Читать книгу A Little Learning - Anne Bennett - Страница 11

When Janet got up the morning after her birthday and saw the brown envelope on the mat, she stopped stock still for a minute and looked at it. Then Duncan was at her elbow.

‘Go on then,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that what you’ve been working for?’

‘I’m scared,’ Janet said. ‘Oh, Duncan, what if I’ve failed?’

Duncan shrugged. ‘What if you have? It isn’t the end of the world, is it?’

‘Isn’t it?’ Janet said with feeling. ‘It might be for me. Look at the stuff I got yesterday. Apart from the watch, the locket and the bike, they were all for using at the grammar school.’

‘Talk sense, Jan,’ Duncan said irritably. ‘You’d use a pen and the stuff the twins got you whatever school you went to. Even the geometry set. It’s best for you to have your own stuff wherever you go.’

‘At grammar school maybe, but how many have sets like that at Paget?’

Duncan hedged. ‘I don’t know, in the top group they might.’

‘And they carry it to school in a leather satchel?’ Janet said sarcastically.

‘No, you know they don’t,’ Duncan burst out angrily. ‘Now open the damned letter, can’t you? Then you’ll know whether you can use your leather satchel, or whether you’ll have to exchange it for a book on how to survive failing the eleven-plus.’

If he expected Janet to laugh he was disappointed, so he went past her, picked the envelope up from the mat and ripped it open.

‘You’ve done it, Janet, you passed!’ he cried. ‘They’ve offered you a scholarship to Whytecliff High School. You’ve got to go to see round the place Monday.’ Duncan pulled a face, then grinned and went on, ‘Jammy beggar, I’ll be back at school by then.’

A little later, Janet was on her way to Claire Wentworth’s with the letter safely in her pocket. It was a beautiful morning, she thought. Surely the sky had never been so blue, or the sun as bright, or the breeze as fresh. She wanted to leap off her bike and go singing down the road, and it was only the thought of one of the neighbours ringing Highcroft, the local mental home, that stopped her doing so. She realised it would be hard to complete a grammar school education encased in a straitjacket and housed in a padded cell.

Claire was also feeling happy that morning. David had called to see her and apologised for his bad behaviour of the previous day. He could only say in his defence that he loved Claire dearly and was jealous of Janet Travers.

Claire stared at David, amazed by his revelation. She understood his resentment of Janet – he had shown her that side of him before – but he’d never said he loved her. She wondered if he meant it, but he said nothing else and just stood looking at her.

‘Well, what do you want me to say?’ Claire said at last.

‘You could tell me you loved me,’ David said. ‘Do you?’

‘Well … I …’

David’s nearness was affecting Claire so much her insides were churning, yet she made no move towards him when he put his arm round her shoulders, she just snuggled closer.

‘Claire,’ said David, ‘I love you with all my heart and soul, you must know that.’

Claire said, her voice husky, ‘I wasn’t sure. I love you too, David.’

‘We haven’t known each other long,’ David said, ‘but I feel so strongly about you. Claire, darling, would you consider getting married?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Claire said, and when their lips met she was astounded by the heat of desire that shot through her body. It was consuming her. David’s probing tongue was spiriting her to peaks of passion, and even if she’d wanted to, she couldn’t have stopped him unbuttoning her blouse and pushing her gently back on to the settee.

Janet shot off her bike and went down the entry to the back gate. She hadn’t time to wait for someone to open the front door. She was surprised that Claire wasn’t in the kitchen. She ran into the passage, pushed open the door to the living room then stood stock still on the threshold, too shocked to move or speak.

Miss Wentworth was lying on her back and her top was bare. Her blouse was open, her brassiere discarded on the floor, and a man was lying on top of her, fondling her breasts. Miss Wentworth had her eyes closed and was making loud moaning sounds. Then the man kissed her and it was as if he was eating her up, but she had her arms tight around his neck and she was moving her body under his. Eventually he broke away.

