by Rosie Clarke
‘Father was taken ill,’ I said. ‘I had to fetch the doctor – and this.’ I showed him the medicine. ‘Were you having an argument with Sheila?’
‘She’s a fool!’ Richard said, and now he looked scornful. ‘Eric is ready to marry her, yet she still can’t leave the men alone. She was with some gypsy in the pub just now. Can you imagine that? I told her she was asking for trouble. If Eric heard he would drop her faster than she can drop her knickers!’
‘Richard!’ I cried, disliking his coarseness. ‘That isn’t a very nice thing to say.’
‘It’s the truth,’ he said, falling into step beside me as I began to walk home. ‘Oh, I know you like her, Emma – but she’s a whore. There’s no getting away from it.’ He glanced at me sideways, as if to reassure himself that I had believed him. ‘What’s wrong with Harold then?’
‘He was being sick and in a lot of pain. The doctor says he may have an ulcer. He ought to go into hospital for tests, but you know my father.’
‘He won’t go,’ Richard said. ‘I don’t know as I blame him. Those places kill as many as they cure.’
‘Of course they don’t!’
‘What would you know? Ever been to one?’
‘No, but—’ I was silenced as I saw the expression on his face. ‘But they’re supposed to help people, aren’t they?’
‘My grandfather went in for tests, caught some disease or other and died,’ Richard said. ‘And he isn’t the only one. No, it’s best Harold stays home with you and your mother to look after him.’
‘I suppose so,’ I agreed reluctantly, wondering why he seemed so set on persuading me. ‘He wouldn’t go anyway.’
‘There you are then,’ Richard said, and looked at me. ‘Fancy a drink before we go home?’
‘I’d better take this back,’ I replied, ‘but you go if you want, Richard.’
‘Perhaps I will,’ he said. ‘Don’t wait up for me. I might be late. It’s my mate’s birthday. I promised I’d help him celebrate.’
‘Oh … all right.’
I hurried on as Richard turned towards the pub. I didn’t mind him going – as long as he wasn’t drunk when he came in.
Richard had drunk more than usual, but not enough to fall asleep as soon as he got into bed. I was sleeping, but that didn’t prevent him from reaching for me.
‘Wake up,’ he muttered against my ear. ‘I want you. Damn you, Emma! I know you’re only pretending.’
I came back from the depths to discover Richard was already on top of me. I protested tiredly, but he ignored me, taking me without bothering to kiss or arouse me. It was painful and made me weep bitter tears after he had finished.
Why did he have to do this? Was he punishing me? Every time I made up my mind to try harder in this marriage, he did something that sent me sliding all the way down to the floor again. I wanted to feel tenderness for him. Sometimes, I persuaded myself that I did love him in a way, but then he did something like this and I wondered if it was worth the effort.
Richard was soon snoring. Or pretending to, I thought angrily. I got up and went into the bathroom, washing myself all over in an attempt to wash away my feelings of having been used.
He had never been this cruel before. I came close to hating my husband in that moment. If he had been kind to me, I might have learned to love him, or at least to be content with my lot – but now I was beginning to think it was impossible.
‘What’s the matter? You’ve been crying.’
I met my mother in the hall. My eyes were red from weeping, and there was no point in trying to hide it, though I didn’t answer at once.
‘Is Father worse?’
‘No. That medicine helped,’ she said. ‘He’s sleeping at the moment, but I couldn’t rest. I’m having a cup of tea – want one?’
‘Yes, please.’
Anything to delay the moment I had to go back in that room.
We went into the kitchen together. I watched as Mother put the kettle on the gas, leaving off the whistle. How often had she done that in the past? I had known nothing about her restless nights then, but now I had a reason to be restless myself.
We smiled at each other, moving softly so as not to make a noise. We were like two conspirators, I thought, not wanting to wake the men.
‘Was Richard drunk?’ Mother asked. ‘I heard him come in late and I wondered.’
