BOTH SIDES OF THE MOON

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                                                                     Chapter Thirteen

 

Sergeant Branner gave his customary ‘rat tat’ on the sliding window, and when it opened, it was the young lady with the smile who had greeted him at his last visit. There she was again, and this time her smile was one of recognition.

    “Sergeant Branner!” she said. “Wasn’t it was only last week when we last saw you?”, lowering her voice, and partly closing her eyes, as if to share a secret. “Who are you after this time?”

    “I don’t think anyone will need to loose any sleep,” he answered easily, and returned her smile. "but I do have an appointment with Mr Wilson.”

    “Mr Wilson, is it ? - I’ll let him know you are here then.” she said as she picked up a phone. “Hello Rodney,” she spoke into the phone, but her eyes were on the policeman.

    “There's a visitor for you.”

    She maintained her gaze on the sergeant, as she listened to her colleague, and then she treated him to another smile. “Mr Wilson is free now if you would care to go up.” The smile and the gaze seemed to be fixed. “Do you know the way?” she asked.

    “No, but I feel sure I can find it; I expect it will be in the same place as it was when I used to attend this school.”

    “Really” said the smile “When was that?”

    “Ah, now then!” he answered, this time with a touch of irony in his voice. “Before you were born, I shouldn’t wonder.”

    The young lady disappeared from the hole in the wall, and almost at once re-appeared through the door at the side of it, proceeding first to the outer office door and then into the main concourse.

    “Let me show you.” she said inviting Sergeant Branner to follow.

    This was not hard to do because, as a trained observer, he was not slow to see that the lovely smile enhancing this young lady was not, by any means, her only attractive feature.

    He noticed that she wore no ring on her finger, and as he was unattached he made a mental note to find out a little more about her.

    “With a bit of luck,”, he thought, as he listened to her directions, “the next time I come to this school, I may be coming for her.”

    He thanked the young lady. “May I know to whom I owe my thanks?” he asked.  Discovering her name would be a good start he thought.

    “I’m Jean Thomason,” she answered, her smile once again on display

    “Thomason?” Branner lifted an eyebrow questioningly.

    “ Yes, there’s a touch of Nordic in my blood Sergeant Branner.”

    ”Trevor please.” he said; this time it was he who was displaying the smile, but she responded with even bigger one. “Thank you Jean,” he added “perhaps I will see you again before too long.”

    “I’ll hold my breath.” she answered, at the same the time opening her eyes wide as if in anticipation.

    Sergeant Branner walked steadily along the corridor where Jean Thomason had left him, assuring him that he was almost there. Despite her assurance he was finding it difficult to concentrate, and had to make up with some resourcefulness. He had been so enthralled by the young lady that, he realized too late, he had not been listening properly to her directions. Much more important had been her smile; her slightly ruffled slightly wavy dark hair, belying her Nordic ancestry. Though her figure was slightly fuller than what seemed to be fashionable  these days she was on the tall side and her face; not classically beautiful, was charming and very pretty. And that smile, displaying just enough of her pearly white teeth to set it off.

    She was, he thought, nearly perfect; and it was the ‘nearly’ that somehow made her special and real. “Jean.” he was thinking as he searched the corridors: “Just right, I think.”

    He was lost on the second floor, the only thing he could remember her saying. Resourceful as ever he simply asked the first person he saw to direct him.

    He was soon at Mr Wilson’s door, and his usual ‘rat tat’ on the glass produced an immediate invitation to enter.

    “Please come in Sergeant Branner.” Rodney had left his desk and was approaching his visitor with hand outstretched. “We have met before I remember. You came to give some of the boys and girls a talk.” he paused. “I can’t just recall when that was, but you came again at our last open day, didn’t you?”

    “That’s right.” he said. “In fact I have made many visits to this school over the years, so I always feel at home here.

    They engaged in some small talk for a few minutes. He told the teacher that he been a pupil at the school, and that he remembered Mr Pickering from those days. Rodney spoke of his rather shorter time at the school, and a little of his hopes and ambitions. Especially the sporting ones.

    “Not mine of course.” he added, with a rue smile “I think those day’s are over. I’m not as good as I used to be on the field, but I have high hopes for some of the pupils here. Now I must ask if we can move on; please don’t think me rude, but I have a class in twenty minutes.”

    Far from thinking him rude Sergeant Branner had been quite impressed with Mr Wilson.  He was sharp, articulate, and had an easy manner. He was beginning to wonder why he had thought that there was something ‘odd’ about him.