‘Oh God, Claire!’ he said. He spoke, Janet thought, as if he had a sore throat.

Then he bent his head and began kissing Miss Wentworth’s breasts. Janet’s hand flew to her mouth as she felt the bile rise in her throat. She ran out of the door and through the house, and was violently sick in the back garden. She went back to her bike, but didn’t attempt to ride it. She felt too churned up inside, her legs were all shaky and she was terribly afraid she was going to cry.

She wandered aimlessly for some time, pushing her bike, until she came to Rookery Park. She slipped gratefully inside, glad to be off the streets where passing pedestrians had stared at her tear-stained face. There were lots of children in the playground, but Janet veered away from them and found an empty bench in the shrubbery at the park’s perimeter. She sat down, laid her bike on the ground and tried to make sense of what she’d seen.

And suddenly Janet knew what they’d been doing – groping! That nasty word described perfectly the actions she’d just witnessed, and she could quite understand her Auntie Breda being annoyed at her dad doing it. She was sure her aunt was mistaken, though, for her mum and dad wouldn’t do a thing like that. And yet, she reminded herself, Mom was having a baby and she must have done something to get it. She must have done it before too, for her, Duncan and the twins. No wonder the doctor had been cross.

Janet got to her feet. One thing she knew, she could never tell them at home, never. It must be her secret. She knew Miss Wentworth and the man hadn’t noticed her. No one would get to know what she’d seen. But it was in Janet’s head and she couldn’t rid herself of it.

She was suddenly furiously angry with Miss Wentworth. Claire was everything Janet wanted to be – beautiful, clever and independent – and Janet’s whole desire was to be like her. She’d only wanted to go to the grammar school so badly because Claire Wentworth had been for it and Janet’s earnest wish was to please her. She’d enjoyed the extra tuition because it enabled her to spend time with her idol, and she worked hard in order that Claire would praise her, and not just for herself alone.

Janet put her head in her hands and wept for the woman she’d thought she knew. They’d talked for hours about everything – at least, Janet had told Claire everything, but Claire must have kept things back, big things too, judging by what she was allowing that man to do to her.

And who was he? Claire wondered, knowing that, since the previous October, Claire had had precious little time to meet men, what with her job and teaching Janet too. If she’d only just met the man, it made it even worse. Janet made her way home with a heavy heart.

Janet told her mother she didn’t have to go to Whytecliff High School with her. Auntie Breda had offered, if Betty didn’t feel up to it, but Betty told Janet not to be silly, of course she was going. Now Janet sat in the hall where she’d taken the second part of the exam, listening to Miss Phelps, the headmistress, talk to the parents of the new girls, and felt ashamed of her mother.

She was ashamed of being ashamed, but there it was. She wished her mother had accepted Auntie Breda’s offer of the loan of a coat. Auntie Breda’s coat was a lovely blue and would have covered her up properly. Instead, she wore her dingy old brown one that barely met in the middle and was pulled together with a belt. It made her look like a badly packed sack of potatoes. Janet saw many of the girls, and even their mothers, look with slight disgust at the swell of her mother’s stomach.

And did she have to wear those old shoes, trodden down, shapeless and so out of fashion? Especially when Auntie Breda had offered her those lovely sandals with little heels. Then there was the ridiculous hat, slapped down on top of hair that hadn’t seen a hairdresser for some time. The mass of unruly curls – all that was left of a very old perm – proved too much for the grips and hat pins, and the hat had been pushed up higher until it perched on the top of her head like the one the clown had worn at the circus Janet had been taken to once. The unconfined hair then escaped in untidy strands around her face, over her ears and down her back. Betty seemed unaware of her dishevelled appearance, or how embarrassed her daughter was of her outfit, and that included the bag she’d bought especially for the occasion. She thought it was smart, but Janet thought it cheap and tawdry, and it screamed ‘plastic’.

Janet was amazed by the size of the school when they were taken on a tour, and wondered how on earth she’d ever find her way around.

