A Soldier's Girl

by Maggie Ford

  ‘Your place, not ours,’ he cut in, his tone grown suddenly harsh. She shouldn’t have felt surprise. Reference to the house always provoked this reaction. But she did.

  Trying to ignore it, she continued in an unruffled tone, ‘Think about it, Harry, we could get a decent income if we let it out. I don’t know why we never thought of it before. We could live quite well on it if you don’t want us to sell it outright.’

  ‘That’s yours,’ he growled in reply. ‘What you bought.’ It wasn’t said generously, more an accusation, and now she couldn’t help but rise to the bait.

  ‘Why d’you keep sayin’ it’s mine? I bought it because it was cheap at the time, thinkin’ it’d stand us in good stead when you came out of the forces.’ She hurriedly closed her ears to her own lie and ploughed on. ‘We’re married, Harry. What’s yours is mine and what’s mine is yours. I saw it as somethink for us to fall back on if we ever hit hard times.’

  ‘And wivvout consultin’ me. Goin’ be’ind me back.’

  ‘How could I consult you when you was miles away?’

  ‘Fortunate, weren’t it, me bein’ miles away? Didn’t ’ave me ter tell yer not ter be such a bloody fool.’

  ‘How could I of been such a bloody fool when what I bought fer next to nothing is worth lots more now?’

  She was near to believing her own lies. ‘Enough ter keep us in comfort the rest of our lives if we sold it, an’ if we didn’t, rentin’ it out. You can be such a bloody fool when you want ter be, just because you want to hold the reins. You’d cut off yer own bloody nose fer that, wouldn’t yer? Yer can’t stand the thought of me bringin’ in money. Grow up, Harry. Things ain’t like they was before the war. This is today, and women work!’

  Furious with him, she was aware of the deterioration in her speech. Of late she had let it go, having on one occasion come upstairs from her salon and listened to him mimic the nice accent she used to her customers. ‘All bloody la-di-da, nowadays, ain’t we?’ he’d said, his unkind and unexpected sneer stunning her rigid.

  ‘Yer can keep what bleedin’ money you make on that ’ouse yerself,’ he was saying, slamming down his nightcap cup of cocoa and leaping up to stride across the room to turn off the wireless that was broadcasting a late evening drama. ‘It ain’t nuffink ter do wiv me.’

  ‘Course it’s somethink to do with you,’ she blazed, she too putting her cup down on the floor to stand up and face him. ‘We could be doin’ bloody well on what that’d fetch. You’d ’ave a garage of yer own and I’d ’ave me ’airdressin’. But no, you want—’

  ‘Oh, that’s what’s in yer mind?’ he shot back at her. ‘I ain’t bright enough ter get a job of me own. I ain’t that good a mechanic ter be taken seriously and need you ter set me up on your money an’ make me look a right chump in front of everyone. Let everyone see I can’t stand on me own two feet wivvout your ’elp. Poor old ’Arry can’t do nuffink wivvout ’is wife to ’elp ’im get a job. Well, no fuckin’ thanks! Yer can stick yer bloody money and yer bloody ’elp an’ yer bloody business – stick it all up yer arse fer all I care.’

  How could he swear at her like that when she wanted only to help him? At this very moment she felt she could go for him with both fists or better still, aim her cocoa cup at him. But what good would that do?

  ‘And sod you too!’ she yelled back. ‘I’m stuck with a silly bugger what don’t see somethink good when it stares ’im in the face.’

  ‘What stares me in the face is that yer can do wivvout me,’ he bawled, shoving past her and almost knocking her over. ‘Well, maybe we can sort that one out too. I’m orf ter bed!’

  ‘Thank you for all your faith in me!’ she yelled after him.

  In the silence he’d left in his wake she sank back down in her chair in a welter of misery and confusion as to how all this had started. But didn’t it always start up out of nothing? Why couldn’t he accept what she had to give? Why hate her having a business, her possession of that house? She’d thought only of him when she’d bought . . . She pulled herself up. God, she really was believing her own lies. Were he to know how she had really come by that house it would certainly finish this marriage.

  Another day, another argument, Harry standing morose, staring out at the warm June sunshine of this Friday evening as she came upstairs after closing the salon a little late.

