Duplicity (14 page)

Janey had appealed to her father then. ‘Please Dad?’ He never refused her anything, within reason, and, of course, he had given in again. ‘Only on condition that you promise to look after it,’ he had added.

She
had
looked after it - most of the time anyway -but she’d promised to go up to the Record Market today with her two best friends. Now Jacquie and Tish would be there without her, and this would likely be the day one of the boys would speak to her.

She sighed, skimmed her comb lightly through her long, fair ponytail, then slid the wardrobe door open with more force than was necessary to take out her new yellow leather-look coat. She may as well look her best in case she ran into somebody exciting, though there was little hope of that.

She stamped noisily down the stairs and lifted the dog’s lead from the hallstand, making Dactyl, her Yorkie, go into such a frenzy of anticipation that she had to hold him between her knees before she could hook it on to his collar. She tried one last desperate protest when her mother came out of the kitchen. ‘Why can’t Mike take him out?’

‘He’s gone out to play football; and it’s your dog.’

Janey knew the real reason for her own bad temper -no one had asked her to the school disco that night - so she closed the door quietly instead of slamming it - and switched her mind to deciding a possible career she might take up when she left school.

She walked down the path slowly and gracefully, and by the time she reached the gate, she was already a top model drifting across a raised walkway, showing off gorgeous outfits to an admiring group of wealthy buyers. There may even be a film producer among them, who would take one look at her slinky movements and then offer her a contract to star in his next musical opposite … ?

Before she could decide who would be her leading man, she was jolted back to reality by her dog. Dactyl was in great form, sniffing at a gatepost then bounding on to the next one, and Janey found it impossible to keep up her measured glide. She even began to enjoy his antics and let him pull her along towards the park. She didn’t often go there, it was a bit far, but Dactyl seemed to be enjoying himself, too.

The sun was shining though there was a nip in the air, and Janey’s spirits lifted, her feet almost dancing as she kept pace with the dog. It might be fun to be a ballet dancer instead of a model or a film star. She pirouetted daintily on her toes and could hear the thunderous applause from her phantom audience.

When Dactyl stopped to inspect a stone, she picked up a stick and let him off the lead. He ran off, not even waiting for her to throw the stick for him to fetch, and she laughed as he chased a cheeky little sparrow and then stood looking puzzled when it flew off. Leaving him to entertain himself, she sat down on a bench and drew pictures in the sandy soil of the path with the stick. The dog was racing about on the grass now with a Jack Russell, so she kept a wary eye on them until it was clear that they were quite friendly.

‘They’re having a whale of a time.’

The voice behind her made her jump; she hadn’t heard anyone coming. Turning, her eyes widened when she saw that it was Neil Wallace, the head boy from school. ‘Yes … yes they are,’ she stammered, aware that he didn’t recognise her. Why should he, when all the girls at Mountford ran after him?

He sat down beside her, rather belatedly asking, ‘OK?’ She nodded and swallowed nervously. ‘D’you live round here?’ he was obviously just making conversation.

Wishing that she could be as self-confident in real life as she was in her daydreams, she murmured, ‘Yes, well … er … not really all that near. Mayfield Terrace, actually.’

‘I’m quite near you, then - Mayfield Avenue. I haven’t seen you in the park before, though. What’s your name?’

‘Janey Martin.’ ‘I’m Neil Wallace.’

As if she needed to be told! She could see his eyes taking in every detail about her, and was glad she had worn her yellow coat. She felt absolutely tongue-tied. Why couldn’t she laugh and joke with him like the other girls did?

‘D’you go to Mountford, Janey?’

She nodded again. ‘Fifth year.’

‘Only fifth?’ he sounded genuinely surprised. ‘I’d have said you were older than that.’

Pleased about this, she relaxed a little. ‘It’s the coat, I expect. It’s more flattering than the school blazer.’

‘It sure is! I get out of mine whenever I can, as well.’

She glanced at him quickly. She hadn’t noticed that he wore a black leather jerkin, and found that it made him more handsome than ever, with his blond curly hair showing up well against the dark collar.

‘I’ll likely be seeing you at the disco tonight.’ It was a statement, not a question.

‘Well … no … not really.’ She felt shy again.

‘Why not? It’s for fifth as well as sixth years.’