    “I’ve come to talk about Jonathan Marshall.” he said as an opener, telling the teacher what he knew; that he had visited his mother, and that now they were just dotting a few ‘i’s, and crossing a few ‘t’s. "Then, as far as I can see the matter is no longer of any concern to the police."

    Rodney told of his early morning phone call, and of finding him and taking him home. They spoke of the boy's future, and whether he might be a ‘problem’ any more.

    “I’m pretty confident he will not be;” said Rodney. “losing his father was a bad shock for him I know, but in an odd way it has brought some benefits.”

    Sergeant Branner looked at Mr Wilson with a look of surprise  on his face, at the teacher's remark.

    “Yes I know it’s a odd kind of thing to say, but that is how I see it. He has certainly grown up quickly following all that has  happened.” He looked at Branner, wondering just how frank he needed to be. “I know; he has told me; that he didn’t get on too well with his father, and now, he and his mother are closer than they have been for years; and he’s got a steady girlfriend now; a nice sensible girl.”

    He stopped for a moment in case Sergeant Branner wanted to comment, but he seemed to be happy enough listening.

    “And most recently he has become a very enthusiastic runner in my athletics's group; very keen, and he has a lot of talent. I have high hopes for Jonathan.

     “What was it all about then?” Branner asked.     

     “Hard to say really; he definitely lost the script for a while, and went through a bad patch, but I do believe that he has got through it, and now he’s pretty much a normal teenager again.”

    “Ah’ now, that will mean more trouble for me then.” Sergeant Branner had finally found something to say, but it was a light hearted comment which both of them knew meant the end of police interest in Jonathan.

    He stood up, ready to leave, but wanting to open up a knew line before he left, yet not quite sure how.

    “You live locally don’t you?” he asked

    “Yes I do.” Rodney answered evenly. “I have a flat on the edge of Wixley; any reason for asking?”

    “No not really” the Sergeant said, in a matter of fact kind of way. “I thought you must live locally; I was walking through the town centre the other Saturday, and I heard you - I saw you,” he tried to correct himself but it was too late “on the High Street; with a young lady.”

    It was an awkward and rather clumsy approach, and as soon as he had said it, he wished he hadn’t.

    Rodney looked up, and Trevor could see that his expression had changed completely. The last half hour had been one of pleasurable and interesting conversation, and Rodney seemed to be at ease, and confident in his own environment. Now he was leaning on both hands, arms outstretched, supporting himself on the desk top, and looking, not at his visitor, but straight through him. He said nothing, he did not move, but just stared straight ahead

    After a while, fifteen or twenty seconds, Branner approached him. “Mr Wison; are you alright?”

    Rodney seemed to respond and sat back heavily, but did not say anything.

    “Are you alright Mr Wilson?” Trevor tried again.

    After another long silence Rodney managed to speak. “I’m sorry Sergeant Branner.” falteringly, and only just loud enough to be heard, but he managed to continue. “You have accidentally stumbled into my nightmare.”

    He was trying to pull himself together. “Something happened that day, something that I may never forget; very; personal; I’m sorry, I can’t talk about it at the moment; it’s too - - ; please forgive me.”

    “Are you going to be alright” Trevor asked “Should I get someone for you?”

    “I’ll be alright now.” he answered,  “I’m sorry our little chat went wrong.”

    “My fault I think,” said Branner “and I am sorry to have upset you.”

    The Sergeant left Mr Wilson in his office, feeling concerned, and a little remorseful. Mr Wilson had said he would be alright, and he did appear to be recovering somewhat, so there was not much else he could do.

    Trevor had entered that office fresh from his encounter with ‘Jean’ and feeling like he was twenty again. Now, little more than half an hour later, he was leaving it, feeling like an old man.

    He was sympathetic for Mr Wilson’s obvious distress, even though he did not know the cause, and feeling guilty for having brought it about, but he could not help some nagging thoughts. He had no idea what had caused Mr Wilson to react in the way he had, or how was it connected to the incident he had witnessed in the town centre. But the policeman in him, just couldn’t help wondering if there might be something going on that he ought to know about. Those same thoughts he had before returned, which it seemed he just couldn’t escape. "Why do I always get the feeling that there is something odd about him?”

 

Rodney was pleased with the training session. All of his young athletes were keen, most had some talent, and a few were potential winners. Only one however was gifted, and destined, with the right kind of help, to reach the top. He noted that Jonathan seemed less surprised as he at the apparent ease with which he had absorbed techniques and training methods,  and almost from the start had displayed the capacity that had lain dormant within him all his young  years. For all his ability to dominate his friends with speed and agility on the football pitch and in the  park, no one until Mr Wilson had seen it for what it was. Pure talent.

