A Soldier's Girl

by Maggie Ford

  Her mother’s reply was disappointing. ‘I can’t see what else yer can do,’ she said slowly, raising anger in Brenda.

  It was all she needed, Mum taking sides with Harry. This wasn’t what she’d come here for, to be told her role as a wife. She’d had enough of that from him. The trouble was, Mum belonged to the old school; she still believed a wife should play second fiddle to her husband, be subservient to the breadwinner, the master of the house. But she controlled her annoyance with her mother. ‘And there’s that place I bought in Leytonstone while he was away. He says he won’t touch one penny of it if I did put it on the market – says it’s nothing to do with ’im and he ain’t ’aving people think I’m keeping ’im. It’s the nasty way he says it.’

  ‘Yes, now that is silly.’

  Brenda looked at her with renewed hope. ‘I really thought he’d be pleased with a little nest egg for ’im ter come back to. But he ain’t. He says he’d rather us part company than ’im touch a penny of it. I really don’t understand his thinking when he could have a nice little business of his own out of it all.’

  For a moment or two her mother ruminated on this fact, saying at last and very slowly, ‘I s’pose yer can see it from ’is point of view in a way. It could look to ’im as if he’ll be living on your money an’ no man likes the thought of that.’

  ‘It’s our money, Mum,’ Brenda persisted. ‘And it’s that what he won’t see. I don’t know why he won’t.’

  ‘Men can be funny about that sort of thing, Bren. They ain’t like us. Their pride is everythink to ’em.’

  ‘Even ter wantin’ ter break up a marriage? No, Mum, if it’s just ’is pride what’s at stake, he’s just goin’ to ’ave to learn to swallow it, because I ain’t changing for ’im. I’ve worked ’ard for what we ’ave and I ain’t ready ter let it all go just because he says so. What about my pride?’

  Again her mother pondered at length, but Brenda’s patience was wearing thin.

  ‘I kept our family ’ome together all through the Blitz, livin’ down in a basement, almost bombed out, puttin’ up with rationin’ an’ doin’ without,’ she went on. ‘But that don’t seem to count for much. He sees it as a piece of cake after what he says he went through in North Africa an’ Sicily an’ Italy.’

  ‘It couldn’t’ve bin an ’appy time fer ’im neither.’

  Brenda’s eyes narrowed over the cup she still held, the tea now grown cold. ‘Sometimes I wonder. He once told me that a lot of ’is mates ’ad a good time with Italian girls. I wonder if he didn’t have a good time as well. I asked him once and the way he got all shirty in an odd sort of way made me think for a while.’

  Mum found her voice. ‘I don’t wonder, a man bein’ asked a question like that. Yer probably put ’is back up.’

  They were getting away from things. ‘It don’t alter the fact that he expects me to give everything up an’ go back to bein’ the little wife again. Well, I can’t and I won’t. Things have changed, Mum, from what they was before the war.’

  ‘Yes, I s’pose they ’ave,’ sighed her mother, then she perked up. ‘But don’t be silly and let it break up yer marriage. There’s more’n one way ter skin a cat, Bren. I’ve learned that in my marriage ter yer dad. ’Ow do yer think I’ve kept it workin’? Yer do it bit by bit, nibbling a bit orf here, a bit orf there, until yer’ve whittled ’em down ter your way of thinkin’. It’s no good blusterin’ an’ arguin’. You ’ave ter learn just ’ow ter get round ’em. Let Harry see ’imself as the man of the ’ouse, keep yer temper an’ do it crafty like. Yer’ve got heaps of time. You ain’t in no mad rush, are yer? Yer’ve all the time in the world. Yer don’t ’ave ter go in like a bull in a Chinese shop.’

  Brenda found herself smiling at the malapropism. It was perhaps the first time she’d smiled in ages. But Mum wasn’t finished yet.

  ‘Harry’ll never know you’ve got the upper ’and of ’im. But you’ll ’ave ter put up for a while with ’is nastiness and ’is sneerin’. In time he’ll come round so long as you don’t push things in ’is face. One day you’ll find ’im suggestin’ sellin’ the ’ouse. And you tell ’im what a lovely idea and how clever he is and make sure to let ’im deal with all the negotiations fer sellin’ it. You see, yer’ll end up the winner and ’e won’t ever know. Ain’t no good gettin’ the upper ’and if all yer goin’ ter do is ter cut it orf at the wrist in the end, is it?’

