27

Fallout

Atomic by Donna McLean

Janet went to bed on the eve of her daughter’s sixteenth birthday knowing that she wasn’t going to see her.  Kate Hilperton had been round.  She’d taken to turning up, Willy nilly, as Janet said to Ray that night.  He said it was her own fault.  She should never have encouraged a friendship.

Janet was tired of saying she hadn’t.  Kate’s daughter had only threatened to leave before her exams, Bridget had really done it but Kate had decided a bond anyway and taken to coming round of a morning after she’d dropped the littles at school, ringing the bell, and saying, Only me, as if Janet expected her.  As if she got as much out of it as Kate.  They were nothing like each other, her Bridget & Kate’s Peggy.  Janet had watched that girl trouncing about in her bovver boots with her haircuts going every which way long before Greenham, up and down the street posting leaflets for rally this and stand up to that; Bridget was quiet, she never got involved in politics before, she’d always been like Janet, preferring a quiet night in front of the TV, instead of seeing problems with the world all the time. 

That was the thing about women like Kate, a little bit of money and suddenly all the world’s their fault.  Bridget would never have got herself mixed up with it if it hadn’t been for Peggy urging her on, putting ideas in her head.  She hadn’t even known they were friends.  Bridget had never mentioned her.  She talked about going to art college and never had many friends to speak of, but Janet hadn’t either at that age, she’d ballooned like Bridget and all the fashions were for Twiggy and all the girls had gone around like sticks and Janet had preferred to stop home too.  She’d thought she’d come good; Janet remembered Bridget’s words with shame.

She had thought she’d meet a nice man one day, what of it? Wasn’t that what all mother’s wanted for their daughters? And she’d wanted her to go to Kingston or Wimbledon art college as Janet should have done, and then goodness knows she’d be grown up and leaving home and Janet hadn’t wanted to hurry any of that, she was content to let her daughter be.  But now what?  Up to her eyes in mud and lesbians and not a scrap of thought to come home. 

If she was so concerned about world peace, what about the peace of her mother, that’s what Janet wanted to know.  Did she not count in the great scheme of things?  It was all right to go shouting about cruise missiles, was it, and not worry a fig for her family?  It made Janet wild, if wild was a temperament she could express, but years of putting a stop to her feelings had made her coat them in smoke, and tears wiped away before opening the door to this bloody woman from down the street who would not stop ringing the bell, would not leave off, leave her to settle her mind after she’d done the beds and worked out the tea and written her lists like she used to do when Bridget hadn’t got ideas, when Paul and Bridget used to go off to school and Ray would go off to work and she’d have till eleven to herself.  She used to like her quiet mornings alone. 

School had broken up but she still had to go in; the kitchens wouldn’t sort themselves. Ray was off at work as usual, she’d sent Paul out to play in the garden and was sitting down to a nice cup of tea when Kate came round and sat herself down, and Janet had to open the back door so she could have a cigarette without Kate making that face even though she was in Janet’s house at Janet’s kitchen table.  Up herself.  That’s what her sister would call Kate.  Like she had an opinion on everything and wasn’t backwards in showing it.  Her sister wouldn’t have put up with it.  She’d have made mincemeat of her like she had when Janet brought Ray round for tea and told everyone they were getting married, and her sister had looked at her belly which had shown nothing back then, which was flat even though Janet already knew and said to Ray, said straight to his face, Shot gun is it?  Ray hadn’t charmed her; he’d charmed her dad and quietened her mum but he’d never got round her sister even with his funny eye and glasses that made his handsomeness seem vulnerable, like he could never get the girl because one of his eyes wasn’t right.  But he’d got Janet.  She’d been swept away.  She hadn’t been so taken with church back then. 

When her and Ray had gone to see the vicar, she’d had to lie about how often she went.  Her mum had said, He’s twice your age, in that hushed angry tone she used, had said it in the kitchen as she slammed the kettle onto the gas while Ray talked to her dad in the front room.  He owns his own house, Janet had replied as if her mum had to be blind to not see.  Of course he was older.  What boy her age had his own front door? It was obvious.  Ray was rich, not off the telly rich but richer than anyone she’d ever met.  To her sister she said, You’re just jealous.

Kate sat slumped with her hands in her hair.  “Sometimes I wish I’d never started it.”

I bet you do, thought Janet, getting two cups from the cupboard. 

“She wants to move there permanently, as permanently as the camp is there anyway, and I can’t see that dismantling until the government sees sense and I can’t see that happening ever, or anytime soon.  I feel so torn, you know?”

Janet didn’t know.

“What we’re doing is so important, I’d live there myself if I didn’t have the littles, and Simon is so good, but he can’t be expected to do all the child rearing, I mean he’s got to work, and heaven knows he does enough weekends when Peggy and I go but Peggy’s so young.  It doesn’t seem right to let her go on her own.”

“You’re lucky she doesn’t just take off.”  Janet sat down, waiting for the kettle to boil. 

“I don’t think Simon would allow it.  Not that I’m saying your husband did, and not that it’s up to them of course, but he’s got pretty firm views on what’s good for our girls.  Sometimes I don’t wonder if he’s only a feminist by day if you know what I mean, they all are really, aren’t they, up to a point, wearing the disguise, the ones who say they want us to have rights.  How can they not be?  The world’s been served to them that way, men on top.  He wants our girls to grow up free but only within the bounds of what he thinks reasonable.  I mean, what’s the point of feminism if it’s only on men’s terms?  A feminism they let us have.  But then I think about letting Peggy go off and live at camp and I want Simon to stop her.”

Janet let Kate drone on.  She could tell her stories of disguise that would make her hair stand on end.  The only thing Kate’s Simon disguised himself as was Count Dracula at the Halloween parties they had in their street.  Every year, the same bloody teeth making the children scream.  Janet had had enough of it, especially when he’d pretended to go for Paul’s neck and given him nightmares.  If disguise was what she wanted, she should see what her husband brought home with him of a Saturday night.

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