Bilgewater by Jane Gardam Read Free Book Online

Algebra next lesson—it was one of those green black boards that show through for weeks even after you’ve tried to get it out with water—I felt a warmth and satisfaction as I saw the words hollowly gleaming behind the symbols—facts behind facts. Truth behind truth. And on my way home the night of me Hardy lesson, as if to crown the beauty of it all by myself, I met Jack Rose. He was coming along Madeira, which is the road beside the railway line which has a rose-red wall the other side of it, the back wall of Victorian houses with long kitchen gardens, that catches any sun we get and faces south. Like the night I was a Peeping Tom, it was a balmy evening and I was sauntering along imagining myself to be Fancy Day looking at my pretty, unbespectacled face in a mirror on a cart. I was trailing my shopping basket full of books in one hand and watching the tufts of grass between the paving stones which looked like fuzzy seaweed—it’s interesting sometimes to be long-sighted. And there was Jack Rose beside me.
    â€œHullo,” he said.
    He had a kind face. I mean, kind. Not soppy or twee but kind.
    Good-natured and loving. His hair was soft and brown and clean. He swooped and took my basket full of books from me and swung it. “Plenty of homework,” he said. He had books of his own in his other hand and dropped them in my basket. His books mingled with mine. Oh God! I loved him—looking at our books together, jumbled in a heap. Then the top book fell off and I caught it and gave it back to him. It was called
Ulysses
, a huge heavy thing. “Thanks,” said he, “not that I’d mind losing it too much.”
    â€œWhat is it? Is it Greek?”
    â€œNo. It’s English. Supposed to be a noveI. It’s just some poor perisher’s thoughts going on and on. Want to read it?”
    He picked it out and solemnly presented it to me and although it was only from St. Wilfrid’s Library and I’d have all the trouble of getting father to take it back, I was thrilled because no one had ever given me a heavy book to read before, knowing that I found reading difficult. It was common knowledge that I could hardly read. “A present,” he said bowing and I held
Ulysses
close to my heart and Rose swung along beside me talking of things like cricket and the summer holidays and all the things he was doing as if I had been anybody or attractive.
    At the House Boys’ Entrance we stood chatting and boys came and went between us, bursting out like rabbits free until Prep. Boakes came out and smiled at me. Then out blundered Terrapin and fell over Rose’s feet. Rose kicked him. “Get up slob. You nearly knocked Bilgewater over.”
    â€œI didn’t. I knocked you.”
    â€œWell, apologise.”
    â€œNot on your—ow!”
    â€œNow get.”
    Terrapin rubbing a twisted arm looked at me and saw the book and read its title on my chest. “You’re not reading that!” he said and started laughing.
    â€œGet!”
    Terrapin ignored him. “You won’t like it, Bilge. You leave that alone.”
    â€œWhy?” I was so angry I was sweaty.
    â€œIt’s not fit,” said Terrapin. “And you’ll never get through it it’s so long. And it’s all boring private thoughts. It’s the way you use words when you’re thinking.”
    â€œI’m interested in that.”
    â€œSo there you are,” said Rose and (oh glory) for the second time in my life tweaked a bit of my hair. “That’s what Bilge likes.”
    â€œA novel should contain what everyone is thinking and nobody dares to say,” I announced and there was a bit of a pause. Jack Rose said, “So you see, Terrapin. She
has
got the right book. It’s later than you think.” He sort of eyed me and disappeared into the school.
    Meeting Terrapin’s crazy round eyes which were not kind at all, I couldn’t help saying