If anyone had ever warned Jane that she would become the spark for gossip and the wedge between a father and his son, she would have demanded the words be taken back. Jane was a plain country girl, but she could still stand up for herself. Yet the events unfolded exactly as they did, and even in the strangest nightmare she could not have imagined that happiness would demand she trek through seven circles of torment.
Jane had only just arrived in the city, though she had begged her mother not to send her to her aunt. At the family council it was decided that Jane, and only Jane, would go to Margaret Whitmore, because there was no one else. Oliver, the father, had been a tractor driver and now the fields were a chaotic tangle of work. Mary, the mother, laboured on the farm, while the siblings were either in school or toddling in nursery.
With a tiny suitcase packed with the bare essentials, Jane set off for the aunt she had seen once before, at a distant christening. Rumour had it that Margaret, with her sour disposition, never got along with any of her three husbands. She had no children, no heirs, and Janes parents secretly hoped she would leave her flat to her niece. That indeed happened, but Margaret treated Jane tolerably yet always kept her at arms length. She never asked about Janes life, and she let no one into her inner world. One wonders why she kept Jane at all. Simply because lately the thought of dying unnoticed had haunted her; she feared she would rot in her flat until the stench seeped into the hallway and someone finally called the constable to break in.
Margaret had been battling an incurable illness for years, knowing that tomorrow or the next day she might slip away. For her, Jane was a ticket to a timely funeral and a proper wake. Jane sensed her aunts worries and asked no questions. She washed, cooked, cleaned, shopped everything that was expected of her. With no friends, the girl who used to sit on the village bench after a hard day felt the ache of solitude. In the city she rarely left the flat; the balcony became her world. She could sit for hours watching young mothers strolling with their toddlers, or elderly ladies gathering by the lift to discuss the days concerns. Janes life seemed split in two: the unpleasant part, racing about like a errandrunner to satisfy her aunts whims, and the pleasant part, beginning when Margaret drifted off after a dose of painkillers. Then Jane would brew fragrant coffee and retreat to the balcony for a quiet respite.
Soon she noticed a charming neighbour, Andrew Clarke, who also appeared on the balcony at the same hour. At first they nodded politely, pretending not to see each other, then exchanged greetings, and eventually their exchanges smelt of teenage infatuation. Both hurried to the balcony, hoping to catch a glimpse of the other and steal a few moments together. By the time Margaret passed away, Jane and Andrew were already whispering confidences and had confessed their feelings. After Margarets funeral Jane did not return to the village; she stayed in the city, giving her parents a vague excuse about studying, though they sensed something else and simply did not argue.
Certain of her love, Jane accepted Andrews courtship and his proposal. Andrew lived alone. His mother, after a divorce, remarried and moved to America. His father, a doctor, worked overseas in Nigeria and visited only once a year on holiday. Their wedding was modest but merry, and the bride and groom felt the world had finally aligned for them.
Andrew followed his fathers footsteps, training as a surgeon and now working at the city hospital. Wanting to match him, Jane enrolled in a nursing course after a short stint of study. She imagined they would both go to work, save lives together, but not every dream stays intact.
Jane, my dads arriving in a week! Get ready, her sister shouted.
What does he like? We need groceries, a menu, a deep clean
Relax, its not the king of Nigeria, just my dad, a simple man, Andrew reassured.
Yet Jane fretted. She had seen pictures of him tanned, sharpchinned, looking like a Spaniard or Turk but appearances deceive. What if he were a snob, a perfectionist who found fault in everything? What if Andrew later decided she was unworthy and left?
When her fatherinlaw, Sir Geoffrey Whitmore, stepped through the door he was nothing like the imagined tyrant. He kissed his son and daughterinlaw, apologized for missing the wedding, and presented a mountain of gifts. He praised the stew Jane had prepared, saying it was the best hed tasted in ages, then left to visit old friends. A month flew by and Geoffrey returned to Nigeria, leaving the young couple alone. Sometimes Jane wondered why her motherinlaw seemed intent on swapping Geoffrey for someone else. Geoffrey was an excellent cook, occasionally rising at dawn to make delicate crêpes that few could master, and he often helped Jane with the housework, offering his son a fatherly injunction:
Good wife youve found look after Jane, help her in every way, or youll waste your own happiness.
Andrew smiled silently, thinking, Where would she go? Jane isnt the type to abandon everything. He believed that even if she strayed, she would forgive and carry on as if nothing had happened. In the countryside life was simpler; people endured for their children. He held this as truth, so when a nurse flirted with him, he drifted into a new romance, unconcerned that his wife suffered a weeklong bout of severe nausea and could hardly cook. He always arrived home full, dined with his colleague Karina, drove her home, and feigned fatigue before slipping back to his flat. Jane seemed oblivious to the shift in her husband, absorbed in her own new sensations. She rejoiced at the thought of motherhood, yet feared she could not cope though how could she, with such a caring husband?
