Confessions
I HAD NO CONTACT WITH SANDRA on Sunday, not a note, not a phone call. I watched from the window in case she went to post a letter. Nothing.
And now it was Monday morning. When I had shaken the tablecloth outside the back door after breakfast, I looked in the shed. The suitcase had disappeared. All trace of her elopement was gone, and so was the parcel. I could stop worrying about being arrested in the night. I could start to worry about the elopement. She must have come really early. I wondered if she’d caught the bus at the top of the road, or walked down Sperry Drive to the Main Road. I wondered how often she’d had to put the case down, how often she’d swapped hands.
The summer holidays stretched out endlessly, emptily, before me. What was I going to do without her?
I was going to work.
But at half past three I was back on the estate with nothing to do. Perhaps I could take Mansell out. If I was lucky they might even pay me. Mrs Weston was busy serving as I went over to the pram. Mansell grinned at me and said, ‘Mama.’
‘Linda,’ I said. He crowed and clapped his hands. ‘Mama.’
‘Linda,’ I said. He didn’t understand the concept. I looked over at Mrs Weston and pointed at the pram. She smiled and nodded at me.
During our walk, Mansell sat up and looked at dogs and gurgled at trees and grizzled till I gave him his bottle, but he didn’t say anything else.
Without thinking I wheeled the pram back into the Crescent. I hadn’t seen Sylvie since the day I’d seen Bob, and Sylvie had behaved so oddly when Kenny was there, making comments about glasses and politics. But I realised I wanted to see her, even if she made me furious. I wanted to talk to her. I needed to talk to her.
She answered the door in a petticoat and her old brown cardigan. ‘I was just having a little nap. So you’ve come at the right time for a cup of tea.’ She looked at my face. ‘Are you all right? Come in, let’s put the kettle on. You can give Mansell a bit of banana.’
I sat down with Mansell on my lap while Sylvie made the tea. ‘Now then,’ she said. ‘Tell me all about it.’
I wanted to tell her everything about Sandra, but her mum worked with Sandra’s mum. I wanted to tell her about Bob and Wethersfield, but I didn’t dare. I said nothing.
‘What is it?’ Sylvie said.
It was too much. She was being too nice. ‘It’s Sandra,’ I said. ‘She’s eloped.’
Sylvie’s eyebrows rose slightly. ‘Well!’ she said. ‘Who with?’
‘Danny, of course,’ I said.
‘When did she go?’
‘This morning.’
‘And you’re not going with her?’
‘I wanted to, but . . .’
‘Yes, I don’t think three is a good number at an elopement,’ she said. ‘Does her mum know?’
‘No. You won’t tell her, will you? You won’t say anything to your mum?’ Even as I said it, I wasn’t sure I meant it.
Sylvie looked at me doubtfully. ‘On condition that you keep me posted about what’s happening, my lips are sealed. Tell me as soon as you get any news. Give or take a few hours of sleep, of course. Or if you’re at school.’
‘It’s the summer holiday. Till September. She’d better not be away that long,’ I said. ‘She’s coming back. She said she’s coming back.’
‘Oh, chicken,’ she said. ‘Didn’t you try and stop her?’
‘I did, but she was so excited and thrilled. She bought her trousseau and a wedding ring and everything.’
Sylvie’s eyes widened. ‘She bought the ring?’
‘And there was a parcel.’
‘A parcel?’
‘There were two. One she gave to Danny. Your Uncle Peter saw her and told her dad . . .’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘So that’s what that was all about.’
‘The parcels came to our house, because all her letters come to our house.’
‘I see. What was in them? The parcels, mean’
‘I don’t know, but it must be something illegal.’
‘And what happened to the second one?’
‘Sandra’s got it. I tried to give it to him and the police arrived. I could have been arrested. Now she won’t give it to him till they’re married.’
‘And you think . . .?’
‘I think he’s only saying he’ll marry her because of the parcel. What if the police find them before she gives it to him? She could go to jail.’ I wanted her to say I was being foolish and that the parcel was probably nothing illegal at all.
‘That all sounds rather unsatisfactory.’ She gazed at me. ‘They came to your house.’
‘They had to, because of her mum and dad.’
