Charity (22 page)

‘Don’t cry.’ He wiped the tears away and kissed her nose. ‘It isn’t that I’m not proud of you. Just that I don’t want them making life difficult for us. You do understand, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’ She bit back the tears, loving him still more because he had been so diplomatic. She must get a good job, develop a patina of sophistication, become like Tania and Charlotte, the student waitresses at the pub who spoke of riding, balls and ‘drinkies’, before she was presented to the Mainwarings.

Charity rolled over until she was on top of him. She knew that scenes now wouldn’t help either of them. She had to convince him first that she was the only one for him. His parents she’d work on later.

‘We’ve got lots of fun ahead too,’ she smiled down at him.

She memorised every last thing about the cottage, as she got her things together. The smells, the feels, the sounds. The aroma of ground coffee, sheets damp with lovemaking, the perfume from the jasmine outside the door and even the grass. The sounds of birds, Chuck Berry records. She would see in her mind’s eye for ever the dahlias in the garden, the white picket fence and the gleam of sunshine on old pine furniture. She would feel the wind in her hair as they rode their bikes, and moss under their feet in the woods. Relive the sensation of cool night breezes on passion-heated bodies. Remember how it felt to wake and and find him looking at her with lazy deep blue eyes.

Hugh wanted her to get a taxi back to school, but she insisted on riding the bike. He and Rob packed a box with the new clothes Hugh had bought her on a trip to Brighton and tied it firmly to the carrier on the back.

The earlier rain had cooled the air and brightened the flowers in the garden. The lane was full of puddles and the air smelt of wet grass. Across the meadow the red tiles on Robert’s home stood out behind the dark green trees, but the sky was as grey and sad as she felt.

‘Hugh’s a lucky chap,’ Rob said quietly as Hugh went back into the cottage to collect the sponge bag she’d forgotten. He held the handlebars of her bike and his eyes couldn’t quite meet hers. He looked far better now than a month ago. Sun had almost banished his acne, he had a sturdier appearance and a more confident air.

Charity had become aware how Rob felt about her, ever since he’d come back from his grandmother’s and discovered Hugh and her in bed together. His bleak expression in the days that followed made it clear he’d had a crush on her for some time. She’d tried to include him as before, but it hadn’t really worked. He worked longer hours and backed away from picnics and bike rides with her and Hugh.

‘He’s lucky to have a friend like you, certainly.’ She smiled, reaching out to touch his face. She would miss him too, all those chats about books, her brothers and sister and his time at school. Hugh was her love, but Rob had become her closest friend and now they were parting she wished she could tell him that. ‘Thank you for letting me stay, Rob. I hope I didn’t spoil things for you?’

‘You made the holiday.’ He smiled but his eyes looked sad. ‘Hugh would’ve picked on me the whole time without you. Maybe if things work out for you in Oxford you could both come down at Christmas?’

Rob didn’t share Hugh’s confidence that it would all work out for them. His own mother might understand, but Clarissa Mainwaring was a calculating, heartless woman and if she suspected her son had left his heart in the hands of a girl she’d consider ‘common’, she would find a way to spoil it. Loyalty to Hugh wouldn’t allow Rob to speak of this; he didn’t even dare suggest Charity kept in touch with him in case it was seen as trying to muscle in on her.

‘Good luck with university.’ Charity managed a wobbly smile for Rob. ‘Find yourself a nice girlfriend and have fun.’

Rob could barely meet her eyes. She was the first person he’d ever felt this close to and he wished more than anything that she loved him. Hugh might be stronger in most ways, but if Rob had a girl like Charity, nothing and no one would stop him taking care of her.

‘Don’t you forget all those ambitions.’ Rob forced himself to use a light tone. ‘A good job, getting your family back together again. And don’t let that pig of an uncle wear you down.’

Hugh rode with her most of the way, but they were silent, wrapped in sadness.

‘I’ll think of you every night,’ Charity said at the crossroads where they’d agreed to part. ‘Promise me you won’t forget me?’

His last kiss was so painful. She felt no passion; tenderness and sorrow had taken its place. Clinging to him desperately, she wished she had the words to say what she felt.

He was still standing by the crossroads when she took the final bend out of sight. She stopped and waved, soaking up the way he looked. His legs like mahogany, his teeth flashing white against his brown face as he smiled. One hand to his lips, blowing a kiss.