They saw the dining hall, the science laboratories, the art and music rooms, the domestic science kitchens and the sewing rooms with their rows of Singer sewing machines. On the next floor the staff room was pointed out to them, but the sixth-former accompanying them explained that no girls were ever allowed inside. Then they moved on to the lecture theatre and the library, where they were given a uniform list.

Betty heaved a large sigh as they left. ‘Thank God that’s over,’ she said. ‘I thought it was going on all blooming day.’

‘Yes, it did drag on a bit,’ Janet said, but she was watching the girls playing tennis in their white skirts and shirts in the courts alongside the school, and seeing herself doing the same thing soon.

‘Let’s make the most of it and take a bus into Sutton and have dinner out,’ Betty suggested, adding recklessly, ‘Hang the expense for once. Mammy said she didn’t mind seeing to the twins, and we could do with a treat.’

It was as they were eating their mixed grill that Betty said, ‘You’ll have to tell Miss Wentworth all about it. She’ll be interested.’

Betty didn’t notice Janet’s reticence, though she might have done if her swollen legs hadn’t been giving her such gyp. ‘Feather in her cap for her as well, I suppose,’ she said, ‘and you can’t say she hasn’t worked hard with you.’ She winced a bit and said, ‘I did intend taking the bus to Erdington to look in the Co-op at the cost of the uniform, but if it’s all the same to you, lass, I feel as if I’ve done enough for one day. I could do with getting home and putting my feet up.’

‘Okay,’ Janet said. ‘We haven’t got to get anything yet anyway.’

‘Not a word to your dad about the uniform list, mind,’ Betty warned. ‘It’ll only worry him to death.’

‘No,’ Janet said. ‘I won’t tell him how tired you got either. We wanted you to let Auntie Breda come with me. It was too much for you.’

She thought the same thing next morning, and before she left for school, she asked, ‘Do you want me to stay at home today?’ She felt guilty because it wasn’t only worry for her mother that made her want to stay away from school.

She dreaded meeting Miss Wentworth, and was scared that in her mind’s eye she’d see her lying underneath the man, moaning and letting him do unspeakable things to her bare breasts. She shut the image out of her mind and said again, ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right?’

‘Yes, fine,’ lied Betty, and added, ‘But you could just pop into your gran’s on the way to school and ask her to come round. Maybe she could take the twins off my hands.’

‘All right,’ Janet said, but she left her mother unwillingly. She took the twins into the kitchen and gave them a big slice of bread and jam and a cup of milk each, then left them her mom’s button box to play with, waved them goodbye and warned them to be good before running quickly round to her gran’s.

When she got to school, the bell had gone, the children were inside and Miss Wentworth was taking the register. It was common courtesy to stand by the teacher’s desk and give your reasons for being late. Some of the teachers automatically gave you a smack across the hand with a ruler or strap. Miss Wentworth only did it to persistent offenders.

However, Janet did not stand by the teacher’s desk, but slunk to her own, her head bent. Miss Wentworth had seen her, but pretended not to. She noticed Janet’s dejected air and wondered if she was worried because she hadn’t yet heard about the grammar school. She was surprised herself; she did think she would have had the results by the time they returned to school. Or maybe Mrs Travers was ill again, she thought, and Janet was anxious about that. She’d been absent the previous day, the first day back after the Easter holidays, and it might explain why Claire hadn’t seen her for a few days, since the day of the party, in fact.

She continued to take the register, and when she got to Travers, she barely heard the mumbled ‘Present, miss.’

Claire looked up. ‘Janet,’ she said, ‘were you ill yesterday?’

‘Yes,’ came the muffled but terse reply.

What’s wrong with the child? Claire thought. She knows that’s no way to answer. She saw the other children listening, amazed that Janet Travers had been rude to the teacher. They were watching to see what she’d do. She couldn’t let it pass, it would affect discipline.

‘Yes, Miss Wentworth,’ she rapped out.

Janet looked at her. Claire recoiled from the look in those eyes. ‘Yes, Miss Wentworth,’ repeated the girl in a singsong voice that bordered on the insolent.

