Cross My Heart and Hope to Die (28 page)

The powder-room was luxurious, with a fitted carpet and coloured loos and basins. There were even two kinds of loo paper to choose from. A box of tissues stood open on the long dressing-table, so I helped myself to a couple. I wished I'd known about those tissues a year ago, when I'd found myself in town with a runny nose and no handkerchief.

There was no one else in the room, so I took a good look at myself in the mirror. I almost expected to find deep lines of experience carved in my face, but it was much the same. Thinner, since I'd been in London, and pale, but there was nothing there that a wash and a good night's sleep wouldn't eradicate. Hard to believe that so much emotional upheaval could leave so little mark.

I washed my face, and the washing released a few more tears. I splashed them off with cold water, combed my hair and put a new face on. Cheer up, Janet. No point in moping, Kate had once said. Just take things as they come, she'd said. Enjoy yourself. Life is for living.

I joined Andy in the lounge bar, all beams and chintz upholstery, and he asked me what I'd like to drink. Kate had taught me to drink beer, so I asked for a half of bitter.

‘Never!' he protested. ‘Go on, have a short. A short, you know, a short drink. Whisky, gin, anything you fancy.'

Amazed by his sophistication, I remembered Kate's recommendation and asked for vodka.

‘That's more like it,' he approved. ‘With lime?'

I'd always thought of lime as a fertilizer, but I didn't show my ignorance. A barman brought us the drinks, mine with a distinct greenish tinge, and also a bowl of crisps. The vodka made me realize how hungry I was, but I didn't like to eat too many of the crisps in case Andy noticed and felt obliged to buy me a meal. He was obviously generous, but that would be taking neighbourliness too far. I accepted one of his cigarettes instead.

‘Sorry about your old man,' he said gruffly. ‘That was a rotten shame.'

‘Yes,' I said. ‘Thanks.' Andy hadn't said ‘Dad'or ‘Father', so I felt sure that he knew exactly how shameful the whole situation was. His mother would have known all about it and she must have talked, when Dad died if not before. I hoped Andy wouldn't say any more on the subject, because I was liable to cry again if he did.

‘Now if it had been
my
old man,' he went on, ‘he'd have been no loss. Bloody good riddance, the bastard. He knocks me Mum about – always has done. Well, you must know that, you'll have seen the evidence.'

Light dawned inside my head. Well, of course! I'd just been too innocent to realize what was going on. Poor Gladys Crackjaw …

‘The old man thumped us all when we were kids,' Andy continued matter-of-factly. ‘But he's afraid of
me
now. I've told him I'll knock his block off if he lays a finger on me Mum again. Trouble is, she won't tell on him. That's why I have to come back every now and then, to keep an eye on the pair of'em. God knows our house isn't the sort of place I'd choose to spend any time in. Still –' he downed his drink and grinned at me, ‘now you've turned up, things are looking a lot brighter!'

It was nice of him to say so. I was certainly beginning to feel more cheerful. Warm and comfortable, too. I finished my drink thirstily and Andy signalled for some more.

‘Cheers, then, Janet,' he said when it came. ‘Here's to when we can both get out of Longmire End for good.'

I spluttered with laughter. ‘I'll drink to that!'

‘So –' he said, when he'd put his glass down. He moved his chair so that our knees were almost touching, and gave me a boldly appraising look. ‘You're a student, eh? I've heard about you students – parties every night, shacking up together …'

I saw no reason to disillusion him. ‘Something like that,' I agreed.

‘You're enjoying yourself? Having a good time?'

‘Super.'

‘Steady boy-friend?'

I shook my head. ‘Don't want to tie myself down,' I explained.

‘'Course you don't! Fancy-free, eh? And very nice too. I must say you've turned into a looker, our Janet. Funny kid, you were.'

I remembered my grievances. ‘You were horrible to me, Andy Crackjaw!'

‘I know,' he admitted handsomely. ‘I was a rotten little devil – but then, with a Dad like mine, what can you expect? I liked you really, though. Remember that time we went to Spirkett's Wood?'

‘I didn't go. That was Lynn Baxter. Or Susan Freeman.'

‘So it was. But you were the one I asked first! Anyway – no hard feelings, I hope?'