‘He’d had more than usual – but not enough. When he’s drunk he falls asleep before—’ I blushed. ‘It isn’t always like that. He can be almost tender, if he wants …’
‘Oh, Emma,’ she sighed, reading between the lines. ‘Harold was just the same. I was hoping it would be different for you.’
‘It’s my own fault.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ she denied. ‘Your father made you marry him. Gran was right. He isn’t the one for you. I’m sorry, love. Sorry I went along with it.’
‘You couldn’t have known. Besides – what else could I do?’
‘You should have run away. Why don’t you go now, Emma?’
‘And leave you here? Have you forgotten what Father threatened?’
‘It’s different now. He’s too ill to follow you. You could be free to live as you wish.’
Her words made me feel wistful, made me long for something more than I had – than I would ever have. Yet I knew it was a forlorn hope.
‘I won’t go without you. Besides, I’m married. It’s too late, Mum. I have to make the best of things.’ However bad they are sometimes.
‘Maybe Richard would give you a divorce.’
‘I doubt it.’ I pulled a face. ‘He likes living here. It suits him. Sheila warned me he would get his feet under the table if he could. I think he and Father … I’m not sure, but I think there’s some arrangement between them.’
‘Richard doesn’t pay any rent,’ Mother said. ‘I know that much. That’s probably why he has more to spend on drink these days.’
‘Yes, perhaps.’ I thought there might be more to it, but wasn’t sure. ‘Anyway, we couldn’t go – not while Father is ill. Who would see to the shop? We couldn’t just desert him, despite what he said that night. You know we couldn’t, Mum.’
‘No.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘It might be best to stick it out a bit longer – if you can manage?’
‘I shall have to,’ I replied, a note of bitterness mixed with anger in my voice. ‘I married him. In any case, he’ll probably apologise tomorrow and buy me a present.’
‘Don’t be bitter, love.’ Mother gave me a quick hug. ‘Things will get better, I promise.’
‘Perhaps.’ I smiled suddenly. ‘Yes, of course they will, Mum. When I’ve had the baby. Richard is jealous. Sometimes I think … he hates the idea of it being Paul’s.’ I placed a protective hand on my stomach. ‘He promised it didn’t matter, but it does. I suppose it always will – just the same as you and Dad. You can’t really blame either of them. Richard does care about me, in his way.’
If I didn’t believe that I wouldn’t be able to bear my life!
‘Yes. Perhaps that’s all it is,’ she said. ‘Maybe he will get over it. If not …’
‘There’s not much I can do, is there?’
‘Let’s see what happens.’ She touched my cheek. ‘Just as long as he doesn’t hurt you.’
‘He won’t,’ I said. ‘Not while Father is alive. It’s the money, you see. I think that’s a part of the reason why he married me. He likes the idea of there being money in the family.’
‘What money?’ She looked disgusted. ‘If there is any I haven’t been able to find it. Harold has a few pounds in the bank, and the shop, but that’s all.’
‘There must be more,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what he does with it, Mum – but I know the shop makes a good profit. He takes the money out, but where he puts it—’ I shrugged my shoulders. ‘Not that it matters. I don’t care about the money. I’ve sometimes thought about leaving. It might be safer for me and the baby.’
‘You can’t think he would
hurt the baby?’ She looked at me in horror. ‘He isn’t that bad, is he?’
‘No, not all the time,’ I said and shook my head. ‘No, of course he isn’t, Mum. I’m just feeling down. Sometimes I feel things aren’t too bad – then I get miserable and wish I could run away.’
‘I know just how you feel, love. It was that way for me for years. When Harold was nice, I enjoyed being his wife. I was proud of his business sense. Then he would think I was looking at a man and he would be furious. I used to lie in bed at night and wish I could go off somewhere, but I wasn’t brave enough. I couldn’t go and neither can you.’ An odd look was in her eyes. ‘Not yet. Don’t despair, love. It won’t always be this bad, I promise you.’
