Anne Bennett - A Little Learning

‘But Janet’s different?’

‘Undoubtedly,’ Claire said. ‘Now, the first set of exams will be marked by Christmas; you will probably have the results with your Christmas mail. If Janet passes, she will automatically go forward to the second set of examinations, which will be more extensive and will be held at the beginning of February. It will probably be April before you hear if she has passed or failed those.’

‘And say she gets through all this and passes,’ said Betty. ‘Where will she go then?’

‘Whytecliff School in Sutton Coldfield would be my first choice,’ Claire said. ‘It’s private but it offers scholarships to a quarter of the intake. I hear it’s a marvellous school, with wonderful facilities. I’m sure Janet would love it, and provided she passes the exam, you’d pay for nothing but the uniform.’

‘That would probably cost a pretty penny, I bet.’

Claire could not deny it, and Betty knew the money would have to be found somehow.

‘All right,’ she said. ‘Put our Janet’s name down for this here exam and we’ll see what she’s made of.’

Claire was delighted, but she didn’t want to raise the child’s hopes only to have them dashed again. ‘I’d be only too happy to, Mrs Travers,’ she said, ‘but your husband …?’

‘Leave him to me,’ Betty said decisively.

She said a similar thing to her daughter that evening. Janet had had a chat with Miss Wentworth, who told her of the outcome of her mother’s visit. That afternoon, after school, she settled down in the kitchen, gazing at her mother almost shyly. Betty smiled at her.

‘Went to see your Miss Wentworth today,’ she said. ‘I expect she told you.’

‘Yes, she did.’

‘Pretty young thing, isn’t she? I thought she’d be a crabbed old maid.’

‘Oh, no,’ Janet said in the hushed tones of adoration. ‘She’s beautiful.’

She’d spent hours looking at Miss Wentworth. The teacher’s hair was so light brown as to be almost blonde, and she tied it back from her face with a black ribbon. Her eyes were the darkest brown, and she had the cutest nose and the loveliest mouth. Her whole face had a kindness about it, and her eyes often twinkled with amusement. She had the most gentle speaking voice, that she hardly ever raised in anger, but she could get the children to listen to her just the same. Janet’s dream was to look like Claire Wentworth, but her more realistic aim was to get into the grammar school, because that would please her teacher.

‘She thinks a lot of you,’ Betty said.

Janet said nothing, but her eyes shone.

‘Thinks you have a chance of the eleven-plus if you work.’

‘I know. I will if you’ll let me try.’

‘Well, I think you should have the chance,’ Betty said.

‘What about Dad?’

‘Leave your dad to me.’

Janet knew it wouldn’t be easy to change her father’s mind, and Betty didn’t try to kid her otherwise. She hadn’t time to do much then anyway, for she was rushing to make tea for everyone and get to work.

‘Now,’ she said, getting into her coat, ‘you get these dishes washed and put away before your dad comes home. Put the vegetables on at half past five for his tea, and don’t let them boil dry.’

‘I’ve done it before, Mom,’ Janet protested. ‘Anyway, isn’t Gran coming round?’

‘Yes, but she’ll have her hands full getting the twins to bed,’ Betty said. ‘I want your dad’s tea on the table when he comes in, and a tidy house. I want him in a good mood.’

‘Why?’ asked Duncan, puzzled.

‘Never you mind,’ Betty snapped. Duncan saw the glance his mother gave to Janet. He wondered why his mom was trying to sweeten his dad up, and what it had to do with his sister. He didn’t ask, for he knew his mom wouldn’t tell him, and she was agitated about being late for work anyway. Then Breda was at the door and he watched the pair of them scurry down the road.

When Bert Travers came in at six o’clock the house was spotless. Janet had dusted and polished and a hint of furniture polish still hung in the air. His dinner was ready, and he stood in the kitchen doorway watching his daughter dish up his meal and pour gravy over it. He felt a surge of pride for his family.

His son was a lad to be proud of and was preparing to follow in his dad’s footsteps when he was fourteen. A daughter was bound to be different. Janet was much quieter than Duncan, and said to be clever, but she could produce a good meal for him just the same. She’d be another like her mom. Then there were his twin boys, washed and pyjamaed for bed. They had been drinking their milk until they saw their father, and then they threw their bottles down and began clambering all over him.

Bert was inordinately proud of the twin sons and was far more easy-going with them than he had been with Duncan and Janet when they were small. Sarah McClusky, who believed that to spare the rod was to spoil the child, watched in disapproval as Conner and Noel leaped at and climbed up their father’s body.

‘Leave your dad be, he’s been at work all day, he’ll be tired,’ she admonished.

‘They’re all right, Ma,’ Bert said good-humouredly. ‘I see little enough of them.’

‘They were getting ready to go to bed,’ Sarah said reprovingly.

‘That’s what I mean,’ Bert said. ‘They’re always nearly ready to go to bed when I get in …’ But his dinner was waiting and he had no desire to fight over it, and certainly not with his mother-in-law. He was only too aware what they owed her, him and Betty, for if she hadn’t agreed to come and see to the kids at night, Betty couldn’t have worked, and he had to admit the money was useful.

His wages never seemed to stretch far these days, with the four children. He was constantly amazed by the way the children went through their clothes and shoes, and what they cost to replace. Then there was the amount of food consumed in one week. He was grateful for the government introducing the new family allowance, but he recognised that without the bit Betty earned, they’d often be strapped for cash. Sarah McClusky’s presence meant that his life changed very little. Betty would prepare dinner before she left for work, to be cooked by her mother or Janet ready for his arrival. After he’d eaten he could go down the club for a pint, leaving his mother-in-law to keep an eye on the children.

Anyway, Bert told himself as he ate his tea, bringing up kids is a woman’s job. He was looking forward to the time when him and his lad would be mates in the factory, going down the pub together and to Villa Park on Saturday afternoons. But up until that time, any decisions about Duncan’s upbringing, or that of the others, he would leave to Betty, or her mother if Betty wasn’t there.

Later, when he was washed and changed ready to go out, everything was much quieter. He knew his younger sons were fast asleep in their separate cots, because he’d tiptoed in to see on his way down from the bedroom. His mother-in-law was knitting placidly, while she listened to the wireless.

‘You away now?’ she asked.

‘Yes, I’ll go for a quick one.’

Sarah McClusky’s eyes betrayed nothing. She personally thought Betty wouldn’t have to go to work if Bert didn’t tip so much money down his throat, but that was their business. Betty had made that abundantly clear, the one time Sarah had mentioned it.

‘Bert’s a good man, Ma, and a good provider. He always sees to us first, and what he does with the money in his pocket is his business. Anyway,’ she’d added, ‘I enjoy my job.’

So Mrs McClusky kept her own counsel now, and what she said to her son-in-law was:

‘You might tell young Duncan to come in on your way out.’

‘Where is he?’