A Family Affair (21 page)

But he found he had forgotten what he wanted; his aching desire of a moment ago was lost in the sudden churning of his thoughts. Was this the reason behind the change in her? He levered himself up, looking down at her.

‘Has somebody been hitting you about?'

‘Of course not! David …'

‘Are you sure? It's not your dad, is it?'

‘Oh, don't be so silly! My
dad
! That's an awful thing to say!'

‘Well, you got it from somewhere.'

‘Obviously,' Linda said. ‘I expect I bumped myself. I just don't remember. And if you don't mind, I'd like to put my cardigan back on. I'm not very warm.'

David stared at her, his mouth dropping. It had been a perfect summer day and the residue of the sun's heat had been trapped in the small room. This sounded like another rejection to him. Another excuse.

‘How can you not be warm? It's like an oven in here.'

‘You might be warm. I'm not.'

She pulled the cardigan back over her shoulders, but not before he had touched her bare arm again. It was true. She didn't feel warm. Her flesh felt a little clammy to his touch. His puzzled irritation became edged with concern, not for their relationship, not for himself, fobbed off again, but for her.

‘Are you all right, Linda?' he asked anxiously.

‘What do you mean?'

‘You're not ill, are you?'

‘No. I just don't feel
well
, that's all.'

‘Perhaps you're sickening for something.'

Her face crumpled suddenly, her thick lashes dropping on to her pale cheeks like dark butterfly wings.

‘Well, if I am, it's a long time coming. I've felt like this for weeks now.'

‘Like what?'

‘Oh – I don't know – tired, cold, everything's just too much effort. I'm sorry, David, it's not you, honestly. I've been a pain, I know. I just don't feel very well.'

And she began to cry.

He was alarmed now. Really alarmed. He held her, mopped her tears with his handkerchief, because she made no attempt to wipe them herself, just let them roll down her crumpled face. She wasn't even
crying
hard, he realised. She seemed to lack the energy even for that. She simply whimpered weakly. His anxiety became anger, mainly directed at himself for taking such a self-centred view of the change in her, but also, just a little, at her, for not telling him before now how she felt.

‘Why didn't you say?' he asked. ‘Why didn't you tell me you weren't well?'

She took the handkerchief from him, summoning the energy to blow her nose.

‘I didn't want to sound like a wet blanket.'

‘Don't be so silly! You can't help it if you're not very well.'

She sniffed, trying to smile.

‘I thought you'd think I was a moaning Minnie. You don't want a girlfriend who's complaining all the time.'

‘Linda! Am I such a monster?'

‘Of course you're not. But I'm terribly afraid of losing you, David. I always think … well, I'm scared you'll get tired of me – that you don't really want me at all.'

‘How long have we been going out together, Linda?'

‘Nearly two years.'

‘Well, there you are! Do you think I'd have gone out with you for two years if I didn't want you?'

‘But you never say! And if ever I mention anything to do with … well … love … I can feel you shut off. You
do
, David. You can't change the subject fast enough. And you go funny on me.'

She was right, of course, and he knew it. Had this been a normal evening he would most likely be ‘going funny'as she put it now. But it wasn't a normal evening. This conversation, coming on top of his anxiety that he might be losing her had shown him just how deeply he cared for her.

‘I think we've had our wires crossed, Linda,' he said. ‘You're right in one way, though. I know I can be a bit weird at times. I just didn't want to get tied down, that's all.'

‘I don't want to tie you down, David. Well – perhaps if I'm honest, I do. But what I mean is, I'd never force you. I'd rather have you the way we are than not at all. I couldn't bear it if I didn't have you at all.' She began to cry again weakly.

‘Linda! Don't start that again! Please!'

‘You see?' she sobbed. ‘You want me to be jolly. Good fun. Good old Linda. But I can't always be Good old Linda.'

‘I know that,' he said. ‘Of course I like it when you're your usual bouncy self. But nobody can be like that all the time. And the truth is … well, I want you, Linda, whatever sort of mood you're in. I just want you, full stop.'

‘Really?' She was smiling at him tremulously through her tears. Tenderness swamped him.