Claire was puzzled and a little angry. ‘Well, what was the matter with you?’

Janet was staring at the floor. ‘I was ill, Miss Wentworth,’ she said in the same droning tone.

‘Have you brought a note?’ Miss Wentworth snapped.

Janet gave a shrug. No doubt now about the intended insolence.

‘Well, have you or haven’t you?’

‘No, I haven’t,’ Janet said. There was a significant pause, and then she added, ‘Miss Wentworth.’

‘You must bring a note, you know that.’

Claire knew she wasn’t handling the situation very well. If anyone else had behaved like this – and she knew the ones to watch – she’d have had them hauled before her desk and administered a few strokes of the strap to remind them of their manners.

She was aware of the amused glances and the odd titter from the class, who were delighted because Janet was sort of laughing at the teacher. The fact that it was goody two-shoes Janet Travers who was doing it just made it more interesting.

Janet was aware of the amusement, and it pleased her. She’d make Miss Wentworth suffer. She was a well-liked teacher, but if Janet was to spread around the school what she’d seen her doing, she wouldn’t be quite so popular, even though Janet knew many wouldn’t believe it. She didn’t even like thinking about it, but she couldn’t help it. Every time she looked at Miss Wentworth she saw her lying panting and moaning under that man.

‘Can’t get no note,’ she said now. ‘My mom’s bad …’ again that pause, ‘Miss Wentworth.’

‘Janet Travers, you are being impertinent.’

Janet glared at her. ‘No I’m not,’ she said. It wasn’t exactly a shout, but she hadn’t spoken quietly. There was a gasp of admiration. Claire’s face flushed and two spots of anger burned in her cheeks. David hadn’t recognised them but Janet did, because Janet had seen Miss Wentworth cross before. She smiled.

The smile enraged Claire. ‘Come out here this instant,’ she said, and banged the desk with her hand so hard the box of chalks and the board rubber jumped.

There was a moment of absolute stillness, and Claire actually thought for one awful moment that Janet would refuse. But then, slowly, so slowly, as if she had all the time in the world, Janet stood and sauntered between the aisles. There was a collective sigh, as if all had been holding their breath. The boys who were usually in trouble leaned forward eagerly. Someone else was going to get it for a change.

Claire stared into the grey eyes she thought she knew so well, but the brooding look she saw there was unfathomable. Claire’s own eyes were pleading for Janet to stop this behaviour. She was more than a pupil, she was a friend, and Claire had never had occasion to censure her before, let alone strike her. She didn’t want to do it now.

Janet blinked. Again the smirk crossed her face, and she said: ‘Going to beat me into submission, are you?’

The other children thought Janet had gone mad. Claire thought so too. She wondered for a moment if the strain of the examination preparations and her mother’s illness had been too much for her. But whatever the reasons, Claire could not tolerate behaviour like this. Already the class were moving and muttering in a way they wouldn’t have dared to do the day before.

‘Silence,’ she rapped out. ‘Get out your arithmetic and start the next exercise.’

‘Please, miss,’ said a boy called Williams from the back, ‘you haven’t finished the register.’

Claire had forgotten about the register. She was flustered, and she could see that Janet, beside her, was enjoying it.

‘Why don’t you just hit me?’ the girl suggested, with a smile so scornful Claire longed to swipe it from her face. ‘Then you can get on with the lesson.’

Right, Claire thought, I will. She’s asking for it.

She took the strap from the drawer, then changed her mind and instead drew out the thin, whippy cane that whistled as it flew through the air. It was used only sparingly, and then only for serious misdemeanours, and the class murmured in disbelief. ‘Hold out your hand,’ Claire demanded.

She marvelled that Janet’s hand was so steady and her face unafraid. But it was contempt for this woman now about to hit her that kept the shakes from Janet’s hand and the fear from her eyes.