  The shop had been so busy, women wanting their hair done in time for their first proper summer break in seven years, a weekend or a week at the seaside with the whole family. Some had probably tried it last year to find most once out-of-bounds beaches still cluttered with rusting barbed wire and reinforced cement blockhouses, even though a portion of wire was pulled back to allow them to paddle in the sea. Cleared at last, Londoners could enjoy their first real taste of the seaside since 1939. Especially the kids, the little ones, who would be experiencing their first-ever visit. Perhaps after the summer rush was over and the salon became less busy she and Harry could take Addie.

  After working flat out, Brenda was worn out, looking only to get their tea and settle down on the sofa. But as she came into the room Harry spoke without turning round, his tone almost a snarl.

  ‘’Bout bloody time too.’

  ‘Yes, I’m so sorry,’ she agreed. ‘It has absolutely been hectic all day.’

  She was stopped by his cynical laugh. As he turned she saw his lips drawn down in sarcasm at her salon talk.

  ‘H-oh, h-as it, now? H-as it been h-absolutely h-ectic, h’all day, then? H-ain’t you the busy one!’

  A small spurt of anger touched her. He was harking after yet another row, as ever jealous of her skill, her success in the job she loved, where he had still not settled down.

  Sometimes she wondered if he wasn’t deliberately trying not to, spiting her, jealous that rather than being the little wife who relied on him alone, she might very well be capable of doing without him altogether.

  Maybe that was being unfair to him, but that was how she felt. And so did a lot of other wives towards their husbands judging by what she gleaned as she did her clients’ hair.

  ‘Stupid old fool!’ one had muttered after recounting some incident with a husband. ‘Cock of the North now he’s ’ome, but ’e can’t even mend a fuse wivvout cryin’ out ter me ter run around gettin’ this an’ gettin’ that for ’im. When I fink ’ow many times I’ve ’ad ter mend fuses, and build shelves, and keep the kids in order, doin’ two or three fings at once, and all on me own too, I could swipe ’im one.’

  And another: ‘I ain’t gonna doff me cap to ’im every time ’e snaps ’is fingers. We’re rowing like blazes all day, then ’e thinks he’s entitled to a bit of the other the moment we get to bed. Well, no thank you! He can get ’is oats somewhere’s else! Me, I’ve got out of the ’abit. Once in a while, yeah, but not every blessed night.’

  It was like this with most of them so why should she be any different, having Harry run rings round her with his moans and his jealousies?

  ‘Don’t start, Harry,’ she begged wearily.

  All she wanted was a sit-down and a few minutes of normal chat before getting tea. It would have been nice if he’d started cutting the bread or peeling the potatoes, but that wasn’t a man’s job! The least he could have done was butter a bit of bread for Addie, who, having heard her voice, came running into the room from her bedroom where she’d been playing to fling herself at her. ‘Mummy! I’m hungry. I wanna drink of orange juice.’

  Brenda sighed, and picking her up gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘Yes, I know, love. I’m getting something right now.’

  She was blowed if she would drop her genteel talk for Harry. At this moment she couldn’t care less if he did take the rise out of her. To think she’d been saving her dreams of blissful married life all this time – for this? She should have gone off with John . . .

  ‘She ain’t the only one what’s ’ungry,’ Harry butted into her thoughts. ‘I bin waitin’ ’arf-hour fer you ter come up ter make a bloody cuppa tea. S’po
se you ’ad yours downstairs.’

  Brenda sucked in a fierce breath, then let it out in a torrent of sarcasm. ‘You know where the kettle is – you know where the tap is – and the gas stove. You fill the kettle from the tap, put it on the stove, light a match and turn on the blooming knob!’ Her voice rose on those words. ‘After that it does itself. At least we’d of ’ad the kettle boilin’ fer the tea. Can’t you even do a simple thing like that?’

  ‘I’ve bin workin’ all bleedin’ day.’

  ‘Hod-carrying on a building site, making a blessed point of not findin’ a proper job just so you can ’ave a dig at me working.’ In her annoyance all the nice talk went out of the window. ‘Sometimes I wonder if you ain’t come ’ome not quite right in the ’ead, you’ve come ’ome so bloody unreasonable.’