    Mr Wilson however, was not unaware of the task ahead. Not only had he to convince Jonathan that his talent was special, but he had to make him want to accept the rigours of athletic training, and be prepared for the hardships and denials, which would inevitably follow.

    There were also two other factors that concerned him. Jonathan was a little late to discover his athletic prowess, and it was essential that a start along the trail to success was made now.

    "That's the problem," Rodney frowned, “but am I the solution?”

    Rodney, recognizing the extent of his own coaching skills, thought not; and so, while Jonathan was strutting his stuff on the track, he knew that he was going to have to find someone who could take him further, 'when he’s gone as far as I can take him,' he told himself, “and that won’t be long.”

    Wisely he knew that he also would not have to waste any time, because good coaches were not ten-a-penny, and already Jonathan was winning most of his practice races.

    He was pleased too, because this was a time when he was able to close his mind to other pressing matters. The pressures of his classroom work, of maintaining the required high standards to satisfy, not only his headmaster, and the Education Board, but also his students and himself. Pressure indeed.

    Today in particular it helped to shake off the gloom following Sergeant Branner’s visit. He had unexpectedly been reminded of the ring incident, and the horror of its repercussions.

    “What on earth Branner thought of me, I shudder to think.” he said quietly.

     Overriding all other things, it took his mind off Wendy. When he was instructing his charges, as they leapt into action from the starting blocks, he was not thinking of Wendy. When he was counting the strides between hurdles, he was not thinking of Wendy. When he was timing the last lap of the three thousand metre’s, he was not thinking of Wendy. But much of the rest of the time he was thinking about Wendy - and he was starting to tire of it.

    He had begun to accept that she was not any more, a part of his life, and with that acceptance came the realization, that he might just get by. He was reluctant to admit to himself that it didn’t matter; it still hurt too much for that. But he was starting to be aware of a sensation of calm, now that the mist was clearing, and a feeling that perhaps it really might be for the best.

 

Jonathan enjoyed having Claire on the sidelines watching him as he displayed his new found skill, and as each new challenge was put before him, it was for her he performed, pleased to be able to demonstrate his talent to her, and to impress her. It seemed like only a few short weeks ago he had been in the depths of despair, yet now, here he was, like a bird of paradise displaying for its mate.

    At the end of the session, fresh from the shower, glowing with health, fitness, and a sense of achievement, he was cock-a-hoop when he met up with Claire. She too was fired with a pride in 'her' man and could feel a certain excitement within her. They walked off arm in arm from the sports field, away from the flood lights, and through a small, quite dark, wooded area, on the way to Claire’s home. Reaching a secluded spot Jonathan abruptly ducked behind some bushes, pulling Claire with him.

    He was suddenly strong, and also felt a feeling of maleness that was new to him. He took Claire into his arms, and kissed her passionately, and with an authority which Claire was unable to resist.

    She was also charged with the same passion, and when she felt Jonathan pulling her closer to him she offered no resistance to his hands exploring and caressing her. When a little later, made no attempt to stop him when she sensed his eagerness. When he pressed against her she responded likewise, and soon they were united in love once again.

   This time, not having to endure the pain of their first experience, and knowing what was happening, Claire was able to participate more fully, and encouraged Jonathan to excite them both. Jonathan meanwhile, lost in his masculine pride and a feeling of dominance, was also wanting to please his soft and yielding mate.  But he could not hold out for long and all too soon, with a shudder that seemed to come from them both, the encounter was over.

    This time however, there was no embarrassed silence, and no feeling that ‘somehow’ something unexpected had happened. This time they both knew what had happened, and neither had wanted to stop.

    Jonathan, was slow to disengage, wanting the moment to last as long as possible. He squeezed Claire tightly, then he spoke into the ear he was nuzzling words of love, he truly meant every word.

    “Oh Jonathan,” she answered, holding on just as tight, “I hope we will keep on loving each other for ever."

    This time when they walked away, they walked away together. It was eight thirty when he  got home, much later than he said it would be. He was feeling good and when he got inside, Jonathan skipped through the hall into the kitchen, did a half spin and a high stride over a kitchen chair,  finishing up seated in the chair, but at a rakish angle. Leaning back he said jauntily, as if to announce his presence, “What’s for tea mum?”

