by Lynda Page
‘He didn’t need to give me any. He caught me red-handed in bed with another man.’
Glen had heard many dreadful stories about how people landed up in dire straits, but nevertheless he was taken aback by this woman’s admission as she didn’t seem the type somehow. But then appearances could be deceptive, as he’d found out to his own cost many moons ago. Whether he wanted to know the gory details or not it seemed he was going to be given no choice as Jan continued speaking.
‘Harry could at least have asked me what had driven me into another man’s arms before he threw me out. Maybe then he might not think so badly of me and would accept part of the responsibility.’ She paused for a moment, her eyes growing misty. ‘At one time we had a successful marriage. He was a good husband to me and father to our son. The three of us always did everything together . . . well, until that horrible evening.’
She paused to flick a tear off her eyelid and there was great sadness in her voice when she carried on. ‘I couldn’t have wished for a better son. Keith loved his mum and dad and never in all his years did I hear any back chat from him or grumbles and groans if I asked him to run an errand for me.’ A smile on her lips, she said, ‘He had this shock of thick brown hair, the kind that whatever you plastered on it would not lie down, and a splattering of freckles across his nose . . . and such a cheeky grin. He was the happy-go-lucky sort and everyone loved him. I always had a succession of kids knocking on my door, asking for him to come out and play.
‘A gang of them come knocking for him that night. They’d all had their dinner but we hadn’t. I told Keith he couldn’t go out until he’d had his, but then Harry asked me how long it would be before I dished up. When I said about fifteen minutes, he said it wouldn’t hurt to let the lad go out meanwhile as long as he came in as soon as he was shouted. I relented and off Keith went. I remember I was singing to myself in the kitchen. I was so very happy, you see. After trying for another baby for the best part of nine years and being convinced it was never going to happen for us again, I had only the day before found out from the doctor that I hadn’t got a stomach complaint but was about three months pregnant! Harry was jubilant and Keith couldn’t wait to have a little brother or sister.’
She paused to draw breath, pain at the memories she was relaying evident on her face before she went on. ‘I was just about to shout through to ask Harry to fetch Keith in when there was this horrendous banging on the front door and I could hear our names being shouted from outside. Harry got to the door first and I was hurrying down the passage when I heard one of Keith’s friend’s screeching we’d best come quick as he had had an accident. I knew it had to be serious as Keith wasn’t the sort to cry over a grazed knee.’
Her voice lowered to barely a whisper then and Glen had to strain hard to hear her. ‘He was already dead by the time we got there. Ten years old he was, his whole life in front of him, and it was taken away over some foolish bet. One of his friends had been given an old stop watch and it was decided that they would see who out of them could shin up and down the lamp-post the quickest. Keith had got to the top and, in his haste to get back down, lost his grip and fell off, smashing his head on the pavement. The doctor told us he died instantly. Next thing I can remember is waking up in hospital hours later. I’d gone into deep shock and passed out. Harry, my mother and my two sisters were crying at my bedside. Their tears weren’t just for Keith but for our unborn child too. The shock had caused me to miscarry. So, that dreadful night, we’d lost not one child but two.
‘I can’t remember the next few days. It’s like I’ve wiped out my memories as that time was so dreadful. The funeral is just a blur. I remember finding a small amount of consolation in the thought that Keith was with his little brother or sister and they’d be a comfort to each other. For several weeks afterwards Harry and I just about functioned, both locked in our own ways of dealing with our grief. We barely spoke to one other. Although he never said as much to me, I did suspect he blamed himself for allowing Keith to go out that evening instead of telling him to wait until after he’d had his dinner. Then eventually I began to come out of the fog I was in and to accept that my son was gone from us, our unborn baby too, and whether I liked it or not I was alive and had to get on with life. It was only then that I really saw what was going on with Harry. Just after the funeral a neighbour had come to visit and told us that we might find some comfort in the church. She told us that she had turned to God when her husband died and it had greatly helped her. She left a Bible behind when she went. Neither of us had been the church-going sort before – we got married in a register office – although we never judged anyone else who did and I was surprised when Harry showed an interest in attending the next Sunday service. Of course, I said I’d go with him.
