a Breed of Women (16 page)

Her feet were light, and her head had cleared and there didn’t seem to be anyone else there at all, but when they stopped there was a round of applause and she saw people everywhere. Standing amongst them was Dick, clutching a plate of chicken.

She let go of Denny and hurried over to him.

‘I’m sorry. Please forgive me, it was terribly rude.’

‘I’m glad you had a good partner. You’re really a very good dancer, aren’t you?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe. I’ve hardly ever danced before, but when I do it’s like I forget myself. It’s beautiful, like flying.’

‘Denny’s a nice bloke. Plays good scrum half too.’

‘Hasn’t he got a partner?’

‘Never know with Denny, he’s the sort that could get away with coming on his own. I couldn’t’ He stared round unhappily. To please him, Harriet took the piece of chicken he’d been clutching.

‘Tell you what,’ said Dick, inspired. ‘Now everyone’s out of the supper room, it’ll be empty. We could go back in there.’

‘All right,’ she agreed, and followed him once more into the other
room. It looked as if dreadful carnage had taken place, being littered with chicken bones and squashed oozing pavlova remains. A decorated pig’s head grinned obscenely from the middle of a table and in a corner of the room lay a pile of broken glass.

They sat down. Dick watched her with concern. He really was a very nice boy Harriet decided, not as plain as she had thought at first. His complexion was poor and he had too much Brylcreem in his fair curly hair, but apart from that, he was someone you could really like.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Honestly, Dick, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.’

‘It’s not that,’ said Dick. ‘It’s just that Denny’s — Denny.’

‘What about it?’

‘He liked you and you liked him. I could see it.’

‘Well, I’m not going to walk out on you.’

‘I wouldn’t blame you if you did. But don’t you see, you’re a nice girl and if Denny … oh, I dunno. What’s the use?’

‘You mean because he’s a Maori?’

‘He’s a good joker, I told you. But he goes out after what he wants.’

‘But that’s not what you meant.’

‘Look, Harriet, I don’t care what he is, it’s just that if you got tied up with him, I reckon you could be in a lot of trouble.’

‘That’s stupid,’ cried Harriet. ‘All I did was dance with him. You are jealous, aren’t you? You’re a miserable little sod. You sit around making stupid talk all evening when everyone else is dancing, then you throw a shitty at me when I get the only decent partner I’ve had all night.’

Dick looked as if he could cry. ‘I-I-I think y-you’re a b-bit drunk,’ he said.

Her head was spinning. She kept trying to sit up straight but great black wells kept getting in front of her eyes.

‘Dick, you’re not stupid,’ she mumbled.

She didn’t remember getting into the fresh air, but when her head started to clear she was propped against the Standard Ten while Dick unlocked the door. He shovelled her into it, and they drove off in silence. When he stopped at the lake, she could feel herself coming to life again very quickly.

‘So that’s what happens is it? I know why people come down here. Believe me, I’ve been told about you lot No, thanks.’ She tried to open the door but Dick grabbed her wrist in a tight grip, his hands much stronger than she had expected.

‘Stop it, Harriet. I’m not going to hurt you.’

‘I’d rather walk.’

‘I’m not going to touch you. I just want you to sit here with me for a while. Chas lent me the car to take you home, but it’s too early for you to go home to that cousin, or aunt, or whatever she is, of yours, just yet. Especially when you’re not feeling yourself. Come on, let’s just sit here till you’re feeling better. I won’t even talk to you if you’d rather not.’

‘Please, I’d like you to talk to me,’ she said. There didn’t seem to be any point in saying she was sorry any more.

So they sat and he talked about his dreams. He told her what it was like to want to leave Weyville, and how he’d dreamed of becoming an engineer, but it would have meant going away to university and his parents didn’t have the money so he’d taken out a boilermaker’s apprenticeship. Nothing ever seemed to fulfil him. He was
twenty-five
, he told her. She was shocked because he seemed so young, but he was a man. Playing football with the Rovers was the only thing that had kept him sane. He’d at least liked to have had a car, but he’d just kept on helping out with the family finances year after year; there was a great horde of younger brothers and sisters to look after.

People like Chas helped him out by jacking up dates like this for him. He was from the wrong side of the Weyville tracks, but he was a good footballer and the jokers liked him for that. He didn’t know how many blind dates they’d jacked up for him over the years and always kept hoping that one of them would turn out right for him, someone plain and homely who wouldn’t ask too much. He’d been disappointed when she turned out to be a smasher tonight; he’d known that she wouldn’t like him.

