An Education by Lynn Barber Read Free Book Online Page B

came that evening, they made lots of happy jokes about not losing a daughter but gaining a son. Simon chuckled and waved his hands about, poured drinks and proposed toasts – but I caught the flash of panic in his eyes. A few days later, probably no more than a week, we were in the Bristol on our way to dinner when he said he just needed to pop into one of his flats to have a word with a tenant. Fine, I said, I'll wait in the car. As soon as he went inside the house, I opened the glove compartment and started going through the letters and bills he kept in there. It was something I could have done on any one of a hundred occasions before – I knew he kept correspondence in the glove compartment, I knew the glove compartment was unlocked, I was often waiting in the car alone and had no scruples about reading other people's letters. So why had I never done it before? And why did it seem the most obvious thing in the world to do now? Anyway, the result was instantaneous. There were a dozen or more letters addressed to Simon Goldman, with a Twickenham address. And two addressed to Mr and Mrs Simon Goldman with the same address.
    I behaved quite normally that evening though at the end, when he asked if Minn would welcome a visit from Bubl, I replied smoothly that she was indisposed. By that stage, I was at least as good a liar as Simon. As soon as I got home, I looked in the phone book – and why had I never thought of doing that before? – and sure enough found an S. Goldman with a Popes Grove (Twickenham) number, and the address I'd seen on the letters. It was only about half a mile from my house, I actually passed it every day on the bus to school. I spent the night plotting and rehearsing what I would say, working out scripts for all eventualities. When I finally rang the number the next morning, it was all over in seconds. A woman answered. ‘Mrs Goldman?’ I said. ‘Yes.’ ‘I'm ringing about the Bristol your husband advertised for sale.’ ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘is he selling it? He's not here now but he's usually back about six.’ That was enough, or more than enough – I could hear a child crying in the background.
    I took the train to Waterloo, and walked all the way to Bedford Square. Helen was in, and guessed as soon as she saw me – ‘You've found out?’
    ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It's not just that he's married – he lives with her. And there's a child.’
    ‘Two, actually.’
    ‘Why didn't you tell me?’
    ‘I'm sorry. I wanted to. The other night when you said were engaged, I told Danny we must tell you, but he said Simon would never forgive us.’
    This was – what? – my third, fourth, fifth betrayal by adults? And I had really thought Helen was my friend.
    ‘What was Simon planning to do?’ I asked her. ‘Commit bigamy?’
    ‘Yes,’ she said soberly. ‘That's exactly what he intended to do. He felt he'd lose you if he didn't. He loves you very much, you know.’
    I went home and raged at my parents – ‘You did this. You made me go out with him, you made me get engaged.’ My parents were white with shock – unlike me, they had no inkling before that Simon was dishonest. My mother cried. When Simon came that evening, my father went to the door and tried to punch him. I heard him shouting, ‘You've ruined her life!’ From my bedroom window, I saw Simon sitting in the Bristol outside with his shoulders shaking. Then my father strode down the front path and kicked the car as hard as he could, and Simon drove away. I found the sight of my father kicking the car hilarious and wanted to shout out of the window, ‘Scratch it, Dad! Scratch the bodywork – that'll really upset him!’
    It was a strange summer. My parents were grieving and still in deep shock. I, the less deceived, was faking far more sorrow than I felt. After all, I never loved him whereas I think perhaps they did. I stayed in my room playing César Franck's Symphony in D Minor very loudly day after day. My main emotion was