‘I rather enjoyed the service, I have to say, and the rest of the congregation were very welcoming towards us, but all the time I was there it was on my mind that I would never get our dinner ready on time for one o’clock when we usually had it . . . my mother and sisters and their families were coming that Sunday. I can’t say as I took to the vicar either. He’s the fire-and-brimstone sort, the type to bully you into believing that it’s eternity in purgatory for you unless you live a pure and wholesome life and all your spare time is given up to the service of the church. Harry, though, really seemed to enjoy it, which chuffed my mother very much as she’s always gone to church and won’t have the Lord’s name taken in vain in her hearing. I remember getting a heavy clout around the ear when I was a child when I stubbed my foot and yelped out “Oh, Jesus Christ”.
‘When Harry announced he was going to go to the next Sunday service, I thought that if he was getting some sort of comfort out of it then I was glad for him, but I told him it wasn’t for me and I would be staying home and getting his dinner ready. He didn’t seem concerned by that. I got the feeling he was relieved I wasn’t accompanying him as this was something he wanted to do by himself. Then he started going every Sunday, not only to the morning service but the evening one too, and I noticed him reading the Bible that our neighbour had left when usually he would have been reading the newspaper and listening to the wireless. We still weren’t talking much apart from necessary everyday conversation and we didn’t go out together. The only time Harry went out apart from going to work was to church and Bible classes and we . . . well . . . er . . . hadn’t had any marital relations since Keith’s death, but I put that down to Harry’s grieving and still thought that he’d eventually return to his normal self and our life be back to how it was. Well, it would never be the same, of course, but we’d become a proper couple again some time.’ She heaved a sigh and said softly, ‘But we didn’t.
‘When that neighbour came round and suggested we try to find comfort in going to church and reading some helpful passages in the Bible, I don’t think for a moment she meant it should take over our life. It got to the stage, though, where nothing got in the way of what Harry called his church business. He’d even go without his dinner if it meant he was going to be late arriving for a service or a Bible class or some do-gooding expedition he’d offered to be part of. He started a Bible class of his own in our house, expecting me to provide refreshments, which I did without complaint. The other women who attended used to give me a look because I was Harry’s wife yet I wasn’t joining in, but I’d just smile sweetly at them and leave them to it while I went back to what I was doing. I tried to talk to him about our marriage suffering because of church activities taking up all his time. His answer really shocked me. He told me he was giving his life to God in an effort to gain redemption for the part he’d played in his son and unborn child’s death, in the hope that he would be reunited in the afterlife with his children and gain their forgiveness there. I tried so hard to make him understand that he wasn’t to blame, that Keith’s death was just a terrible accident, but he said that it was he who’d allowed our son to go out that evening, so the blame did lie with him. And he wouldn’t discuss the matter further.
‘I spoke to my mother, hoping for some help in persuading Harry that he was going to extremes, to the detriment of everything else. She said that it was as plain as a pimple on a nose how badly he had taken his son’s death and the miscarriage, and told me to stop being so selfish and allow Harry to grieve in whatever way suited him and to support him like a proper wife. I should try going to church myself, she said, then I might be a little more understanding – instead of going once and dismissing it. I should have known that in my mother’s opinion I’d promised to serve my husband loyally, through thick and thin, when I’d recited my marriage vows. No matter what, I was duty bound to do that until the day he or I died.’
