The Other Child (6 page)

The dogs had been given to her by a charity that tried to find new owners on the internet for Great Danes who needed a good home. Cal had been found tied up at the side of a country road as a one-year-old, while Wotan had been brought to the animal shelter by his owners, after they realised slightly too late that life with such a big dog was not easy on the eighth floor of a tower block.

People's stupidity is terrible, Jennifer often thought. It's often worse than intentional cruelty, because it's so widespread. Stupidity and carelessness. That's what causes so much suffering, particularly for animals.

Today she had left the dogs on the farm with Colin and had gone to town with Gwen. Gwen had been taking part for three months in a course to conquer shyness. Its last class had been this past Wednesday and the course tutor had arranged a little leaving party on Friday afternoon. Jennifer had made sure she did not comment on the course. She did not believe in all that stuff. Were people who had become set in their ways over decades supposed to be trained in three months in how to change completely and take charge of their lives? In her opinion, this kind of thing was out to make money from the very real problems and issues of often desperate people – people who were willing to grasp at any straw and pay good money for it too. Gwen had admitted that she had spent all her savings on the course, but Jennifer did not have the feeling that Gwen had really benefited greatly from it. Of course, she was different now, but that had nothing to do with the mumbo-jumbo of those Wednesday afternoons, not in Jennifer's opinion. Instead it was down to the absolutely astounding turn her private life had taken. A man. A man who had fallen in love with her.

The engagement party was tomorrow. Jennifer had scarcely been able to believe it. Seeing as Gwen had met him here in this school, she had to admit that taking part in the course, and the sacrifice of her savings, had not been completely in vain.

Gwen was getting married! This was sensational, a gift, an amazing turn of fate to Jennifer, who although she was only ten years older than her friend had always felt motherly towards her. And yet it was also something that filled her with unease: who was this man? Why had he chosen Gwen? She might be friendly and caring, but she had never yet managed to catch herself a man. She was so old-fashioned, so naive. She could only ever talk about her father, Daddy this and Daddy that, and which man would not be driven crazy by that, sooner or later?

Jennifer wanted to be happy for Gwen, with all her heart, but she could not. She had caught a glimpse of Dave Tanner the day before, when he came to the farm to pick up Gwen for a meal out, and since then she was even more uneasy. Judging by the car that he drove, he barely had money, and how could he? He made ends meet giving French and Spanish lessons, and lodged in a single furnished room. That did not exactly suggest hidden wealth. However, he was good-looking and seemed sophisticated. She had seen that in the few short moments in which she had observed him from the window of her room. Without a doubt, he could have very different women to Gwen – younger, more pretty and dued-up women, even in his financial difficulties.

His obviously catastrophic personal situation might be the reason for his romance with Gwen, and the thought of this had not let Jennifer sleep that past night.

She had held her tongue. To Gwen, at any rate. She had talked about her fears with Colin, who warned her strongly against getting involved. ‘She's a grown-up. She's thirty-five years old. It's time that she made her own decisions. You can't always protect her!'

Yes, thought Jennifer, as she looked at the school, peaceful under the afternoon sun of the quiet October day, he's right. I have to stop trying to save Gwen from all possible mishaps. She's not my daughter. She's not even related to me. And even if she were – she has reached an age when she has to make her own choices about her direction in life.

The door of the front building opened. The people coming out must be on the course that Gwen was on. Jennifer tried not to fall into easy prejudices, nor into an excessive curiosity. What do they look like, the people who see in such a course their last chance to change their lives? Were they like Gwen, blushing easily, somewhat old-fashioned, reserved and actually really nice? Or were they unpleasantly uptight, bitter, frustrated? Aggressive? So ugly that it took your breath away?

They looked pretty normal, Jennifer realised. Many more women than men. Only two men, in fact. The women were wearing jeans and jumpers, light coats. It was not a cold day. Some were pretty. Not that any of them were stunning beauties, nor were any wearing very bright or provocative clothes. All in all, they were indeed rather retiring people, who would not want to be the centre of attention. They certainly did not give the impression of being at all disturbed, strange or disgusting.

