A Family Affair (16 page)

Helen smiled. ‘You're probably right – human nature being what it is.'

Perhaps, she thought, Paul Stephens wasn't so bad after all.

‘So – how did your first day go?' Amy asked.

They were having dinner – an excellent meal of lamb chops and onion sauce prepared by Mrs Milsom, Ralph and Amy's housekeeper. Mrs Milsom was quite old now, and should have retired long ago, but she maintained retirement would be the death of her and certainly Valley View House would not have been the same without her.

‘It was swings and roundabouts, really,' Helen said. ‘I managed to upset one of the big cheeses of the local St John's.'

‘Oh him!' Amy interrupted. ‘You don't want to take any notice of
him
!'

‘But I think I won over one of the ladies on my list – a Mrs Perkins from Butter Buildings. With any luck she won't be one of those asking to transfer to Dr Hobbs.'

Amy frowned.

‘Why should anyone want to do that?'

‘Search me. They think I'm too young and inexperienced, I suppose. And a woman to boot.'

‘Surely that's an advantage?' Amy said. ‘There must be loads of women who would rather see a lady doctor when it comes to … well … female problems. I know I would.'

‘
You
, Amy?' Ralph threw her a mischievous glance as he helped himself to more runner beans. ‘I thought you had a penchant for doctors of the young male variety.'

‘For heaven's sake, Ralph!' Amy said sharply. ‘I don't know what you're talking about.'

‘Oliver Scott?' Ralph teased. ‘Now don't try to tell me you didn't have a thing for Oliver Scott.'

‘That was years and years ago,' Amy said impatiently. ‘I'm older and wiser now. And if I had a personal problem I'd far rather take it to Helen than to some man.'

‘I expect she'll be very popular with all the male patients too,' Ralph said. ‘Particularly the older ones. They'll take the view that a pretty face will do far more for the good of their health than a bottle of AOT.'

‘AOT?' Amy repeated, mystified. ‘What's that?'

‘Tell her, Helen,' Ralph said.

‘What is it, Helen?'

‘I think Ralph is referring to the name we give in the trade to a bottle of coloured water. AOT. Any old thing.'

‘I'm shocked!' Amy said. But she was laughing.

The telephone began to ring.

‘I'll get it,' Ralph said.

A few moments later he was back.

‘For you, Helen.'

‘Me? Who is it? Mum?'

‘No. It's a man.'

Already halfway to the door, Helen froze, a torrent of conflicting emotions welling within her.

‘Did he say …?'

‘No. Just asked for you.'

‘Are you all right, Helen?' Amy asked, looking anxious.

‘Yes – of course.'

But she wasn't. Her heart was beating a tattoo, her stomach churning.

She went into the hall; picked up the phone.

‘Hello?'

‘Helen … it's me.'

The voice that could still churn her inside out with love, desire, despair.

‘I had to talk to you, Helen.'

‘I thought we'd agreed,' she said. Her voice was hard, hiding the tumult within. ‘I thought we'd agreed, Guy. A clean break.'

‘Helen …'

‘No, Guy. There's no point going over it all again. I've stuck to my side of the bargain. You stick to yours.'

Without waiting for a reply, afraid that if she did she might yet weaken, Helen slammed the phone down and went back to join Amy and Ralph.

‘What on earth have you got on your face, my girl?' Carrie demanded.

‘It's only a bit of lipstick,' Jenny said.

‘It is not only a bit of lipstick. You've got blue muck on your eyelids as well. Don't try to tell me you haven't. I'm not blind, and I'm not stupid.'

‘But Mum – all the others wear it.'

‘That doesn't mean you have to follow like a sheep. And I thought I'd said before, you're not old enough to wear earrings, either. Where did you get them?'

‘They're Rowena's. She lent them to me.'

‘Well, you can just give them right back to her. Earrings! At your age! I never heard anything like it!'

‘But Mum …'

‘You're not going out looking like that, Jennifer. Either you wash that muck off your face and take off those earrings, or you can stay home.'

