by Sam Michaels
‘Billy doesn’t look after me, he hurts me.’
‘Coward… coward… yes he does! It’s what you wanted. You wanted Billy, just like you wanted your father. You seduced them both! You didn’t care that it was me who fed you, me who clothed you… Betrayal! You betrayed me when you threw yourself at your father.’
‘I was a child – it wasn’t my fault!’
Hilda hadn’t realised she was shouting to herself until she noticed a man pass her and throw her a peculiar look.
‘I’m not talking to you any longer,’ she whispered, and was pleased when her mother didn’t answer.
After fifteen minutes of silence, Hilda arrived back at Queenstown Road and, thankfully, Billy’s car wasn’t parked outside. She could relax, for now at least, but the dread of his next attack was never far from her mind.
Her relief was short-lived when her mother spoke again.
‘Tell Billy what you saw! Tell him… tell him… tell him… tell him… tell him…’
The voice was relentless. ‘Tell him… tell him…’
Hilda tried singing to drown it out, but her mother’s raspy voice filled her head. ‘Tell him… tell him…’
If she told Billy, it would shut her mother up, but she’d be sending that poor woman on the flower stall to a terrible fate.
‘Tell him… tell him… tell him…’ it went on. And on. And on.
*
The Maids of Battersea had been up and running for four weeks, and already the membership numbers had gone from two participants in the first week to a dozen now. The contributions the women paid barely covered Molly’s wages, but George was confident that once the stall was operational, the money would start rolling in.
‘Hold your hands higher, Mildred, protect your face,’ George shouted.
Mildred responded and lifted her clenched fists.
‘Good, well done. Ruth, your right foot should be at the front. It’ll give you better balance. Stood sideways on like that, you’ll get knocked clean off your feet and will end up on your arse!’
The women had made a room divider from pallet wood and discarded cardboard boxes and decorated it with material flowers cut from cast-off bits of fabric from the blanket factory. George had positioned it towards the far end of the hall and held her boxing lessons behind it. The screen protected the class from any prying eyes that happened to pop into the hall for a nose.
‘I can’t do this, George,’ Ruth moaned. ‘Boxing is for men, not for the likes of us women.’
George pursed her lips. She was sick to the back teeth of hearing the women whine. She understood that they had hard lives, but she didn’t have the patience for their defeatist attitudes. ‘No-one’s forcing you, Ruth,’ she snapped. ‘If you don’t want to learn how to stand up for yourself, then bugger off. Go and join Molly’s lace-making class. I’m sure she’ll be glad to have you.’
Ruth lowered her head, then slipped from the class. George glanced round and studied the faces of the remaining women. A few of them looked anxious, and she’d already witnessed how edgy and jumpy they could be. But the idea of them attending boxing lessons was to build their confidence. ‘If anyone else wants to leave, I suggest you do so now.’
The women exchanged worried looks but stayed put.
‘Good. Right, I won’t have any wimps in my class. We are The Maids of Battersea. Strong warrior women! From now on, if you ain’t prepared to fight back, then don’t waste my time coming here. Are you ready?’
The women didn’t look as sure as George would have liked, but at least they all stayed and put a good effort into the lesson. She’d make fighters out of them yet!
Once the class had finished, George helped Molly clear away.
‘You know, you shouldn’t be so hard on the women.’
George shot Molly a look of surprise. Of all the people, Molly was the last person she would have expected to hear this from.
‘Most of them who come here have been knocked about. They’re scared, George, and have you considered that if they go home and hit back, they could end up getting battered a lot worse or even killed?’
‘Don’t be soft, Molly. What’s the point of me teaching them to fight if they ain’t prepared to stand up for themselves?’
‘I dunno… maybe it just makes them feel a bit more confident. I’m sure they’d all love to be like you, but none of us are. Just go a little easier on them, eh? We want them coming back, don’t we?’
George chewed the inside of her cheek. She didn’t have empathy for weakness. If anything, it repulsed her.
