Chapter 49: Beth Blues

Gordon had inadvertently complicated his life and his two very different love affairs had unexpected side effects. The Joyce thing had been very brief but Gordon was fearful that Margaret might hear about it. He had been relieved that there were no immediate repercussions, but his unease increased as the weeks passed. He didn't trust Joyce not to drop him in it.

She had plotted and planned to seduce him. It was a combination of his vanity, her sex appeal and his inclination to cut a dash in front of his friends, that had made him go with her in her car on that night. What a fool he'd been to put so much at risk for so little return!

Thankfully, she had been incapable of hurting his feelings. He was only too eager to put a swift end to the affair. He knew she must have been hurt by the way he had treated her. He knew that he was special to her and always would be. The more he pondered the matter, the more he was convinced that he had not seen the last of Joyce.

With Beth, it was different. From the moment he set eyes on her, Gordon became obsessed with her. He was like an immature, mooning adolescent. The surprising sexual encounter he'd had with her and her friend Lesley in no way diminished his romantic feelings. He'd enjoyed the sex but it was his vision of her that obsessed him. It was his illusion and his delusion that mattered. They were dangerous and threatening to give him trouble.

If he'd been an artist or a writer she would have become his muse. He'd read about Dante and Beatrice and the effect one encounter with her had had on the poet. Gordon thought that his feelings for Beth were like those Dante had had for Beatrice. Gordon was good at deceiving himself and conveniently forgot that Dante had never shagged his beloved.

A month had gone by since his overnight stay at Halton with the two women. Beth had not been at any of the Friday night meetings, so he asked Jack about her.

"Don't really know," said Jack. "I see her occasionally at work. She always says she hopes to be at the next meeting. Things crop up. It's a busy time for all of us at my school. I expect it's the same at her place.

"Is it something important you want to see her about? I could take a message for you."

Gordon looked closely at Jack. Why had he said that? Did he suspect there was something between them? Jack waited for an answer, no gleam in his eye, no eagerness, no suggestion that he was hoping to have a part in a conspiracy.

Gordon responded in a matter of fact tone of voice. "No, that's all right Jack. I was just wondering what had happened to her, that's all. She seemed to enjoy herself with us. It was she who had the idea about us having the booze every week. Remember? By the way, it's my turn to bring some wine next, isn't it?"

He wondered what to do. He had some quite ingenious ideas, but he needed one that was practical. He might be feeling and wanting to act like a sixteen year-old, but his situation was different from that of a callow youth. He had no peers in whom he could confide and from whom to seek advice. There were no spotty-faced cronies who might sympathise with him and his ridiculous dilemma. He was no frustrated teenager able to behave badly at home and work his feelings out on someone else.

No, he had to think this through in a truly adult fashion.

"Adult?" he thought to himself. "I'm not behaving like one!"

He considered buying a bicycle. It would enable him to reconnoitre the area where Beth lived and he might be able to engineer an accidental encounter. He could go there on the off-chance of seeing her. It was a stupid idea, he thought. He couldn't afford a bicycle. If he did buy one, Michael would have to have one too.

The evenings were dark in December. It was a long walk to Halton. He could find no excuse to be out of the house or be home late from work. There were no elections pending and no chance to say he was going out leafleting. If he said he was going to see the Matthews, Margaret might compare notes with Sheila.

Writing her a letter, and sending it via Jack, he had already ruled out. Jack did not seem to be the man for that sort of thing. Too straight! Too high-principled! He would probably give his friend a dressing-down if he suspected any hanky-panky. Jack liked Margaret. Gordon assumed he would object to being asked to play any part in her betrayal. If he decided to address a letter to her at school, it could fall into the wrong hands. It might not be a good idea to put anything down in writing. His written words could be used against him at a later date. If they fell out, Beth might send any letter he'd written back to Margaret.

"So much for my starry-eyed view of my perfect female!" he thought. "Contemplating that she might one day try to drop me in it! How could I think such a thing? Well..!"

He sometimes read old copies of the News of the World which blokes left lying around at work. He'd read about ex-girl friends in juicy divorce cases using love-letters in court when it suited them.

Nevertheless, he went on to thinking about writing to her. What about the briefest of notes, suggesting a meeting? It didn't have to be in his handwriting or signed. He could go to Jack's discussion group early and type one on Jack's typewriter. If only he had her home address! But surely, he could risk posting something like that to her school.

He decided that this plan had possibilities. After lengthy prevarication, he decided that he would send a typewritten note.

Unless Beth responded to his letter and put him off seeing her, he would need an excuse to be out of the house one Saturday afternoon.

