Wishes and Tears (7 page)

‘It isn't nonsense. I didn't want you to give my baby away.' Janet stood up and moved towards the window. She didn't want her mother to see the tears welling in her eyes.

‘Janet.' Her mother's voice was loud. ‘I don't want you to mention that child again in this house, do you understand? You are being very selfish. You have put your father and myself though all kinds of anguish, and this must be the end of it.'

Janet hung her head. ‘I'll go to see Mr Blake on Monday.'

‘Good girl.' Her mother took the tea tray into the kitchen.

Janet sighed. She knew when she was beaten.

 

She went back to her old job at Blakes. The other employees seemed to be pleased to have her back and, to stop them asking questions, she told them her aunt had finally passed away. After that, the subject was avoided.

Gradually she taught herself to type, but there was little opportunity for advancement, and office life seemed more boring than ever. As she wandered about Horsham in her lunchhour she would look into prams and wonder what kind of pram Paula had. As the weather was warm, babies lay without blankets and she found herself looking at their feet, just in case. If only she had a friend to whom she could talk, go out with. Even her favourite hobby of going to the pictures made her feel lonely for in the cinema nearly everybody was with someone. Then, to upset her more, all the films appeared to be about babies or people getting married and living happy ever after.

It was a warm and sunny Sunday morning in June, and the Reverend Peter Slater's parishioners were gathered outside the church as usual, when out of the blue a motorbike roared up and stopped by the churchyard. Janet couldn't believe her eyes when she saw Freda sitting on the back. She was wearing a short black skirt, which unashamedly revealed her stocking tops as she climbed off the pillion.

Janet rushed up and threw her arms round her. ‘It's so good to see you.' Tears filled her eyes.

‘Looks like you're pleased to see me,' said Freda, ‘even if they ain't.'

Janet glanced across to where the congregation had stopped all conversation and her mother was giving her a very disapproving look.

‘I thought you were dead. Why didn't you write?' asked Janet.

‘You know me, didn't get round to it, and then I met Charlie here and guess what, we got hitched yesterday. Been on me honeymoon.' She screamed with laughter. ‘We stayed the night in Brighton and I suddenly remembered you lived in Sussex, so here we are.'

Janet could feel all eyes on them. She gave Charlie, who was still astride his bike, a slight nod. ‘Look, let's move over there.'

Janet took Freda's arm and propelled her towards a clump of trees. Charlie, still on his bike, used his long gangling legs to propel the machine after them.

‘You look really great,' said Freda, grinning and, getting closer, added, ‘And a lot thinner.'

Janet blushed.

‘Don't worry about Charlie here. He knows all about us and where we met.'

Janet looked around. ‘He won't say anything, will he?'

‘Na. He forgets things as fast as I tell him; he ain't listening half the time.'

‘So where are you living now?' asked Janet, eager to find out all about her friend.

‘Got a couple of rooms, near to Waterloo station. It ain't bad, better than home. I had to go back there even tho' me stepdad had chucked me out. I had nowhere else. Me mum made my life a bleeding misery, though.' She paused. ‘You know me baby died, didn't you?'

Janet nodded. ‘Sister Verity told us.'

‘It was a little boy. What did you have?' Freda added quickly.

‘A girl.' Janet wasn't going to say too much about her as it would have been too painful for both of them.

‘That was nice. As I was saying ...' Freda looked across at Charlie who was still sitting on his bike, well out of earshot, casually smoking, ‘... well, when I met him and he said he liked me I thought: this is a good time to get out, so we got married. He ain't a bad bloke though he can be a bit thick at times. Loves that bike.'

Janet smiled. ‘It's so good to see you. I really missed you after you left. We mustn't lose touch again.'

‘No, s'pose not.'

The congregation was beginning to break up and Janet could see her mother heading towards them. ‘Quickly, give me your address.' She took a pencil and hymn book from her bag.

‘You ain't gonner write in that, are you?'

‘It's the only paper I've got.'

‘I'm now Mrs Murrey and I live at flat 6, 21 Bramley Court, Waterloo, and you know that's in London. If you're ever round that way give us a knock.'

‘I will, and I'll write.'

‘Don't expect much of an answer. Writing ain't one of me strong points.'

‘Janet.' Her mother was bearing down on them. ‘Excuse me,' she said to Freda in a very posh voice. ‘Janet, your father is ready to leave so don't be too long, will you, there's a good girl?' As she moved away she gave Freda a sickly smile.

‘Good girl.' Freda put her hand to her mouth and began laughing. ‘Sorry about that. But you, a good girl after what you did!'

Janet looked around to make sure everyone was out of earshot.

‘You ready ter go then?' asked Charlie, grinding his cigarette butt into the ground with his boot. ‘Don't forget, gel, we've got to go to work tomorrow, and I needs me sleep.'

‘Just coming. Now you look after yourself, and don't forget if you're ever round our way you'll always be welcome.' Freda hoisted up her straight black skirt and cocked her leg over the bike. She threw her arms round Charlie's waist, and they roared off.

Janet stood for a moment or two watching the dust trail. Why did Freda seem so noisy and loud? Was it because now their life styles were so different? They seemed poles apart. She turned and made her way home.

‘Who was that young lady?' asked her mother as soon as Janet got in. ‘You appeared to be very pleased to see her. Is it someone you work with?'

‘No, it was Freda; I met her in the home.'

