I went upstairs and changed my sheets, cursing loudly. I could smell him on them. I opened the window wide to get his vileness out. Because the window was open, my curses softened into whispers and I soon found I felt calmer if I didn’t curse him at all. I decided there and then to close him off, to close off what had happened. It was like a shutter banging down inside me and I wrapped up all my emotions, put them in a little bag and drew the drawstrings tight. Maybe I would let them out one day, but for now, it was the only way I could survive what I had to do. I must never give the slightest hint of what Dudley had done to me. I still loved Tom. Tom was not Dudley. Tom was my future. We had discussed the children we would have, how well they would do at school, all those things lovers plan for their future lives. Our banns would be read this Sunday at church. We would be there in our Sunday best, proud and happy. Oh God! I wasn’t sure I could do it. How was I going to get through this? I drew the drawstrings on my bag even tighter, and pulled myself together and got on with things. Cope with what I could bear and cry silently for what I couldn’t.
I filled our big washing bucket with water and put it onto the stove to heat up. Meanwhile I washed my virgin blood out of the sheet and thrust the sheet in the bubbling water. I felt like I was boiling Dudley away. His poison was being diluted. I had enough sense to know that I mustn’t let him spoil the rest of my life, but I also knew that he would never do it to me again. I would rather hang for murdering him than suffer the bastard again.
When I’d boiled and scrubbed the sheet clean, I put it upstairs in my bedroom to dry, I couldn’t let aunty see I’d washed it as she’d want to know why. My head throbbed and my body ached and I was still shaking. A deep lassitude overtook me and I realised all my resources were spent. I was too weak to face my father and aunty. They’d instantly know something was wrong. So I did the only thing I could do and went to the only place that was mine: my bedroom and my bed. I unlocked the front door and then left a note to say that I had a severe headache and had gone to bed and to please not disturb me. I apologised for not getting their dinner ready and asked them to take care of themselves. It would have to do, I couldn’t do anything else.
I made the bed with fresh linen, undressed and put my clothes into the washing pile. I would have to wash them tomorrow. Wash that filthy man out of my clothes tomorrow because I was exhausted. As much as my body resisted getting into that bed again, I knew I must. I forced myself into it, trying not to think about what had happened there. I almost vomited but held control, knowing there was nothing left in my stomach. I lay down hoping for the oblivion of sleep but my thoughts were as violent as Dudley’s actions had been as I relived how stupid I’d been in the past: how naive. I’d been brought up on Jane Austin and gentle, romantic books and thought my wedding night was to be treasured. It would be full of stars, excitement, love and tenderness and the next morning I would wake up a fully fledged woman with the knowledge of the world now in my head by osmosis. I would have a generous, tender and perfect husband because I had been a generous, tender and perfect virgin wife. But it was nothing like that now and I had been denied the chance to find out if it ever could have been.
And what if I was pregnant? Could you get pregnant from so much hate? I’d always thought pregnancy came from love, that you couldn’t have one without the other and then I remembered my relatives. My Aunty Gladys and Aunty Irene had not loved their husbands, that was obvious to me even as a child. They might have done to start with, but after so many children their feelings had changed. But they still produced baby after baby. So there was a good chance I could be pregnant.
I couldn’t let that happen. What should I do? I was trying to keep calm, but a rage and a feeling of helplessness was building. The rage was against that . . . that monster who had the nerve to call himself a man and my ignorance of what to do next. I knew that some women got rid of their babies. That they either did it themselves with a knitting needle or scalding water – but I had no idea exactly how you did it – or they went to ‘secret women’. But I didn’t know who these women were and who could I ask without giving it all away?
If I was pregnant, it was so close to my marriage, I may get away with it, but not if the, the . . . thing . . . I couldn’t think of Dudley’s child as human, so if the thing had red hair, then I was exposed. Tom was not Dudley’s real brother. Tom didn’t have a trace of red in his hair and no one in my family did either. I screamed suddenly: a piercing expulsion of rage and powerlessness and then I remembered the neighbours and was fearful they would hear. But I couldn’t hold it in and turned my face into my pillow and screamed and screamed and screamed. I thumped my fists and feet into the bed until I was hoarse of throat and sore of limbs. I broke into uncontrollable sobs. The drawstrings on my bag of emotions had already broken. I knew I’d have to repair it, and soon.