Then he thought of a complicated plan. What he would do was tell Margaret that he was going to watch Preston North End with some lads from work. North End were doing well in the First Division that season and were one of the best teams in the land. Buses went from Lancaster to Deepdale every other Saturday. It being winter, kick-off would be at two o'clock. It meant the buses would be leaving Lancaster at half-past twelve. He'd tell Margaret he was going to the next match straight after work.

He thought long and hard about it. It seemed to be foolproof. He decided to act.

"It'll only be the once, love," he said to his wife. "They're having such a good season. I'd love to see them. The lads are always talking about some great players, like Mutch and Beattie and Shankly. Okay?"

Margaret agreed that he could go. After all, she'd had her weekend in Barrow. Fair was fair!

On the Friday, he typed his note, before anyone else arrived at Jack's. It read, "Urgent I see you next Saturday. I'll be in the Greyhound Hotel at one o'clock." He didn't sign it. He typed her name and the school address and fixed a stamp on an envelope. He walked the long way home and posted it at Oxcliffe Corner.

The following Friday, there was no Beth at the meeting. Jack gave him no message from her. He was glad she'd said nothing to Jack about the letter which she must have received. He assumed she hadn't spoken to his friend. Jack would surely have mentioned it.

Saturday morning, came. After work, he walked as far as Damside Street then headed for Halton, via Skerton Bridge, Main Street and Halton Road. He hoped he wouldn't meet the Fascist thugs who'd attacked him the last time he was there!

He grinned to himself. "I won't have a woman to protect me like last time."

The further he walked, the more excited he felt, at the prospect of seeing Beth again. He resisted the idea of skipping along. Like a film-star in a musical! He made up some doggerel, which fitted a popular tune, and sang the verse softly to himself.

Ring those bells!

Bang that drum!

I'm in love,

Here I come!

Of course there was always the chance that she wouldn't turn up. She might have decided that she did not want to see him. Perhaps she hadn't realised the note was from him. Perhaps she had something better to do. He'd soon find out. He was nearly there.

It was a quarter to one when he arrived at the pub. He went into the lounge and ordered himself a pint of bitter. There were only three others in there, all leaning on the bar. He went and found a seat in a corner near the open fire. He could watch the main entrance from where he sat. He sipped his beer and waited. The minutes passed and they seemed like hours.

Then he saw her coming towards the entrance. She was on her own. She was wearing a long black coat. Her red hair stood out vividly against it. She was smoking a cigarette.

She came straight into the lounge. The landlord greeted her, "Hello stranger! How's Beth today?"

"I'm fine, thank you Mr. Stamp."

She looked around and saw Gordon in his corner. She went over to him and sat down opposite. She looked straight at him, loosened the collar of her coat, blew a cloud of smoke over his head and said, "Hello Gordon! Nice to see you. I assumed the note was from you."

"Hello Beth! Thanks for coming. What can I get you to drink?" There was a studied casualness about his manner and speech.

"My usual please, a glass of red wine!"

The lounge was starting to fill up. There were a number of locals but there was passing trade too. Several cars were parked outside. For a while, they could talk quietly and not be overheard because no-one sat too near them. To start with it was all about school, Williamson's, family and Lesley. She explained about how difficult it had been for her to be at any of the recent meetings. He was going nowhere with the chat. Quite abruptly, he cut across all the small talk and whispered to her urgently.


"I've really been wanting to see you again. I've been thinking about you a lot."

Her eyes sparkled mischievously. "Have you Gordon? And why's that?"

"You must know why!"

She grinned at him. "No! Go on, tell me!" So he did. Silly, stupid sod! He poured his heart out to her. She grinned at him even more. "Oh, come on Gordon," she whispered back, "you're a married man. Why would you be wanting to see a girl like me regularly? There'd be no future in it."

He told her he was crazy about her, but it didn't have the effect he'd hoped for. She made it obvious that she didn't like what he'd said. She told him all about how she didn't want any kind of tie. Freedom was the thing!

She and Lesley had an agreement. No regular boy friends. Nothing serious. "Your friend Jack understands," she told Gordon. "Ask him! Get him to lend you one of his books on free love! He's an expert. He has the right attitude."


"You mean that -- you and Jack? You've been with him, like with me?"

She smiled sweetly and repeated, "Ask Jack!"

She offered her hand to him to shake. She leaned forward towards him across the table. "Now come along Gordon. Don't sulk! Be a good boy! Cheer up! We can be good friends can't we? We're all comrades on the same side, aren't we?"

Quite miserable because of her attitude towards him and because of what she'd said, Gordon made one last effort. "But what about us? Have you felt nothing special about me?"

Beth was becoming annoyed. "Listen, Gordon! I will not be a romantic, fantasy figure for you or anyone. I am not a significant character in the story which is your life. I am the principle character in my own story. I decide the part other people have in it.