Jenny wanted to weep with frustration. She'd spent ages applying the eyeshadow and lipstick. It hadn't been as easy as she'd thought it would be and she'd had to wipe it off several times and try again before she was satisfied. She knew how Carrie was about make-up, calling it cheap and common, but she'd hoped she'd done it subtly enough so that Carrie wouldn't notice – or wouldn't mind if she did. But she'd reckoned without Carrie's eagle eye and strong views on the subject.

‘Dad …' Jenny appealed, without much hope, to Joe, who was sitting in the easy chair reading the paper. ‘You look very nice, m'dear.' He hadn't really been listening.

‘It makes her look far too old,' Carrie said. ‘I've had my say, Jenny. I've agreed to let you go to this youth club – so long as you behave yourself – but I'm not having you go like that. It's asking for trouble. Go and wash it off now, and we'll say no more about it.'

Argument was useless, Jenny knew. Miserably she went up to the bathroom, looking at herself one more time in the mirror. The make-up had worked such wonders! But then, almost imperceptively, nature had been working wonders too. The face that looked back at her was somehow, miraculously, no longer plain. The small even features which once had seemed bland and insignificant had matured, childish chubbiness had become rounded prettiness and the fringe she had grown had altered the shape of her face, drawing attention to her eyes – always her best feature – and the heart shape her jaw had become. Jenny, who had spent most of her life so far hating the way she looked, was almost in awe of the change, half afraid to take pride in it because she felt it was somehow fragile, ephemeral, a product of her wishful thinking which would disappear overnight, leaving her once again the old plain Jenny.

It wasn't only her face that had changed, either, but also her body. She was, it was true, still a little on the plump side, but as the curves had developed she had also grown taller without putting on weight so that the stodginess had become rounded womanliness. The changes had generated a dawning of confidence in her, still fragile, still easily shattered, but a major step forward nonetheless. The attitude of others towards her was different too, she was no longer the butt of their jokes, but looked upon with something close to admiration, and Jenny grew within its warmth, blossoming almost daily, gradually leaving her awkward old self behind like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis.

Had she but known it, of course, it was this emergence which made her mother so hard on her. Carrie looked at Jenny, saw what was happening to her, and was afraid.

She looked up now as Jenny came back downstairs, peering closely at the newly scrubbed face for the slightest remaining trace of the forbidden make-up. It had gone, as had the earrings.

‘That's better,' she said, still a little huffy. ‘Now, you're to be home by half past nine. You know that, don't you? Don't be late.'

‘I won't.'

‘And stay away from the boys.'

‘Oh, Mum!'

‘You're not old enough to be getting off with boys.'

‘I know. I won't.'

‘You shouldn't keep on to her,' Joe protested mildly when the front door had closed behind Jenny.

‘You can't be too careful. After what happened to our Heather I should have thought even you would realise that.'

‘She's only a child.'

Carrie turned away, raising her eyes heavenward. Pointless to argue with Joe. He never saw danger, not even when it was staring him in the face. What would it take to make him alter that infuriatingly easy-going attitude? An earthquake, probably, and as the ground shook and parted beneath him he'd still be saying: ‘It's nothing to worry about, m'dear.'

Carrie shook her head, feeling suddenly old and powerless, and went back to her ironing.

The youth club was in the centre of town in the building that had housed the Working Men's Club before it had moved to its new premises in the Street. Downstairs, what had once been the public bar had been turned into a coffee bar, with chairs both easy and upright and small tables. The upper floor was the recreation area, usually set out with a table-tennis table. Tonight, though, this had been dismantled and stacked away, and the record player which provided entertainment in the coffee bar area brought up and balanced on a card table. It was the night of the weekly ‘Hop'and as Jenny pushed open the door, the husky voice of Ruby Murray rolled down the stairs to greet her.

The coffee bar area was crowded and Jenny's fragile new-found confidence all but deserted her. They all looked so grown up! – girls in pencil-slim skirts and kitten heels, their hair tied in ponytails or waving to their shoulders, boys who looked more like men, except that their hair was longer than a man would ever wear it, smoking, chatting, some sprawled in chairs with their feet on the tables. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she dared go into this grown-up world. Then she spotted Rowena on the stairs, waving to her, and stepped into the smoky, noisy womb.

