She's Leaving Home (50 page)

‘There’s your justification, Helen.’ Brenda assumed a magisterial manner. ‘If you follow your parents’ wishes you’ll never get anywhere. Time to take your leave of them. With or without your Michael.’

Helen rose slowly. Her earlier jubilation had vanished. ‘Possibly. Possibly not. I’ll go and tell Miss Plumb about the offer.’

Outside in the corridor she found herself breathing fast. Never before had she admitted to anyone other than Michael himself that her intentions were straying so far beyond the everyday and mundane. With Michael the talk of going away had felt like daydreams, the romantic notions that lovers share; aired with her schoolfriends the flight was in danger of becoming a reality. Decisions would be upon her soon.

Helen halted. She wondered if she were quite as brave as she pretended. When the clash came
she would have to draw on every ounce of her courage. Untested, she had no idea how strong or weak she might be. It would be much easier to give in and respect her parents’ wishes, if only superficially. Most young Jewish kids did precisely that. In time the rebellion dissipated itself. In time they became strictly conventional parents themselves.

Out of the corridor window the sky had silvered; rain threatened. The Mersey’s far shore had disappeared in mist from which the tops of the tallest cranes emerged. Ragged trees in the street below bent tiredly against the wind as their leaves skittered into the gutter. Somebody had vandalised one thin birch which whipped forlornly about. As she watched, a small boy tugged at a broken branch in an effort to dislodge it; defeated, he kicked at the trunk then ran off.

‘A penny for them, Helen?’

‘Miss Plumb. I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you.’

‘That is self-evident.’ The headmistress joined her and gazed out. ‘I must admit, I will miss Blackburne House. On the other hand, it may not be here to miss for much longer.’ The girl turned in surprise. ‘You are leaving –?’

‘Hush. Not announced yet. I was approached in a manner that would enable me to return to my roots in Kent. An independent grammar school. It seemed appropriate for me, as I should wish to retire to that area eventually.’ Miss Plumb’s veiled expression suggested she was not telling the whole story. Helen wondered whether the offer had come quite out of the blue or had been engineered by Miss Plumb herself. Perhaps the teacher had simply applied for a job she had seen advertised? But that would be too prosaic for Miss Plumb. Words must have been exchanged, hints dropped. That was how it was done.

‘About time,’ Miss Plumb elaborated. ‘In the nick of time, I suspect. This school, its brother institution and St Paul’s secondary modern school are to merge as a single comprehensive, if the Council proceeds as proposed. Selective entry will be abolished in this city. You’re the last of a species, my dear. I’m afraid it also leaves little room for the likes of me.’

‘I wish I could understand why they’re doing it.’ Helen traced a finger sadly on the window. ‘This school has meant so much for over a century. I mean, it’s helped people like me most, from ordinary backgrounds, hasn’t it? My parents could never afford fees for private tuition. But selective schools give clever working-class children a serious chance.’

‘Yes: the chance to better themselves, and leave their class behind,’ Miss Plumb translated coolly. ‘That’s why the Philistines mean to destroy us.’

‘But…’ Helen struggled. The teacher waited patiently and did not interrupt. ‘I mean, if I better myself, and can train for work which requires qualifications, everyone’s better off. The most ignorant and ill-educated societies are also the poorest. Aren’t they?’

‘It doesn’t follow, of course, that the wealthiest societies are the most liberal: America proves that,’ Miss Plumb said dryly. ‘But you are correct, Helen. Poverty and democracy make uneasy bedfellows. The richer a nation the more effectively it can both satisfy its people and play its part on the world stage.’ She patted the girl on the shoulder. ‘And you can play your part too.’

‘I hope so.’ The girl showed the envelope. ‘I was on my way to tell you. An offer from Manchester. Honours, chemistry.’

‘Splendid. No more than I would expect. But hang on till Oxbridge. You will be called for examination and interview. Your name has been aired, Helen. Don’t let me down.’

The girl turned away. ‘I’m going to pop into Colette’s tonight on the way from school. To see if – anything’s up. She’s been so peculiar lately.’

The headmistress said nothing for a moment. Then, ‘I feel it ought to be my job: but if I knocked on their door they’d regard that as blatant interference. Better one of her friends. Thank you, Helen: I’m not surprised it’s you.’

The doorbell rang. Colette started, then scrabbled about to hide the exercise book. The bell rang again. Outside it was getting dark. Beyond the balcony starlings and gulls wheeled noisily, seeking roosts for the night. Soon it would be time to cook her father’s supper.

The two girls stared at each other across the threshold.

‘Helen! What on earth are you doing here?’

‘Colette – I wasn’t sure you’d be home –’

‘Well, you’d better come in.’

The flat was dire. There was no other word for it, Helen thought grimly. The fact that it was ten floors up was disorientating and felt unnatural. But the heaps of dirty clothes on the floor over which she had to step, the frow-sty odour of unwashed sheets from the bedrooms, the chill, the stink from the toilet, all announced an ill-kempt home which turned her stomach.

Helen held out the folder. ‘I brought some work you missed.’

‘Thanks.’ Colette led the way into the kitchen which had the advantage of warmth. She took the folder and glanced through it, then pushed away half a loaf and the bread-knife and put it down on the kitchen table amongst the crumbs.

Helen waited. Her stance, solid and dependable, suggested she was not willing to go yet.
Wearily Colette motioned her to a chair but did not offer refreshment.

Helen gestured. ‘Who looks after you here?’