Jennifer smiled when she saw Gwen, who was wearing a flowery calf-length skirt as always, and big boots. And where had she got that terrible coat? Hopefully her fiance would be able to persuade her to do without it one day.

Gwen came over, in the company of a man and a woman who both looked to be between thirty and forty. At first glance, the woman looked rather nondescript, but on second glance you noticed that she was really rather attractive. Gwen made the introductions. ‘This is Jennifer Brankley. Jennifer – Ena Witty and Stan Gibson.'

Ena Witty smiled shyly and mumbled a hi. She had a very quiet voice. Stan Gibson, on the other hand, beamed at Jennifer. ‘Hi, Jennifer. Gwen's told me a lot about you. And about your dogs. Are they really as big as she says?'

‘Even bigger,' replied Jennifer, ‘but as gentle as lambs. I shouldn't really say this, but I'm afraid they'd probably wag their tail even at a burglar, then lick his hand.'

Stan laughed. ‘I wouldn't want to try.'

‘I like dogs a lot,' said Ena.

Jennifer thought that Ena Witty was just the type of person she had expected to find on this course, not so Stan Gibson. He was not a particularly good-looking man, but he had an engaging, friendly bearing and did not seem shy or fearful. What had he been doing on the course these last few months?

As if reading her thoughts, Gwen explained: ‘By the way, Stan wasn't in our course. In August and September the school was rebuilding some rooms, and Stan works for the company that did the work. He was still here every Wednesday at the time our course started. That's how he met Ena.'

Ena looked shyly at the floor.

Quite a matchmaking service, the Friarage School, thought Jennifer. Gwen found the man of her life here. Ena Witty found a boyfriend … If it continues like this, the school could turn it into a little money-spinner!

‘Because I'm with Ena, I got to tag along to the leaving party,' said Stan. ‘And in the last few weeks I've talked a lot to Gwen too. What do you think, Ena, shouldn't we invite Gwen and Jennifer over to our place some time?'

‘To
our placet
?' asked Ena, caught unawares.

‘Darling, now don't look so surprised. Sometime you'll move to my place, right, and then of course we'll invite good friends to
our place
! He laughed long and loud and then turned to the two other women. ‘It's probably all happening a bit quick for Ena. Tomorrow we set off early for London and stay at my old folks until Sunday. I want them to get to know her.'

Gwen and Jennifer glanced quickly at each other. Both had the impression that Ena was not all that happy with Stan's plans, but that she did not dare to voice her unease.

Then Ena smiled suddenly. ‘It's great not to be on my own any more,' she said, and Jennifer recognised the woman's loneliness, and realised that was what everyone in the group shared in common, much more than problems with shyness, self-doubt or any phobias. People who met on courses like this one suffered above all from loneliness. They were women like Ena, who remained alone because no one noticed them and they had not learnt to show the world their talents, gifts and qualities. And women like Gwen, who had slipped into roles which then blocked them in, and who at some point realised that the world was zooming past them. They longed to escape their long, quiet, melancholic weekends and their endless evenings with only the television for company.

‘We'll call again about the invite,' said Stan.

They said their goodbyes and Jennifer and Gwen started off towards the bus stop. The dog food was heavy, but Gwen did not complain as she helped to carry it. They could have borrowed Chad's or Colin's car, but Gwen – although she had a driver's licence – did not like to drive if she could at all help it.

And Jennifer …

‘What about just trying again?' Colin had asked at lunch. ‘It might be easier than you think.'

She had shaken her head. ‘No. I can't. It won't work. It's just … I don't think I can do it any more, anything could happen …'

He had not insisted. She knew that he wished she would be more proactive in building up her old self-confidence, but sometimes she had the feeling that she had waited too long already and now would never pluck up the courage to do so. Anyway, she thought her life was more or less normal. She no longer dared to get behind a steering wheel, and she was a little unsociable and suspicious sometimes, but she was not lonely. She had Colin and her dogs; the holidays at Chad and Gwen's place; she was content. She had her depression under control. When it did flare up again, she just swallowed a pill, once a week at the most. She was far from being dependent on medication, as they had tried to imply.

But she was not to think about that, or about all the dirt they had dished on her. That was long ago – another time, another life.