 

Margaret had to choose the right moment. She didn’t think that Emma would be a problem, but Jonathan was a different matter. He had been so quiet and moody again. All the week he had been long faced and gloomy, and she had noticed that he had not gone out as much as usual. Apart from going to this knew running thing that he had mentioned, he had stayed in his room.

    She was very worried. She thought that he had got over the difficult times, and was praying that he had not become depressed again. “Perhaps,” she thought, “he had fallen out with Claire.”

    “Oh’ I do hope not.” she answered her own thoughts, “She’s a nice girl, and Jonathan was so proud of her.”

    She knew that either of those things would be hard for him, and hoped that it would soon come right.

    “He'll be home soon.” she thought, looking at the clock, and then remembering that he said he would be late today. “It’s training after school,” he had told her "so it’ll be about half past seven."

    In fact It was half past eight when he got home, wanting, as usual, to know, “What’s for tea mum?”

    “Tea is it?” she said again looking at the clock. “Any minute now I’ll be seeing to your breakfast.”

    Most other times if she had made that remark, there would have been a degree of irritation in her voice, but not this time. She had said it with a smile and a laughing voice, because she had seen that Jonathan was himself again. He was jaunty and ‘manly’, almost leaping into the kitchen chair, and sitting down at the table with a swagger and a swirl. She was used to seeing a certain elegance in his movement, which had been missing for a while, but this was different. With a mother's instinct she knew that something had happened, but did not allow herself to speculate. It was enough to know that her son was back.

    “I was expecting to see you earlier," she observed, "where have you been until this time?” She asked the question, because she felt it was expected, but still maintained a light hearted manner.

    “Sorry mum” he said, but Claire came to watch me training, so I had to take her home.”

    “Of course.” said mum, guessing that they had ‘fallen out’, but quite clearly had now ‘made it up.’

    “You two alright?” she asked in a casual kind of way.

    “Yes of course.” he said, with just a touch of uncertainty, not wanting, or daring, to tell his mother why they had been at odds with each other, or how they had ‘made it up’.

    That slight lack of conviction, was enough to tell Margaret that she had been right, and that she had discovered the reason for her son’s sullen behaviour.

    She was glad that he was himself again, and it now gave her the opportunity she had been waiting for. “Are you going out again tonight?” she asked

    “Don’t think so, why do you ask?”

    “I want to have a good talk with you; about something important.”

    “Is it about dad?” he asked, the first time for quite a while that he had mentioned him.

    “Not really; just slightly perhaps.” Margaret answered, but not wanting to go into it until they were settled and comfortable. “Will you sit with me this evening; there are a lot of things to talk about.”

    “OK mum, if you like; is there a problem?”

    “Nothing that we can’t sort out Jonathan, but I need your support.”

    “What’s it about mum?” he asked starting to feel a bit agitated.

    Sensing his anxiety she said. “Have your supper first, then I’ll tell you; but it’s nothing to worry about.”

    Margaret called for Emma, and they all sat down to supper, Margaret deliberately keeping the conversation flowing with light hearted, and non family topics. Soon they were finished, pots washed and put away, and each with a cup of coffee.

    “Emma,” Margaret began, “Jonathan and me are going to have a long talk about a few things; family things and our future, and all sorts; do you want to talk with us; you can if you want to.”

    “Do I have to mum,” she said. “I think I’d rather go up stairs and play my records; you can tell me later.”

    “That’s alright then; off you go.”

    At last they were settled in the lounge, and Margaret was wondering where to start, or even how to start.

    Jonathan did it for her. “What’s it all about mum?”

    Margaret took a deep breath. “Do you remember me telling you how me and your dad have not been very happy with each other for many years.”

    “Yes I remember.” Jonathan answered, wondering what was coming.

    “Now that you have a girlfriend, do you get a special feeling when you are near to her?”

    Jonathan was surprised at this and wondered if his mum had found out somehow that he and Claire had been making love.

    “I’m not trying to pry Jonathan,” she said, sensing his reluctance. “this is not about you, but I want to know if you understand.”

    “Yes,” Jonathan answered slowly “I do get a feeling like that.” remembering how it had been only a couple of hours ago.

    “Oh I’m so glad for you; being in love is such a lovely feeling.”

    Jonathan was not enjoying this very much, thinking he might accidentally let something slip.

    “Well; your dad and me used to be like that too, when we were young, and we used to love to be together. But you know, I have told you; somehow it changed, and we stopped loving each other.”

