by Annie Groves
‘What did the letter say, Rita? I wrote to you too, when I’d learned to, to tell you I was coming home.’
Rita remembered getting Jack’s letter, telling her how well he was doing and that he would soon be back. But by then it was too late. She and Charlie were already married and the die was cast.
It was almost too much to bear and Rita suddenly felt that her legs weren’t able to hold her up any longer. Jack saw her sway unsteadily and was around the table in a flash, steadying her; helping her into a chair and sitting beside her.
‘Oh, Jack, you’ve no idea …’
‘What, Rita, what was in the letter?’
How could Rita tell Jack now? What was the point, she thought, desolately. There was nothing that could turn back time; she was destined to be with Charlie and not with Jack. She was punished for being wicked and now it seemed they must both pay the price. Better for Jack to think that Rita had let him down than for them both to live with the constant ache of what might have been.
‘Let’s leave the past alone, Jack. What’s done is done.’
‘If you don’t tell me now you never will and it will haunt us both for the rest of our days – however long that may be.’
‘Oh, Jack, don’t say that. The war will be over soon and then we will all get back to normal.’
‘You don’t understand, Rita – the war has hardly begun!’ Jack looked serious. ‘People on the Home Front haven’t got a clue!’ He gently took her by the shoulders as he would a child and he lowered his head. ‘Some people around here think the war will be over quickly because that is what they have been told to think – but we are far more intelligent than that, Rita. We have to love for today, for who knows what tomorrow will bring?’
Rita stifled the urge to tell Jack what was really in the letter. Knowing wouldn’t help either of them now. Telling Jack a lie would be better for both of them in the long run.
‘Jack, I wrote you a letter to tell you … to say …’ she could hardly get the words out. She took a deep breath and rushed the words. ‘To say that I had fallen in love with Charlie and that we were getting married. I didn’t want you to be surprised when you came back.’ Rita kept her head down, her eyes on the floor as she said the words.
Jack’s voice was trembling with emotion as he said, ‘Rita, is that true?’
‘Yes, Jack,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sorry, but it is true.’
‘I won’t believe you until you look me in the eye and say it.’ Jack gently lifted her chin and Rita met his steady brown eyes with her own green ones. A single tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. ‘It’s true, Jack.’
Jack didn’t say anything, but tenderly wiped the tear away with his fingertip. He held her gaze and gave her a smile. A smile that seemed to hold for Rita all the love that was missing from her life.
‘I’m no fool, Rita. I know that you’re not telling me the truth. But I’ll wait and one day, when you’re ready, you’ll tell me what was really in that letter.’
‘Oh, Jack.’ Rita felt that her heart was breaking.
‘I’ve always loved you, Rita. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Yes, Jack. I’ve always known.’
‘I may not be your husband, Rita, but I’ll always be your friend. And you won’t find a better one. Remember that.’
Something in the air shifted. They both knew they had said too much, but even though Rita should feel guilty, she didn’t. It felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Knowing that the love that she and Jack felt for each other hadn’t changed had given her hope. Hope for what, she didn’t know, but it was something that Charlie and his mother couldn’t spoil. It was for her and Jack, and no one could take it away from her. Not ever.
Jack stood. ‘I’d better nip up and change this shirt. It’s filthy after the journey.’
‘Yes, and I’d better be getting back to the Sailor’s Rest. Charlie may have come back and wonder what has happened to me. Goodbye, Jack.’ She held out her hand, and Jack took it in his own, holding it for a moment before letting it drop.
Suddenly, Rita was shocked to hear a loathsome voice behind her.
‘No need for me to wonder, Rita. I can see exactly where you are.’
Rita’s head whipped round to see her husband standing in the doorway just as Jack had let go of her hand. Rita wondered how much he had overheard.
‘Hello, Charlie, I didn’t expect you,’ Rita said, looking from one man to the other.
‘Obviously,’ Charlie rasped in a low voice. ‘I just came round to pay my respects to the family. I’m surprised to see you here.’