The cane whined through the air, and when it landed across Janet’s palm a sympathetic ‘ooh’ went up from the girls in the class. Janet, however, did not flinch, or make a sound. She felt as if her hand was on fire and she had an insane desire to grab the cane from Miss Wentworth’s hand and beat her about the head with it. The outstretched hand trembled slightly, so that Claire’s next slash missed the mark and hit her fingers.

Oh God, it hurts, Janet cried to herself, but still she made no sound. Claire saw the spasm of pain cross the girl’s face, but she didn’t cry out. Suddenly it was important that she did. Claire had to establish control.

She lashed out again and again, and eventually Janet let out a strangled sob. The children by then were utterly silent, staring at the teacher. Her eyes looked wild, her hair had come undone and was tumbling around her shoulders, and sweat glistened on her face. She was crimson and panting slightly, and feeling ashamed of the way she’d lost control and laid into Janet.

Janet felt as if she was going to pass out. She saw the cuts either side of her palm and the ridges across her hand that she knew would turn to weals. She felt she would die with the pain that ran right to the top of her arm and made her feel sick. The feeling of nausea brought back the time she’d been sick in Miss Wentworth’s garden, and the reason why.

It was agony to move. She wanted to sink to the floor and cry because it hurt so much and Miss Wentworth had caused that hurt. She wanted to tuck her hand under her arm for a measure of comfort. But more than either of these things, she wanted to lash out at Miss Wentworth, to hurt her back. She stared at the teacher and said, in a voice that trembled just slightly, ‘Have you finished?’

Miss Wentworth leaned on the desk, her chest heaving. She knew she’d lost. ‘Get out,’ she said, but she was too weary and worn down to shout properly. ‘Stand outside the door!’

Janet turned and walked out. Her legs were shaking but she knew that as long as she kept moving, no one would know. Her injured hand hung by her side, and everyone in the class realised that Janet Travers had guts.

She didn’t wait outside the door. She walked out of the school gates and into the street, where she looked about her furtively, for the primary school opened on to Westmead Crescent, the road her grandparents lived in. Even if they were safely in the house, she could be spotted by any of the neighbours, and she knew they would feel a pressing need to tell the family they’d seen her wandering the streets when she should have been in school.

No, Janet thought, no way could she risk walking through the estate. She mustn’t be seen by anyone at this time of the morning, yet if she lingered in the playground she was sure to be seen by one of the teachers, and she wasn’t going back into school either. She had to find somewhere to hide out till lunchtime, when she could go home.

Westmead Crescent was the last road on the estate, and ahead of her was Woodacre Road, the start of the private houses. Janet left the playground, her eyes darting up and down the crescent. As no one was in sight, she crossed and began walking cautiously down the road.

She had to skirt carefully past the shops, because Mr Freer the shopkeeper knew everyone, and often stood at the doorway looking out, but there was no sign of him. Then she saw that the gates to Holyfields Sports Ground opposite the shop were open. She’d never seen them open before, and without thinking she slipped inside. She could hear a motor mower on the sports field and guessed the groundsman was up there cutting the grass, but she wasn’t going to go that far up. There were plenty of places to hide by the steel railings, because shrubs had been planted against them on the inside, and if she crawled in amongst them no one would see her.

She had to take her throbbing hand from her armpit, where she’d held it for comfort since she’d left the school, and drop to her hands and knees to crawl between the bushes. The straggling branches caught and snagged on her clothes, thorns pulled at her hair and sharp roots dug into her knees, but she paid no heed. Not until she was well hidden in the bushes did she take time to examine her hand.

It was crusted with damp earth. Janet wiped it as gently as she could with the hem of her dress, but still winced at the smarting pain of it. The slashes were deep and had cut into the flesh, where they’d bled a fair bit. The ridges where the cane had bitten into the palm were purple-red and angry-looking and hurt like hell. ‘Bugger! Bugger! Bugger!’ said Janet, and was surprised to find she felt better for saying it. She wondered then if she could convince her mother she felt ill and then she might give her the afternoon off school. God, she did feel ill. She’d never felt pain like this, and she just might get away with convincing her mam she felt sick.

