‘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,