‘I just came back to tidy the house for Kitty. Jack has just arrived.’ Rita was damned if she was going to let Charlie intimidate her.
Charlie glared at her, then taking Jack’s hand, he said in a tight, strained voice, ‘My condolences, Jack.’ With that he left.
‘I’ve stayed too long,’ Rita said. ‘Tell Kitty I’ll see her later.’ And with that she left the house, and didn’t dare to look back.
‘What was he sniffing around for?’ Charlie said through gritted teeth. He was nursing a small glass of brandy, and by the look of the bottle he had already scuppered quite a lot of it.
‘Charlie, what’s wrong?’ Rita asked, glad the children were not at home to see their father behaving like this. Mrs Kennedy had already left for her sister’s house in Crosby, where she was spending a long Christmas holiday, coming back on Boxing Day. ‘That’s a terrible thing to say. Jack was not sniffing around. He buried his father today, don’t forget.’ Rita felt uncertain; Charlie smelled strongly of drink and she had not seen him in this mood before.
‘I arrive to pay my respects to the Callaghans and instead I find my wife in a cosy chit-chat with another man.’ Charlie pointed his finger at her accusingly. ‘What would I have found had I been ten minutes earlier?’ His tone was argumentative now. ‘My mother has gone to her sister’s for Christmas and we have the whole place to ourselves. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? But I see my wife has had her Christmas present early – gratis from the RAF!’ Amanda had started something she did not finish. He had hoped his wife would do the honours. ‘You whore!’
Rita could not have been more shocked if he slapped her. ‘I beg your pardon!’
‘You can beg all you like, bitch!’ Charlie was in a foul mood and Rita knew she had to be wary. She had come across drunken belligerent men at the hospital and they had to be treated very carefully indeed.
‘Charlie, you’ve made a mistake. I wasn’t alone with Jack!’ she said desperately. ‘Didn’t you hear Kitty in the back kitchen; she was washing dishes out there?’ Her voice sounded light, but inside her emotions were torrents of rage and humiliation. However, Rita knew better than to argue with a man when he was drunk.
‘Don’t try and wriggle out of it now,’ Charlie said angrily. ‘I know what I saw. And I know what you’re after.’
Rita managed to force a stiff smile. She had seen Charlie like this before, when he’d had a bad day at work, or if he’d lost money on a horse. She didn’t remember him being as drunk as this before, though. The look in his eyes told her what was on his mind. For years, Rita had prayed that they could have a normal life in the bedroom, but now the idea of it made her physically sick.
‘Come home to give my wife an early Christmas present.’ Charlie finished his brandy in one gulp and Rita could feel the muscles in her stomach tighten.
‘Come on, Charlie,’ she coaxed tiredly. She had been on duty the night before and had hoped for an early night. ‘There’s no need to be like that.’
‘I’ll be any way I damn well please in my own house, Rita.’ Charlie went and filled the short glass with more brandy then half emptied it in one go. Rita refrained from reminding him that this was his mother’s house. They didn’t even own a single teacup in it.
‘Do you know something?’ Charlie said, waving the glass and pointing at her now. ‘There is not one woman on this earth I would tru
st and shall I tell you why, Rita?’
‘I have never given you any cause to be suspicious of me,’ she said. ‘I am a good wife and mother.’ Charlie scoffed at that and she was disgusted to see the white saliva gather in the corners of his lips like foam.
‘Well, let me tell you why I don’t trust a single one of you, Saint Rita.’ He finished his drink and poured another. ‘When I was just a little boy my mother took me to the countryside for a little holiday, she said, away from my father who was looking after the shop, she said …’
Charlie stumbled slightly as he made his way to his mother’s chair by the fire. He lovingly stroked the arm of the chair in a way he had never stroked her. Rita, for some reason she didn’t quite understand, gauged how far she was from the door.
‘She thought I was asleep. I could hear her talking to somebody. She was laughing softly … I got up from my bed and went to the next bedroom … She was in bed with a man. A man who was not my father. But a stranger, pawing at her, touching her …’
Rita gasped in surprise as her hands covered her open mouth to try to conceal her shock. The look in Charlie’s eyes was terrifying, mad even.