‘I do, when I can. I haven’t been too bright lately so it’s a bit neglected. As you can see I’ll never make the world’s best housewife.’

‘What about your brothers?’

‘Them? Not here much now they’ve both got girlfriends. But if they were they wouldn’t do a stroke. Women’s work, they’d snort. It’s me and my Dad on our own.’ The pinched face turned towards the fluttering above the balcony. ‘You get used to it, you know. When I get totally fed up I talk to the birds.’ Her voice trailed away.

‘You ready to talk to me yet, Colette?’ Helen’s tone was full of concern.

‘I can’t. I’m sorry. I know you think I’m brushing you off. It’s not that way.’

‘Do you need help?’

‘Oh, Christ.’ Colette pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. Helen could see swollen lids as if she had been crying.

‘There’s help available. Nobody wants you to quit school. You’re clever, Colette. You’ll do that homework in half the time it takes the rest of us. You’ll get into college. You can leave this behind and start afresh.’

‘Not any more. My brain has got completely addled. I’m no good for anything.’

‘Don’t talk bilge!’ Helen bit her lip. ‘I may be out of my depth here, Colette, but I sense that something’s going on. I know what it’s like to be leaned on. I know what it’s like to have to keep secrets – my parents don’t know anything about Michael and I’m not going to tell them. Not yet, anyway. I’ve got to approach our Minister to get some ideas sorted out in my own mind first. Is that the kind of problem you’ve got?’

‘Wish it were.’ For the second time, as she had in Lewis’s, Colette refused to meet her friend’s eye. Yet an explanation was owed and both girls knew it.

‘What is happening is too – too bad to tell, and it’s mostly my own fault,’ Colette whispered. ‘I can’t explain – you’ll have to take my word for it. It’s far worse than you and Michael. I don’t think any decent people would believe me. I’m quite sure they wouldn’t accept my version of events, and it’s a ghastly muddle anyhow. So I can’t say anything.’

Helen’s expression showed she was completely mystified. Colette tried again. ‘If I speak it’ll mean my family breaks up and my Dad’ll go to prison. I don’t want that.’

‘Your Dad’s a bit of a bastard, from what you’ve said of him before,’ Helen countered bluntly. ‘You might be better off without him. You wouldn’t be put into a home, you’re past the age. What have you got to lose?’

‘Everything. You don’t understand.’

Helen frowned. ‘You’re right. I don’t. But I’m worried about you, Colette. So are Meg and Brenda at school – well, Brenda is. And Miss Plumb. She wants the best for us.’

‘Miss Plumb?’ Colette snorted, then slumped in her chair. ‘Oh, sure, she wants what’s best for us. But her own little world is so limited, she can’t see an inch beyond it.’ Helen began to demur but Colette waved her away. Her next comments, seemingly disjointed, were spoken in so low a tone that Helen had to strain to hear. ‘He loves me, see, my Dad. Whatever he’s – doing, it’s because he loves me. So I can’t point the finger at him, can I?’

Helen sighed and rose to leave. ‘I bet that means your Dad’s up to no good. Stealing, maybe – or stolen property, though from the state of this flat, if you don’t mind me saying so, precious little money’s found its way back here. I smell criminal action and I don’t like it. But we can’t solve your worries, Colette, if you keep refusing help. Got enough of my own on my plate right now, and that’s the truth.’

‘But – thanks for trying.’

Helen waited, but there was no more. She stepped over a pile of grubby laundry, hesitated, took one more lingering glance about her, and left.

For a while Colette occupied Helen’s thoughts on the bus home. It certainly looked as if the flat were being used for some kind of nefarious activity, which Colette knew about but did not participate in. Given the casual attitude of her relatives to legality it could be almost anything; the fact that Christmas was soon suggested that a lorry hijack might be in the offing, with cartons of drink and cigarettes to be stored in the bedrooms until they could be offloaded in local pubs. Colette could have been blackmailed into acquiescence – relatively easily, Helen reckoned grimly, since she would accept the prevailing attitudes towards a sneak. Perhaps the theft had already occurred, in which case inviting Helen inside was a considerable risk. So probably not: whatever was on the O’Brien agenda was still in the future.

It wasn’t man trouble. That was the easiest thing in the world to share with your mates. Helen had allowed her friends to grasp that she and Michael were intimate, and that it was wonderful, but had drawn a veil over the details. It meant, however, that she would have been a suitable recipient for confidences about sex – if someone were plaguing Colette, for example, or if the girl had a crush on a bloke. Yet when the straight question was put Colette had declared that she had no boyfriend and Helen saw no reason to doubt her statement.

Nor could it simply be worries about school. Colette knew how smart she was. In any discussion, her originality and discernment drew astonished comments from both friends and teachers. When she was ignorant she would know it, and say so, and absorb the missing information rapidly without need of repetition. She was cleverer than Helen and hit the mark more often and more accurately. She was also modest, and generous with her own understanding.

Yet the pressures on her were to fail. Brenda had commented shrewdly. Most girls didn’t bother to stay on, let alone go to college; though at age eleven they were as able as boys, sometimes more so, by school-leaving age of fifteen they had slipped far back and evinced no further interest in education. Girls would claim they couldn’t see the point since success for their sex meant the catch of a suitable husband, as if he were a fish on a line. That resulted, as Helen’s mother often muttered, in a belief that clever girls – openly clever girls – were at a big disadvantage. The image of an intelligent woman was – was rather like Miss Plumb: condemned to be single, considered to be sexless, repellent to men who in the end ruled the world.