders; his fingers briefly touched the swell of her breast. He quickly pulled his arm away and sat up. ‘Let's look around. We can leave our bikes here.'

An Elizabethan farmhouse lay behind the pond. It was built of flint, but part of the frontage had been faced with grey concrete; underneath a large gable, was a clock, its hands stuck at six thirty-five. Jenny wondered if it had been morning or evening when time had stood still. She wished that time would stand still today. She had never been so happy. They wandered hand in hand past the house, lingering as a dozen brown and white Sussex hens scratched in the dry earth, supervised by their ever-watchful cockerel.