*
How I got through the next three weeks is a mystery to me. How I kept myself together. Always at the forefront of my mind was the word: pregnant.
I turned away from God after Dudley. It wasn’t a conscious thing, it just happened. I went to church many times between ‘that time’ as I called it, and my wedding, but God didn’t speak to me. They were empty visits and I wondered if I would have to endure a lifetime of empty visits. Could I find God again? I had no idea but I knew I couldn’t stop going to church and pretending I believed in Him because to stop would entail explanations I didn’t want to make.
To cover over my injuries, I told everyone I’d slipped running up the stairs and fell down them, hitting my face. They were all sympathetic and no one queried it. Tom was still the loving, funny and relaxed person I’d fallen in love with. I still loved him, but the physical side of things had become so hard for me. My body hurt all over and I couldn’t bear to be touched and hugged by Tom because of the bruises left by Dudley. Tom, bless him, was so sympathetic and gentle with me, I felt awful lying to him, and that made things harder to cope with.
Dudley, thank goodness, had told everyone he’d got drunk and scalded his hand and that the doctor had told him to rest it. He kept a low profile and I didn’t see him and for that, I was so very grateful. Maybe I’d hurt him more than I knew.
It had been arranged that after our marriage, Tom and I would go and live with his mother. That was fortunate in one way as my own family wouldn’t see me so often and realise something was wrong, and unfortunate in another very important way, as it meant Dudley would have free access to the house, and therefore to me. But it was unavoidable as Tom and I couldn’t afford the rent on another house while he was also supporting his mother, and it was usual for a young couple to live with the groom’s family when starting out.
I continued to work on my wedding dress. I had been proud of its whiteness but now, it was like a slap in the face.
I tried to cover my feelings but Aunty Annie knew something was wrong.
‘What’s the matter, Kate bach, are you not feeling well?’
‘It’s just nerves, Aunty. Nothing to worry about,’ and it felt hollow even as I said it.
I was terrified of having Dudley’s child. I should have had my monthly by now. I had always been very regular. I couldn’t eat. I was too churned up.
Still, my monthly didn’t come.
One week before the wedding Aunty said, ‘You haven’t had your monthly yet, Kate. Are you all right?’ She looked at me long and questioningly. ‘You haven’t been indulging with Tom have you? I wouldn’t blame you, he’s a lovely boy, but you really should have waited.’
‘No, Aunty, I haven’t. Really we didn’t. I think it must be nerves. I can’t think straight. I feel so awful.’
She jumped up. ‘A nice hot bath it is for you then. It always does the trick if the monthlies are playing up. I’ll get the bath in and put on some water to heat up.’ And with that, she was a flurry of activity. She put three pails of water on the stove to heat up and moved the kitchen table aside. She set our small tin bath in the middle of the room, and when the water h
ad boiled she put the pails of hot water and two of cold into the bath. She closed the curtains and locked the door. ‘No one can come in and disturb you now. I’ll take myself up to bed and read my book. It’ll be a real treat for me to do that. You relax in the bath for an hour. I’ve got another three pails on for you, when they heat up, get out and empty them in the bath. That’ll give you lots of hot water to soak in. The hotness of the water will move those monthlies along like nothing else. Enjoy it, my lovely.’
I undressed and stepped into the bath with some trepidation – what if this didn’t work? But I let the water soothe me and as soon as I heard the water bubbling on the stove I got out and filled the bath up. I sat there with my knees bent and the water up to my breasts. The metallic smell of the zinc was always unpleasant to me and the roughness of the bath hurt my tender buttocks, but it was still sheer heaven. After a while, my thoughts and worries refused to let me be and the solitude and relaxation unleashed my tears again. I cried until the water went cold.