‘Not any more.'

Andy excused himself. The vodka was making me feel quite woozy, so while he was away I finished off the crisps. I put the empty bowl on another table, to make it look as though the barman had removed it, and wiped my greasy fingers on a tissue.

When Andy came back he suggested another drink, but I declined. I knew when I'd had enough. We agreed to go, and he steered me out to the car-park at the back of the hotel, and held open the door of a large car. Obviously it wasn't new, but it seemed luxurious. By way of intelligent conversation, I asked him what make it was.

‘Austin Maxi,' he said as he slid behind the wheel. ‘Know why I bought this model?' He leaned over, one hand on my knee, and whispered in my ear: ‘Because it converts to a double bed …'

I giggled, and pushed his hand away. I could imagine that Andy would have plenty of girl-friends who would make full use of the car. He was certainly attractive, and I thought it was very friendly of him to take time off from his conquests to give me a lift home.

‘Here we go, then,' he said, doing a tight fast turn in the carpark. He zoomed out of town, but not on the road that led to Byland.

‘I've just got to have a word with some of me mates,' he said. ‘Promised I'd meet them. You don't mind, do you? Soon have you home.'

He stopped at a small pub on the outskirts of Breckham Market. It was dingy, a real come-down after the White Hart. Andy apologized. ‘Sorry – not the sort of pub I reckon to take a girl to. We won't stay long, though.' He led the way inside, holding my arm. I was glad of that because it seemed a very rickety sort of place, the floor kept shifting under my feet.

Two men were leaning on the bar. ‘Here he is,' one of them called above the noise of the juke box. They were staring at me, but Andy just waved to them and didn't introduce me.

‘Don't want you to meet them,' he said, ‘they're not your sort.'

He sat me at a vacant table, gave me a cigarette, and went over to the bar to fetch me a vodka and lime. ‘Cheers, Janet,' he said. ‘I'll just have a word with them, tell them I shan't be joining them tonight. You all right here? Good girl.'

I hadn't asked for the drink and didn't want it, but it seemed rude not to have a sip or two. Andy joined the men and said something to them. They all laughed, and the two strangers turned their pale, fuzzy faces towards me. I didn't want to seem stand-offish so I raised my glass to them amiably. There seemed to be more in it than there had been in the glasses at the White Hart, so I reduced the level a bit more.

The two men decided to leave. ‘See you some time, then, Andy,' they said. I thought that one of them winked at me as they passed, but I wasn't seeing quite straight so I couldn't be sure.

‘That's got rid of them,' said Andy, sounding relieved. He came and sat down on the bench beside me. There was plenty of room, but he sat so close that our legs touched. I moved my knees away, keeping them firmly together and wishing that my skirt wasn't quite so short.

‘What job are you doing now?' I asked. At least, that was what I meant to ask, but I could hear myself asking it and what I actually said was ‘syob'. I corrected myself carefully.

‘Pipeline welder,' he said. ‘On the gas feeder main from Bacton. Bloody hard work, but the pay's good. Got five days off – but what can you do round here?'

I sipped some more vodka and considered the possibilities. ‘Damn all,' I concluded.

‘With the two of us, though, it would be different. Have some fun, eh? How about it?'

I drained my glass absent-mindedly as I considered his proposition. I liked the idea of being in Andy's friendly company, but on the other hand I didn't want to take up any more of his time, considering how attractive he was and what a versatile car he had.

‘What about your girl-friends?' I was trying to speak naturally, but the lower half of my face seemed numbed and my lips refused to form the words correctly. I knew that I'd said ‘Wash'instead of ‘What', but it was all a giggle anyway.

‘Oh, them,' said Andy. ‘Haven't known any of'em for more'n five minutes.' He leaned towards me with his eyes half-closed, and I could smell whisky and cigarette smoke on his breath. ‘But you and me, Janet, we go back a long way, don't we? 'Nother drink?'

‘No, thanks. Better be going home. Whish way's the Ladies?'

He piloted me towards a door. It led straight into a damp poky little loo with a cracked seat and a dirty washbasin, but I was happy, beyond caring.