  She was right of course, but it went against the grain somewhat. Were Mum’s old-fashioned methods best? She didn’t truly want them to be, but if it was worth a try – if she could stomach it? Mulling it all over but determined she wouldn’t be the loser in all this, Brenda left her mother’s house in a thoughtful if uneasy frame of mind.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  It was no good. All through summer she had tried to keep up this role of the easy-going wife as Mum had advised, but it was driving her round the bend, the way Harry was behaving, seeing himself as lord of the manor. The more he flung his weight around, or so it seemed to her, the angrier she grew and the more determined that this wasn’t going to last much longer, even if it did mean the end of their marriage.

  Maybe Mum, brought up in a different era, had taken a back seat, but this was today’s world; and maybe peace had reigned throughout the summer but she was the one who was suffering, and she couldn’t see herself going on forever saying yes to everything Harry said.

  It was a Friday evening in September when the crunch came. Addie, who had been at a little friend’s flat after school for an hour or so, was due to be picked up and brought home around seven. Harry had come home from work ready for his tea.

  These days Brenda made sure to be upstairs in time for him so that he had nothing to reproach her for. Even so, he still uttered the occasional snide remark about her working for all her efforts to be more obliging.

  This evening Harry had come home thoroughly disgruntled. ‘Had a bloody run in with the boss,’ he explained, tucking into the fried fish and chips she always brought in on Fridays. ‘I ain’t ’avin ’im tellin’ me to stop workin’ on this car and do that car, then moanin’ ’cos the first one ain’t done in time. He should get anuvver bloke to ’elp out if there’s too much work. I’m sick of bein’ bossed around. I’ve a good mind ter chuck it in.’

  Brenda paused over her own meal and said sharply, ‘No, Harry, don’t, that’d be silly,’ while managing to refrain from reminding him that he had no need to work for others. ‘It’s not that bad a job and the pay’s good.’

  Now he looked up. ‘What d’you know about it? You don’t ’ave ter work there. I’m sick of bein’ treated like I was a bloody skivvy instead of a skilled man. All right fer you ter say don’t chuck it in. What if I told you ter chuck your work in?’

  She couldn’t help it. ‘You do, Harry. Every blessed day.’

  ‘An’ I’ll go on sayin’ it! I can’t ’old up me ’ead at the garage wiv everyone knowing me wife works.’

  ‘Don’t you tell them she doesn’t just work – it’s her own business?’

  Inadvertently she’d brought her salon accent upstairs with her and now he looked across the table at her, his lips thinning in resentment.

  ‘Hoh-hah-h-ere we go again, puttin’ on the fancy talk.’ The smirk faded. ‘Listen, Bren, I’ve bin a patient man since I came out of the army, but I’ve ’ad it up to ’ere wiv your work, your earnings, your business.’

  Here we go again indeed, came the resigned thought. He could never leave it alone, could he? But he was in full flow, continuing to rail and taunt, saying how small she made him feel, deliberately he sometimes suspected, while he had to work for some ungrateful boss who didn’t appreciate him.

  ‘Then do something about it!’ she railed back, all her good intentions suddenly snapping. ‘You could work for yourself just as I do if you wasn’t so high and mighty about it. But if you think I’m going to give up a perfectly good business just to make you feel better, you must be out of your mind.’

 
How many times had they had this very same old argument, getting nowhere?

  ‘Yer don’t need ter work,’ he was yelling at her, his nice supper forgotten, ruined. ‘I bring in good money now, overtime, bonuses. We don’t need you workin’ too, an’ I don’t need ter ’ave it pushed in me face every time I come ’ome. I tell you this fer nuffink, much more of it an’ I’ll go down there an’ burn the ’ole bloody place down. Then yer’ll ’ave nuffink ter brag about, making it look like yer can do wivvout me.’

  I could do without you, don’t worry about that, she wanted to shout back at him across the table. Instead she said as calmly as she could, ‘The salon’s insured, so what good would burning it down do?’ But she couldn’t resist adding, ‘You stupid idiot,’ she was that angry with him.