Jan heaved a miserable sigh. ‘I tried, I really did. I didn’t start going to church with Harry, that wasn’t for me and I stuck to my guns there, but I did try and be an understanding wife, never complaining when I was left alone while he went about his church duties. I made his guests as welcome as I could in our house when he held his Bible classes. I was upset but I kept my feelings to myself when he told me that any spare money he had left after paying me my housekeeping and setting some aside for the bills would be given to the church. Harry wasn’t mean with housekeeping. I’d always had enough to fund any pleasures I wanted out of it . . . meeting my sisters on a Saturday afternoon for a traipse around the shops, a coffee and cake afterwards, occasional trips to the pictures, that kind of thing, although anything like that is no fun on your own so usually I contented myself with reading or listening to the wireless, doing a bit of dress-making. The years went by like that and my hopes that Harry would snap out of this misguided need for redemption and revert back to the man I had married were in vain. We grew further and further apart.
‘Last Saturday morning I was hanging out the washing. I could hear the kids next-door playing in their yard. They were discussing what they were hoping to get from Santa this year at Christmas. Then their mother shouted to them from the back door and said it was too early for them to be making their Christmas lists. And besides, if they didn’t come in and see to their chores none of them would be getting anything. I remember laughing as I heard all three of them immediately shoot back inside and the back door bang shut after them.
‘It wasn’t until I was sitting at the table having my elevenses that what I’d heard came back to me. It triggered something inside me, made me see my future, the years stretching ahead in my empty marriage, just making the best of things. It all seemed so bleak that I broke down and sobbed, feeling utterly sorry for myself. Next thing I knew I felt this arm around me and heard someone asking me what on earth the matter was. It was Bernie the window cleaner.
‘He’s been cleaning our windows for years. He’s a nice man, just ordinary-looking, I’ve never heard him say a bad word about anyone. His wife is a cripple. She had an accident not long after their second child was born, slipped on ice, landed heavily and broke her back. Lying in bed year after year, unable to move, has made her bitter and twisted. She treated Bernie like she blamed him even though he wasn’t with her at the time. Bernie has never once complained about his lot in my company but I knew his life wasn’t easy, working the hours he does plus caring for his wife and children, although they were both at work by then. He obviously knew about Keith but as far as he . . . anyone, in fact . . . was aware my marriage was as it has always been. I was feeling so . . . so low, I couldn’t stop myself. I poured it all out to him, how hard I was finding it, living in a physically loveless marriage. I knew he’d understand, you see, because it must have been the same for him.
‘Next thing I knew we were in our bed making love . . . well, it wasn’t love, it was rampant sex we were having, as if both of us were getting rid of pent-up passions we’d kept buried for years. As we fell back on the pillows in exhaustion, I remember thinking that I knew without doubt Bernie had never done anything like this before, nor had I, and nor would we again, despite the way our marriages had turned out. We still loved our spouses, it was just that neither of us had been able to resist the temptation of some physical contact after our years of famine. It was then I sensed someone else in the room. I looked over to the doorway and saw Harry standing there, staring at us both. I hadn’t realised the time and he’d returned home from work for his dinner. I can’t describe to you the look on his face . . . of disgust, hurt, devastation. Before I had a chance to say anything, he’d left. I can’t remember Bernie leaving, just my own scramble to get dressed and go after Harry and beg his forgiveness, make him understand why I’d ended up with Bernie like I had.
‘He was waiting for me downstairs. The back door was open, my coat and handbag were in his hand which he thrust at me. His eyes were lifeless when he said to me that I’d done the worst thing I could have in God’s eyes, committed adultery, and that my actions could be responsible for him being denied his own redemption and the chance to make amends to our son and unborn child, when the time came for him to be reunited with them in heaven. I lost my temper then, shouted at him that I was still alive and had needs that he seemed to have forgotten about in his misguided quest to ensure his own admission through the pearly gates. I asked him how God would view his breaking his marriage vows to love and cherish me, which was what he should be doing instead of turning his back on me.
‘He told me how selfish I was being, thinking purely of myself when a man’s wife, of all people, should be the one to cast her own needs aside in her duty to support her husband.