"You're losing the plot!" she continued. "Accept being my friend or forget me altogether! Don't act like a little boy who's had an ice-cream snatched away from him!"

Gordon took her hand but didn't say anything. He kept on staring at her in disbelief. How was it possible for him to feel so much for her and she so little for him?

She stubbed her cigarette out in an ashtray and finished her wine. "Now I have to go. Lesley and I are going to do our Christmas shopping. I can't stay here any longer. I'll see you again soon at one of the meetings. Thanks for the drink." She stood and fastened the collar of her coat again."See you at Jack's after Christmas!" And off she went.


"Cheerio Beth!" the landlord called after her. "Mind what you get up to!"

"Bye, Mr. Stamp," she replied.

Gordon sat there for a few seconds, then he left his half-empty glass behind and hurried after her. He caught up with her and grasped her arm. She turned round looking a bit startled. Before she or he could say anything, there was a voice from behind them. Someone had just got out of a car and was calling to him.

"Gordon! Hello Gordon! You're a long way from home!"

Poor Gordon -- he could not believe his bad luck. It was Joyce, speaking to him. She walked towards the pub entrance, paused there and waved to him. She had a companion. She was with a big fat middle-aged man her affluent boy friend, Joe Treacle.

Gordon was dumbfounded. He did not return her greeting right away. She waved to him again. "Be seeing you, Gordon! Tell Margaret I'll be calling on her soon. Give her my love!"

She went inside the building before Gordon could respond. Beth tugged herself free from his grasp and carried on going away from him.

"Not your lucky day is it, love?" she called back. She had a big, broad smile on her face. He stood there alone feeling upset, guilty and apprehensive. He decided to let Beth go. What was the point?

"Serves me right! I've been a bloody fool. Again!"

He had to kill time before he was expected home. The bus from Preston wouldn't be back in town until around five o'clock. Margaret would not be expecting him back home for ages. He decided to go and watch Lancaster City playing soccer on the Giant Axe Field.

A couple of lads who he used to play soccer with were having a game for Lancaster. "I was as good as either of them," he thought, miserably. "It could have been me playing if I hadn't packed it in!"

He decided he'd watch the Lancashire Combination match. After that, he'd go up town and see his mother for a while. On his way home, he'd call at a newsagents and buy the soccer edition of the Lancashire Evening Post. There'd be the result and a review of the match at Deepdale. He'd be able to tell his wife about the game he was supposed to have been at.

As he walked away from Halton, he tried to find reasons for Beth's behaviour. It occurred to him that she was a female equivalent of his brother Frank. Frank was determined to keep his freedom and had had numerous girl friends. His brother wasn't that much younger than Gordon. But Frank had been enjoying himself with the other sex for years. It was easy for him being single. All the years that Gordon had been stuck in his marriage Frank had been fancy free.

"I'm being unfair!" he thought. "I'm not stuck in a marriage. My marriage is fine. Frank hasn't got lovely kids like I have. What would my life be without Michael and Gwyn?"

But the thought persisted. Frank had had all sorts of fun which Gordon had missed. Frank had had more than his share. A man of his age should be settled. It definitely wasn't right him still being on the loose. On the other hand, he didn't do anyone any harm, apart from breaking a few hearts along the way. So good luck to him!

"But as for women over twenty-one having as much freedom as they liked," he thought, " that's not natural! It's all wrong."

These modern women thought they could do anything, he argued to himself, his mind racing. If they had some spare cash, like Joyce, they were irresponsible the way they carried on. Career women like Beth and Leslie thought they could please themselves. They didn't care what people thought about their behaviour.

They'd be wanting equal pay next! It was plainly ridiculous! Perhaps the trouble had started when they won the vote. It wasn't right for women to be carrying on like they were. It was not respectable.

Beth's summary rejection of him had made him disgruntled. He was feeling all bitter and twisted. He temporarily forgot his own eagerness to be with freedom-loving women twice during the last twelve months. Thinking all round the subject he came to a definite conclusion. Men were made differently from women weren't they? It was only natural to want a bit on the side. Wasn't it?

If he'd been able to discuss the matter with Jack, he might have straightened him out. Jack would have tried to insist that he think and behave more rationally. Gordon was more than a little bit confused. Confused by his own ambivalence. Confused by what some women seemed to be up to these days! Feelings affected and contorted his thinking.

The next thing he did was try to cheer himself up, by putting Beth down, right down, alongside Joyce. Yes, even as low as Joyce!

Two bits of slag, that's what they were! One was a Durex-carrying rat bag! The other was a raving lunatic dyke.

He knew that if he'd been able to tell the blokes at work what had happened to him his mates would all agree.