Before going out again, I peered at myself in the mirror. My mouth was curved in a silly smile and I tried to straighten it with my fingers but couldn't. I picked up my cigarette from where I'd parked it on the wooden shelf below the mirror, noticing that I'd left yet another burn mark on the grubby pink paintwork, dropped it into the loo and then opened the door.

I could see Andy waiting for me but the floor between us was an undulating acre, impassable alone. A good friend, he realized my predicament and came over to take my arm. We negotiated the main door, an irresistibly comic obstacle, and then I staggered as the night air hit me. ‘Upsy-daisy,' Andy said, catching me and half-carrying me to his car.

It was very comfortable in there. All I wanted was to go to sleep, but once we were on the road Andy reached for my hand and placed it on his thigh. I was a bit surprised but it seemed unfriendly to snatch it away. Besides, I found that I rather liked the contact, and the movement of his leg muscles under my hand as he drove the car.

When we stopped, I roused myself blearily. ‘Are we home?'

‘Nearly. In the lane, just by Spirkett's Wood. Remember Spirkett's Wood?'

I pointed out that it was an irrevelant question. I tried the word again, but it still wouldn't come out right. I giggled, and when Andy said, ‘How about making up for what we missed?' and slid his arm round me, I saw no reason to resist. In fact I enjoyed being drawn into his arms and leaning comfortably against his solid chest while I let my eyelids droop.

‘Hey, come on!' he protested. ‘Come on, don't go to sleep on me now –' He leaned across to lower the window on my side of the car. The inrush of night air made me sit up, and then he started to kiss me.

It came as a complete shock. Not just because I hadn't expected it, but because I'd never been kissed by a man before. I was astonished by the emery-paper scrape of his chin, so different from Kate's smoothness. His mouth seemed enormous, engulfing mine so that at first I couldn't breathe.

But then I got the hang of it, and began to like it. It was neither better nor less good than with Kate, just different. It had exactly the same effect on me, though, and that was another surprise, because I'd thought it was the effect of being in love, not just of physical contact.

Anyway, there was no question of my doing anything about it with Andy. Kissing and cuddling was nice, but I didn't intend it to go any further. When he muttered, ‘Let's move to the back seat,' I said, ‘No, thanks.'

He kissed me again, harder. His hands were roving about, pulling at my tights. I panicked and tried to push him away, but he persisted. ‘Oh, come on,' he said, breathing fast. ‘Don't play hard to get. You know you want it, just relax and enjoy it.'

It was only then that I realized exactly what I'd been doing: letting him chat me up and fill me with alcohol, convincing him that I'd be a pushover.

I was horrified by my cheap behaviour, by the sordidness of what I'd led him to expect. A car ride, a few drinks, a few kisses, and he thought I'd be easy. And I very nearly was, because I was too tired and silly and fuddled that it was the hardest thing in the world to say ‘No'.

Was that how it had been with Mum and the American who'd fathered me?

‘No!' I shouted. And I pushed Andy as hard as I could and wrenched open the door and rolled out of the car, stumbling along the verge of the lane with brambles pulling at me. I heard him following, turned my head, and then my foot caught on a tussock of grass and I fell, Andy pounced.

‘Gotcha!' he laughed. ‘Want me to play it rough, eh?'

‘No,' I gabbled, ‘I don't want it at all, don't, please don't –'

I was saved by the three glasses of vodka and lime, drunk on an empty stomach. It rose unstoppably in my throat, and Andy scrambled out of the way just in time.

‘Oh God …' he said disgustedly, standing over me as I retched and heaved. ‘Serves you right, you stupid little bitch,' he added, and then he walked back to his car. He pulled out my grip, and dumped it on the verge. ‘And I hope you get pneumonia, an'all.'

I don't know how long I lay there after he'd slammed the car door, reversed and driven back down the lane towards the road. I heard the sound of the engine fade, and then everywhere was quiet.

I looked up at the stars for comfort, but they were no longer the friendly, twinkling eyes that had once guarded Dad's small girl. They were cold and hard and a million miles away, and I was down here on my own.

I wiped my face as best I could, got to my feet and trudged home.

The following day. A quiet evening at home.

Mum knitting: clicking, sniffing, coughing, sucking, clucking over the television programme. Me sitting at the table pretending to read, but in reality trying to think rationally about what I've done and what I'm going to do.