by Anita Waller
She opened the door, and the smell of bacon permeated the house. She took off her coat, careful to avoid the sore spot, and hung it in the cloakroom, then headed for the kitchen.
‘Bacon?’
‘Yes, just grabbed the first thing I found really,’ James said, not bothering to look at her. ‘I’ve got to be in Leeds by seven. If the meeting goes on late, and there’s alcohol involved, I’ll probably stay over. If not, I’ll be home later. I’ll let you know.’
‘What’s the meeting about?’
‘The official line is bringing more young people into the party, but as soon as Jeremy became leader, that happened anyway. I think the idea now is to educate the youngsters, let them see what a political career can offer them.’
James worked for the Labour party and took his job seriously. Much more seriously than he took his relationship with his wife, she thought, moving to stand by his side.
‘Before you go, can you just have a look at my shoulder, please?’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’d like you to look at it. It’s sore. Is it a rash?’
She heard him tut, and thought he was going to refuse, but he stood, and she peeled back the neckline of her sweater, exposing her upper right arm and shoulder area.
He cast a quick glance. ‘Can’t see anything.’
‘James!’
He had a closer look, and hesitated. ‘Yes, there’s a sort of blister. It looks like a small grape. A really small grape. It’s a bit inflamed around it, but I assume that’s your sweater rubbing on it. You want me to put a plaster over it?’
She shook her head. ‘No, it’s been bothering me for a couple of weeks. I’ll make an appointment with the doctor. It probably needs removing.’
He made no further comment, left the kitchen and headed upstairs. Claudia watched him go, then turned and opened the fridge.
It seemed pointless cooking a meal for one, and she too brought out the bacon, with little enthusiasm. The bread bin proved to be empty; James had used the last two breadcakes. She put the bacon back in the fridge, took out a yoghurt, and wandered into the lounge.
She heard him come downstairs, open the front door, and then close it. The next sound was the car engine and she knew that really, their marriage was one huge sham. For years she had ignored the coldness for the sake of the children, but now both Harry and Zoe had left home, Harry to live with his partner Emma, and Zoe to share her life with husband David.
So, what was keeping Claudia here? Not loyalty. She felt she owed him nothing. The bruises were testament to that. Security? She could have security on her own. And it certainly wasn’t for conversation; he couldn’t even say goodbye as he left the house any more.
Fear. That was keeping her rooted to this house. Fear of his anger, his quickness to raise his hand, whether threatening or hitting her. She shook her head. She would be happy later; she knew he wasn’t coming home. There would be alcohol, so he would stay in Leeds; he wouldn’t risk his driving licence. To him, his job was too important.
She glanced at the clock, then picked up the telephone handset.
The doctor’s receptionist answered quickly, taking Claudia by surprise.
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I half expected the answer machine.’
‘We’re here until six now,’ she said, her frosty tone indicating she didn’t really approve of having to stay an extra half hour.
‘Oh, good,’ Claudia said. ‘Can I have an appointment as soon as possible, please? Preferably with Dr Walker.’ She liked Dr Walker; he listened when she needed to talk.
There was a moment of hesitation. ’Friday, 29th April. 9am.’
‘What? But it’s the first today. I have to wait four weeks?’
‘Yes. That’s Dr Walker’s first available appointment. You can come to the emergency session any day, by ringing at eight, but you won’t necessarily get to see him, it could be any of our six doctors.’
Claudia sighed yet again. It seemed to be an evening for sighing. ‘So, if I ring Monday morning, I’ll be able to see a doctor?’
‘If there are any slots left, yes. And if it’s an emergency.’
‘Thank you.’ Claudia put down the phone and stared at it. And she’d thought April Fool’s Day had finished at lunchtime. This was no joke. Now she would have to wait until Monday and hope she could get in then.
She wandered back into the lounge, put on some music and picked up her book. She finished off the yoghurt, put her head comfortably on a cushion and began to read. The sore spot was irritating her, and she changed ends so that she wasn’t touching anything with her shoulder.