‘But I do like you,’ protested Harriet. It was true too. She felt warm and secure with Dick, not afraid. The possibility that one might actually be friends with a male occurred to her for the first time.

He explained seriously that she had everything going for her — looks, a good job by Weyville standards and she talked ‘nice’. That was why he’d been upset when she saw him looking at Denny like that.

‘I’ll probably never see him again,’ Harriet assured him, but neither of them believed it.

When he dropped her off at home, he said, ‘If you need someone any time, I’ll be around.’

That was when the double life began. Denny waited for her outside
work a few days later. He led her to a battered pick-up truck, not expecting her to protest. As they climbed in, there was a feeling of inevitability between them.

Dark fell early in Weyville these deep winter nights. The frost had hardened across the plateau town as the lights flickered on. Lake water slapped with a dead empty sound outside the pick-up as they parked. Dark pressed deeper in.

Dark his face as he kissed her, deep his hand finding her. He lifted her body with its melting cunt across his, her buttocks resting on the seat, her legs tucked up against his shoulders. There was no pain at all this time, as he pulled her onto him. This miracle made her gasp with pleasure, and she felt herself like floating as she moved, pulling herself onto the strong shaft inside her.

Suddenly he was clawing at her thighs, trying to push her away as a great tide engulfed her. Bewildered she lay against his chest, feeling their sobbing breaths.

‘Girlie,’ he whispered, ‘do you always come like that? How can I be careful for you when you keep on coming at me like that?’

She shook her head uncomprehendingly.

‘I shot inside you,’ he whispered. ‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t keep it back no more.’

She understood him now. ‘Please do it again.’

‘But I told you …’

‘There’ll be so much up there now a bit more won’t make much difference, will it?’

So he laid her across the seat, and this time it was slower and more gentle. Still she heard herself calling his name, listening to it as if someone else was crying out in the still cold dark.

When they had finished he said, worried, ‘They say if you have a
mimi
it’ll wash it out. You know, pee.’

She hesitated, and he said, ‘It’s all right, you can do it on the ground here by the cab door. I’ll hold it open so no one can see if they come.’

Harriet squatted on the ground beside the truck. They could dimly see each other as she streamed, hot and pungent, making the crisp grass crackle as her water hit.

‘We’ll have to get some Frenchies, eh?’ he said when she was back in the truck.

She nodded.

‘That’s if you’re going to keep on with me.’ He laughed, knowing that he didn’t need an answer.

Leonie and Harriet met for lunch as usual the following day at the tearooms. There was quiet between them. Since the night of the ball and Harriet’s sudden departure, they seemed to have been living in two private little worlds. Harriet had gathered that Chas, although an attractive-looking catch and one of the most popular young men in Weyville, was domineering and expected his own way. Leonie liked him well enough to want to go out with him again, but the evening had ended with a tussle and a fit of sulks on Chas’s part. A lot of it wouldn’t have happened, Leonie seemed to imply, if Harriet and Dick hadn’t been away so long with the car and they could have gone home before Chas became unmanageably drunk. Harriet’s version of what Dick had done for her and why seemed to satisfy her, however. Denny’s name was not mentioned.

Now Leonie looked at Harriet shrewdly across the gingham tablecloth. Harriet was fiddling with an egg sandwich.

‘Your eyes look a bit heavy, kid,’ she said.

‘I didn’t sleep very well last night.’

‘Something on your mind?’

‘I — went out with Denny Rei last night.’

‘Ah,’ said Leonie softly. ‘And he fucked you.’

Harriet nodded.

‘God, why did you let him? If anyone found out — are you okay?’

‘Of course I’m okay,’ said Harriet sharply. ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

‘Well,’ said Leonie. ‘Okay, then. It’s a bit different from the first time, is it?’

‘It was beautiful,’ said Harriet. ‘It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever done. Nobody ever told me it was lovely.’

Leonie closed her eyes. ‘Oh Christ, Harriet, what are you doing?’

‘I love him. Don’t you see? I want him inside me, right now. This minute. I’m seeing him tonight. Anything as nice as that can’t be wrong, Leonie.’

‘Black babies,’ spat Leonie at her across the table, like an obscenity.

‘That’s prejudiced.’

‘Sure, it’s prejudiced. You’ll have to learn to live with it if you keep on like that.’

Leonie got up and walked out of the tearoom. After a moment Harriet, filled with weeping, followed her out into the street. Already Leonie was striding away, rounding into the next block. Harriet
started to run, calling her. Leonie slowed down only imperceptibly as she caught her up, her face stone.

