Thursday’s Child. Helen Forrester

in the Regular Army and had been at Wetherport Barracks for nearly a year before the war broke out. He had been sent to Norway and had been posted as Missing. Bessie waited for further news but none came, and, as she had no children, she enlisted in the Army Territorial Service. I knew she had done very well in the Service, but presumably she had now taken her discharge. I wondered if she had married again. And what was she doing in the company of Negroes? Negroes were an everyday part of my working life – but that was unusual. It was not reasonable to suppose that a woman of Bessie’s station in society would be well acquainted with any – the colour bar still functioned in England quite effectively in respect of Negroes.

      At the end of the second interval, as the audience was surging back to its seats, I was tossed against Bessie, and she smiled at me.

      ‘Who are you with?’ I whispered, nearly dead with curiosity.

      ‘Nigerian chieftains,’ she said. ‘See you tomorrow,’ and she was swept away from me.

      The mystery was beyond me, so I ate James’s chocolates and tried to concentrate on the play.

      James and I walked leisurely home together. The night was clear and there was a sweet smell of rotting leaves in the park. We did not talk much on the way, knowing each other well enough not to have to make conversation. He lingered at our gate and I asked him in.

      ‘No, I – I won’t come in tonight,’ he said.

      He made no move to depart, however, and leaned awkwardly against the gate pillar, his fingers drumming on its dirty, granite sides.

      He said abruptly: ‘Peggie, will you marry me?’

      My mind was on Nigerian chieftains, but the answer came without hesitation, and I surprised myself with the certainty of it.

      ‘No, Jamie,’ I said gently, ‘I can’t.’

      James stopped drumming on the gate pillar and gripped it hard.

      ‘Why not, Peggie? Ah love thee.’

      ‘I know, dear, and I’m sorry.’ I paused, and looked at him in the light of the street lamp. ‘You are so like Barney, Jamie, that I would love you because of the likeness and not because you are you. It would not be fair to you.’

      He stood there, silently biting his lower lip, just as Barney used to when puzzled.

      ‘Ah might’ve guessed it,’ he said at length. ‘Are you sure, Pegs?’ The light-blue eyes gleamed suddenly in the poor light and there was pain in them.

      My resolve faltered; James would make a good husband, I knew. He had a depth of character which Barney had lacked. I looked up at him again. The light was playing tricks with him and it seemed as if Barney was standing there, instead of James; like a tormenting dream, I thought bitterly.

      ‘I can’t, Jamie. You’re the finest man I know – but I can’t marry you – I just can’t.’

      ‘Dawn’t fret yourself, luv. Ah do understand.’ He lifted my chin with one hand, so that the lamplight fell upon my face. His lips were curved with pity. ‘Just remember, that ah’m always around if you want me,’ he said softly. His arm dropped to his side and he turned to go. ‘Good night, Peggie, luv.’

      ‘Good night, Jamie – I’m truly sorry.’

      He looked back at me as I stood by the gate: ‘Ah told thee – dawn’t fret,’ he called as he limped into the darkness.

      I knew I had hurt badly someone who loved me very much, and as I climbed the front steps I reproached myself mercilessly for being so foolish as to see so much of him when I had no intention of marrying him.

      I let myself in. Everybody was in bed, and only the tick of the grandfather clock broke the quietness. On the bottom step of the staircase lay Tomkins, our cat, and I sat down by him and scratched his ears. He stood up, stretched, and leaped up on to my shoulder, to rub himself against my neck. The house seemed so peaceful, so normal, just as it had been since I was a little girl. Only the little girl had grown and changed into a disheartened woman.

      I burst into tears, and Tomkins fled up the stairs.

      A door opened and Angela leaned over the banisters.

      ‘What’s the matter, Peg?’

      ‘Nothing much,’ I whispered, ‘I am all right,’ and I picked up my handbag and went slowly up the stairs.

      Angela was standing in a shaft of light from her bedroom, fairylike in a nylon nightgown, her fair hair tumbling about her shoulders. She looked tired, however, as if she had not slept well for a long time.

      I smiled wanly at her and she followed me into my bedroom.

      ‘You look tired,’ I said.

      ‘Me? Oh, I am blooming. I never did sleep much.’

      ‘Go to bed now – there’s nothing the matter with me – I’m just grizzling – it was nice of you to come, though.’ I caught her by the shoulders and kissed her impulsively. ‘You’re a darling, Angela,’ I said.

      ‘Am I?’ Her lips were tight across her teeth in a wry smile.

      ‘Of course you are. Now go to bed and don’t worry about me.’

      A look of weariness crossed her face. She seemed suddenly much older.

      ‘Sure you’re all right? No more tears?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘I’ll go then. Nighty-night.’ And she trailed across the passage to her own room and quietly shut the door.

      I switched on the electric fire, undressed in front of it and then went to the dressing-table to take the pins from my hair. Although I was shivering a little from the clammy coldness of the big room, I paused to look at the shadowy reflection in the mirror.

      My hair fell thick and brown to my waist. I lacked the courage to bleach it golden as Angela did. Large hazel eyes peered anxiously between the tousled locks.

      ‘You are abominably average,’ I addressed myself. ‘Stock size figure and long legs included.’ I peered closer. ‘What on earth can a man see in that?’

      Tomkins meowed at my feet and I bent to stroke him.

      ‘Tomkins,’ I said, ‘if I was half as beautiful as Angela, I would have married a king – and he would not have had to be killed,’ I added sharply.

      Why, I wondered idly, as I got into bed, had Angela not married? She must meet many scientists in the course of her work – but science is not a lucrative profession, I reminded myself, and Angela is distinctively expensive-looking.

      Tomkins heaved himself on to the bed and settled down in the curve of my knees.

      ‘Tomkins,’ I said, ‘you’d better have some kittens to keep Angela and me company when we grow old – because it doesn’t look as if either of us is destined for matrimony.’

      I turned over and Tomkins meowed protestingly, as if to say that he would if he could.

      ‘Well, find yourself a pretty lady pussy,’ I said drowsily, and fell asleep.

       CHAPTER THREE

      I was still puzzling about Bessie and the Negroes as I walked swiftly through the badly-lit streets, to keep my appointment at 42 Belfrey Street. I felt a subdued excitement at the thought of seeing her again – after all, Bessie belonged to that part of my life which had been sunlit and full of hope, when the war was still a long way off in places like Poland and Norway.

      I had been unable to remember what kind of a club the McShane was, but the moment I walked through its swing doors and a gust of conversation swept round me, I wondered how I could have forgotten.

      Angus McShane,