‘And you gave her your address?' Irene Slater looked so horrified Janet wanted to laugh.

‘Yes. I like Freda. She's just got married.'

‘Well, I hope she isn't going to make a habit of calling on you whenever she feels like it, especially on a Sunday morning and on that noisy thing.'

‘Shouldn't think so. They've been to Brighton for the night; they got married yesterday.'

‘Married. She doesn't look old enough to know her own mind. Now go on up to the bathroom and wash your hands before Mrs Price brings lunch in, and give your father's door a knock. And, Janet, not a word about where you met that girl.'

‘What shall I say if he asks?'

‘He won't.'

In the bathroom Janet thought about Freda. Charlie looked a lot older than she. Had she married him just to get away from home? ‘I hope everything works out for you,' she said out loud, her voice echoing around the tiled room. Somehow the sound made her feel even more lonely.

As the year progressed, Janet's life stayed in a rut. Every week was the same; work in the office all week, then every Sunday church in the morning and teaching in Sunday school in the afternoon. Even the children, whom she used to enjoy being with, bored her now. The only joy in her life was when she went to the pictures.

With Christmas approaching Paula filled Janet's mind more than ever. Where was she? Did she have nice people looking after her? Would they buy her generous presents and give her plenty of love?

‘Janet, I want you to help me decorate the Christmas tree in the church doorway, and your father would be glad of a hand setting up the nativity scene. Perhaps it will help cheer you up.' Her mother peered at her. ‘I hope you're not going down with something. You've been looking very peaky lately.'

Janet almost asked who'd helped her last year, but knew that wasn't wise. Her thoughts went to last Christmas with Freda. Although Janet had written to her a few times and even sent her a Christmas card, she hadn't received a reply. She remembered that night when Freda had had her baby and shuddered at the memory. Was Freda remembering too?

It was the Sunday before Christmas and the Sunday school had been busy rehearsing their carols and a nativity play, which was to be their contribution to the village concert the following evening in the church hall.

Janet finished clearing away and wished Mrs Johnson, the pianist, goodnight. Outside the wind was bitter and, pulling her scarf tighter round her neck, Janet began hurrying home.

‘Janet Slater,' someone called out.

She stopped and turned. ‘Mark Scott!'

‘Hello, Janet. Haven't seen you around for a while.'

‘Well, you've been in the army.'

‘Yes, I'm out now.'

‘Did you enjoy it?'

‘No, I hated it, all that square bashing.'

Janet was pleased it was late afternoon and almost dark so he couldn't see her smile, as she remembered his mother clutching his hand as she walked him to school.

‘Mind if I walk along with you?'

‘No, you're going my way anyway.'

‘That's true. Been busy?'

‘It's the little ones. I've been getting them ready for the concert tomorrow.'

‘Oh yes, Ma did tell me about it.'

‘She and her ladies usually do something. Will you be going?'

‘You must be joking! No, I expect I'll be in front of the tele.'

‘That sounds really exciting.'

‘Must be better than you lot singing,' but he laughed when he said it.

They said goodbye and Janet walked to her gate alone. Mark Scott looked different. It wasn't only his short haircut; he seemed taller and broader somehow, more confident, and even, she dared to admit to herself, better-looking than before he went into the army. He definitely wasn't a Mummy's boy now.

She must have been smiling when she went into the house, as her mother said, ‘You look happy. Did everything go all right?'

‘Yes, thanks. Mind you that little Adam Potter can be a real handful. He's one of the three kings but he keeps pulling his crown down over his eyes and pretending he can't see.'

Her mother laughed. ‘I'm so pleased to see you're enjoying yourself.'

Janet was hoping she would say how much they'd missed her last year, but it was almost as if last year had been spirited away.

The following evening a keen audience was seated in the village hall, eagerly waiting for the curtains to part on Stowford's annual Christmas concert.

Janet's youngsters were to go on first, which pleased her, because as soon as their part was all over she could send them back to their parents, sit in the audience and enjoy the rest of the concert in peace.

To Janet's and all the other organizers' relief, the children behaved themselves, even young Adam Potter, and soon Janet was ushering them off the stage.

‘I've saved you a seat.'

Janet was surprised to see Mark Scott sitting in the audience.

‘Thanks. I didn't think you liked this sort of thing.'

‘I don't,' he hissed as the lights went down again and the curtains opened on the WI ladies doing their turn.

During the interval Mark bought Janet a cup of tea.

‘Did your mother make you change your mind?' asked Janet when they were back in their seats.

‘No. I just thought I'd pop in to see if it had changed that much from when I last saw it.'

‘Weren't you here last year?'

‘No, didn't get home till Christmas Eve. So you didn't miss me then?'

Janet smiled. ‘No, I didn't.' She wasn't going to tell him that she hadn't been there either.

The following day two Christmas cards arrived for Janet; one from Freda and the other from Mark Scott. Janet was disappointed that Freda hadn't said how she was. ‘Love from Freda and Charlie' was all that was written on it.

‘That's very kind of Mark to send you a card,' said her mother when she read the name. She didn't mention anything about Freda's card. ‘I noticed you and Mark getting on very well last night.'

‘He only bought me a cup of tea.'

‘He is a very nice young man, and I hope you weren't rude to him.'

‘No. Why should I be?'

‘Well, you do have this habit of being sharp just lately.'

She shrugged. Her mother seemed to have so little idea of how she felt. ‘I'm sorry, but I do feel a bit lonely at times.'