by Martina Cole
‘Really, what you doing?’
He shrugged nonchalantly.
‘You are now looking at the new doorman for the Hiltone Club. A oner a night.’ He threw fifty pounds on the table and she looked at it gleefully. ‘I got a sub from Ivan, the old cunt. Practically had to prise it out of him with a fucking jemmy.’
His countenance was dark now, remembering Ivan’s warning.
‘Don’t try and tuck me up, Barry. I know all about you and I hear everything, remember that.’
He had swallowed it, had had to. He owed money all over, especially the bookies. He was going to have to sort out a scam at some point to clean his slate.
‘Well, at least it’s a start. What kind of club is it?’
Barry bit into his sandwich noisily.
‘It’s a hostess club of all things. But the money’s good and the hours. A lot of responsibility, though, a hell of a lot.’
This was said with a great deal of self-importance.
‘Can you get your collar felt, that’s what I want to know?’
Barry tutted loudly.
‘Why do you do it, Sue, eh? Why do you have to put the mockers on everything? I try and make a fucking living and you mug me off.’
He was spitting out food as he spoke, his anger building, and Susan felt her heart sink.
‘All right, Bal, keep your fucking hair on. I was worried about you, that’s all.’
He stood up and poked her hard in the chest.
‘Well, fucking don’t worry about me, all right? Worry about yourself and getting some of that fucking fat off your arse. You look like a fucking sow as usual.’
Picking up his plate, he smashed it against the wall. Susan stood white-faced and silent, waiting for it to be over, hoping it was.
‘You’ve even turned me fucking mother against me, you have. Everything I do you fuck up somehow. You fucking Jonah.’
He was incoherent with rage. Susan watched helplessly as he ranted on and threw everything to the floor. She watched the jellies she had begun making hit the lino and sighed inside herself.
Then he was poking her again, hard bony finger prodding her soft chest. Hitting her milk-swollen breasts as hard as he could, making her flinch, making her nothing. She tried to disappear inside herself, go to her special place, but Barry was not having any of it. Tonight for some reason he wanted her to answer him.
She couldn’t.
He pushed her with the flat of his hand and she slipped heavily on the soaked floor, face banging hard against the lino as she tried to save herself.
He looked down at her and shook his head as if in disgust before he kicked her.
‘Please, Bal, please! Not tonight, mate, it’s Wendy’s party tomorrow. Please leave it, mate, please.’
He mimicked her.
‘Please, Bal, leave me alone. You fucking wind me up and then you expect me to let it go, don’t you?’
He was genuinely incredulous.
Susan pulled herself to her knees. She could hear the kids getting up and prayed they would have the sense to stay upstairs until it was all over. He punched her in the side of the head then, knocking her flying across the kitchen.
Wendy and Alana came into the room.
‘Leave my mummy alone, you horrible bully!’
Alana’s voice was high-pitched with fear.
Wendy stood like a statue in the doorway. Susan’s eyebrow was bleeding and she could feel a lump forming on the side of her head. He had opened her eyebrow with a heavy gold keeper ring she had bought him one Christmas.
‘Go back upstairs, darlin’, Mummy’s all right. Just go back to bed and I’ll be up in a minute to tuck you in.’
But Wendy came into the room and went to help her mother up. Barry’s hand hit the child as she passed him, knocking her flying. The blow was hard and Wendy screamed out in pain and shock.
The next second Susan was on her feet. She used her body weight to knock Barry out of the child’s path. Then, as she went to Wendy, he grabbed her arm to stop her. The little girl was on the floor, nightie soaked from the molten jelly and her face red from the blow.
She was still screaming.
The next thing Susan was aware of was both girls pulling her away from Barry - who was on his knees in front of her now as she held a knife to his throat. The big carving knife she used to cut bread for the kids.
‘Mummy - stop it, stop it!’
Alana’s voice was a high-pitched scream, terror in her every word.
Susan shook the girls off her.
‘Get upstairs. Now!’
Her voice was loud and brooked no argument. The girls ran from the room. Susan looked Barry in the eye.
‘You ever touch my kids again and I’ll slice you into little pieces, do you hear me, boy?’
For the first time in his life Barry Dalston was scared of his wife.
‘Let go of me, Susan, I mean it. If you don’t, I’ll break your fucking neck.’
She laughed, a small bitter sound she would have sworn she did not have inside her.
‘You touch my kids again and you’d better break my neck, mate, because if I can get my hands on you, I’ll kill you. I mean it, Barry. I’ll fucking kill you.’
He knew she meant it and swallowed hard. He saw the truth in her eyes, heard it in her voice.
She removed the knife from his neck slowly, her whole body shuddering as she tried to draw breath.
Everything felt different somehow. Even the teeth in her head felt strange and out of place. She had a tannic taste in her mouth that she guessed was blood and imagined the tableau they must have made for the kids.
She dropped her arm to her side, still keeping hold of the carving knife.
‘Get out, Barry. Get out now.’
He waited until she was relaxed before he lunged at her and took the carving knife from her grasp.
Then he laughed.
‘You really meant that, didn’t you, Sue? The mother hen looking after her chicks, eh?’