*
The next morning I woke up with my insides feeling like they were being dragged out of me. Then I realised my monthly had arrived. I was ecstatic. If I hadn’t lost my belief in God I would have thanked Him; instead I thanked Aunty Annie, which is probably nearer to the truth.
I met Tom that night and was able to blame my moodiness and distance on my ‘women’s problems’. The relief that there wasn’t a devil inside me gave me hope.
‘Oh, Katie, cariad. I was worrying that you’d changed your mind and didn’t want to marry me, but it was only women’s problems. I’m so relieved. Come and cwtch.’
Only ‘women’s problems’ I wanted to shout. They’re not important, are they? What’s important is that you get your cwtch and feel better. I gave him his cwtch wondering if Tom really understood women at all.
CHAPTER TWELVE
My wedding day arrived as my monthly disappeared. I was disappointed it had finished if I’m honest because it would have been a good excuse not to ‘do’ anything that night. That special time, that culmination of our love that I had so looked forward to, was now a nightmare. Everything was gone except the feel, smell, anger and poison left by Dudley. And how was I going to prove that I was a virgin? Would Tom hurt me as much as Dudley? I was frightened of myself and my reactions to Tom, and the fear of him suspecting anything. I had to keep him from that – whatever happened.
That morning, when Aunty Annie came up to my bedroom to help me dress, I took a deep breath, then another and another. They steadied me somewhat. After I was dressed, Aunty held the mirror up so that I could see myself in full.
‘You look a picture,’ she said and I realised I did look beautiful. The length of my dress was just right to show off my white satin shoes and was not only fashionable but elegant too with its straight white satin skirt tucked into a high waist. The lace on my shoes matched the lace hoops around the hem and hips of the dress. The rounded neck was set off by Tom’s gift of a deep blue pendant that used to belong to his grandmother, my something blue, and the short sleeves left my arms bare to lead the eye down to my watch, my something old, and my treasured possession which I’d saved hard to buy when I first started work. My something new of course, was my dress which now mocked me.
Edie and I, together with our small posies of flowers, a present from my father, and a dab of lavender water behind our ears, left my home. I, on the arm of my father, with Edie following close behind in a small procession that would take us to the nearby church. I knew my father was uncomfortable in his only suit. The one he called his ‘weddings, christenings and funerals torture suit’. He kept pulling at his brilliant white collar which aunty had laundered with ferocity. The three of us walked slowly in the middle of the road, like royalty. The neighbours came out and cheered and clapped, which echoed around the canyon of our street. Some called out, ‘Good luck.’ ‘All happiness.’ ‘You look beautiful Kate.’ With each shout I felt a terrible sadness but smiled and waved.
As I walked down the aisle I didn’t see Tom or the congregation, but the image of the double bed Tom and I had bought from Gwilym Evans’ Department Store in town. I tried to shake it off, to concentrate on what has happening, but my mind wouldn’t let me and even the altar took on the shape of the bed. It was as if I was possessed. I was terrified of tonight. What would I do? What would I tell Tom if he realised? I didn’t want him to kill Dudley. An unbecoming sweat broke out on my face and under my arms. My knees started to shake and then I saw Dudley standing there in the front pew. He turned to look at me and lifted his heavily bandaged hand up in mockery. I thought I would faint. The triumphant smirk in his eyes as he looked me up and down and lingered on my breasts and personal bits down below made me shake even more. He raped me all over again with those eyes.
My father held on to me very tight as he felt me wobble. Tom turned when we approached him and his look of love washed over me. I grabbed hold of his arm as a woman falling off a cliff would reach out for a passing branch. I couldn’t control the shaking and Tom smiled indulgently and reassuringly at me. Innocent, unknowing Tom . . . and during our vows all I could think of was bloody Dudley and how I hated him.
*
The reception was held at the church hall and everyone else was in good humour so I tried to pull myself together enough to function without drawing undue attention to myself. Aunty and her church ladies had made a good job of decorating the hall. The tables had clean, freshly pressed white tablecloths with a vase of wild flowers on each. The place settings were laid out neatly with shining crockery and sparkling cutlery. The trays of sandwiches had little bits of greenery as decoration. Aunty had made a two-tier wedding cake and her friend, who was a wiz at decorating cakes, had iced it. Two little figures stood on the top which Tom had whittled in elm to look like us.