‘But parcels! That’s a bit naughty of her.’
‘I know, I know,’ I said. ‘But she’s my friend.’
‘There comes a time when friends have to part.’
‘I know that too,’ I said sadly. ‘I think we’ve both been thinking that. We’ll probably go to separate prisons.’ I wanted to cry.
‘Oh, cheer up, chicken. Now then, have you told anyone else?’
‘No!’
‘Well, you’ve told me now. I won’t tell anyone, unless you want me to. But I will keep your story here.’ She put her hand on her chest. ‘So you can relax.’
‘But what if . . .?’
‘We will cross any bridges that need crossing, when and if we come to them.’
I knew she was just saying that. I knew that her having my problems in her heart didn’t actually make them disappear. But I felt better. I felt lighter. ‘And there’s something else,’ I said.
‘Yes?’
‘It’s about that day we went to Wethersfield.’
‘Yes?’
‘Well – we asked about Bob.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I was trying to find him for you.’
‘Really?’
‘You were afraid you’d lose the baby because you didn’t have a husband.’
‘Was I?’
‘You said. That day, after you . . . after you tried . . .’
‘Oh yes. I was very sad then. But I don’t . . .’
‘And then he came to your house.’
‘He did?’
‘But you were out, and he left.’
‘Oh, that’s typical. But chicken, I knew where he was. He knows where I am. He writes to me about once every two or three months. A postcard. Once he even sent a letter. Oh, and that awful Valentine’s card we laughed about.’
‘We didn’t! You didn’t say it was from him. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I didn’t think it was important to you, chicken. Or perhaps I didn’t want it to be important.’
‘Of course it’s important. Why do you always say that? Mansell’s important, so his dad’s important.’
‘Well, he didn’t think so at first, that’s for sure.’
‘When did you tell him?’
‘Almost as soon as Mansell was born. It seemed only right he should know. I hadn’t seen him for a little while.’
‘How did you know where he was?’
‘I went to the base. At Wethersfield. There was a dance, and I went with Janet. I’m sure I told you that part.’
‘No. I would have remembered. You certainly didn’t say you’d seen Bob there. Or anywhere, apart from Great Yarmouth.’
‘Oh, didn’t I? He was there. For a moment or two it was quite civilised. He’s a very good dancer.’
‘What do you mean, he’s a very good dancer?’ I shouted.
‘He dances well. Why are you so upset?’
I gulped. ‘It’s because I feel so stupid. We went up to Wethersfield. We got hauled in front of some general. Sandra ruined her stockings.’
‘Oh, sweetheart.’ She put her arms round me and pulled me to her. She rocked me back and forth. Her breasts were going up and down as she tried to control her laughter.
‘But what are you going to do?’ I said.
‘What do you mean? Nothing. I have Kenny.’
‘But what about Bob? Doesn’t he deserve some consideration? For Mansell’s sake, if for no other reason.’
‘The question doesn’t arise,’ she said crisply.
‘But I thought that’s what you wanted. To be with Bob. The way you told the story.’
‘That’s because it’s a good story. I like to tell it. Not everything in it is absolutely true. But you enjoyed it, didn’t you?’
I felt young and stupid and clumsy. I felt I was ten foot tall and weighed twenty-five stone and filled up the kitchen with my stupid clumsiness. I stood up to go.
Sylvie followed me into the hall.
I put my hand out to open the door, then, ‘No!’ I said, ‘No, it’s not just a story. You loved Bob.’
Suddenly it felt like a dangerous thing to say. A strange look passed over her face, as if she was seeing something far away. She said nothing. We stood in silence. I didn’t know what I expected her to say, but I didn’t want to leave until she’d said it.
She took a breath. ‘All right, yes, I loved him. And yes, I suppose I still do. But I was pregnant, Linda! You can’t talk about love when you’re pregnant. You have to talk about a house and clothes and baby food.’ Her voice trembled. ‘And when you’ve had the child, you need security and someone beside you.’
‘I think that’s second best,’ I said.
‘Oh Linda, don’t say that. I’m doing what I can.’
We stood in the hallway looking at each other. ‘Kenny’s a good man,’ she said gently. But there were tears in her eyes.