‘I know, who would ever have thought the high and mighty Winifred Kennedy could be such a slut?’
‘Charlie, you must have been mistaken. Maybe you—’
‘I dreamed it, is that what you are saying?’ He threw his head back and laughed until he choked. ‘Have you never wondered why she will not hear a word said against me? It’s because I know, Rita, I know what she is really like and she’s terrified that one day it will all come back to haunt her!’
‘What will come back to haunt her, Charlie?’ Rita was all at sea now; what did Charlie mean about his mother?
‘I’m tired, Charlie, let’s go to bed.’ She was pleading now; if she could get him into bed, surely the drink would take over and he’d be snoring in seconds.
‘Bed, is it, Rita? You always were a wanton slut. That first night you seduced me, you were like a woman possessed; not so enthusiastic now, are you? All of you are the same. You just get what you want out of men and then please yourselves,’ he said belligerently.
Rita looked at him, her brows pleated. She realised now that Charlie didn’t want them to be happy, and all of the effort that she put in to try and make things better were wasted. Charlie wasn’t capable of love, not even for his own children.
‘Come on, Charlie.’ Rita reached to undo his tie. ‘You’ve just over-indulged. Perhaps you should have a nap.’ She tried to keep the shake from her voice.
Charlie moved her hand from the silk tie. ‘Haven’t you had your fill with lover boy? I saw the way you looked at Jack Callaghan.’ His lips curled into a sneer. ‘Do you think I don’t notice the way Callaghan seduces you with his eyes and you, like the harlot you are, you reciprocate in kind, humiliating me? I must be the laughing stock of the street.’ Charlie banged his fist on the arm of the chair and jumped up so fast Rita felt genuinely frightened for the first time in her life. Before she knew what was happening, Charlie pushed her forcefully down onto the sofa, roughly lifting her skirt and tearing at her underwear.
‘No, Charlie, not like this!’ Rita cried. ‘Charlie, stop it!’ His hand covered her mouth. ‘Shut your mouth, you stupid bitch, do you want the whole street to know what a whore you are?’ He pushed her head to one side so he could whisper crude words in her ear. ‘Do you like it like this, Rita? Is this what you want …? Yes, it is, you love it!’ All the while he was forcefully thrusting himself into her, grinding his body against her. This was as far as you could get from making love; this was full of hate.
‘Charlie. No!’ Sobs racked Rita’s body as Charlie buried his face into her breasts, nipping her with his teeth. Rita’s stomach heaved. Charlie was her husband – he was supposed to love her and to cherish her – yet he was capable of this!
‘No, Charlie! No!’ Rita’s anguished cry sounded like someone else’s voice, even to her own ears. She grabbed his thinning hair and pulled his head up. All Rita could feel was pain. As his head came up he had venom in his eyes. In seconds he was spent, limp on top of her, and Rita found the strength she needed to push him off.
He stumbled slightly but quickly steadied himself. Towering over her, Charlie looked down at her in a way she did not recognise. His eyes were cold, distant. And his next words chilled her to the bone. ‘You were never my choice of a wife, Rita.’
He turned and walked away. Rita felt ashamed, exposed, humiliated. How could she ever look at Charlie after this? Her stomach churned as she quickly jumped up, trying to cover herself. She could barely comprehend the circumstances. How could Charlie do that to his own wife? She had seen the results first-hand when women, battered and bruised, had been brought into the hospital because they had said no to their husbands. Rita shuddered to think she was just like those poor women now. She jumped when the bedroom door slammed shut.
Quickly she ran to the freezing-cold scullery and grabbed two large pans off the shelf. After filling them with cold water, she struck a match and lit two gas rings. Rita’s bruised arms encircled her tired body. Pacing back and forth along the kitchen she tried to quell the memory of what had just happened. But it was impossible.
