Miss Carter's War (26 page)

He looked bewildered.

‘No, I can’t believe that. It’s absurd. Surely no enlightened education authority could be influenced by the predilection of one or two officials. Because that’s what it is. Most of them have never been near the school. They couldn’t close it on the evidence of a lot of tittle-tattle, could they?’

‘We must stand up to them.’

Duane looked exhausted.

‘I’ll try. But the opposers are as fanatical as I am. They are deeply religious and puritanical, and I am anathema to them, with my humanist assemblies, and sex-education lessons, and, in their eyes, lack of discipline. They mean well. They think I am dangerous. Perhaps I am. People with a mission often are.’ He looked at her. ‘I recognise the same reforming zeal in you, Marguerite.’

‘Tony calls it my Messiah complex.’

‘It’s a sort of conceit, really. We think we are right, and want to change things to our way. That can lead to terrible things. Hitler thought he was right. So did Stalin.’

‘I don’t think we are quite in their class.’

He poured her a glass of whisky, and topped up his own.

‘Do you know what drives me?’

‘No, I sometimes wonder how you keep going, though.’

‘I’ll tell you something. I was amongst the first troops into Buchenwald concentration camp. It was not just the horror of what we found there – Jesus Christ, such horror – but my own behaviour. Such was my rage I stood by and allowed – watched – relished further atrocities, carried out by my troops in retribution.’

The man hung by his neck from one lamp-post, the woman by her feet from another, her skirt falling back mercifully to hide her tortured face, but much to the delight of the children, displaying her soiled underwear. Marguerite recognises the bloated purple face as Marc, the member of the Milice who had hit Antoine with his gun as he sent him to his death. And she is glad he has suffered.

‘It was the depth of human degradation all round. The worst of what we are capable of. So I wanted to cultivate the best in our young. I crave a better, gentler world.’

Marguerite thought it best to stay silent. There was a long pause.

‘Forgive me, Marguerite. I have never talked about this before. Even to my wife. But I believe you will understand, from things Tony has hinted at in your past.’

‘I do,’ said Marguerite, continuing quickly. ‘We will fight back. Make them realise how good the school has become. You said a lot of them haven’t even visited. I have an idea that I would like to pursue. I have been wanting to do a school play for some time. As part of our propaganda offensive, let’s invite all the critical bastards and show them what we can do.’

He smiled.

‘You’re right. I have been being too defensive. We need to make them see what it’s really like here. A school play would be a good start. Thank you. “We shall overcome”, eh?’

Marguerite felt her old optimism flooding back.

‘Yes. We shall. We bloody well shall.’

Chapter 26

The atmosphere at school was uncomfortable. The staff were keeping a low profile lest supporting Duane should jeopardise future employment were the school really to close. At work Marguerite leant on Tony, who was as determined as she to see off the backstabbers. What little free time she had, she now spent with Jimmy.

Tony was not upset by this.

‘I’m delighted for you, Mags. I was so worried that I was in the way of your having a relationship.’

That relationship continued to be a delight and distraction to Marguerite. Jimmy expressed little interest in her work, allowing her to forget about it whilst she was with him, which was a blessed relief. They had good times together. He was not as amusing as Tony, but he was attentive, and the sex was wonderful. Finding places to make love was sometimes a problem. Jimmy had just given up a flat, and not found another, so he was staying with various friends, and occasionally stayed overnight with Marguerite. He was welcomed at the pub, and would often drink with the locals, but her room was not a perfect setting for romance. The owner of the sumptuous house in Brighton had a second in Eaton Square, which they occasionally visited.

Marguerite always felt slightly uneasy about using the house of someone she’d never met, as, putting it politely, a love nest, but Jimmy was very relaxed about it.

‘She likes me to enjoy the houses. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.’

‘But would she mind you bringing a girlfriend here?’

‘She’d be delighted that I had found someone as wonderful as you.’

‘But would she—?’

‘Shut up about her and give us a kiss.’

Which was how Jimmy always successfully diverted her from conversations that annoyed or bored him. Such was Marguerite’s hunger for his lovemaking, it was a successful strategy.

She discussed her affaire de coeur with Tony.

‘We don’t talk about anything very important. Although he is so passionate in bed, he doesn’t show much emotion about other things. It’s odd.’

‘Give it time, Mags. Men are not so heart-on-sleeve as you girlies.’

‘You are.’

‘Yes, but I’m gay. Oh. That’s the new word for us, by the way.’

‘Gay? How strange. Why?’

‘Well, some people think it stands for “good as you”, but I prefer to think it’s because we are rather jolly.’

‘You are, my darling, you are. But you are also serious sometimes. He isn’t. Except when we first met. He got drunk, and was genuinely upset about his wartime experience then, but he’s never talked about it since.’

‘Well, neither do you, Mags. Nor do a lot of people. We prefer to forget it, and move on.’

She thought of Duane.

‘True. But I don’t know what he believes in, or what he wants out of life.’

Tony gave her a hug.

‘Don’t be so intense. Just relax and enjoy it. He sounds a nice enough bloke, and he’s obviously besotted with you. As well he might be, lucky chap. Have a bit of fun, Mags. God knows it’s grim at work.’

Actually, despite all the anxiety about the future, Marguerite was enjoying herself devising the school play. It was loosely based on the Nativity story, as it was to be performed at Christmas, and Marguerite thought it might be a good idea to counterbalance Duane’s humanism that so disturbed some of the school board. The theme was the bringing of gifts to the infant Jesus. There were two babies due to be born to parents about that time, one Muslim Indian, the other Chinese, and whichever arrived in time would be the real live Christ child. The gifts would be performances of songs, dances, poems from the country of origin of all the various ethnic groups in the school.