  His response should have been expected. ‘Idiot, am I?’ he bawled, leaping up. ‘I’ll show yer ’oo’s an idiot. I ain’t bein’ insulted by me own wife. I’m gettin’ out, right now. An’ I ain’t comin’ back, not ’till you come to yer senses and get rid of that ’airdressing lark yer fancy yerself so clever at. I bring in the money round ’ere, not you. And until you get that into yer ’ead, I’m staying elsewhere.’

  He bolted from the room. She heard him storm through the kitchen and out through the door, heard his boots rattling on the iron stairs, then silence.

  For a while she sat on at the table, surveying her half-eaten meal and the one Harry had left. The house was unnervingly quiet. Where would he stay? At his mother’s no doubt, telling her his tale of woe, how his wife thought herself above him. Brenda almost smiled at the thought, but seconds later her mouth took a downward slant as sudden tears welled and her heart seemed to lurch. It was the first time that Harry had ever walked out on her with such force, such purpose. She felt strangely shaken by it.

  Slowly she got up from the table. She had to collect Addie from her friend’s flat. On the way home she would warn her that Daddy wouldn’t be home tonight, answer the child’s questions as best and brightly as she could.

  Perhaps he was bluffing, as he had those other times he’d hurtled off to work, his threats to leave proving empty when in the evening he returned. Would he return after a while, having calmed down? Something told her that this time he wouldn’t.

  Walking Addie home, she came to a decision. If he did come back he would not find her here waiting for him. Not this time.

  ‘We’re going on a little trip,’ she told her daughter as they reached home. ‘I’m going to pack a suitcase for me and you and tomorrow morning we’ll go and see Nanny and Granddad Wilson.’

  ‘Is Daddy coming?’

  ‘No – he has to go away for the weekend.’

  Would it be just the weekend or forever? Hard to face, that last possibility. Unbelievable that a situation like this had arisen from just a few unguarded words. She was in shock of course, dry-eyed from it, dead inside, feeling nothing as she carefully put essential things for her and Addie into the case.

  Mum too was shocked as she listened to the story.

  ‘I tried to do what you said,’ Brenda told her. ‘But I couldn’t keep it up. I tried, but I couldn’t.’

  ‘I thought it was all working out,’ said her mum, while her father looked on in silence. ‘I really did.’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t,’ Brenda said tersely, abruptly putting an end to her mother’s questions. Her mother sighed, giving in.

  ‘Well, yer’d best stay ’ere and we’ll just ’ave ter see what envelops,’ she said, this time without Brenda mentally smiling at the misuse of words. ‘Yer old room’s got a bed in it. The room ain’t bin used since it was repaired by them council men after it was burnt out. It might still smell a bit even after all this time, but yer dad did decorate it, so’s it ain’t too bad.’

  ‘It’ll do fine,’ Brenda said, grateful for her ready help.

  ‘You an’ Addie’ll ’ave ter share it.’

  ‘Fine,’ Brenda said again. To have the warmth of Addie sleeping with her would be a crumb of comfort at least.

  ‘Right then,’ said Mum, getting up from where she’d sat to listen to her daughter’s tale. ‘Dad, you play wiv Addie while me and Bren make us all some cocoa and a couple of Spam sandwiches. You ’ave brought yer ration books, I ’ope, Bren. I don’t want ter be stingy, but . . . you know.’

  ‘Of course,’ Brenda said. The war might have been long finished, but with rationing as tight as ever, old habits persisted. No one visited for any length of time without automatically packing those essential items. Indeed, putting them in her handbag had brought home the fact of her leaving even more vividly. There was no word from Harry. Whether he’d thought better of it and gone back home, Brenda had no idea. If he had, he wouldn’t find her there. Maybe he was wondering where she’d gone. Would he notice some of her and Addie’s things missing and realise what had happened? Would he come searching for her – at her parents’ home first, the most likely place?

  But as the weekend passed and he failed to appear her determination grew. She wouldn’t go back to him and there was an end to it. He’d pushed her too far this time. She’d done her best but it hadn’t been enough. The marriage was finished. On Monday she would start divorce proceedings. She was well rid of him, she told herself time and time again, she could look forward to her freedom. So why did she feel so low, so lost?

