Helen Forrester - Thursday’s Child

‘No, no, I’d be delighted.’ I did not say anything about his proposal to me. I looked at her through my lashes and imagined Barney kissing her shoulder. It hurt.

‘Angela –’ I faltered, and yet I felt if I did not know I should die. ‘Angela, will you tell me something – I won’t be angry, whatever you reply.’

She looked mystified and although she answered ‘certainly’ her voice had a defensive note.

I raised myself on my elbow until I was looking closely into her eyes.

‘Angela, were you in love with Barney?’

A flush crept over her face and neck and perspiration started on her forehead, but she answered me steadily: ‘Yes.’

I took a long breath.

‘Was he in love with you?’

‘Yes.’ She half rose, to leave me, but I restrained her by catching her wrist, and looking at her imploringly.

‘Angela, why in the name of Mercy did he become engaged to me?’

‘It was the best revenge he could think of.’

‘Revenge? On whom?’

‘On me.’ She stood up, and there was anger in her voice as she spoke: ‘Our heroic Barney was nothing but a handsome jealous cat.’

‘Tell me,’ I said, a chill creeping over me, ‘were you his mistress?’

‘We were always lovers – ever since my seventeenth birthday party.’

I shivered. That party was in 1939. I remembered it well – everybody had got a little drunk and Mother had been upset about it – but the first months of the war had upset all of us.

‘Why did you not get married?’

‘At first he was studying and had no money. When he and James took over his father’s practice, he said that before either of them married they must re-establish the firm. Then he volunteered.’ Her voice trembled. ‘When he came home on leave he expected to make love, though he never mentioned getting married. Once I asked him – but he laughed it off – said the end of the war would be time enough. A man never wants to marry his mistress,’ she finished up bitterly.

‘Well, what did you do?’

‘Gaylord came along. He was really sweet to me, so I thought I would marry a man who loved me rather than one whom I loved. After about twelve months, he told me he was going home to his wife – it was the first indication he had given me that he was married.’ She shrugged her shoulders, and continued: ‘I suppose he was no different from most men away from their homes.’

There seemed to be more to come – Angela’s lips were quivering, so I said: ‘Go on.’

‘Barney came home on leave unexpectedly and caught us one night at the gate. He glared at the pair of us as if we were scum, and marched on into the house. He never spoke to me again, except when I was amongst the family. He wanted everything without responsibility, and, when he saw that he was going to lose me to someone else, he tried to punish me – perhaps he thought when he became engaged to you I would crawl at his feet rather than see you marry him.’

‘And how soon after that did he become engaged to me?’

‘During his next leave.’

I felt sick, horribly sick. Barney making love to me to revenge himself on my sister, whose only fault it seemed to me was that she had trusted a lifelong friend too well.

Angela crouched on the bed and hid her face in her hands. I felt a great anger against Barney – such disregard of the damage he had been doing was unforgivable. I sat up and put my arms around Angela.

‘Angela,’ I said softly, ‘he’s dead. One day you will marry a more worthwhile man – perhaps James – he is a good man.’

‘Pegs,’ she wailed, clinging to me, ‘it was awful.’

Now it was my turn to comfort her. I stroked her head and thought how many times she had comforted me.

‘My love,’ I said, ‘why didn’t you tell me? I would have boxed his ears and told him to stop acting like a child. I would have sent him back to you.’

‘I have some pride – and you were so happy.’

‘Of course.’

Dazed with misery, I sat for a while, automatically stroking the blonde head. In those minutes I realised how little I knew about men. Most of my knowledge of them had come at second-hand through the cases I had handled and through books. Jackie, my first fiancé, had been the brother of a girl friend of mine and had been at sea for months at a time. The club had been my first opportunity to meet many strangers – previously I had gone to balls and dances as one of a party. How blind I had been, not to realise what Barney was doing. How blind and how full of false pride. Hatred surged through me – hatred of a man who had humiliated me in my own sight.

The alarm clock whirred and brought my sanity back sharply. Time to go to work.

Angela and I got up together and dressed silently, Angela to keep some mysterious appointment, and I to make out a list of cultural centres in which South African schoolteachers visiting the north might be interested.

Before we went downstairs, I kissed Angela and the kiss was warmly returned. I felt humbly grateful for the comfort of the forgiveness it conveyed.

I worked until midnight, when the club closed. The thought of going home to bed made me feel sleepless, and, as the last bus had just left, I decided that, rather than take a taxi, I would walk home. I walked slowly through the night mist and, when at last I reached our gate, I thought irritably that I would never sleep if I went in, so I walked round the block. The policeman on the beat knew me, and said: ‘Good night, Miss.’

I returned the salutation. I came again to our gate but continued past it, walking the same route. The constable met me again and asked if I had lost anything.

Wearily, I said: ‘No, thank you. I am just taking a stroll before going to bed.’

‘It’s not too safe round here late at night, Miss.’

I agreed, and walked back to our gate with him. It appeared that I would have to go to bed, but my nerves were jangled and I felt that to scream would be a great relief.

At home I made myself some cocoa and at three o’clock I got into bed. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Barney laughing at me, until I could have shrieked at him to go away and never haunt me again.

I switched on the bedside lamp and took from the side table the studio portrait which he had given me just before leaving on his last journey back to barracks. I sat up in bed and for a long time examined the face portrayed. The lips smiled at me, but when I covered them up and looked at the eyes alone, they were cold and staring.

At five o’clock I got up. It was Sunday morning, and the church bells soon began to ring for the first service of the day. Mother heard me washing in the bathroom and called to ask if I was poorly. I said I was quite all right and was preparing to go to church. I heard her bed creak as, satisfied, she turned over to sleep again.

I had no intention of going to church, but it was the simplest explanation to save Mother getting up to see what she could do to help me. Garbed in slacks and woollen sweaters, I went out into the garden. Lighted only by the shaft of light from the front door, it was as bleak and shrivelled as my heart. I went inside, boiled some water and washed up the supper dishes for Mother, after which I laid the table for breakfast.

I had just refilled the sugar basin when, to my astonishment, the telephone bell rang. I answered it quickly, to avoid its waking the entire household.

‘I wish to speak to Miss Delaney,’ said Ajit.

‘Speaking,’ I said. ‘Hello.’

Ajit’s cool tone melted into a warm hello.

‘I am reminding you that you must be ready at ten o’clock,’ he said.

‘Oh, Lord!’ I ejaculated.

‘Is there trouble?’

‘No, no,’ I said. I had forgotten that I had promised to walk along the coast with him to a village inn which specialised in bacon and egg teas. He had taken great trouble to pick a Sunday when I would be free and when the tide would be high and at its wintry best. The thought of being bright and entertaining throughout the day was too much for me. I opened my mouth to make an excuse.