But what could she do about tomorrow, and all the tomorrows till July? She wondered if she had the courage to defy Miss Wentworth again, but she doubted it. She knew Miss Wentworth had hit her harder than she’d ever seen her hit anyone, and she didn’t think she could put up with such a beating day after day until July without dissolving into a blubbering wreck. She’d like to be able to, because she’d feel she’d scored a victory if she could. She knew Miss Wentworth had been confused and almost hurt by her defiance that morning.

She wished with all her heart that she didn’t have to go back to school tomorrow. She wished that when she woke up in the morning it was September and time to begin Whytecliff High. Suddenly she remembered the priest telling them about the power of prayer. She’d gone to mass on Easter Sunday with Gran at St Peter and St Paul’s. She didn’t mind mass. She liked the flowers, and the fancy altar with the decorated cloth on, and the smell of the stuff he swung around the church that Gran said was incense. She liked the flickering candles and the statues and pictures all along the edges and the service that was in Latin. She couldn’t understand it, but she liked to listen. It was like music.

Most times she didn’t listen to the sermon – that was the boring bit – but there was plenty to look at while the priest was going on. She hadn’t intended to listen on Easter Sunday – she had heard the story before, after all – but the priest had captured her imagination. ‘Jesus performs miracles today, in people’s lives,’ he said. ‘Jesus said that if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can move mountains.’

Janet didn’t know how big a mustard seed was, but it didn’t sound very big. And she didn’t want to move mountains either, they suited her just fine where they were. She wanted something much more important.

She shuffled on to her knees in the damp soil and prayed: ‘Please, Jesus, can You fix it so I don’t go to Paget Road School again. Thank You. Amen.’ She wondered if that was easier to arrange than moving mountains about the place. She had no doubt it would be achieved, for her faith would have filled a whole mustard pot, but later she was to marvel and be awed and a little frightened at the power of prayer.

It was a tedious morning for Janet, and her hand and arm continued to throb. She wished she had a book to read, to take her mind off things, but she hadn’t even brought her bag with her. And she realised with horror that she’d left her coat behind. Oh, she’d catch it now.

Sometime that morning she dozed off, sitting up, with her head leaning against a shrubbery bush. She woke stiff, cold and uncomfortable.

It took a minute for her to remember where she was. Then she crawled carefully out and, glancing to right and left, walked to the gates. She saw the children on their way home to dinner and realised she’d probably been woken by the dinner bell. Fortunately, few children from Woodacre Road went to Paget Road School, and none of those who passed spotted Janet hiding in the bushes. As soon as the streets were quieter again, Janet pelted home.

Gran opened the door, and Janet could tell she was cross. For a moment she imagined that Miss Wentworth had been to the house, for Sarah McClusky burst out, ‘What time do you call this, miss?’ Then she exclaimed, ‘Mother of God! Have you seen the state of yourself?’

Janet looked down. One black stocking had a hole in the knee and the other a long tear, and Janet remembered the trailing thorn that she’d caught it on. She saw that the thorn had entered her skin and globules of blood were oozing through the stocking.

‘Look at your dress, child,’ Gran went on, indicating the brown soil staining the checked dress, ‘and what have you done to your hand?’

Fortunately, Janet’s hand was too dirty for Sarah to see exactly what had happened to it. She went on, ‘Your face is all over dirt. Dear God, Janet, as if we haven’t trouble enough.’

‘I’m sorry, Gran, I fell over, I was running,’ Janet gasped out. ‘But what trouble?’

‘Your mother’s on her time,’ Gran said. ‘You’re to go to your Aunt Breda’s. Duncan’s gone already. He’s been home this long time.’

Janet felt faint. The baby wasn’t due yet, not for weeks. Now she understood why her gran had kept her on the doorstep. A shuddering scream came from above.

‘But I want to see Mom,’ Janet cried. She attempted to rush past her gran, but Sarah was too quick.