How could Mother say that? I wondered as I washed the cups and went back to bed. Richard was snoring loudly now. I looked at him with a growing disgust. I had tried hard to come to terms with being his wife. I had almost convinced myself that I was happy – but I was lying. Richard could be nice one day and cruel the next. He seemed as if he was driven by a demon – perhaps his jealousy – when the drink got into him. He said he cared for me, but he hated me too. And he wanted to punish me. What sort of a life was that for any woman?
What sort of a woman was I if I let him get away with treating me like dirt? At first I had responded to his lovemaking, but now I was beginning to dread the moment he reached for me. I longed for freedom – for the right to choose whether or not I wanted to make love.
One day I was going to be independent. One day I would have money of my own: I would be in a position to look after myself. And I would never marry again …
What was I thinking? I was married. I was trapped and there was no way out for me as far as I could see, no matter what my mother said to comfort me.
Richard brought flowers home the next evening. He looked awkward as he gave them to me, but didn’t apologise. ‘I was thinking we might go somewhere for your birthday,’ he said. ‘Perhaps to London? We could see a show and do some shopping.’
I stared at him, not quite sure how to react to this suggestion. My birthday was two weeks away. I’d never been to London, and the idea itself appealed to me.
‘I’d like that,’ I said, deciding to take him at face value. ‘Thank you for thinking of it – but it depends how Father is by then.’
‘He’ll be all right,’ Richard replied. ‘It was just a bad attack of his stomach trouble, that’s all.’
‘Perhaps,’ I agreed, though not convinced he was right. There was no real reason why I should care what my father felt, but somehow I did. Maybe the old folk are right when they say blood is thicker than water – or perhaps it was because Father was very different with me these days.
Had ill health made him look at things in a new light? Gran always said that the approach of death was a great leveller.
‘It makes folk think, lass,’ she had once told me. ‘It’s not good to go with too much bad feeling left behind.’
Sometimes I saw a look in my father’s eyes that I thought was wistful, as though he wished he could turn back the clock.
After a couple of days’ rest, during which Father left me to manage the shop alone, he did seem better. His illness had taken something out of him, though, and his manner had continued to soften towards me, losing its old harshness. He often smiled at me now and didn’t grumble about me fetching the doctor, even going so far as to thank me for my concern and insisting I let Richard take me to London for my birthday.
‘Well … if you’re sure you can manage?’ I looked at him doubtfully. ‘I don’t want to leave you in the lurch if you’re ill.’
He made no reply, but seemed thoughtful. On the morning we were due to leave for London, he gave me an envelope with twenty pounds inside.
‘It’s for your birthday,’ he said sheepishly. ‘And you’ll be needing things – for yourself and the baby.’
‘Thank you.’ I was so surprised I hardly knew what to say. ‘It’s a lot of money, Father.’
‘You’re a good girl, Emma. Always have been.’ Unable to meet my gaze, he lowered his own. ‘I don’t blame you for what happened, despite the things I’ve said. I’d just like to get my hands on the swine who did it to you. Your mother should never have harboured him here. That sort are never to be trusted. If she hadn’t invited him to tea—’
‘It might still have happened. I would have met him somehow. I was in love with him, no matter what he was.’
I gave him a straight look. Clearly he had decided to forgive me, but not my mother. The breach between them had gone too deep to be mended.
It made me feel sad – and once again I decided to try and patch things up with Richard. He didn’t deserve that I should, but divorce wasn’t easy. If only I could wipe out the hurt in my husband’s mind, things might improve.
I would never love Richard, but there must be lots of women who endured similar marriages. I would just have to live with it somehow. What else could I do?
Chapter Ten
London amazed me. I’d never imagined it could be so large and noisy. We travelled up on the early train, disembarked amongst the crowds of people flowing in and out of Liverpool Street station, took a bus to Marble Arch, which gave me an opportunity to stare in wonder at the sights, and then spent two hours walking along Oxford and Regent Street. The pavements thronged with people, all of whom seemed to be in a hurry, and crossing the road was a terrifying experience – but I loved the shops.
‘What do you want to do now?’ Richard asked after we’d had a proper three-course lunch in a smart restaurant. ‘We could go to the waxworks if you like – or the zoo? Or would you prefer more shops?’