‘I know what you’re thinking but look at me. I’ve had you looking out for me for years. Remember how I was picked on?’
Yes, George did, and she reminded herself that part of the reason for setting up the club was due to witnessing how Molly had been bullied. She just wished the women’s feebleness didn’t get on her nerves so much. But reluctantly, she sighed and said, ‘All right, you win. I’ll try to be nicer.’
‘That’s what I like to hear. Actually, there’s something I should tell you.’
‘Spit it out then.’
‘It’s me mum. She’s had another hiding off my dad, only, when you see her, don’t mention it. She gets embarrassed and covers for him.’
‘Bloody hell, Molly! Is she all right?’
‘Yeah, she is now, but it was horrible at home last night.’
‘What happened?’
‘You know how my dad is pissed off ’cos he ain’t got my wages from the factory no more?’
‘Yes,’ George answered, thinking that if he tried to take the earnings she paid Molly, she’d chop his thieving hands off.
‘Well, I ain’t sure what Ethel said, but he suddenly started shouting at her, calling her the thickest bastard under the sun, and then lifted his hand to whack her one. Anyhow, Mum jumped in and Dad backed off, but by then Ethel was so scared she wet herself. Mum got a boot when she was cleaning it up.’
‘Fucking hell, Molly, it ain’t right! None of you should be putting up with that!’
‘I know, George, but what are we supposed to do? I can’t move out and leave my sisters there. Mum won’t go nowhere. She said my dad would find her and drag her back.’
George shook her head. She was fuming, but this was Fanny’s family, not hers, and she knew she shouldn’t get involved.
‘He’s never hit any of us before; it’s always been my mum who cops it. I reckon last night was a one-off, but I’ll keep an eye on Ethel.’
‘Men like him make me sick,’ George said scathingly.
‘Yeah, but enough about me dad. Can you can give me a hand with these boxes? This is all our stock for the stall next week.’
George tried to dismiss her anger at Mike Mipple, but she was seething.
‘George, please. I can see you’re upset. I wish I hadn’t told you now,’ Molly said, close to tears.
‘Sorry. It seems a bit bloody ironic that here we are, teaching women how to look after themselves, but your own house ain’t in order.’
‘I know, but it’s been like that at home for as long as I can remember. It ain’t gonna change now. It’s too late for my mum, but it might not be for someone else, so don’t give up on what you’re trying to achieve.’
George nodded, but she felt so frustrated and wished Fanny would be a Maid of Battersea. For Molly’s sake, she hid her temper and focused on the stock for the stall. She hadn’t realised that Molly and the other women had been so industrious. There were piles of boxes overflowing with rag-rugs, hand-made stuffed toys, lace doilies, crotched blankets, cross-stitched artwork and knitted hats. ‘Credit where credit is due,’ she said, ‘they ain’t good at sticking up for themselves, but they’re gonna make us a packet with this lot!’
*
Hilda now had a telephone on her desk. It was the only line in Queenstown Road, and rarely rang, but Billy liked to brag about it. This was another aspect of his character that she’d come to despise. She no longer found him dangerous
ly attractive and rued the day she hadn’t run off with Joan. She wished she’d listened to the old bat, but it was too late now. She was trapped with a sadistic tormentor.
Hilda heard Billy’s wicked laugh in the hallway and shuddered. Another voice was still screaming in her head, and she stiffened. ‘He’s coming for you… He’s going to hurt you again… It’s what you deserve… You’re useless, you stupid bitch! Tell him… tell him… tell him… He might leave you alone if you tell him… Useless betraying slut… Tell him… tell him…’
Hilda squeezed her hands hard up against her ears to block out her mother’s voice, but no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t mute the evil taunts. ‘Leave me alone,’ she screamed, but her mother’s gravelly breaths were still sounding in her head.
The door opened, and Billy breezed in. He had a familiar look in his eyes, and her heart sank.
‘Who are you shouting at?’ he asked, licking his lips fervently.
‘Myself, Mr Wilcox. I was clumsy and spilled my tea,’ Hilda answered.