He sounded proud of her, friendly even. But she wasn’t fooled. Picking up a tea towel she held it to her eye. She was immune to pain now. Having experienced it so often, this was like a paper cut to her. She looked him in the eye.
‘I ain’t joking, Bal. No one touches my kids, not even you. Now go and stay somewhere else tonight, go round one of your old sorts or something, but leave this house.’
She walked from the kitchen and went upstairs to try and calm the children. Wendy had run her a bath and was trying to soothe little Barry who had woken up with all the noise.
‘You all right, Mum?’ Wendy’s own face was swollen and Susan knew she would be bruised.
‘Are you all right, mate? Let Mummy look at your face, heartbeat, let me kiss it for you, make it better. Daddy isn’t well, love. He don’t know what he’s doing.’
Barry stood at the bottom of the stairs and listened to her talking to the child.
‘Come on, let’s put some witch hazel on it, bring the bruise out, eh? Then I’ll make us all hot milk and biscuits.’
Alana was crying still, her little sobs were heartbreaking.
Susan put the two girls in the bath about ten minutes later, telling them they both had Monday off school.
‘Now have a little play and I’ll tidy the kitchen up and make us something nice, eh?’
They nodded dutifully.
‘Can I still have me party, Mum?’
Susan smiled.
‘’Course you can, heartbeat, don’t let this spoil it for you.’
She walked slowly down the stairs, her whole body screaming out for sleep and rest. She had picked up little Barry from her bedroom and cradled him to her until he dropped off again. Placing him on the sofa with two cushions to keep him from rolling off, she went out to the kitchen.
Barry was strewing all her clean towels on the floor to try and soak up the mess. She closed her eyes in distress. More washing. As if she didn’t have enough already.
He stared at her.
She was wearing an old nightie and looked a mess. Her face was a mass of bruises and streaked blood. It had dried on her hair and dyed it rust-coloured in places.
‘You know I don’t mean it, Sue.’
It was the nearest he ever got to an apology.
‘I don’t want to hear it, all right? I still have to make her stuff whatever happens. I said she’d have a party and a party she will have, no matter what you do.’
Susan started to cry then, long ragged sobs that seemed to bounce off the kitchen walls.
‘Look what you done to me, Barry, and with everyone coming tomorrow. I look like I’ve been in a fucking car crash. Little Wend’s face is already bruising. Why do you do it, Bal? Why the fuck do you do it?’
Going to her, he held her in his arms for a moment, caressing her back and shoulders. Kissing her hair and her face.
‘Take the fifty quid and blow it round the Jewish deli down the lane, eh? Get her what she needs and something special for the others. Some champagne or something.’
Susan didn’t answer, she was still crying.
‘I had the hump, mate, and I took it out on you. But you taught me a thing or two about women tonight, Susan - you can’t trust them where the kids are concerned.’
He tried to make her laugh but she wasn’t having any of it.
‘You can’t hit the kids, Bal. They’d take them away and then I’d go fucking mad.’
He held her face in his hands and caressed her cheekbones with his thumbs.
‘You’re a blinding mother, Sue, a fucking diamond and I am a right arsehole at times. But you got me tonight, girl. I thought me number was up then.’
He lifted his head and laughed.
‘Look at the cut under me chin, girl, it’s still bleeding.’
‘It scared me, Bal. I really wanted to stab you and it frightened me.’
He laughed again, everything forgotten until the next time. And Susan knew there would be a next time.
‘Stop making a big deal out of it. All married couples fight, it’s what you marry for. Fucking and fighting, girl. That’s us two, I’m afraid.’
She wiped her eyes with her fingers.
‘I promised the girls some hot milk and biscuits. I slung them in the bath.’
He nodded.
‘I’ll clear up, you go and jump in with them, give yourself a soak. I’ll make us all something nice, eh?’
She nodded, resigned now to this switch back to the Barry she could have loved. Did love once. It was pointless arguing with him.
Twenty minutes later she lay in a hot bath and listened to Barry making the kids laugh with his silly antics. She prayed that this new job worked out and that he’d like it.
But, knowing him like she did, she knew what would happen.
What always happened.
Still, she reasoned, it was night work so that should keep him out of her hair and give her some peace at last.
She lay back in the bath and let the hot water do its work. Then he brought her a cup of tea and a cigarette, luxury as far as Susan was concerned.
It crossed her mind she should threaten to kill him more often.
Wendy’s party was a success until Barry and Joey had an argument. Everyone left in a hurry and the police were called to the house by a neighbour. The men were both locked up on a D and D.
Susan was over the moon. She’d finally get a good night’s sleep. The first one she’d had in months.
Doreen stayed late and they drank the bottle of champagne Barry had brought home with him. Susan, drunk on the wine, told her friend about threatening Barry with the knife. They both laughed their heads off. All in all Wendy’s birthday had been a success.
Susan felt empowered, as if finally she was in control. She had fought back for once and it had worked. He had listened to her, respected her.
One week after Wendy’s birthday bash she was hospitalised when Barry attacked her in a drunken rage.
It seemed he was not so forgiving after all.
