JANE'S LETTERS

Jane's Letters

I found it difficult to make head or tail of the letter she'd handed
me. I didn't even realise that these agony aunts sent personal replies
(why should I?). I thought they merely printed their responses in
whichever rag they worked for. But there it was in black and white.
Although it was 'Marjorie Proops', I guessed she would have an army of
assistants sending out these things, rubber-stamping the signature on
the bottom.

It began "Dear Worried," and ended something like, "?as your boyfriend
is only eighteen, it may be a phase he is passing through. But, if he
continues in this way, he will certainly never make anyone a good
husband."

"So, what's it all about?" I demanded, passing the letter back to
Jane.

Her cheeks reddened. "Vera gave it to me."

"Vera? That silly cow you work with? So what's it to do with you? And
what's more, why are you showing it to me?"

We'd reached the end of the clay path through the old quarry workings
and were sitting on a bench overlooking a pleasant area of unmown
grass. Jane's already crimsoned cheeks darkened.

"I didn't know what she was going to do it. I was just talking to her.
You know the way girls do."

I shook my head. "I have no idea of 'the way girls do'. For God's sake,
I'm not a girl! You're all a bloody mystery to me."

There was a hint of a tear in her eye as she explained, "It was just
talk. I told her how you always have a drink before you call for me and
how, nine times out of ten, we wind up in a pub for the night." My eyes
must've blazed. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Anyway," she
continued, either picking up courage, or a need to get the whole lot
off her chest, "she took it on herself to write for advice, pretending
she was me. I knew nothing about it until she handed me this."

"And you expect me to believe that cock and bull story?" I
exploded.

"It's the truth, honest!"

"Cobblers! You wrote it, didn't you?" Vexed as I was, I couldn't help
but admire the way she was damming the flood building up behind her
pretty bright blue eyes. "Why, Jane?" I tried to rationalise, "If you
didn't like the way I've been carrying on, why didn't you talk to me?
Surely I'm not that unapproachable? We talk about everything, don't we?
Do we have to have our relationship, not only banded about your
workplace, but the bloody Daily Mirror as well?"

"I didn't know she was going to do it," she insisted.

"Oh, come on, Jane, I didn't come down in the last shower. Vera didn't
write to the paper, did she? That dopey sod has trouble writing her own
name. It was you. You did it!"

I was more than extremely angry. I was as mad as hell. I suppose,
looking back, it wasn't so much her blabbing about my drinking that I
found offensive, it was the reference to making a 'good husband'. That
was really scary. Bloody hell, I was in my prime, footloose and
fancy-free. Jane was very attractive and fun to be with but the
revelation that she had aspirations of anything more than having a good
time filled me with a deep foreboding.

The sight of her teeth clamping her bottom lip to quell its trembling,
caused me to ease up momentarily. The pause made me consider if I was
being unreasonable. Besides being a selfish unapproachable bastard, was
I also a sadistic bully?

No! A second of thought was enough to convince me. I was perfectly
justified. There was no excuse for her going behind my back. I had
always been tolerant. I couldn't count the number of times I'd suffered
the severe frustration of having to listen to her parents twittering on
for hours, when all I wanted was a bit of rumpy-dumpy with their
daughter.

"I'm sorry." Now the tears were flooding. "I didn't know?"

"Course you bloody knew."

"Does this mean?"

"It means you can find some other idiot to blab to newspapers
about."

"Can't we?"

"Go home? Yes! I'll take you that far and that's it!"

By the time I'd walked Jane back to her house, I was on the edge of
tears myself - tears of anger and frustration.

The weeks passed and I carried on as usual; out with the lads, the
pubs, the clubs, the dance halls, picking up with the odd girl here and
there (some of them quite seriously odd).

Then quite out of the blue, I received a letter from Jane, informing me
that she was at home, recovering from a recent operation. There was no
detail just that she'd undergone surgery. As I didn't want to confuse
the girl by giving her mixed messages, I was at a loss to know how to
respond. However, much as I'd condemned Jane for seeking the advice of
her friends, I found myself doing something similar.