Eventually she gave up and went to find a mirror. She slipped off her sweater and stood with her back to the cheval mirror in the bedroom. She couldn’t see anything. Every time she screwed her head round, her body moved as well. She went to find her phone.
The resulting photograph was a waste of time. In the end, she ran a bath, had a soak for an hour, then slipped on a silky nightie, figuring that wouldn’t irritate the sore part of her shoulder any more than it already was.
James didn’t ring to tell her what he was doing, so she went to bed early, read a couple of chapters, and slept restlessly all night. Every time she turned over she caught the spot, until in the end she got up, had a bowl of cornflakes and mentally prepared herself for the weekend.
Saturday showed promise of being a beautiful day, and Claudia decided to do a bit of tidying in the garden. The borders still had last year’s dead foliage on the plants, so she removed it. The spring sunshine was pleasantly warm, and she worked along the long side strip after taking all the dead blooms off the hydrangea; she was halfway along the front edge by the time James pulled onto the drive. She had acquired a large haul of dead matter for the compost heap and was just considering fetching the wheelbarrow from the garage to start moving the brown mound.
She hadn’t heard him arrive, and she jumped as she heard his voice. ‘I’m back.’ Not ‘I’m home’, but ‘I’m back’.
Claudia eased herself off her knees and waved the secateurs at him. ‘Thought I’d make a start,’ she said.
‘I didn’t drive back last night.’
‘I gathered that.’
He stared at her, then turned and walked into the kitchen.
Moments later, he returned to the back door.
‘Can you knock off, please, and make a coffee?’
Claudia placed the secateurs on the kneeling mat and headed for the kitchen. Even his voice made her feel angry. Taking down the cafetière – he didn’t like instant coffee – she spooned in the dark blend he preferred. She switched on the kettle, keeping her back to him. If he couldn’t speak civilly, then she was damned sure she wasn’t going to say anything. James sat at the kitchen table watching her.
‘Have you lost weight?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’ Her voice was quiet. She sensed where this was heading. She could hear it in his voice.
‘You’re looking very fit. Take off your top.’
‘What?’
‘I said take off your top.’
‘I’m making the coffee.’ She could hear the quaver in her own voice, so knew he must be able to hear it, sense her fear.
He stood and came behind her, reached around to the buttons, and ripped her shirt open. She heard and saw tiny white buttons bounce on the work surface. He spun her around to face him.
‘I could tell you had no bra on,’ he said, almost conversationally, staring at her breasts.
She tried to cover herself with the shirt, but he pulled it away from her body again. He placed his hands roughly on her breasts.
‘Why no bra? Were you waiting for me to come home?’
‘No. The strap on the bra is rubbing against that sore spot on my shoulder. It was comfier to leave it off.’
‘Forget the coffee. I’ve changed my mind.’ His tone had altered. ‘Upstairs, now.’
‘No, James, please… ’
He lifted his hand and slapped
her across the face. ‘I said now.’ He spoke quietly, tonelessly, and she left the kitchen, trying to hold in the tears. She felt so alone, and frightened.
Chapter 2
‘Shall we go to Mum’s?’ Zoe Kenwright leaned over and kissed her man. She liked kissing her man. Very much.
‘Will your dad be there?’ David, her husband of four months, spoke without opening his eyes. To him, Saturday meant having a lie-in, and that didn’t appear to be on the cards. But he did like his woman kissing him.
‘I don’t know. Why?’
He shrugged, his eyes still closed. ‘Your dad’s okay when he’s okay, sometimes he isn’t. S’all I’m saying.’
She remained quiet for a moment. ‘So, shall we go?’
He groaned. ‘For goodness’ sake, woman, don’t nag. Was this in the marriage vows?’
‘No, and neither was picking up your laundry from the bedroom floor and putting it in the basket, but I seem to do it a lot.’