It was such an odd sensation being back at school. Only this time last year she’d been a frightened child thrown into an adult world. Frightened of Miss Hawkins, intimidated by the size of dormitories and classrooms. Now she was a woman, showing a new girl how to hang curtains and polish floors ready for the boys’ arrival.

Mrs Cod was a little cool with her, perhaps waiting for a more complete explanation as to where she’d been. But Charity didn’t care. Her mind was on Hugh and she was counting the days until his first letter would arrive.

It was rather disappointing, although he had enclosed some photographs he’d taken at the cottage. He recalled some of the times they’d shared, reassured her he would help her find a flat in Oxford, and that he missed her badly. But if he shared the almost unbearable desperation she felt at being apart, he didn’t say.

The boys arrived back at school. The new ones looked so small and frightened that Charity’s heart went out to them. Sometimes in the morning when she saw Matron with an armful of wet sheets it was a reminder of Toby and how even now he was going through the same trauma at Wellington College.

It was a whole year now since she had last seen Toby and Prue. Although Lou reported Prue had made friends locally and was having music and dancing lessons, and that Toby couldn’t wait to get to Wellington, her letter too seemed to lack something. What exactly did she mean when she said ‘You need have no fear about Toby and Prue. They are more in danger of being spoiled than of being neglected’? The remarks about Prue being ‘a little madam’ and Toby running rings round his uncle held a tone of disapproval and perhaps anxiety. Lou said she had made no headway regarding Charity’s position. Stephen maintained he’d given her the same opportunities as the other children and he didn’t want her undermining his authority now.

But although this letter wasn’t encouraging, Charity was able to accept it. If she found a job in Oxford it might be possible to see Toby and Prue in secret. Daydreams of finding a little flat and making it pretty filled the long working days and at night-time she could imagine cooking meals for Hugh, and cosy nights by a fire.

To fill the lonely evenings, Charity turned to writing. Hugh had asked her not to write often because too many letters would make his mother suspicious. So instead she wrote stories. Some were fantasy, projecting her experiences into what she’d like to happen, some were reminiscences of the holiday. She bought a large notepad, with the idea that she could store them away for the future, when she could look back and laugh about these fears, hopes and feelings.

The diary Uncle Geoff gave her was of some help, although there were only scanty entries in August; it was while leafing through it that she found an entry on the third of August.

‘Bad tummy ache. Hugh keeps asking what’s wrong, but how do you explain that to a boy?’

Charity kept looking at it, a sick feeling welling up in her stomach. She remembered exactly what that tummy ache was caused by – it had been her last period. She counted the days feverishly on a calendar. However hard she tried not to be alarmed, she was ten days late!

Common sense told her she needn’t worry. Her cycle had never been very regular and anyway Hugh had used Durex every time, except for that first time at the pool. An article in a magazine claimed that any unusual excitement or upheaval could delay a period … but still it niggled at her like a toothache.

She wrote to Hugh as usual, but didn’t mention it. They had agreed she mustn’t write anything too personal for fear of his mother reading it, and anyway she was sure she would start her period any day.

But the days crept by and still nothing happened. Sometimes she woke in the night with a tummy ache, jumped out of bed – but it was always a false alarm.

The leaves on the trees were slowly turning gold. In the morning and evening there was a nip in the air and at times heavy rain lashed down for days. But Charity barely noticed the passing of summer as her anxiety grew.

Hugh’s letters were becoming shorter and further apart. Was that because he’d stopped thinking of her, or was he busy studying? She stopped counting the days, and turned instead to weeks. Two weeks late, three, and then four. Hugh must be busy getting ready for Oxford because she hadn’t had a letter for over a week. She couldn’t really be pregnant, could she?

‘What’s up love?’ Mrs Cod called from the kitchen as Charity ran out into the scullery as they were preparing breakfast. ‘Are you ill?’

Charity didn’t answer. She held on to the sink so hard her knuckles were while. It was the smell of the grilling bacon, and any minute she was going to be sick.

Taking deep breaths helped. The feeling of nausea stayed, but it went no further. She had beads of perspiration on her forehead yet she was shivering, and then she remembered how the women had been discussing pregnancy one day and the subject of morning sickness had come up.