  ‘Don’t yer swear at me,’ he bellowed. ‘I’m bleedin’ worn out.’

  ‘So am I,’ she shot back at him.

  ‘Then give up that bloody job you keep callin’ a business.’ His words became a taunt. ‘’Ow would we exist if you wasn’t bringin’ in the dosh? My, it’s more’n I can ever make ’cos mine’s only a bloody pittance, an’ we can’t live on that, can we?’

  ‘If you was ter . . .’

  No, she wouldn’t make an issue of the opportunity staring him in the face, his own business. It would only provoke a worse row, with him again insisting that he wasn’t going to be patronised by her and her money. Addie was looking from one to the other, her little face tense, her little mouth gaping, her blue eyes wide. No, not in front of Addie, that same old damned argument.

  ‘I’ll get tea,’ she said wearily and hurried out to put the kettle on and start on the meal.

  ‘Listen, your place is ter look after me,’ he was shouting, ‘Not ter muck about down there.’

  July was as busy as June had been. Harry had got a job in a garage at last, which he appeared to be sticking to this time though still not earning what she was bringing in. And that was the crux of it.

  Brenda sighed and went to get tea. It was hard not to retaliate. It upset Addie. She would tackle him later, keeping her voice down with Addie safely in bed. Maybe she would tackle him on the house too. Her first idea of renting it out seemed not so good now. A weekly income was of no use; she earned enough. What was needed was a lump sum to buy that garage.

  The house continued to sit all empty and forlorn; were local people wondering about its untreated paintwork, its yellowing curtains, its overgrown garden, maybe even annoyed knowing that so many were looking for homes? John Stebbings’ ghost must be lonely indeed, and fancifully she often imagined it wandering through the empty rooms looking for her.

  In between working, taking Addie to school and looking after Harry, where was the time to do it up? Anyway it needed a man to sort it all out and Harry wasn’t going to do it, that was for sure.

  Harry had followed her into the kitchen. ‘Did you ’ear what I said? You an’ this ’airdressin’ lark. I’ve bin ’ome fer months now, and I’m telling yer it’s time for yer to give up working now I’ve got a decent job.’

  Her patience snapping, she turned to him. ‘You could have an even better job if you set up on your own.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ he sneered. ‘You’ll buy me my own garage and set me up. Well I ain’t having no wife of mine setting me up! D’yer hear? As fer that blasted job of yours, I ain’t askin’ yer, I’m telling yer – yer can give that all up too. In me own ’ome I say ’oo works and ’oo don’t!’

  Brenda’s blood seethed through her like soup in a hot cauldron. ‘You what?’ Her eyes blazed at him. ‘You’d sooner cut off your nose to spite your own face just so you can feel satisfied, you an’ yer bloody pride!’

  ‘I don’t want ter ’ear any more about it,’ he warned, but nothing was going to stop her now.

  In anger she threw down the tea towel with which she’d been about to get his tea out of the oven. ‘Well, you’re going to, Harry, whether you like it or not. I’ve just about ’ad it up to here with all of this. You and your stupid bloody pride, you don’t want ter look beyond your stupid nose, that’s your trouble. With the money from that place you could be laughing. Your own car repair shop, your own car, all of us livin’ in luxury. But no, you want it your way, but I tell you what I think. You ain’t got the gumption to start out on yer own. Well, I have.’

  She didn’t give him a chance to butt in as her tirade stormed on. ‘All the time you was away I looked after myself and because I made a success of it and didn’t write to you crying that I couldn’t exist without your ’elp, it got up your nose. You’re bloomin’ jealous that I’ve got on and you haven’t – or don’t want to more like!’

  As she ceased, breathless from yelling, he faced her, leaning forward, fists clenched as though to launch himself into a physical fight.

  ‘Right, if you think yer can get on wivvout me, you can go on an’ do just that. I don’t want no more of takin’ second place in this marriage. We’re finished. We can sort out the details, and when that’s done I’ll pick up me old life an’ go back ter bloody Italy where I was ’appy wiv that—’

  Shocked by the path this argument had taken, Brenda felt more shock as he broke off sharply. He was blinking as though he’d nearly come out with something he hadn’t intended to.