She closed the kitchen door and slipped the snip across, thankful that it still worked. Then she dragged the table up against the door and, gasping now, she leaned against the wooden draining board, slowly rocking back and forth to try to ease the ache of shame and humiliation, momentarily uncertain what to do next. A dog barked in the distance and she jumped, her nerves in shreds.
Hot tears streamed silently down Rita’s cheeks as her trembling shoulders curled inwards. She could feel the nausea rising, finding it impossible to swallow as the water in the pans began to bubble. After pouring the boiled water into an enamel bowl, Rita added just enough cold water to allow her to dip her hands. She needed to be clean. Really clean.
Slathering a clean cloth in carbolic soap, she began to scrub her body thoroughly from top to toe. What if he came back and wanted to have another go? He was her husband. He said she had no right to stop him. Please God, she prayed, don’t let him near me again. Could she go home? Take the kids back to Mam’s? Yes, that was it. She didn’t have to stay now; he’d betrayed her, hadn’t he? Then she remembered. This was her punishment. There was no going back and she must suffer the consequences of the choices that she had made. She continued washing. The water soothed her bruised arms but did nothing to calm her troubled mind.
Thank the Lord the children were not here to see him like that, Rita thought as she dried her glowing skin, now red raw to the touch. Is this how it was to be now? No more pretending; just angry, twisted sex. Well, that was the last time Charlie would ever do that to her, she vowed. Although still feeling soiled, she told herself that next time she would be ready for him … punishment or not, there were limits to what she could take. She and Charlie would never share the same bed again. While the children were away, she would sleep in Megan’s room at the back of the house.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The diamond frost glistened underfoot as Kitty hurried towards the dock road. She secured the woollen scarf under her chin before pulling up the high collar of the coat she had got from Rita, who had been going to throw it out. She was shivering as sleet began to fall in the murky light of dawn, drenching her feet as the cardboard that covered the hole in the sole of her shoe became more sodden with every step.
Kitty stopped to lean on the railway wall, known to all as ‘the ralla’, and pulled the flapping cardboard from the hole. As soon as she got her first pay packet, she promised herself, she was going to Cazneau Street market to get a second-hand pair that had soles! The icy water was making her toes numb, but there was no time to worry.
Even at this ungodly hour, the dock road was alive with men, horses and lorries. Kitty hurried on past the carters, their heads and shoulders covered with hessian sacking, loading flat-backed wagons with crates and bales straight
off the ships. She felt sorry for the patient horses standing motionless and unflappable on the quayside, exhaling plumes of white vapour.
The canteen was still in darkness when she got there. Hugging the wall close to the door, she tried to protect herself from a westerly squall blasting in off the river. After a few minutes, aware she was inviting curious stares from carters and passing lorry drivers, she moved further into the shadows of the canteen doorway, hoping nobody got the wrong idea. If they did they would soon get their eye wiped, she thought.
From here she could see directly across the busy dock road to the enormous battleships, their huge superstructures seeming to glow against the pewter sky. Men, maybe days away from being called to war, were loading and unloading.
This view of sea-going traffic, lying at anchor in the busy dockyard, was a familiar sight, although new to Kitty recently was the evidence of war wounds on some ships that were there being mended. At this hour, it looked strangely eerie.
Hitler will not beat Liverpool, she thought proudly. This was one of the busiest ports in England, she knew, but it would refuse to be beaten.
The port looked to be thriving now but she recalled the times when it had stood silent, when men went on strike for better conditions. It had taken a war for them to get anywhere near the dues the men deserved and Kitty wondered if they would still get them after the war was over.
After Tommy had been evacuated she had seen a notice in the employment exchange advertising for women – or men who were exempt from fighting – to join the newly opening Navy, Army and Air Force Institute on the dock road, NAAFI for short. It was run on the lines of a co-operative society controlled jointly by the three services. NAAFI waitresses were not classed as war workers but as civilians attached to the services. Thank goodness for that, Kitty had said; she was not cut out for square-bashing or saluting. Her supervisor, Rene, who had interviewed her and told her punctuality was imperative, was now late.