For weeks the children made props and rehearsed in corners. Afro-Caribbean parents supervised the making of steel drums in craft lessons. The art department constructed and painted sets, Tony was arranging an acrobatic display, and for safety’s sake, the children had to be restrained from cartwheeling in the corridors. Anything the children suggested was considered. Timothy, after his triumph in recitation class, wanted, with the help of his kindly classmates, to give Baby Jesus all the animals in Old Macdonald’s Farm, which Marguerite agreed was a lovely present for a baby in a stable. She suggested they could get the whole audience to join in the singing, hoping against hope that it would include the sniffy inspector. The only idea she rejected was Ahmed’s proposal of a performing elephant.

The play’s organisation took up all her breaks and evenings. Jimmy began to be fretful at her neglect of him. In the pub one night after hours, he suggested they went to spend the night at Eaton Square, as it was Saturday the next day.

‘Sorry, no, I’ve got a rehearsal.’

‘On Saturday? I never bloody see you. You care more about those snotty-nosed kids than you do about me. Sorry. I’m just jealous, because I want you to myself.’

‘Well, that’s sweet of you but it’s just not possible at the moment. This is important.’

‘And I’m not?’

Florrie and Bob had stopped chattering as they cleared up behind the bar.

‘You’re being silly.’

‘I’m not one of your sodding kids. Don’t patronise me.’

Jimmy downed his whisky.

‘I’m off. I’m sure you have marking, or making costumes, or something else to do. I don’t want to be in your way. Night, Bob – Flo.’

And he was gone.

Florrie came over to where Marguerite was sitting, carrying a brandy.

‘Here, get this down you. Mind if I say something?’

‘No.’

‘Be careful. I know you love your job, but you should look after your man. That’s what women do. They have to come first. You don’t want to be an old maid, duckie, do you?’

Marguerite didn’t see much point in quoting Simone de Beauvoir to Florrie. Anyway, the author’s battle-cry about women’s rights hadn’t seemed to bring Sartre’s mistress much joy; just an unfaithful, sometimes cruel, lover, and dodgy relationships with underage girls. Perhaps Florrie and the majority of women, all of whom thought the same, were cleverer than that revered intellectual. Not that Jimmy had talked about marriage, indeed not even about love, but the possibility was there, which was more than she’d had before she met him.

Florrie persisted, ‘I don’t want to intrude, duckie, but what about kids of your own? I know you love your pupils but it’s not the same. My two boys have been the joy of my life and now I’m looking forward to being a grandma. You’ll miss out on all of that if you’re not careful.’

‘I think I already have, Flo. But honestly it doesn’t worry me. There’s probably something wrong with me that I don’t yearn for babies but I made the choice a long time ago to focus on other things.’

‘That’s sad. It’s not too late to change your mind.’

‘Yes it is. I told you before, I loved a man once with all my heart. He was the only one I could have imagined creating a family with but I had this crazy vision of being part of something bigger.’

‘Bigger than love?’

‘Another form of love, I suppose. Love of humanity. Oh God! That sounds so pretentious, I’m sorry.’

Florrie wouldn’t give up.

‘OK, but let’s get down to brass tacks. What about sex? Even you need a bit of that now and again. But you have to make an effort. You don’t want to lose him, do you, pet?’

Marguerite thought of his grin, his hands, above all his expert Skylarking.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t.’

‘Well, get on that phone, and say sorry, there’s a good girl.’

‘I can’t.’

‘All right. Don’t say sorry but just talk to him. You would if he was one of your stroppy kids.’

‘Touché.’

Marguerite gave Jimmy time to get somewhere, and then phoned Stan to see if he knew which friend he might be staying with that night.

‘Sorry, miss. We’ve had a bit of a falling-out over something.’

‘No, Stan. That’s awful. What?’

‘I think it’s partly to do with me having found a girl. We’re going to get married. Jimmy and me have been muckers since the war, and maybe I’ve left him out a bit since I found Alison. I feel bad about it. But there are other things too – and I’m afraid my girlfriend doesn’t approve of him.’

Suddenly Marguerite understood. No wonder Jimmy was so upset. His best friend had deserted him and then her. She felt guilty. She resolved to track him down even though it was now the small hours of the morning. Starting at Eaton Square.

She rang the bell several times on the shiny black door. Then she nervously tried using the big lion’s head knocker, which she thought might be only for decoration. She was about to leave when the door slowly opened and a bedraggled Jimmy peered out.

Squinting, he said, ‘Christ, it’s you.’

‘No, only me, I’m afraid.’

He stared at her through red-rimmed eyes. He was wearing only underpants. and a gaping woman’s kimono-style dressing gown.

‘Can I come in?’

He clung to the door as he opened it.

‘What time is it?’ he asked.

‘Ten past two.’

He looked puzzled.

‘In the afternoon?’

‘No, morning.’

‘I’ve had a bit of a skinful.’

‘You surprise me.’

‘It’s your fault. I thought I’d lost you.’

‘Well, here I am.’

‘Oh I’m so glad. I want to make love to you but I know I stink.’

Without his customary panache he looked pathetic. She felt truly sorry for him.

‘Well, how about a shower?’

She stumbles into the bar in Sault. Marcel rushes towards her. ‘You got away. Thank God.’ She collapses, sobbing, shuddering. He lifts her into his arms and carries her upstairs. He lays her on the bed. As she sinks into the feather mattress, trembling, eyes wide, remembering, speechless, he fetches a basin of warm water and, gently, oh so gently, bathes the blood and filth from her face.

She guided Jimmy up to the bathroom and, as he stood limp and helpless, she disrobed him of his ridiculous pink satin dressing gown and grubby pants. She turned on the shower, took off her own clothes and got in with him. She washed him all over in the perfumed gel hanging on the tap.