Thursday 16th February

Music was the key to unlocking the world for Jane, and even here it was Harriet who discovered it first.  Well, heard it first, we should say.  There had always been music, but it was never anything more than a dalliance, a distraction, something going on in the background, of no real importance, just a pretty noise really.  Jane had never really heard what music was saying – until Harriet showed her, that is.

*  * *

‘Listen, Jane.  Just wake up and listen for once in your life.’

*  * *

Harriet and Jane’s family were the proud owner of a car, well two cars actually.  Mummy had a Morris Oxford, dark green and squat with its’ beautifully curved bonnet, this was her run-around, the car the girls would be ferried in to cousins or friends who lived a few miles away.  It was the car used in the week.   Daddy walked to his office a few streets away, or drove the Morris if he had to go out in the evening, but at the weekends the Bentley was wheeled out.

This was the car that said everything about the Wilkinsons, or everything about their father, which was more to the point.  It was and still is a sign of success, a token, a given; a notice to the rest of the world that here goes someone important.  It was their weekend car, and in it they would drive somewhere most weekends, either to visit or stay with friends of their mother or cronies of their father’s, or else relatives, distant cousins, faded and jaded aunts who could barely remember Harriet and Janes name’s from one visit to another.

Jane sometimes thought they only went places so that Daddy could show-off the Bentley.  It really was sleek and modern, and yet timeless and grand at the same time, slightly old fashioned with its’ high long and straight bonnet and only slightly curved windscreen.  Jane particularly liked the high wheel arches and the sweep of the running board which seemed to scream speed and movement even when it was stationary in the drive.  She would sometimes dreamily drift her hand lazily along the sleek wheel arch until Harriet distracted her from her daydreams.

It was always highly polished and washed; even the wheels were washed every week.  Daddy employed someone to do this for him of course, a little retired man who turned up every week come rain or shine to wash and polish the Bentley.  They never asked him his name, (he was just the car man) but the girls would watch him from their bedroom window as he methodically went about his business each week, washing and polishing until it looked brand new, and then he would call at the back door, cap in hand for his money.

The thing about the Bentley was that it had a fitted radio, or rather Daddy had one fitted in the late fifties, and he would have it blaring out whenever he drove anywhere.  On Sunday afternoons on the Light Programme was a fore-runner of the various chart shows that have followed ever since.  It was a constant stream of Frank Ifield, or Doris Day, which made little or no impression on Jane’s mind, just pretty little songs.  And then it changed, it all changed in an instant, one minute she was half asleep, and then being shaken awake by Harriet.

‘This is it.  This is the song I was telling you about, listen.’

*  * *

June had begun to despise Phil, and even the girls, for the trap they had put her in, though heaven knows it wasn’t their fault, she had to admit, this one was entirely of her own making.  Of course, she had fantasied about leaving, leaving Phil and the girls and running way with Ted that is.  Leaving to be on her own would be pointless; at least staying here she still had Ted, even if it was only once a month sometimes.  But the problem, huge and seemingly hopeless of course, was her sister; she could just about envisage getting divorced from Phil, maybe; though as a Solicitor that might actually be quite difficult, with his knowledge and her ignorance of the law – but how could she possibly wreck the whole family?

Her mother was quite frail now, and had recently moved into a home, she had gradually spent all the profit she had made from selling the big house her husband left her, and then she ended up selling the small one too when she had to go into the home.  June and her sister managed to get over to see her once a week or so, and June realized she would just have to wait until the girls were grown up before Ted and she might decide to be together for good.  But she could never quite talk to Ted about the future, he just used to smile and half-sing “Que Sera, Sera.  What-ever will be, will be.  The future’s not ours to see” in that so-soft voice of his.  June never knew, despite his protestations of love, if he really did love her, love her enough to live with her anyway.  She was actually half scared to ask him.  What if he just wanted her like this, an occasional fuck to relieve the boredom of his life.  The awful thought kept recurring to June, was it just sex for Ted?  But she never asked herself that question either, too scared maybe of the answer.  Perhaps he was really happy with Julie and the boys, and she was just a bit of fun on the side.  She couldn’t bear it if he was just using her, but maybe she would have even settled for that as long as she could still have him occasionally.

*  * *

‘This is it.  This is the song I was telling you about, listen.’ Harriet had to practically shake her awake. Even when she had her eyes open, Jane seemed to be half asleep.  Harriet had known instantly that they were different, it was so obvious, but Jane might have missed it, if she hadn’t been there to tell her about it.