When Jane finally gave birth, the demands multiplied. Milk ran thin, the infant wailed through the night. Andrew grew irritable, demanding Jane soothe the child while he retired to the lounge. When Geoffrey returned, he barely recognised his daughterinlaw. The rosy, laughing girl had become pale and gaunt, a mere shadow; his son, meanwhile, had grown stouter, staying out late.
Help your wife, will you? Geoffrey urged.
Dad, shes at home all day; let her at least look after the baby.
Did someone new appear in your life? Geoffrey asked.
Why do you ask? Andrew replied.
I see you light up when youre away, and you grow sour when youre home, Geoffrey observed.
Just nothing serious, Dad, Andrew muttered.
Make sure nothing serious turns horrible, Geoffrey warned.
Janes to blame herself. Shes no longer a woman. Look at her hair, her face.
Then its your fault. Jane never rests, Geoffrey snapped.
Im off, work wont wait! Andrew shouted.
It seemed Andrew ignored his fathers counsel, insisting Jane should manage everything at home, while Geoffrey alone understood her without words and did what he could to help.
Jane, go to sleep, Ill look after the little one, Geoffrey suggested.
What if she gets hungry?
You think I cant make a bottle and feed her? Remember I raised a lazy fool your husband.
Thanks to his fatherinlaw, Jane finally managed a few hours of sleep. Geoffrey would stroll with the baby, feed and rock her while Jane was occupied, giving her a chance to unwind. She thanked him constantly, praying that God would grant him a woman who might bring him his own happiness. It was lonely for Geoffrey, with only his son and granddaughter in England while he lingered in Nigeria.
Jane found herself thinking of Geoffrey more and more; he became more than a fatherinlaw a father, brother, friend, confidante. He listened to every ramble, soothed every sorrow. The thought of his departure haunted her.
Jane, you look downcast.
Just nothing.
Here, take some money. Go to the salon, get a haircut, colour, makeup, manicure. Then shop for yourself. Dont worry about the child, Ill watch her.
In a sudden burst Jane kissed Geoffreys cheek and sprinted to obey. By evening she returned, radiant and happy. A mischievous thought flickered: perhaps she should surprise her husband, and she turned toward the hospital where Andrew worked.
Good afternoon, Im looking for Dr. Andrew Whitmore.
Hes in, please come in.
Jane imagined his delight at her new look, but the scene that greeted her was wholly different. A young nurse sat on his lap, her coat halfunbuttoned, clearly not for a medical exam. Jane fled the room like a startled pigeon, hailed a cab, and wept all the way home.
What happened, love? her daughter asked.
Andrew is cheating
Who told you?
I saw it with my own eyes
Sir Geoffrey wrapped his arms around Jane, smoothing her hair.
Cry, love, it will ease the ache. Ill speak to him, hell come back.
Im leaving, taking the baby.
Fool, where will you go? Think of the child. Village life isnt sweet; work is hard, and you have a little one in your arms.
No one had held Jane so tightly for years. She and Andrew had been sleeping in separate rooms for months, yet the scent of his aftershave and his soft words swirled her mind. Geoffrey, too, felt an odd pull toward her the sight of a fragile, defenseless woman awakened a fierce need to protect, to kiss, to whisk her far away from harm. In a sudden rush he lifted her and carried her to the bedroom; she offered no resistance. They shared a secret, hidden from a husband lost in his own affairs, a secret that would have been obvious had Andrew paid any attention beyond his own vanity.
Shame and joy tangled within her. She compared Andrew with Geoffrey, and, alas, the latter eclipsed the former at every turn. Then Jane discovered she was pregnant again. She did not know what to do; she and Andrew had been intimate only three months before, and he would surely suspect infidelity.
What are you worrying about? Its wonderful! I never thought I could be a father at fifty. Its up to you now will you marry me?
What about Andrew?
What about Andrew? I know we both erred, but hes also at fault. Hell eventually leave, and I love you; I cant live without you.
After a painful divorce, Jane and Geoffrey signed the papers and sailed off to Nigeria. Their families could not comprehend the decision; the villagers whispered that she had only pretended modesty. Andrew, for his part, kept recounting how cruelly his wife and father had treated him. Yet none of it mattered. They were happy to have found each other and treasured every fleeting moment they shared.