She had found a new space for herself.

She just had to manage to leave the old one behind, completely, and to no longer explain it away or think back with longing to that time. This was a slow process, as she had found out, but one day she would be there.

And then everything would be better.

2

‘You've a visitor,' said Mrs Willerton, the landlady, as soon as Dave had opened the front door and stepped into the narrow hall, which was hung with twee animal drawings. ‘Miss Ward, your … well, is she your ex-girlfriend now or not?'

‘I told you not to let anyone in while I was out,' replied Dave in annoyance, and climbed the steep stairs two at a time before Mrs Willerton could ask any more questions. It was the pits: being a lodger and having to squeeze past his nosy landlady all the time. Mrs Willerton was extremely curious about his love life, probably – he surmised – because her own was many decades in the past. As she had once admitted to him in embarrassment, Mr Willerton had made off twenty years ago with a motorbike bride he had met through a Harley Davidson fan club.

Dave could understand him only too well.

He was tired. He had been giving French lessons for two hours, having to bear a dozen middle-aged North Yorkshire housewives' ghastly pronunciation of a language he loved for its sound and melody. His longing was becoming stronger and stronger to leave all this behind. His life was far too difficult at the moment – crazily complicated and with the added burden of worrying that he was making an enormous mistake. Karen Ward, the twenty-one-year-old student whom he had been in a relationship with for the last year and a half, was the last person he wanted to see tonight.

He went into his room. As always, he had left it in quite a mess. The bed was not made. A few of his clothes had been thrown over the back of a chair. The remains of his lunch were still on the table at the window: a paper carton with the leftover rice from an Indian takeaway. Next to it stood a half-empty bottle of white wine with a cork quickly jammed in. Karen had always made a thing about his sometimes drinking at lunchtime. At least he would be spared those talks in future.

Karen was sitting on a little stool at the end of the bed. She was wearing a dark-green turtleneck sweater and her beautiful long legs were in tight jeans. Her blond hair fell in a carelessly messy way over her shoulders. Dave had known her long enough to know that she spent ages every morning working on this casual look. There was not a strand that was not exactly where she wanted it. Her make-up too, which you didn't notice, was the result of hard work.

She had really fascinated him once. But it had never been more than that – an appreciation of her appearance, which was obviously not the basis for a long-term relationship.

Added to that, she was just far too young.

He closed the door behind him. You could bet on Mrs Willerton being downstairs in the hall with her ears pricked.

‘Hi, Karen,' he said, as casually as possible.

She had stood up, obviously in the expectation that he would go up to her and at least for a moment take her in his arms. But he just stood there at the door. He did not even take his coat off. He did not want to give her any indication that he was prepared to have a long talk with her.

‘Hi, Dave,' Karen replied after a long silence. ‘Sorry that I just …' She let her words hang in the air. Dave did not do her the favour of accepting her apology for her unexpected appearance – she did not mean it, anyway, he knew that.

He did not say a word.

Karen looked around the unwelcoming room with a helpless expression.

‘It looks worse here than last time I visited,' she remarked.

Typical. She always had something to complain about: his drinking too much wine, not tidying up enough, sleeping in too long, or not showing any ambition, or … or … or.

‘It's been a while since you were here last,' he replied, ‘and since then no one else has been tidying up after me.' Thank God, he added in his thoughts.

His reply was a mistake. He realised as soon as Karen replied tartly, ‘Depends on how you see things, doesn't it, Dave? As far as I remember, I was last here exactly one week ago.'

What an idiot he was. Last week he had slipped up, although he had resolved not to let that happen with Karen again. He had met her by chance late one night on a pub crawl down at the harbour, in the Newcastle Packet, where she had just started to pull pints some evenings. He had waited until she came off work, had drunk a couple of beers with her, and had then taken her back to his room. Then slept with her. It had been pretty wild and uninhibited, as he vaguely remembered. Since he had broken up with her at the end of July, they had met a couple of times, just because it was always good to chat and have a laugh, and sleep with her, and because sometimes he needed a distraction from the dry times with Gwen. But it was not fair on Karen, and he was annoyed that he had been weak. No wonder that she thought their relationship could be on again.