‘Good. I don’t want anyone disturbing us.’
Hilda hated what was going to happen to her next yet didn’t protest. As Billy would expect from her, she pulled out a piece of black cloth from her drawer. She then walked round to the front of her desk and, feeling numb, she lifted her skirt and pulled down her knickers before reluctantly stepping out of them. She then placed the black material across her eyes and secured it with a knot behind her head. Leaning forward over her desk, she pulled her skirt over her waist and held her breath as she heard Billy’s footsteps coming towards her.
His walk was slow and deliberate. He seemed to like looking at her naked flesh, though her buttocks and thighs were covered with purple bruising and scabby welt marks. She thought most men would be repelled, but not Billy Wilcox. He adored studying her wounds and enjoyed it even more when he was inflicting them. Causing her to bleed, and hearing her cry used to be the only thing that seemed to bring him to a climax. She’d soon discovered his brutal and perverted preferences and had quickly learned to turn on the waterworks. It made him finish quicker, but then Billy had seen through her act. Now he’d only orgasm when he saw fear in her eyes. That’s why he kept them covered and made her wear the blindfold. It prolonged her suffering.
Her mother was there again, her raspy breath intensifying, leaving Hilda feeling as though she was battling for space in her own head. She wanted to scream out, to tell Billy he was a crank, a bloody nutcase and wasn’t normal, but the sound of her mother’s cackling drowned out her own voice.
‘Tell him… He’s going to make you bleed… Tell him…’
Over the din in her mind, she heard Billy’s trousers drop to the floor, and the sound of his belt buckle land on the polished boards. Some small amount of tension instantly left her aching body. She was at least going to be spared the strap.
He’d only used it on her twice, but on both occasions, she’d required medical attention afterwards. The doctors hadn’t asked how she’d acquired her injuries. Billy paid for their silence. And for hers. Not that she was bothered about the money. The scars were reminder enough of how fierce Billy Wilcox could be. She was just grateful they were on her behind and not across her unblemished, heart-shaped face.
31
‘George, sorry to interrupt, but have you got a minute?’ Molly said, sounding uncomfortable.
She’d popped her head round the makeshift screen but looked like she was waiting for George to bite it off!
George instructed her class to carry on, then walked to a quiet corner with Molly. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, wondering why her friend was looking so worried.
‘It’s Oppo. He’s here, asking to see you.’
‘Is that all?’ George said, relieved.
‘Well, it’s not really on, is it?’ Molly commented snootily.
‘What do you mean?’
‘He shouldn’t be here. This is a club for women and kids. If we start getting blokes coming in, it’ll make the women feel uncomfortable. I’ve told him to wait outside for you.’
‘You’re probably right, but Oppo is harmless enough,’ George said.
‘You know that, and I know that, but the rest of the women here don’t. No, George, I don’t think it’s acceptable and you need to tell him he can’t come here again!’
Molly actually stamped her foot as she spoke, and it was all George could do to refrain from laughing at her. ‘All right, madam, don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’ll have a word with him.’
As George walked across the hall, she wiped her brow, then stepped outside into the bright sun. She squinted her eyes and saw the silhouette of Oppo and noticed he had a young woman with him.
‘Hello, George. I hope you don’t mind me coming here. I don’t think Molly was too pleased to see me.’
‘Don’t worry about her, she’s having one of her girlie moods.’
‘This ’ere is Eunice. She’d like to have a look at what goes on here and as I’ve heard so much about it from you, I thought I’d take a look for meself. Is that all right?’
In one glance, George could tell Eunice was shy and judging by the bruises on her jawline, the woman had probably taken a beating from her husband. ‘Yes, it’s fine. Come in,’ George said, and led them into the hall.
Molly looked up from her table and when she saw that George had brought Oppo in, she threw her a look of scorn, but her face softened when she saw Eunice behind him.
‘Eunice, this is Molly. She’ll show you round and tell you all about what we do here.’
‘Hello, Eunice,’ Molly said sweetly, ‘come with me and we’ll get you a nice cup of tea, then we can have a chat.’