  Something inside her was asking just what had he been up to out there in Italy that she didn’t know about, suddenly aware of that part of his life which had lain hidden from her just as hers had been from him. A woman? No, not Harry. But why not? He’d never imagine her going with another man; she would never have imagined it of herself. But she had. Why not him then, out there in that warm and romantic Mediterranean climate?

  For a moment jealousy consumed her before reason returned with the realisation of how close they were to ruining this marriage. What would she do if their marriage broke up? For all their arguments it was the last thing she wanted. If it were to, what of her business? She’d done all this for him. What would be the point of going on if he threw it all in her face?

  She could only stand there gaping as he turned on his heel, saying, ‘Bugger it, and bugger you!’ Bluster perhaps to cover his tracks after what he’d threatened, maybe frightening himself.

  Wild thoughts began racing through her head. What if he really meant what he’d said? Even if he hadn’t it was the thin end of the wedge and with both of them pulling in opposite directions it could only grow worse. She couldn’t see this marriage lasting now. What would she do if it did fail?

  As though someone else was inside her head, rationality started to take over. The first thing would be to sell the house. There’d be more than enough there to keep her and Addie. Having managed alone these five years it was possible to do so again. She pushed away the thought that she didn’t want to manage alone any more and kept her mind trained on rational things. With someone in charge of the salon for a while she could go and see Vera. She so needed Vera at this moment, someone to talk to, who might understand.

  Vera’s first letter had arrived earlier in the month and hadn’t been as happy as all that. She and her husband were having to live in his parents’ home on the edge of Springfield, the house, according to her letter, built only of wood.

  The place feels flimsy, not like our brick, she wrote. The main room is huge, not like our cosy back room and front room and kitchen, it’s all in one with no doors. Stairs go up from the main room too. But the bedrooms are really titchy. There’s a veranda we sit out in. They call it a porch. Everyone can see you there. No one minds though. People are nice. His mother goes out in her dressing gown to take the mail from the box by the road. It’s ever so odd. We wouldn’t dream of going out in the street in our night clothes.

  She had said that Henry and his father worked in a factory making steel cylinders ‘and things’; that his mother didn’t work, enjoying helping her with the boys, and that Henry had a younger sister and brother living there and his dad’s mother and father.

  When we’re
all round the meal table it’s a real big crowd. I like them all, but I’d rather we had a place of our own. I miss our house, and London. It was so cosy. I always thought it was cramped but I can’t get used to all this space. The streets are so wide and the houses so spaced out. The country is so flat, I feel that if I went too far from town I’d fall over the edge. The sky seems to go on forever. It makes everything look real small, sort of unnatural. A real uncomfortable feeling though the sunsets are beautiful. Henry says I’ll get used to it in time. He couldn’t get used to our funny little squiggly roads and odd little hills. I am trying though, and we are happy. It’s just that I wish we had our own place so as we could be on our own.

  Maybe she could help set them up in their own home, send some money from selling the house. Maybe she’d sell her business and go over there, set up there in hairdressing – get a work permit or whatever. But that would mean leaving the familiar comfort of Mum and Dad and the rest of her family, and uprooting Addie. All she wanted deep down was to have her marriage intact. Yet still not at any price. She needed to talk to someone about it. Vera, now her mind had begun to sort itself out, was out of the question. But Mum was still handy.

  The next day, when Harry had again gone to work without so much as a goodbye, neither of them speaking, Brenda left the salon in the hands of the others for the morning and went to see Mum.

  Sitting over a cup of tea in the kitchen, she told her all about it, the rows and Harry’s threats, with Mum listening attentively to every word.

  ‘So the upshot of it is,’ she finished, ‘if I refuse to give in to ’im our marriage is on the rocks and I don’t want that to ’appen – for Addie’s sake. It’d be ’orrible for ’er, but I can’t just stand by while Harry tells me what I can and can’t do, just so he can feel the ’ead of the ’ouse. Expecting me to give up a business I’ve worked so damned ’ard for, just because it all makes ’im feel inadequate. It’s just not fair after all I achieved.’