It was the first time Jenny had been to the youth club and it had taken all her powers of persuasion to talk Carrie into letting her come tonight.

‘I've heard things about that club,' Carrie had said darkly.

‘Rowena goes! Her mum doesn't mind.'

‘That's all very well …'

‘Rowena's a very nice girl,' Joe had said.

‘I'll think about it.'

She had thought, long and hard. Rowena
was
a nice girl, and she was also what Carrie called ‘a cut above', by which she meant middle class. Rowena's mother, whom Carrie had met at school functions, was a highly respectable widow with a quiet demeanour and an accent that was almost cut-glass. Like Carrie herself, she was older than most of the mothers and had once been ‘in service' – a lady's maid to the gentry in London. It was good for Jenny to have a friend like Rowena, Carrie decided. After much deliberation she had decided to let Jenny go to the youth club.

‘Our crowd's all upstairs,' Rowena said. ‘We'll get a drink first though. What would you like – orange squash? It's a bit hot up there for coffee.'

‘How much it is?' Jenny asked. She only had two shillings – two weeks'pocket money.

‘Don't worry – I'll get it. I'll have to, anyway, because you're not a member yet.'

‘I'll pay you back,' Jenny promised.

‘No you won't. I got five pounds for my birthday.'

Five pounds! Untold wealth! Rowena never seemed to be short of money.

They got their drinks and Rowena led the way upstairs. The record player was belting out ‘Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White'and the floor vibrated as couples jived. Jenny spotted Valerie Scott sitting on a small sofa with a much older boy. He had his arm round her and they were kissing. Jenny looked away, shocked. Ann and Kathy were bopping with two boys who also looked several years older and Jenny felt a qualm of misgiving.

‘Who are
they
?'

‘Tim and Dave. I'm feeling a bit fed up really,' Rowena shouted over the music.

‘Why?'

‘I think they're getting off with them. I know Ann likes Tim and I think he might like her too. I quite fancy Dave myself, but it looks like I've missed the boat.'

‘I'll dance with you if you like,' Jenny offered. The two of them often practised steps around Rowena's front room.

‘Maybe. Later,' Rowena said without enthusiasm. And then: ‘You know, I can't imagine ever going out with anyone. I mean – how does it actually
happen
? It always seems that if you like somebody, they don't like you, and if they like you, you don't like them. It's hopeless, really.'

They'd had this conversation before, when one of them developed a crush, or one of the other girls from their class was asked out on a date.

‘I think we're going to finish up on the shelf,' Rowena said.

‘You won't,' Jenny said. ‘I probably will.'

‘No – you're really pretty! Haven't you seen the way the boys look at you?'

‘Not really,' Jenny said.

‘See – look – Barry Price is looking at you now!'

Jenny turned and saw a tall good-looking boy in a red sweater. He was indeed looking at her. Their eyes met and he wasn't the one to look away. Jenny felt her cheeks go hot.

‘Who is he, anyway?'

‘Barry Price – I told you. He's seventeen. And he's got the most incredible green drop-handlebar bike you ever saw in your life.'

‘Oh!' Jenny felt quite pleased with herself.

‘I bet you could get him to ask you out.'

‘I couldn't,' Jenny said. ‘Anyway, I wouldn't be allowed.'

This was all part of the turmoil she felt when she thought about boys. Hoping someone gorgeous would ask her out, yet at the same time afraid they might because then she really would have a problem. Carrie would never let her go in a million years and she'd have to say no and look a complete fool.

‘Mum says I'm not allowed to go out with boys until I'm sixteen.'

‘Sixteen! That's
years
away!'

‘I know.'

‘She wouldn't stop you,' Rowena said. ‘Not if you had a really nice date.'

‘She would. She'd go into a foul mood and never come out.'

‘Your mum – in a foul mood? I can't imagine that!'

‘She would. She does.'

‘I can't believe it. She's really good fun, your mum.'