They swung their legs out at the same time, and Zoe went for the shower. David smiled, and slid back between the sheets. Maybe just a little bit longer…
Claudia, sitting at the kitchen table, heard the front door open.
‘Mum?’
‘’In the kitchen, sweetheart.’
Zoe, closely followed by David, walked over to kiss her mum. ‘What’s wrong with your face?’
Claudia knew the red mark was clearly visible. ‘Your dad hit me.’
‘Yeah, right. You’ve walked into something, haven’t you?’
Claudia nodded. ‘I left the wardrobe door open and turned around. It’s not a good look, but it’ll fade.’
‘Is Dad here?’
‘Yes, he’s gone to get the wheelbarrow from the garage for me. I’ve been doing a bit of tidying in the garden, there’s loads of new spring growth coming through. But now we’ve got a mountain of dead stuff to get onto the compost heap.’
She didn’t add ‘he’s being helpful and nice because he’s just hit me and raped me.’ It just wasn’t the sort of thing one said to a daughter.
David looked at his mother-in-law, at the angry red mark. A wardrobe door? He heard James whistling as he wheeled the barrow around the corner of the house and up onto the back lawn, so he went out to meet him.
‘David.’
‘James.’
James held out his hand and David briefly shook it. It was their standard greeting.
‘Busy?’
James nodded. ‘Claudia is. She directs, I fetch and carry.’
‘She’s got a cracker of a mark on her face. Bathroom cabinet door, she says.’
James nodded again. ‘Yes, she hit it with a bit of a wallop. It’ll fade.’
‘Let’s hope she doesn’t leave any more doors open, James. Wardrobe or bathroom cabinet doors. Bruises don’t suit her.’ David turned and walked back to the kitchen, leaving James motionless on the lawn, staring at his son-in-law’s back.
David rejoined his wife, sitting with Claudia at the table. A cup of coffee was waiting for him, and he sat, listening to their chatter. This wasn’t the first time he’d noticed bruises on Claudia, but she’d always had a good excuse for them. Just like now.
James came through the door and helped himself to a coffee.
Immediately, Claudia stood, and refilled the cafetière. She was jumpy, and she knew it must be obvious. ‘Are you staying for lunch?’ she asked, her tone a little too bright.
‘No, Mum, we’re okay thanks. We need to go do some shopping, we’re running dangerously low on wine,’ Zoe responded with a laugh. ‘We’ll just finish our drinks, and get off. I just wanted to check you’re both okay.’
‘Well, we are.’ Again, the tone was false.
‘Good. You need anything picking up from the supermarket?’
‘No, we’re fine, thanks.’ Claudia smiled at her daughter. With her long blonde hair pulled up into a ponytail, she looked about fifteen. Certainly not old enough for supermarkets to be part of her life. Their matching grey eyes locked on each other, and Zoe returned the smile.
‘Love you, Mum,’ she said and stood. ‘I’ve got my phone on me, so if you do need anything, give me a call.’
Zoe gave both her parents a kiss, and David bent to kiss Claudia. ‘Take care,’ he said, briefly touched her hand and followed his wife to the car, paying no attention to James.
David put the car into gear and pulled away from the kerb.
‘You don’t like my dad?’
‘I don’t like any man who makes a woman afraid.’
‘What?’
‘Nothing – forget I said anything.’
‘No – you’ve said it now. What do you mean? Mum’s not afraid of Dad.’
David shrugged. ‘Okay, I’m listening. But she’s always on edge around him. Maybe I’m wrong.’ He knew he was keeping the peace.
‘You’re wrong. ‘I’ve lived with them for twenty-odd years, and I wouldn’t have said she feared him.’
‘Let’s drop it, Zoe. I’m sure they’re fine.’
Zoe said nothing but continued to stare out of the window. She hated discord between them, and this was discord. And to make matters worse, she knew he was right; her mum had been nervous, jittery.