‘Yes,' he said roughly. ‘Really, Linda.' He hesitated briefly. ‘What would you say if I asked you to marry me?'

Her expression was momentarily so startled he thought that in spite of what she'd just said, she was going to refuse. He suddenly felt an utter fool, but more than that, he minded terribly. Suddenly, though he had totally taken himself by surprise by his proposal, he knew it was what he wanted more than anything in the world.

Then: ‘Oh, David – yes!' she said. ‘If you're asking me – and I think you are – then of course the answer is yes!'

‘Good,' he said, quite bluntly, typically understating all the relief he was feeling. ‘That's settled then. We'll go to Bath and get an engagement ring and we'll get married … what … next spring?'

She was laughing now, very gently.

‘If you like. Anything you like. Only there's one thing …'

‘What?'

‘You still haven't said you love me.'

He looked at her, at her pale, tear-wet face and her tousled hair and her red-rimmed eyes. He looked at her with all the seriousness that he would bring to their marriage vows. To speak these words, the words he had never spoken to anyone before in his life, was every bit as important to him, and a great deal more difficult to say.

‘I love you, Linda.'

‘And I love you.'

Some time later he cradled her in his arms, stroking her hair and remembering the bruise, the coldness, the fact that she felt tired and ill.

‘Promise me something.'

‘Mmm.'

‘Promise me that if you're not feeling better by Monday, you'll go to the doctor.'

‘OK'

‘Promise now. I want you fit and well again.'
If you're going to be my wife
, he was going to add, but didn't. This expressing emotion was too new to him. Heaven alone knew, the emotion itself was still too new!

‘I promise,' she said solemnly.

And David thought he could never remember feeling happier or more content.

Jenny was still feeling utterly wretched. She couldn't – simply couldn't get Barry out of her head. Though she knew it was true he was going out with June Farthing – she'd seen them together, and Barry had totally ignored her, though he'd gone a violent brick-red colour – she wanted nothing more than to go out with him again. She tortured herself by reliving over and over the way it had felt when he had kissed her, smelling again with the senses of memory the sweet scent of crushed grass and sun-warmed skin, feeling the texture of his jumper against her cheek. She puzzled over it too, wondering when it had all gone wrong. What had she done – what had she said – why – why – why? She went over and over it, finding endless ways to blame herself and always, reluctantly, coming back to the same thing. He'd gone off her because she wouldn't let him touch her. June Farthing, she felt sure, would have no such qualms.

Just to make matters worse, Carrie was watching her like a hawk. At least she'd got over her silent mood and was being quite nice – she'd even suggested they might get a puppy – something Jenny had always longed for. A family who lived in the newly completed units – the semidetached houses further down the road – had a bitch in whelp and Carrie said she was thinking of giving one of the pups a home. But not even this could cheer Jenny. Her heart had been broken, she was obsessed with Barry, and that was all there was to it.

On that Monday morning in June, however, Jenny was feeling even more wretched. Today it wasn't only her heart that was aching; it was her ear as well.

Jenny had always suffered with her ears. As a toddler she'd had a mastoid scare and after that it seemed she had a weakness. The little bottle of olive oil warmed in front of the fire before being dribbled into the offending ear, the piece of hot flannel Carrie instructed her to hold over it, the excruciating pain worse, far worse even than toothache (she thought) – all had been an integral part of her childhood.

It didn't happen often nowadays, but when it did all the miserable memories came flooding back, and that morning the pain was so severe it even drove thoughts of Barry from her mind, though the misery of losing him remained, a dark weight around her heart.

‘Are you sure you're all right to go to school?' Carrie asked.

‘Yes, I'll be all right,' Jenny said. That afternoon her form were due to go to the local cinema to see the film of
The Pickwick Papers
which they were studying in English Literature.

By mid-morning, however, the pain in her ear was much worse. She felt drowsy and hot and she laid her head on the desk.

‘Jennifer Simmons!' The voice of the French mistress, Miss Vokes, roused her. ‘What are you doing going to sleep in my lesson? Didn't you go to bed last night?'