  Her first intended port of call on Monday after taking Addie to school was a solicitor’s office. Instead she found herself in an estate agent’s, trying not to acknowledge her move as an excuse to delay embarking on her first intentions.

  The man sitting across the desk to her beamed. She could practically see him mentally rubbing his hands together.

  ‘So you want to put this house of yours on the market,’ he repeated unnecessarily after she had already said so. ‘And you want to know how much it will bring. Well, let’s see.’

  She waited as he thumbed through a sheaf of papers, finally looking up with a wide grin meant to imbue her with joy. ‘I reckon we could command a very good asking price for a property like this, Mrs Hutton.’

  Brenda nodded without smiling. ‘I’ll be selling it vacant possession. It’s in very good condition.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t doubt it from what you say,’ he went on breezily.

  ‘It’s probably a bit old-fashioned,’ she continued. ‘It’s fully furnished. The furniture goes with the property but that too is rather out of date. Still, whoever you get to buy it can do what they like with it.’

  ‘Indeed,’ he smiled agreeably, but Brenda rattled on in a welter of nerves.

  ‘I haven’t been there for a long time so the curtains might look very dingy from the outside. You will impress that on any likely buyer?’

  He pursed his lips. ‘I can’t see that being a problem, but I will impress it on viewers.’

  ‘And inside must be very dusty. But it’s only dust. There’s no rubbish or anything lying around. It’s in very good order, just as I got it from . . .’ She paused, her mind conjuring up John’s face, wearing such a gentle, dark-eyed look of love that her throat constricted suddenly. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to go on. ‘From the previous owner. He was very fastidious.’

  ‘I don’t doubt that for a moment from what you say,’ agreed the agent hastily, suspecting nothing.

  Brenda took a deep breath to dispel the bleakness that had lodged itself inside her. It did little to help but she kept her back straight and businesslike.

  ‘The outside appearance might turn people away.’

  ‘Not at all. The market is very buoyant at the moment, housing being in great demand. I expect it might even be bought up for flats – since the war many people are jumping on the bandwagon so to speak. From my knowledge of property in that area, it would convert to two very spacious flats, three at a pinch. That sort of property has very adequate attic space that could make a third, smaller, flat. I wonder you hadn’t thought of this yourself.’

  She had, many times, but to have let it out as fla
ts would only have aggravated the rows between her and Harry. Now it was hers to do as she pleased with.

  ‘I’d rather get rid of it,’ she said firmly. ‘So what asking price are we looking at?’

  John had once mentioned that he had bought the place for seven hundred and fifty pounds. A bit extravagant, he had said with a laugh, that low wonderful laugh of his, but it had been close enough to London and in a good area so that he had thought it worth the money. She had never been able to bring herself to have it revalued after he’d left it to her – it would have dishonoured his death – and she still had no idea what it would fetch. She tried not to think about it, but common sense told her that getting rid of it was what she had to do to give her daughter a good life if she was to grow up without her father, and help others of her family. If Harry could be so small-minded as to throw her offer of help in her face, then others would benefit.

  The man had leaned forward to deliver his good news. ‘I reckon we could ask two thousand. Perhaps more, say two thousand two hundred.’

  Brenda heard herself gasp. What she couldn’t do with two thousand quid! Help Vera, Brian, Mum. Davy was all right, now living well in France.

  She could give Brian enough for a mortgage, Mum would be able to decorate her home, for she had expressed a firm wish to stay in the neighbourhood she was familiar with: ‘Bomb sites or no bomb sites all round us, it’s me ’ome and I’ve got me old neighbours. I couldn’t ever move, not unless they tore down the ’ole street an’ invicted us all ter somewheres else.’ And Vera, she could go over to America, have a nice time with her sister and at the end of it, make sure Vera had a home of her own that she could do up and feel proud of. Perhaps she could even settle there herself, though she doubted that would happen. She couldn’t leave Mum and Dad. But she could send them there for a visit as well. After all, she could live quite well on what came from her hairdressing. She might give up Brenda’s Place and get another place away from Harry, never need to see him again. Thoughts stopped suddenly there. She did want to see him again. She had to turn away from the man opposite her as her eyes misted over. How had all this come about?