‘Oh no you don’t, my girl,’ she said.

Another agonising scream rent the air, and Janet almost leapt from her grandmother’s arms.

‘Janet, Janet,’ said her gran pleadingly, ‘you can’t do anything for your mother. Be a good girl and go to Aunt Breda, there’s a love.’

‘She’ll be all right, Gran, won’t she?’ Janet asked.

‘Of course, my dear,’ said Sarah, but she didn’t meet Janet’s eyes. ‘I’ll have to go back upstairs to help. You must go now.’

‘Sarah! Sarah!’ Janet heard the voice of Mrs Williams, the midwife, and knew her gran was needed. She turned away without another word and made her way to her auntie’s.

‘You took your time,’ Aunt Breda said as Janet went in through the kitchen door. Then she turned and caught sight of her niece’s appearance, and said, as her mother had:

‘Mother of God, what happened to you?’

‘I fell over.’

‘Well, get yourself washed and something inside you and you’ll feel better. You’d better strip off those stockings and I’ll try and darn the tears, though it’s your mother who’s the best darner. The teachers were always praising her for her neat stitches. She …’ Breda’s voice trailed away, for her eyes met those of Janet, who suddenly burst into tears.

‘Oh, Auntie Breda, Mom’s bad, isn’t she?’ she gasped.

‘Oh, lovey,’ Breda soothed, gathering Janet in a hug. ‘She’ll be all right.’

Noel and Conner were sitting up to the table attacking their stew with their spoons. They caught the seriousness of the atmosphere and it frightened them. They began to bawl too.

Duncan couldn’t stand it. ‘I’m finished eating,’ he said. ‘Can I go?’

‘Take the two boyos with you,’ Breda said, indicating the twins.

‘Haven’t I to go back to school then?’ Duncan said, surprised.

‘No, I might need you to give a hand,’ Breda said.

‘Well, I still don’t see why I’ve got to take the twins with me,’ Duncan said mulishly.

‘Because I said so,’ Breda snapped, ‘and because they’re only little and they’re frightened and don’t understand anything, and it won’t hurt their big brother to think of someone other than himself for once.’

Duncan felt momentarily ashamed. He was a bit scared too. He knew things weren’t right with his mother having the baby so soon, and he was turned twelve and a half. His brothers were only babies.

‘Stop snivelling,’ he told them sternly. ‘If you do, I’ll take you up the park.’

The two little boys gulped and tried manfully to stem the tide of tears. Breda, still hugging Janet, said, ‘Get a tanner from my purse on the mantelpiece and buy some sweets for you all. The sweet coupons are behind the clock.’

That brought smiles to all their faces. As Janet watched them go down the road she said:

‘He doesn’t care, our Duncan, he doesn’t care.’

‘Of course he cares,’ Aunt Breda said. ‘But he’s a man, or nearly a man. They deal with things like this by going away and pretending it isn’t happening. ’Tisn’t as if they can do anything. They’re best out the way.’

‘Can I … can I stay off school this afternoon too?’ Janet said.

‘Well, I don’t think you’d concentrate much, would you?’ Aunt Breda said with a smile. ‘Anyway, you couldn’t go in that state and I’ll not darn those stockings in five minutes, nor get the stains out of your dress. You’ve not had a bite to eat yet either, and anyway, you’re more use to me here.’

Later, as Janet washed her stinging hands and smarting legs in a bowl of hot water, she prayed silently, Not this way, Jesus, please don’t let anything happen to my mom. I didn’t mean You to do it this way.

Claire finished the register quickly, and leaving it on the desk, went out to find Janet. It didn’t occur to her that Janet had left the building. She thought she was hiding away in the school somewhere and she returned to the classroom deep in thought. The children watched her with reproachful eyes. When the boy Claire chose to take the register to the office reported that Janet wasn’t outside the door any more, whispers started to go round the room. They remembered the look on Claire’s face as she beat Janet. They thought she’d taken her to the Head for further punishment, and that wasn’t considered fair.