I was having a Sunday lunchtime drink with an old mate, Johnnie
Broadlake. Out of the blue he asked if there was any chance of me
picking up with Jane again. When I mentioned the letter, he suggested
that I should check up on her, if only for old times' sake. "She'll
understand," he assured me.

On my way from the pub I stopped off to by a huge box of Belgium
chocolates and a nice bouquet of flowers.

Jane's mother showed me into the living room, where I slid the
chocolates on top of the piano. Explaining that Jane was up in her
room, Missus Rainsford relieved me of the flowers.

"Oooh, they're lovely," she said, burying her nose amongst the blooms.
"I'll get them in water and let Jane know you're here."

"It's okay, Missus Rainsford. If she's not feeling well, I'll go
up."

I clocked her expression but thought it was provoked by the suggestion
that I go to her daughter's bedroom. I could have told her it would've
been far from the first time, but decided it was no time for quips and
she'd disappeared anyway.

"Jane!" I heard her call from the hall on her way to the kitchen, "Ed's
here. And he's brought you some beautiful flowers."

I was surprised by the immediate sound of muffled clumps as Jane made
her way rapidly down the stairs. She burst into the room, all made-up,
dressed to kill and breathing heavily.

She looked as pretty and healthy as I had ever seen her. Our eyes
locked for what seemed an eternity while I struggled for something to
say.

"So, how're you feeling?" I eventually croaked, "I got your letter.
Sorry to hear about your?" I realised I had no idea what the problem
was. I just prayed it wasn't one of those embarrassing women's
complaints

"Nail." Mrs Rainsford, said, arriving back in the room with two full
vases.

"Nail?" I repeated, believing I had misheard.

"Yes." Jane waggled a slippered foot at me, "I had an ingrowing toe
nail.

"Terrible painful, wasn't it, love?" Her mother added.

"Yeah." Jane smiled. "But it's a lot better now."

As she was preparing to squeeze her feet into a pair of pointed
stilettos, I'd guessed that for myself.

Mrs Rainsford placed the vases each side of the chocolates, and stood
back to admire them.

"Look, Jane, aren't they beautiful - such wonderful colours?"

The moment her mother had left the room, Jane flopped onto the settee
and invited me to join her by patting the cushion beside her.

"So how's life with you?" She opened the conversation.

"Oh, you know," I shrugged. "You're looking good."

"Just getting ready to go out."

"Oh yeah. Who with?" I was joking.

"Terry. He's on leave for a week before being posted to Germany. Well,
he asked me, and I'd got nothing else on, so?" it sounded like an
apology. I couldn't imagine why she saw the need. "But," she continued,
"I could go with you instead. Mom'll straighten things with Terry." She
gave her mother a little-girl smile. "Won't you Mom?"

During our relationship I had heard quite a lot about her ex-boyfriend
Terry Cartwright. Our paths had crossed on a couple of occasions and he
didn't seem a bad sort.

"It doesn't seem fair," I told her, "I only came round to make sure
you're okay. Honestly, Jane, I think starting over would be a big
mistake. You go and enjoy yourself with Terry and pass on my
regards."

There followed an awfully uncomfortable moment or two. I could see she
wasn't best pleased with me so I bade her farewell and made a rapid
exit.

At the bus stop I started thinking about how gorgeous Jane looked, all
done up for a night out with her soldier boy. And how she was prepared
to dump him just for me. Perhaps I had been a little hasty? Maybe I
should have given the situation more thought before leaving so
abruptly? The temptation to return was almost overwhelming. In the
past, Jane and I had had some wonderful times together. That was before
Majorie Proops came between us.

It was a tough decision. In the end it was the thought of having to
wait half an hour for another Sunday service bus that convinced me.
Despite the chocolates and flowers costing a small fortune, I would
leave them there.