Chapter Sixteen
Roselle Digby was tiny. Not just small, which she was, but tiny. Her hands were like a child’s, stubby fingers ending in heavily painted nails like talons. She had little feet, a turned up nose, small pointed breasts. Her eyes were wide-set, giving her an air of vulnerability even though she was far from that. The biggest thing about Roselle was her heart. She had a big heart and was well liked by everyone.
She was a reader, which made her interesting to Barry because she seemed so well informed. He decided to forget that Sue was a reader until she met him, a pastime he had banned because he’d said it gave her ideas above her station.
With Roselle it was different, she was a person in her own right.
As head girl at the Hiltone Club she was respected in her own little world because she did not have to flog her arse, as the other girls expressed it. And that suited Roselle right down to the ground.
She had been on the game since she was fourteen in Chapeltown, Leeds. Now in the Smoke she was respected, someone who did not have to work the trade any more for a living.
She had embarked on an affair with Barry Dalston and was loving every second of it. He had swept her off her feet: buying her flowers, taking her out for romantic meals and treating her like a normal woman would be treated.
She was opinionated, intelligent and streetwise, all the things Barry abhorred in his women usually, but Roselle had something none of the others had. She was one of the few toms who had invested her money wisely.
A natural loner, though friendly enough to everyone, she had made her money work for her by buying a small but well-positioned flat and filling it with expensive furniture and fittings. Barry had been shocked but impressed when he had seen how she lived. She even put napkins on the table just to have a sandwich. She had a son in private school and drove a top of the range car.
Roselle made money and looked after it wisely. Barry for once in his life was openly admiring. So far, if he’d had money he’d spent it on things such as drink or lately drugs. The hostesses had introduced him to the delights of amphetamines and cannabis. He also liked clothes, electrical goods, all the latest gimmicks.
Now he’d had a glimpse of how life could be lived if someone had the sense to look out for themselves. True, Roselle smoked dope, but she kept away from anything else, and in this environment that was difficult.
Now as he watched her walking around the club, talking to the punters and making sure everything ran smoothly, he felt he loved her.
Barry wiped his nose with one heavy-knuckled hand. He was as high as a kite. He had not been home for over a week and knew that Sue would be out of her mind. Not with worry, she knew he could take care of himself, but she would be skint and that would be the real bug bear.
Wendy and Alana wanted to go on a school trip to Lourdes and he was supposed to find the money. This annoyed him, and because of the speed and the drink he began to get paranoid. Felt that Susan and the kids expected too much from him. It would never occur to him that the money he was spending on Roselle and drugs could have paid for the trip twice over. He had worked for that money, he was entitled to it.
He knocked back the last of his drink at the bar and walked out to the foyer. It was a Wednesday night, a slow one for the Soho workers. As he stood by the reception desk a tall black girl approached him.
LaToyah Fielding, a twenty-year-old brass from Brixton, was on reception while the usual girl was off after a botched abortion.
‘Some woman rang for you. Said she was your wife, Susan. Asked if you’d been in and if I could get you to ring her?’
She was smiling. His domestic arrangements had always been a secret in the six months he had worked in the club. Mainly because of Roselle with whom he had begun an affair almost immediately.
Now she was everything to Barry. He lived for the nights they spent together and was finding it increasingly hard to leave her and go home. He never really knew what she did when she wasn’t with him. Sometimes sh
e went out clubbing with the other toms, had what she called a blinding night and did not expect him to question her right to do this. After all, they were not a couple as such. She was her own person, as she pointed out constantly. This was the late-seventies after all.
If Susan had tried to give him that old fanny Barry would have punched her lights out, but with Roselle he knew he wouldn’t get away with that. She was too on the ball, too much her own person even to give him the chance to try and clip her wings. He knew in his heart she slept with other men, he just knew it. He also knew that so far as she was concerned it was none of his business.
As he looked into the black girl’s pretty face he nodded, angry with Sue for intruding into his other life. Daring to ring the club and shame him like this. He decided he would brain her when he got home, because he would have to go now whether he wanted to or not.
Little Barry was teething and as miserable as sin. Nothing Susan did seemed to calm him. His cheeks were red, his ear was red and he had a hump on of Olympian dimensions. Coupled with the girls’ constant demands for money for the trip to France and the fact that she had borrowed off everyone and now had nothing in her purse, not even the money for Junior Disprin, Susan was at the end of her tether.
Her mother was boracic due to her father’s complete refusal to get a job so she was unable to help out any more, and Susan didn’t like to keep asking Kate as it just made relations between her and her son more strained. Doreen needed her money herself, though Susan knew she would lend her another couple of quid if she asked. But she didn’t want to ask Doreen again, she wanted to know where Barry was and what he was doing.
At four months pregnant she was just about fed up to the back teeth of it all. The kids were living on jam sandwiches and eggs on toast and she was behind with the rent, gas and electric. The meter would go at any time and then they would be in the dark on top of everything else.
The two girls came in with Doreen. Susan smiled wearily at them.
‘You look done in, mate. Sit yourself down and I’ll make us a cuppa, eh?’ Doreen’s voice was kind and Susan laughed bitterly.
‘Still no sign of him, Dor. I reckon he’s got a bird, don’t you?’