Eunice followed Molly away, then Oppo said, ‘Sorry, George. I’d never have come but I didn’t know how else to get her here.’
‘It’s fine, Oppo, really.’
‘No, it ain’t and I understand why Molly was pissed off to see me here. Mr Kavanagh ain’t happy with me either. The old git says I’m always skiving off and is threatening me with losing me job again. I had to bring Eunice here though. She was in a right old state. She lives upstairs from me and last night, I heard her and her husband having a row. She says he ain’t been the same since he was at the Battle of the Somme. Then today, she came in the shop, so I mentioned to her about your club. That was it – she broke down!’
‘You did the right thing, Oppo. Leave her with us, we’ll look after her now.’
‘Thanks, George.’
‘Do you want to have a look round now that you’re here?’
‘Err… no thanks. You lot frighten the bloody life out of me! I’d better get back to the shop and hope Mr Kavanagh ain’t replaced me yet.’ Oppo laughed.
George saw him out and watched him hobble up the street. She wished there was something that could be done for his leg, though it never seemed to bother him. In fact, not much ever got to Oppo. He always had a cheery disposition and a kind word to say. She’d known him for as long as she could remember and cared for him like one of her own family.
*
It had been a week since Hilda had bought the daffodils from Mrs Wilcox’s stall and now they were wilted. Hilda sat at her desk and covertly glanced past Billy to look out of the window. The sun was shining, and April was living up to its reputation of being the month for rain showers. She’d have liked to walk past Billy’s desk to the window and pull the net curtains to one side. She was sure there’d be a rainbow. But instead Hilda sat motionless and silent, hoping not to attract Billy’s unwanted attention.
She was finding it difficult to concentrate as her mother’s incessant ramblings had given her a pounding headache.
‘He should kill you… I wish I’d killed you instead of your brother… Tell him… tell him… tell him what you saw…’
Billy slammed his coffee cup down, which made Hilda jump. She’d become so jittery lately, but it was no wonder, considering the abuse she was suffering at his hands.
She sn
eaked a glance at him and was relieved to see he looked engrossed in his newspaper.
‘You’re so thick… If he finds out you knew, he’ll cut your throat… Tell him… tell him… He’ll slash your pretty face with his belt buckle… Tell him…’
Hilda couldn’t take it any more, and she pushed her chair back then walked towards Billy’s desk. Billy looked up and folded his paper away.
‘I… erm… I don’t know if this is anything or nothing, but last week, when I bought some flowers from your mother’s stall, I… erm… I…’
‘You what, Hilda?’ Billy asked impatiently.
Hilda’s mother was laughing, jeering her. ‘Tell him…’ she heard, over and over.
‘I think I saw the lady who works there pocket the money I gave her.’ There, she’d said it, but she hated herself for it, though at last, her mother fell silent.
‘Fanny Mipple, stealing from my mother?’
Hilda recognised the name. She didn’t know Fanny but knew Mike Mipple well. He’d been one of her customers at Livingstone Road. The man had stunk. Having sex with him had turned her stomach, and she’d always felt sorry for his wife.
Hilda looked at Billy’s face. It was clear that he was furious at what he was hearing. She wanted to scream that she’d made a terrible mistake and retract what she’d told him, but it was too late now. Her heart thumped hard. She hated Billy being in a bad mood. There was always a chance he’d take it out on her. She could have slapped herself, punched herself in the head and scratched her own eyes out. She’d grassed on Fanny Mipple for her own peace of mind, and now realised it hadn’t been worth it.
Billy called for Knuckles who quickly appeared. ‘It seems Fanny Mipple is ripping my mother off. I want you to pay a visit to her. Tell her I want to see her here in my office tomorrow at midday. Don’t tell her why but let her know I’m not happy. Make the bitch stew for a while.’
Hilda lowered her head and scurried back to sit behind her desk. Poor Fanny, she thought. She dreaded to think what Billy would do to the woman and it was all Hilda’s fault.