‘Nobody asked me,’ she admitted, trying to look as if she hadn’t wanted to go, anyway.

‘What? No boyfriend just now?’

‘No, not at the moment.’ She was grateful to him for handing her the face-saver.

‘That’s my good luck, then,’ he laughed. ‘You can be my partner. I was supposed to be taking Pat Connon, the head girl, but she broke her leg last night playing badminton.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, but surely there’s another sixth-year girl you could take?’ Janey was thrilled at being asked to her first disco by Neil Wallace, of all people, even if it was just a matter of convenience, but she didn’t want to appear too eager.

‘I don’t fancy any of them,’ he smiled. ‘Great puddings, always flirting and giggling. You’re different, more sensible.’ He looked at her anxiously. ‘I’d really like you to be my partner, Janey, if you’ve nothing else on?’

The open admiration in his brown eyes, surprisingly dark for his blond colouring, went to her head, but she said, cautiously, ‘I’ll think about it.’ She brushed a stray strand of hair off her forehead and turned away from him. She could see that her apparent lack of intrest was making him more determined, but, just then, the two dogs came running up, jumping boisterously on their owners.

‘That’s enough, Dactyl,’ she told him, pushing him down. ‘It’s time we were going home.’ She took the lead from her pocket and Neil held the dog until she fixed it on.

‘What did you call him?’ he asked, bending to attend to his own dog.

‘Dactyl. It’s short for pterodactyl - the flying dinosaur, you know. My young brother was mad about them at the time I got him as puppy, so I called him Dactyl. It seemed to suit him, somehow.’

As she stood up, Neil rose and put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Say you’ll come tonight, Janey. Please?’

Laughing, she twisted from his grasp and ran back along the path. She was almost certain that he would follow, but was beginning to doubt it by the time she reached the park gates. She stopped, waiting for Dactyl to come away from the lamp post, and stole a quick glance behind. Neil
was
running towards her.

‘Janey,’ he puffed, when he caught up with her, ‘Terry wouldn’t let me fix on his lead and I thought you weren’t going to wait. I don’t know the number of your house.’

‘Terry? That’s a nice name for a dog.’

‘Short for pterodactyl, would you believe? I was mad about dinosaurs, too, a few years back.’

‘No! Not really?’ She was astonished at the coincidence.

‘So you see, we’ve a lot in common, great minds thinking alike and all that. Now, will you say you’ll come tonight?’

‘I haven’t anything to wear.’

‘You’d look smashing in anything.’

Janey learned then the age-old truth that boys don’t have the least understanding of the importance the right clothes have for a girl.

‘Please, Janey?’ he pleaded again.

Frantically, she went over her wardrobe in her mind, and decided that the pink leggings and matching baggy top might just do. ‘OK,’ she smiled.

‘Great! I’ll come round for you at quarter past seven.’

When they reached her house, he took her hand and squeezed it. ‘Boy! Am I looking forward to tonight! Wait till the other boys see you!’

Janey watched the tall, slim figure striding away from her, every now and then taking a hop-skip-and-jump, with the small terrier running joyously round his heels. For once, she wasn’t imagining something impossible. This date was for real. She had a vague feeling that his dog was called Terry because he was a terrier, but it was sweet of Neil to say it was short for pterodactyl, like hers.

She sighed contentedly and burst into the house to tell her mother.

***

Word count 1641

Sent to
Just 17
7.9.86 - rejected 5.10.86

Sent to
Patches:
9.10.86 - rejected 30.10.86

The Tomato Plant
 

Elizabeth Miller had never wanted the plant to begin with.

‘Tomatoes aren’t meant to be grown inside houses,’ she said when Henry had first mentioned it, ‘and we certainly can’t afford a greenhouse. I’ve enough to do in the garden, anyway, since you’ve had angina.’

‘The man at the Garden Centre assured me that’ - here he laughingly imitated the man’s sales talk - ‘”Tomatoes are very successful in the house.”’

He’d tell you anything,’ she said, scathingly. ‘There’s no room on any of the window sills for anything else. I’ve eleven plants already.’

She had seen by his set mouth and steely eyes that he had made his mind up, and sure enough, he came home next day with a small green shoot in a huge pot and upset her tasteful arrangement of cacti in the lounge to make room for it.