‘Why? Why, Leonie?’ said Harriet, pulling at her elbow.

Leonie stopped in the middle of the street. ‘How could you? Don’t you know what you’re doing to yourself?’

‘Do you feel that strongly against him?’

Leonie shook her head in wonder. ‘I don’t have anything against
him
,
you silly bitch. I’ve got something for
you.
You’re the first real friend I’ve ever had in my life, don’t you understand that?’

‘It’s the same for me,’ said Harriet.

‘Then don’t you care that I’m scared silly for you? You go with him, you get pregnant, you’ve had it, you give away everything. Weyville won’t wear it, and you’ve got a future in Weyville. God knows, it’s a hard place to have a future in, but you’re making it. Oh yes, I know, you think I’m up myself because I got you that job, well sure I’m proud I did, but I haven’t done any of the work that you’re putting into it. Don’t worry, I hear plenty about you in the bookshop. People like you — that new girl at the library, they say, she’s great. I talk to Mr Whitwell, he hasn’t forgotten me, but you’re the one that’s tops. She’ll make it, that one, that’s what he says, you put me onto something first class there. She’s got a good mind, can sense books, I’ll put her on buying soon; that’s what Mr Whitwell says. God, we know at the shop, no assistant at the library’s ever been allowed to buy a book. He does all the buying, always has. But you … you’ve been there six months and you’re whizzing to the top. Where do you think you’d stand in Weyville if you dropped that lot on yourself?’

‘He said he’d look after me,’ said Harriet, hanging her head. ‘He said he’d get things so nothing’d happen to me. Honestly Leonie, he was really upset last night because … he hadn’t taken care of me properly. It’ll be all right, nothing’ll happen, you see.’

Leonie impulsively slipped her arm through Harriet’s.

‘Oh, Harriet,’ she said softly, ‘You are a mess, aren’t you? What am I going to do with you?’

She and Harriet had reached the seat under the war memorial, where they had sat on the day of their first meeting. They sat down together. Harriet started to cry in great anguished sobs. Leonie, who was not a weeper, sat observing, saying nothing.

Finally she said, ‘All right, all right, that’s enough of that. I guess we’re just going to have to see you through it if that’s the way it is.’

‘Dick said he’d always be around if things got tricky.’

‘You mean about Denny?’ As Harriet nodded, Leonie said, ‘Wow, you really have moved things along, haven’t you? All right then, just promise me that we’ll keep it between ourselves. When you’ve got it out of your system, it won’t have done any harm.’

Harriet snuffled into her handkerchief, wiping her eyes.

‘Hey?’ said Leonie.

‘Yes?’

‘Is it really nice?’

‘Yep.’

‘Lucky old you. I’m tempted to try it again.’

Eventually she did, without such good luck. Despite numerous conscientious efforts, Leonie seemed doomed to failure in this department.

The football club became the centre of both girls’ lives. Every Saturday saw them bundled up in heavy coats on the sidelines, cheering themselves hoarse for the Rovers, and in the evenings they would go on to a party, almost invariably at an old house where three of the boys, including Denny, lived together. Dick took to calling at Cousin Alice’s house often enough for it to appear that he and Harriet were keeping company.

He was not really suitable from Cousin Alice’s point of view, but she seemed to sense in Harriet a lack of any great interest, and on the odd occasion that she had queried her about the seriousness of the relationship, Harriet’s light-hearted answers reassured her. The ball season was nearly over; Dick only called once as if he were taking her out Having deposited her in Denny’s pick-up, he then carried on to the latest of Chas’s unsuitable arrangements. Chas was not a permanent fixture in Leonie’s life and her boyfriends varied, but they were always Rovers.

So the winter lengthened into spring, and the double life continued. It was almost a triple life, for Harriet had another secret inner life developing, which only she and Mr Whitwell knew about. They both loved poetry, and Mr Whitwell would take her aside almost daily to air a new book, a new poem, or even a line he had discovered; she rewarded him with similar gifts. She was reminded of the long-ago teacher who had read to her in the school shed. Every now and then, she wondered why she and Mr Whitwell had to make such a secret of it, and the thought must have occurred to Mr Whitwell too. He said as much one day, when he had called her into his office on the pretext of going over one of her papers to go off to
library school, and then flourished a book of Robert Graves under her nose. ‘Read “Star Talk”, my dear. Go on, go on, read it, it’s all about the stars, and goodness knows you’ve got enough of those in your eyes these days.’