Free The Old Jest by Jennifer Johnston Page B

pipe.
    â€˜Well … I’ve often wondered about Judas, you know. I find it hard to accept that for all these centuries he’s been regarded as the most despicable man in the world.’ There was more silence through the door as Aunt Mary thought about Judas. ‘You see … maybe he was a hero. I mean, maybe even the greater hero of the two. Terribly strong, far-sighted, the true ally. I only say maybe.’
    â€˜I’m sure that’s blasphemy or something.’
    No thunderbolt. Just the creaking of old dry boards.
    â€˜Get a move on, dear child. My teeth are aching to be washed.’
    â€˜You haven’t answered my question.’
    â€˜It’s an impossible question to answer. Circumstances are never the same. Sometimes it would be terribly silly not to inform, if that’s the word you want to use, other times one wouldn’t do it for love nor money. In this country the word informer has rather nasty connotations. Why do you ask such a question anyway?’
    â€˜I was just wondering about this and that.’
    â€˜Well wonder about them somewhere else.’
    Nancy rubbed herself fiercely with the towel and watched with interest the tiny white flakes of skin that she scoured off her body.
    â€˜I wouldn’t do it,’ she said.
    â€˜What’s that?’ shouted Aunt Mary through the door.
    â€˜Nothing.’
    As a gesture to the formality of the occasion, she decided to approach the Caseys’ house by the wrought iron gate, the swept path, the front door. She walked sedately down the avenue and along the road, wearing her best shoes and stockings and her black crepe dress that Aunt Mary hadn’t wanted her to buy because she said it was too old for her. She felt old as she walked … well, older anyway. She stretched her neck, swan-like, as they had been implored to do at dancing class. ‘Heads in the clouds girls, up, up, up. Grow.’ She grew as she walked. She must be six feet tall. She gazed disdainfully at the dusty road, at the silver buckles on her best shoes. The rain clouds had blown away and the sky was a luminous greeny-blue. Even from Nancy’s great height you couldn’t see the sea, but you could always smell the sharp breath of salt in the air; sometimes if you were feeling undignified and put your tongue out, you could even imagine you could taste it.
    As she pushed open the Casey’s gate, her disdain and her height dwindled a little. Perhaps Aunt Mary had been right about the dress after all. Maybe she just looked silly in it. She walked slowly up the path towards the hall door. Harry’s motor was parked outside the garage. Maybe he would drive her home in it after dinner and she could just sit there silently beside him and not say anything idiotic or immature. Glass panels on each side of the door glowed with light. She put her finger on the bell. She thought of the man who wasn’t Robert and wondered if he were all right. Had he decided to go? She took her finger off the bell. A figure moved in the hall. She turned and ran down the path, scattering gravel on to the neat edges as she ran.
    â€˜Nancy …’ Harry’s voice called her name.
    She ran out of the gate on to the road.
    â€˜Nancy …’
    Once she had safely turned the corner on to the main road that led to the railway arch, she stopped running and walked on as sedately as she could manage. Every pulse in her body seemed to be bumping at a different rate. The shoes and stockings and the black crepe dress now were irrelevant. They would murder her, she thought, but that would be tomorrow. Now, it was important to stop him leaving. If he went, she knew he would never come back, disappear totally as he must have done so many times in his life before. Gun or no gun, she didn’t want that. By the railway bridge she climbed over the fence at the bottom of the embankment. The grass in the field was long and wet around her ankles. She