Heather Gower stared out of her back-bedroom window and watched the activity in the garden adjoining hers. She felt deeply for Claudia; they had been the closest of friends for many years, more like sisters than merely friends, and Heather had seen her confidence and joie-de-vivre fade over the past seven years. Losing their child had been something neither of them had ever recovered from, and Heather’s heart ached for them.
She knew they must have argued, or even worse, because James was helping move the dead stuff to the compost area. He was obviously sorry for something he’d done, because he would normally be inside working on his crosswords, scouring his newspapers and being waited on by his wife. He was so easy to read.
Heather sighed and turned away from the window. They’d married a right pair of useless lumps, she thought, as she looked at her own husband of twenty-three years, standing in the doorway of the bedroom waving a T-shirt at her.
‘I need this one today,’ Owen Gower said, and she frowned at him.
‘Why?’
‘Why?’
‘Yes, why?’ she repeated. ‘Why that one? You must have twenty T-shirts, all perfectly good, and all bloody ironed. So why that one, Owen? It’s a sensible question.’
‘Because I like this one.’ There was now a slightly aggressive tone in his voice, and Heather realised he’d already had a drink. It wasn’t yet lunchtime.
‘I don’t do ironing at the weekends,’ she said, and pushed past him. He spun her around.
‘I said I want this one.’
‘Tough. You know where the ironing board is.’
Heather headed downstairs, and seconds later heard drawers opening and closing as he decided which option to go for in his stash of ironed T-shirts.
She smiled as she reached the kitchen. She knew she’d been optimistic when she’d said you know where the ironing board is. He had no idea where it was.
Switching on the kettle Heather began to prepare a sandwich for them. Lost in her thoughts, she was surprised when he appeared behind her and gave her a quick kiss on the nape of her neck.
‘See you later,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘I’m meeting the lads in the pub. Be back around three.’
‘I’m just doing us a sandwich.’
‘I’ll have something at the pub. I don’t suppose you’d like to run me down there?’
He looked at her face and answered his own question. ‘No, maybe not then. See you later.’
She heard the door close as he left and wondered why she had let her life come to this. He needed help; his alcohol consumption was noticeable to everybody, and he was an embarrassment.
Financially they were struggling. Alcoholism came at a cost, and she knew she would have to go cap in hand to see her employ
er soon, to ask for more hours. She wasn’t sure Michael would say yes; the small clothes shop she managed part-time didn’t have a huge turnover, and she felt sure he would say he couldn’t do it.
Heather hated the thought that she might have to leave the job she loved and search for something with more pay, but she knew that was rapidly becoming an option.
She went out into the back garden, quite surprised by the warmth of the sun, they were so ready for nicer weather. Leaning on the fence she watched her friend as she loaded the barrow, oblivious to everything, focused on what she was doing.
‘Claudia!’
Claudia jumped, and turned around with a smile.
‘Hiya. You startled me.’
‘What’s wrong with your face?
She shrugged, and Heather had her answer.
‘Want a hug?’ she asked softly.
‘No, a gun.’
Heather smiled. ‘Make that two.’
‘He’s drinking?’
Heather nodded. ‘He is. Says he’ll be back around three, but that means maybe six. And I don’t know what to do.’
‘Do we really need a gun each? Will one gun do for both?’ Claudia said the words gently, and Heather laughed.
‘We’d manage,’ she said. ‘What’s the red mark for, this time?’
‘I said no.’
Heather drew in a quick breath. ‘No to…?’
‘Sex.’
For once Heather had no words. This was a new development in the Bells’ relationship.
‘And before you ask, yep, I gave in. I didn’t want a red mark on the other side of my face. It was partly my fault; he noticed I didn’t have on a bra.’
And then Heather found words. ‘It was not your fault, not partly, not wholly, not ever. If you say no, then it’s bloody no.’
‘Well, I’ve got a bra on now, even if it is making life uncomfortable. I’ll not make that mistake again.’
‘For God’s sake, Claudia! It should be your decision whether to wear a bra or not… It’s nothing to do with him. Is he in?’