‘I couldn’t abide the smell of meat,’ Pat had said. ‘I could eat it once it was cooked, but the smell of it raw turned my stomach. And tea! I couldn’t keep it down. Drank nothing but water till I was seven months gone.’

Janice said it was eggs that made her bad, but it was Mrs Cod who couldn’t bear the smell of bacon.

‘Charity!’ Mrs Cod’s big hand touched her shoulder. ‘What’s wrong? This isn’t like you. You’re as white as a sheet.’

‘A tummy upset.’ Charity managed a weak smile. ‘I had a pain in the night and it’s just come back.’

‘You’d better go and lie down then,’ she said. ‘Go on, I can manage.’

Lying on her bed Charity faced up to what was happening.

She was five weeks overdue and that attack downstairs had been morning sickness, however much she hoped otherwise. Now she thought about it, her breasts were tender, something she remembered her mother complaining about when she was expecting James.

The prospect was too awful to contemplate. If she confided in anyone it would soon get back to Miss Hawkins and she knew she’d get the sack immediately.

She got off the bed and went over to the window. The big chestnut tree at the bottom of the playing field was shaking in the wind, golden leaves fluttering down like scraps of paper from a bonfire. A group of boys in shorts and singlets running round the grounds reminded her sharply of Hugh.

‘Just keep calm,’ she told herself as she turned away and opened the drawer to take out her writing paper. ‘You aren’t the first girl in the world to get pregnant out of marriage, and he loves you.’

Chapter Ten

‘There’s a letter for you, Charity,’ Mrs Cod yelled over the roar of the potato peeler.

Charity’s heart leapt. She dropped the porridge pan she was scouring into the sink with a clatter and ran into the kitchen, tearing off her rubber gloves.

‘A boyfriend?’ Pat enquired, her long face bright with curiosity as she peeled apples for pies.

‘It’s over there!’ Mrs Cod nodded her head in the direction of a work surface by the door. She was rolling out pastry on the table, her red face frosted with flour. ‘Miss Hawkins brought it in.’

Charity snatched up the familiar blue envelope.

‘Aren’t we going to hear who it’s from?’ Mrs Cod asked as Charity disappeared back into the scullery.

‘She don’t share anything with us these days,’ Pat said teasingly. ‘Our little Swot’s got herself a fella!’

Although Charity heard the women’s familiar banter her mind was only on Hugh’s handwriting. Trembling with excitement she pulled out the single sheet of paper and leaned back against the sink.

But as her eyes scanned the lines, her legs seemed to turn to jelly and an involuntary gasp of horror escaped from her lips.

She read it through again, sure she must be mistaken, but as his words slowly sank in, the colour drained from her face.

It was hot and steamy in the scullery, but all at once she was shivering.

‘Come on, out with it.’ Mrs Cod’s voice seemed to come out of nowhere. Charity glanced up and saw the woman standing in the doorway, her hands on her wide hips. ‘Anything to tell us?’

‘No.’ Charity shoved the letter into her pocket. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘Not bad news, is it?’ The older woman moved nearer, a frown of concern on her big florid face.

Charity wanted to scream, knock pans round the kitchen, cry in someone’s arms, but she could say nothing – at least not until she’d thought it through.

‘No, it’s all right.’ She turned back to the sink, willing Mrs Cod to clear off and leave her. ‘Just a note from someone who worked at the pub this summer.’

The morning seemed interminable as she tried to bottle up her grief. She avoided contact with the other women, knowing that one affectionate remark, any attempt at drawing her out, would make her confess everything.

But as she reached her room at two-thirty, the pain of rejection hit her. She fell on to her narrow bed and sobbed until the tears ran dry.

‘But
why
, Hugh?’ she whispered. ‘Why did you say all those things if you never meant them?’

She read the letter again, trying desperately to make his words sound less final.

Dear Charity,

I’m sorry, but I have to break it off with you. My mother found out from Rob’s mother that you’d been staying at the cottage and she went ape. At first I thought she might calm down and forget about it. But she’s threatened to write to the school and tell them about us, unless I promise to stop seeing you. I don’t want you getting the sack on my account and anyway, Mother’s right, it wouldn’t work out. I’ve got years of studying ahead of me and I’m too young to go steady. It was a great summer, we had a lot of fun and I’ll never forget you. But I can’t go against my parents, not now. Sorry, I hope you aren’t too upset.