‘My anger really erupted when he said that. I’d stood by him and not complained once in ten years since he’d joined the church. I told him that this was the damned vicar talking, not him. That man had brainwashed him into thinking as he was, at a time when he knew Harry to be vulnerable. In my eyes he was nothing more than a home-wrecker. Well, I never got any further as Harry manhandled me out of the house then, telling me he wouldn’t have that saint of a man spoken about so disgustingly, and I was never to darken his door again. He locked it after me.
‘I decided it was best I give him some time to calm down before I tried to talk to him again and I went and sat in the park for a couple of hours. The door was still locked and bolted when I went back, so I knocked. It wasn’t Harry who opened it but the vicar. I knew he hadn’t any time for me once I’d refused to join his church. I swear there was triumph in his eyes when he told me that I had no place in this house any more after what I’d done, and the church was looking after its disciple in his great sorrow. That vile man then shut the door of my own home in my face.
‘She’s very old-fashioned and set in her ways is my mother. One of her favourite sayings is, “You’ve made your bed, now lie on it.” I knew she’d hit the roof if I went round to tell her what had gone off and ask her to let me stay there until I could sort things out with Harry, which I still felt I could do once he’d had time to think for himself when that vicar wasn’t poisoning his mind against me, so it was my eldest sister I went to see first. I thought I’d get her as my ally, she’d then get my younger sister on board, and we’d tackle Mother together. I’ve always got on with both my sisters and knew they must have wondered why I hadn’t turned up to meet them in town as usual that afternoon. They should both be back home by now, I thought. I couldn’t believe it when I walked into my elder sister’s house and there they were, the three of them, Mother and my two sisters, having a big pow-wow. That devil of a vicar had wasted no time and been to see my mother with the whole sordid story, even though she didn’t belong to his congregation.
‘All three of them looked at me like I was something they would scrape off their shoes when I walked in and it was Mother who told me she thought I had a nerve, showing my face here after what I’d done to poor Harry and the shame I’d brought on the whole family. All she was concerned about was how she was going to hold her head up when she went to church after it became common knowledge that she had an adulterous daughter. My elder sister was worried her husband’s boss would get to hear and it might affect her husband’s promotion. My you
nger sister just sat nervously looking on, frightened to open her mouth in case she put her foot in it. Anyway, I wasn’t given any chance whatsoever to tell my side of the story. No sooner was I in the door than I was herded out, being told never to darken any of their doors again and that they were all going round to offer what support and comfort they could to Harry. With that vile vicar and my own family pecking his ear against me, I knew there was no point in hoping we could work out a reconciliation. So as it turns out on that terrible evening Keith died, in reality I lost the three people I should love most dearly – two children and my husband.’
Jan heaved a deep sigh. ‘Thankfully I had a few quid on me from the housekeeping. For the first three nights I managed to get myself rooms in cheap bed and breakfast places, the standard dropping drastically as the days passed and I realised my money was running out. The last place I stayed in . . . last night, in fact . . . the slovenly landlady had the nerve to charge ten shillings, all I had left, for a damp room no bigger than a cupboard. I swear blind the bedding hadn’t been washed after the last person had slept in it and the mattress was that thin I could feel the springs on the bed through it, so I hardly got any sleep. That’s why I had no choice but to take shelter in the arches tonight. After leaving that dive I’ve been wandering around all day, desperately trying to work out what to do next. I’d heard of the arches as somewhere homeless people slept, and that was me, wasn’t it? Homeless. But call me naive, I never expected it to be so bad or that some of the people would be . . . well, no better than animals.’ She flashed Glen a wan smile. ‘Thank God you were there tonight or I dread . . . Anyway, now you know why I can’t go home. I’m not welcome any more. Like you obviously haven’t, I’ve no home either.’
Glen sensed it had done her good to have someone listen to her side of the story, albeit a stranger, when those close to her had not deigned to. He felt it was a pity her family had not given her a chance to explain her actions to them as they might not be viewing her so harshly now if they had. He took hold of his sack of belongings, delved inside and pulled out a crumpled brown paper bag, holding it out to her. ‘You must be ravenous, not having eaten all day. You’re welcome to this.’