Jenny raised her head with an effort.

‘I'm sorry, Miss Vokes. I've got an earache. It's really bad.'

Miss Vokes studied her. She did look pale, and it was unlike Jenny not to be attentive in lessons, although French, admittedly, was not one of her best subjects.

‘The county doctor is in today, examining the first years,' she said. ‘I'll see if he can see you. The rest of you – get on with doing Exercise XII.'

A few minutes later she was back.

‘Go and wait outside the headmistress's study, Jennifer. The doctor will see you when he can.'

Jenny made her way along the corridor and sat down on one of the hardbacked chairs outside the headmistress's office. The wait seemed interminable. First-year pupils came and went and she was still there, trying hard not to cry from the pain. Eventually the doctor emerged – a square tweedy man with a brusque voice.

‘All right. You can come in now. You've got earache, I understand.'

Jenny nodded wretchedly.

‘Let's take a look.'

He shone his otoscope in Jenny's ear, leaning over her so that she could smell pipe tobacco in the tweed of his jacket, but it did not comfort her as the smell of her father's cigarettes did, and when he moved the otoscope around to get a better look she squealed with the sharp stab of pain it produced.

‘I can't see anything wrong,' he said at last, straightening up and screwing the top back on the otoscope. ‘You've been in a draught, I expect. Take a couple of aspirin and it will probably be all right by tomorrow. For now, I can see no reason why you shouldn't go back to class.'

Jenny felt relieved, but at the same time defensive. She suspected he thought she was a malingerer. She took the aspirins he offered her to the cloakroom and swallowed them with a mouthful of water from the drinking fountain, then went back to the classroom. The French lesson was just finishing; next period was Geography. Somehow Jenny sat through it but the aspirin seemed to be doing little to dull the pain.

When the bell went to end the lesson she followed the others into dinners, wishing Carrie worked in the kitchens here instead of the Junior School so that she could tell her how dreadful she felt. She collected her plate of stew and dumplings and took it to her place at one of the long trestle tables. The vegetable today was a green salad – geared to the first choice of cheese and onion flan, which had all gone by the time Jenny's table had filed through the kitchen to collect their food. As she looked at the lettuce leaves floating in the plate of stew, Jenny realised she actually felt sick, and the first mouthful confirmed it. She put down her knife and fork, gazing at the glass-panelled swing doors at the end of the hall and willing her nausea to subside.

‘Jennifer!' Miss Vokes'voice penetrated the gathering sense of isolation – Miss Vokes was also the mistress in charge of her dinner table.

Jenny swivelled her eyes and Miss Vokes, from her seat at the head of the table, gesticulated towards Jenny's plate. Obedient to the last, Jenny tried to force down another mouthful. It stuck in her throat. She put down her knife and fork again, covering her aching ear with her hand.

‘Jennifer!' Miss Vokes called again, more sharply.

Wordlessly, Jenny shook her head. Miss Vokes rose and squeezed between the rows of chairs to stand behind Jenny, holding her gown wrapped around her so that she looked like a skinny black crow.

‘Eat your dinner, Jennifer.'

‘I can't,' Jenny said. ‘I don't want it.'

‘You can't waste good food. If you don't eat your dinner, you'll have no pudding.'

‘I don't want any pudding,' Jenny said. ‘I feel sick and my ear hurts.'

‘The doctor said there is nothing wrong with your ear,' Miss Vokes said. ‘Well, if you don't eat it, you'll have no pudding tomorrow either. Or for the rest of the week!'

Jenny said nothing. At that moment she did not care if she never had pudding again, but she knew better than to say so. One was cheeky to teachers at one's peril. Miss Vokes returned to her place tight-lipped with fury at what she saw as Jenny's wilful disobedience.

After what seemed like a lifetime the table finished eating and were allowed to dismiss. Jenny sat in the cloakroom on one of the long forms trying not to cry with the pain and wishing Rowena was here. But Rowena and her other best friends were away at the annual school camp. Jenny had begged Carrie to let her go too, but Carrie didn't agree with camping.