    She waited to give Jonathan some time to take it in. “All those years since just after Emma was born, we had a life with no love in it; there was love in me, but I didn’t have anyone to share it with.” she said quietly, rather sadly, almost as though she was talking to herself.

    She looked at her son. Was he too young for all this?. But what other way was there?.

    “Do you think you know what I mean?”

    Jonathan felt he had been ‘put on the spot’, talking to his mother like this. “Do you mean; do you;” he hardly dare say it; “do you mean sex, mum?”

    He felt his cheeks burning, certain now that somehow he had been ‘found out.’

    “Not just that Jonathan,” she wanted to move on to herself, but felt that she had to prepare the ground first. “Of course sex is very important, as you will discover, but I am talking about love, and sex is only part of love.”

    She stopped again to collect her thoughts. “You see, all those years were years without love for me, but not for your dad.”

    This was not easy, but she couldn’t stop now. “He had another lady to love, and another life to lead.”

    Jonathan was a little bit shocked. This was like nothing he had heard before, and though he had no reason to defend his dad, he wondered how could such a thing be true.

    “How do you know?” he said simply.

    Unexpectedly the mood had changed. No longer did he think that this little talk was a plot to get him to confess to his sins. Now it was about much bigger things.

    “When he died I had to search everywhere for all sorts of papers and documents. I looked in his cases and in his cupboards. Even in his car, after the police had finished with it. I found quite a lot of thing to do with his other lady; letters, and some photographs; I even know her name.”

    “Weren’t you angry or upset?” he asked.

    “No Jonathan; we had not been ‘in love’ for such a long time, there was no reason to be angry; in any case I had known that there was someone else, a long time before he died.”

    “Did you never say anything?”

    “Not really; I used to drop hints now and again, so I’m fairly sure he knew that I knew, but I had no real reason to try to stop him.” She seemed to drift off into a little dream again. “But I did envy him sometimes, when I thought of them together; sharing a love; and I had none.”

    She laughed a small laugh. “I suppose I was a little bit jealous of her. All those years without love.” she said again, almost it to herself.

    “You told me that you knew her name.” Jonathan said “Did you ever meet her?”

    “I only got to know her name after your dad died, when I found some letters, and though I never met her, I have seen her.” She paused and then she said. “You’ve seen her too.”

    Jonathan sat up, curious at this bit of news. “When was that?”

    “Do you remember that lady at the funeral, the one standing on her own, who was crying all the time; don’t you recall you asked me if I knew who she was?”

    “Yes I do remember,” he said, “was that her?”

    “Yes, that was her; her name is Jenny.”

    There was a period of silence, as they both tried to grasp what was happening.  Margaret was pleased that they had reached this point, and that Jonathan was being sensible and helpful.  But there was something in his manner that was new; she couldn’t help wondering why he seemed to be more self assured.

     Somehow she had to find a way to move on to her own situation. She was thinking ahead, and hoping that Jonathan would still be ‘sensible and helpful’, 'when I tell him about Edward'.

    Once again it was he, unknowingly of course, who gave the lead. “Did you never want another love?” he asked

    “Not then.” she answered, “Not at first. Later on if it had happened, I might have let it happen, but I had you and Emma to look after, and don’t forget, your dad never actually left us. He was free to live his life, but I was still tied, so there was never much hope that it would happen.”

    “What about...” Jonathan heard himself asking his mother. "now? There was a long pause before he was able to finish the question. “Now that he has gone.”

    This was what Margaret was hoping for, and now that her son had asked the question, she had to get it right.

     “If I met a man who loved me, like you love Claire, and like your dad used to love me - would you mind?”

    Before he could answer she asked. “If he wanted to marry me, and make me happy, and look after me, and you, and Emma; would you mind?”

    This was a big question. As big a question as a fifteen year old boy could ever expect to be asked. Jonathan tried to make a proper judgement, but in the end could only rely on some kind of reflex.

    “I dunno,” he said at first “I suppose it would be alright.”

    “The last ten years have been hard and lonely for me Jonathan, and I would like someone to love me.”

    She felt a little tremor of emotion as she continued. “But it is important to me that you will still love me...” She came to a stop, not knowing how to carry on, now feeling the emotion, and the tension. “Am I asking too much of you Jonathan?”

    Jonathan took a long time to answer. Somehow he knew that this was one of ‘those’ moments.

    “I guess it’s alright with me he said, but how are you going to find someone.”

    Closing her eyes, clenching her fists, and taking a deep breath, she had come to the brink. This is it; all the talking of the evening had been so that she could now say to her son, “I think I have already found him.”