Aunty Annie and my father came over to Tom and me as we stood in the centre of the room with people coming up and congratulating us.
‘It was a good turnout at the church,’ Aunty Annie said. ‘It was full. It’s a pity we couldn’t invite everyone to the reception, but well, there you are.’
‘We’re pushing the boat out to feed the thirty that are here,’ my father said. ‘Come on now, Annie, we’re doing very well under the circumstances.’
She smiled at him and put her hand on his arm. ‘I know, Matt. I know. I was just thinking out loud. But you’re right we’re doing very well under the circumstances.’
I saw Davy over by the door. He looked like a film star in his fashionable suit. He wore a dickey bow for the occasion and I wondered where he’d bought it. Fussy, high fashion clothes like he was wearing weren’t available in Ponty.
‘Excuse me, everyone,’ I said. ‘I just want to welcome Davy.’
‘So, he came then,’ said Aunty in a disbelieving voice. ‘Some people have no shame.’
My father laid his hand on Aunty’s arm. ‘Now, now, Annie love. Let the boy be. Kate’s his sister after all. They’ve been through a lot together. He should be here. You know we discussed it.’
I smiled at my dad and his eyes filled with tears, but he turned away, embarrassed by his emotions.
I went over to speak to Davy. He kissed me on the cheek, and he smelt of good soap and cologne which was unusual for a man who worked in the pits.
‘You look beautiful, Kate,’ he said as his eyes searched mine. There was a lot of noise in the hall with people laughing and chatting and it was easy for us to talk without being overheard. ‘But there’s something wrong, isn’t there? You can’t fool your brother, I know you too well.’
‘Please, Davy, if you care for me, leave it. Don’t ask me anything . . . just be happy for me on my wedding day.’ I went to turn away, but he caught my arm.
‘Just tell me one thing. Is it Tom? Is he the problem? Because if he is, I swear I’ll sort him out and make him pay if he’s making you unhappy.’
‘No!’ I whispered harshly, surprised he’d think such a thing. More calmly I added, ‘No, it’s n
ot Tom. Please don’t worry. Tom’s the best husband a girl could have.’
‘Then it’s that bloody brother of his,’ he hissed. He was still holding on to my arm and he felt me stiffen at the mention of Dudley. ‘It is him, isn’t it?’ I didn’t answer. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘I’ll kill the bastard if he’s done anything to hurt you. I swear I will. He deserves every bad thing that comes his way.’ He was getting red in the face.
‘Please don’t do anything to Dudley. You don’t know him like I do. It’s not worth it.’ He looked like thunder. ‘Please, Davy, don’t spoil my wedding day. I can cope with Dudley. I know how to.’ I hoped he wouldn’t see through my lie. ‘Leave this to me.’ I tried for levity, ‘I am your big sister after all.’
‘Yes, but I’m all grown up now. It’s my turn to protect you. Goodness knows, you protected me enough when we were little. Let me do this for you, Kate?’
‘No!’ I exploded as I pushed his arm away, I had to discourage him from challenging Dudley, ‘I said no, and I mean no.’
‘What’s going on, Kate?’ Aunty asked, as she approached quickly. ‘Is Davy bothering you?’ Her eyes were cold and her body stiff. I could see she was looking for trouble. But before I could answer her, Davy beat me to it.
‘There’s nothing wrong. Don’t worry, I’m leaving.’ And with that, he strode out of the room like an angry bull. I felt relieved that Davy had left, but sad that both he and Aunty still couldn’t share the same air without animosity.
I reassured her. ‘Everything’s fine. Forget it please.’
She smiled lovingly. ‘It’s your day. I’ll do as you ask. Let’s go and talk to Tom. There’ll be no bad words between you and Tom, I’ll warrant.’ I managed to return her smile.
The Rocking Stone Page 12