‘More shops, please,’ I said. I’d been too bewildered by the choices offered to buy anything that morning, but now I’d made up my mind. ‘I think I would like to buy that red wool dress I looked at this morning.’
‘I’ll buy it for your birthday,’ he offered. He looked almost excited at that moment, and I saw the man he might have been if his mind hadn’t been soured by bitterness. ‘I wasn’t sure what to get.’
Richard’s moods swung between wanting to please me, and wanting to punish me for not loving him … for having let another man touch me.
‘You’re already paying for all this … the theatre and everything. Besides, Father gave me some money.’
‘You keep it,’ Richard said. ‘I’ll get you the dress. I want to, Emma. I know I’m a bit of a brute sometimes, but I do love you.’ For a moment he looked as though he really meant it.
It was as close to an apology as I was going to get. I smiled and tucked my arm through his, wanting to be fair to him.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘I can buy some shoes to go with it, can’t I?’
He grinned at me. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go mad for once. It’ll be a long while before we can do this again.’
We plunged into an orgy of spending, buying not only my dress and shoes, but also a shirt for Richard, leather gloves for Mother, a tie for Father and a warm winter scarf for Gran. Emerging into the coolness of late afternoon, our arms full of parcels, we paused on the pavement and looked for a bus to take us to the hotel Richard had booked for the night.
‘Damn it, we’ll take a taxi,’ he said. ‘If we don’t get a move on, we’ll be late for the theatre.’
I wasn’t really listening. My eye had been caught by a large and expensive car which had just pulled into the kerb. I thought it looked a bit like the one Paul had sometimes driven, only newer, and as the driver got out I saw he was an older man, perhaps fortyish. He was smiling at a very smartly dressed woman, who had also been on a shopping spree judging by the amount of parcels she was carrying.
As I watched, I saw the woman suddenly stagger and start to fall. Some instinct had already alerted me and I dropped my parcels, darting forward to catch her. Because I had acted so swiftly, I was able to grab hold of the woman’s arm and support her, preventing her collapse.
‘Margaret!’ I heard the man�
��s anxious voice. ‘Are you all right? What happened?’
‘I think she nearly fainted,’ I said. The woman was moaning softly, her own parcels scattered on the pavement. ‘She needs to sit down.’
‘Thank you. Let me have her now. My wife hasn’t been well, but I didn’t expect this.’
The man put his arm about his wife, helped her to the car, and settled her in the passenger seat. She seemed to come round, though was obviously still unwell. I bent to gather the parcels she had dropped and took them to the car. After making sure his wife was comfortable, the man turned to me and took the parcels from me.
‘You are very kind,’ he said. ‘My wife could have had a nasty fall if you had not been so quick to help her.’
‘I’m glad I noticed her,’ I replied, smiling at him. ‘I hope she will be all right now.’
‘We shall have to see what the doctor says about this.’ There was an anxious expression in his eyes, which were a blueish-grey and seemed kind. ‘Thank you again for helping her.’
I shook my head and turned away as Richard came up to us, having gathered up the parcels I had dropped.
‘Is she all right?’ he asked, with a cursory glance at the woman. ‘Good thing you saw her. I didn’t notice. Come on, I’ve got a taxi waiting.’
About to follow him, I felt a touch on my arm. I looked back at the man whose wife I’d helped, and saw he was offering me his business card.
‘I’m Solomon Gould,’ he said, his eyes meeting mine for just one second. ‘If I can ever do anything for you, please get in touch.’
Richard was looking for me impatiently. I nodded, took the card and slipped it into my jacket pocket. Richard scowled at me as I climbed into the back of the taxi.
‘What did he give you? If it was money, you shouldn’t have taken it.’
‘It wasn’t, and I wouldn’t have,’ I replied, annoyed that he could even think it. ‘He gave me his business card.’
‘Whatever for?’
‘In case he could ever do anything for me, that’s what he said. I expect he was just grateful, and didn’t know what to say.’