As the days passed, however, she had found herself taking an interest in the tomato plant’s progress. She even marked its height on the supporting stick each day, and was amazed to see the marks rising more than an inch at a time. The plant kept growing rapidly, and by the time the small yellow flowers appeared, it was filling the window.

She’d had to remove all her cacti because she couldn’t get near enough to water them, also to give the huge mass of foliage space to expand.

‘That thing makes the room too dark,’ she complained to her husband. ‘You’ll have to shift it from the window.’

‘I can’t shift it now. Not while it’s in flower.’ He tickled one blossom with a piece of wool and transferred the clinging pollen to another yellow trumpet. He performed this sacred rite every evening, another reason for his wife’s annoyance.

Elizabeth’s dislike for the plant changed to outright resentment. She wasn’t allowed to draw the curtains or close the window, in case she damaged it, and while she was sitting knitting one afternoon, she had the strange sensation that she was not alone in the house. Laying down her needles, she walked all through the downstairs area to make sure that no one had broken in, but saw nothing. She had the same unsettling feeling the following day, and came to the conclusion that it had something to do with the hated tomato plant.

When her husband arrived home that night, she ran to him in great relief. ‘Oh. Henry, I’m glad you’re back! There’s something really fishy about that thing.’

‘Fishy? What thing?’

‘That blasted tomato plant. It gives me the creeps.’

‘For heaven’s sake, Liz, you must be joking.’

He laughed her to shame and carried out his pollination routine reverently, but next day, she was sure that the plant was watching her. Everywhere she went in that room she could sense eyes following her. She couldn’t tell Henry, not after the way he’d laughed at her before, he’d only make a fool of her again. She began to dread going into the lounge where the enormous leafy excrescence overshadowed everything, and started going out by the back door, walking round the house and in by the front door to reach the bathroom and bedrooms.

Every evening, Henry came home and crossed to the window to admire and tickle his plant before going into the kitchen to fill the old plastic container with water and plant food to quench his protege’s insatiable thirst. Only after attending to all its needs, did he deign to speak to his wife, but he did, at last, notice that she was extremely edgy and irritable. ‘What’s up, Liz? You look a bit under the weather.’

‘Nothing’s up!’ she snapped, avoiding his eyes.

‘Oh, come on! I know perfectly well something’s bothering you. What is it?’

‘It’s your damned tomato plant!’

‘Oh, for any sake! I thought you’d got over that silly idea.’

‘It’s not a silly idea. I told you before there was something fishy about it. It’s been watching my every move for days, and …’

‘Oh, Liz!.’ He raised his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation.

‘It has, Henry! And I’m sure it’s evil. It’s planning to do me some harm, I can feel it. It’s - oh, it’s really sinister, just sitting there plotting all day.’

He was astonished at her vehemence. ‘Look darling,’ he began in a soothing tone, ‘you must have been overdoing things lately. You’re run down and beginning to imagine things. I’d better phone the doctor.’

‘I have not been imagining things!’ Elizabeth shouted hysterically. ‘That monster’s just biding its time, then it’s going to do something terrible to me, I know. You don’t understand! It’s different when you’re in the house. That plant’s very clever. It can hide things from you, but I can see right through it. It can’t fool me!’

She buried her face in her hands but allowed her husband to lead her upstairs. She undressed automatically and sank thankfully on to the bed, while Henry went to the telephone in the hall.

Dr Sim rang the doorbell in a little over five minutes. ‘You just caught me,’ he said when Henry let him in. ‘I’d a call to make in Graham Street, but I came here first since it’s on my way. Now, what’s all this about Elizabeth?’

When he heard the whole story, the old doctor shook his head. ‘I’ve never known her to behave like that and I brought her into the world - forty-something years ago, would you believe? She sounds as if she’s bordering on a nervous breakdown, I’m afraid, but I’ll have to check her to find out more.’

In the bedroom, he checked her pulse rate, her heart beat and even under her eyelids, then asked her what was worrying her. Remembering Henry’s reception of her suspicions - more than suspicions - she wouldn’t tell him anything. He could easily cart her off to an asylum. Unwilling to admit that he hadn’t a clue about what was wrong, Dr Sim gave Henry a prescription for tablets, along with instructions to keep her in bed for a week or so.