Claire set the class some exercises and went off to search for Janet. She found her coat and bag on her peg, and decided that she’d pop across to the Travers’ house with them at lunchtime. It was a trying morning. The whole class, Claire realised, seemed to blame her for the incident. They were silent in disapproval. No one answered the questions she asked after lessons, and no one volunteered to give out books or apparatus. There was no pleasant interchange between teacher and pupils as there had been formerly, for the children refused to play. Claire felt the barriers go up, and though they were all icily polite, by the end of the morning she was exhausted.

At lunchtime, a staff meeting was called, so Claire had to stay in school instead of going over to Janet’s house. The girl did not materialise that afternoon either, and time seemed to drag slowly. Just before four o’clock Claire overheard a conversation between two mothers waiting in the playground outside her window.

‘I hear Bet Travers is in a bad way. Our Elsie bumped into Sean going for the doctor.’

‘She’s been bad this long time.’

‘Yes, but she’s been in labour all day, they say, and the screams of her can be heard down the street. She’s not due for another few weeks.’

‘Be the hospital for her, likely.’

‘Yes, and God help them if it isn’t the crematorium for one or the other.’

Oh my God, what have I done? Claire thought. Perhaps Janet’s mother was in labour before she came to school, and in her anxiety she was rude to me. And I lashed out at her. Why didn’t I take her from the room and talk to her? Janet’s never acted that way before. Why didn’t I imagine it was something like that?

She wondered if someone had come for Janet while she was outside in the corridor. Leaving her bag and coat behind seemed to suggest a headlong flight prompted by agitation. As soon as the last bell had gone, Claire caught up Janet’s coat and bag and took it up to the house.

Mrs McClusky opened to her knock. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘you’re Miss … Miss …?’ Worry had driven the name from her mind. ‘Our Janet’s teacher. I thought you were the ambulance.’

‘The ambulance!’

Suddenly, Dr Black was running down the stairs. ‘Is that them?’ he demanded, then, seeing the young woman at the door, he barked, ‘In or out, please, the ambulance will be here shortly and I can’t have the hall cluttered with people.’

‘How is she, Doctor?’ Mrs McClusky asked.

‘Sleeping at last,’ the doctor said grimly. ‘I’ve anaesthetised her. She was worn out.’

Claire was aware of heart-rending sobs. They came from a man sitting with his head in his hands in a chair in the living room. Through the half-open door, she recognised him as Janet’s father, who had arrived late and merry at the party.

The man’s grief shook her. ‘She’s not … Mrs Travers isn’t …’

‘She’s very ill,’ Mrs McClusky said. ‘We’ve had the priest. He gave her the sacraments, you know. He told the doctor if it has to be a choice between the mother and the child, the Church’s teaching is clear, it must be the child. I say bugger the Church, begging your pardon, miss. Where would the children be without our Betty, not to mention him there?’ She indicated the sobbing Bert. ‘Big gormless lump he is without my lass behind him. We need her here.’

Mrs McClusky’s voice broke. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said to Claire, ‘but we’re distracted with it all. Was you wanting something?’

‘No,’ Claire said, thinking that they all had enough to worry about. ‘I’ve just called with Janet’s coat and bag. She left them at school.’

Mrs McClusky thought that odd, and any other time she would have questioned it, but at that moment the sirens were heard. ‘You must excuse me, that’s the ambulance,’ she said.

Claire watched on the pavement with a knot of neighbours until she saw Mrs Travers carried to the ambulance, Bert stumbling behind her in his distress so that they had to help him too. The doctor got in his car and offered Mrs McClusky a lift.

‘When we see how she’s doing I’ll bring you back home,’ he said.

Mrs McClusky knew he meant ‘if she pulls through’, and with a sigh she climbed in beside Dr Black. Claire watched as they drove away.

You deserve to be flayed alive for what you did to Janet Travers today, she said to herself. And I don’t know how you’re ever going to make it up to her.