My Daughter, My Mother

by Annie Murray

  After the move to Yardley, where for the first time she had her own room, she got fed up of having to take the bus into Birmingham to a factory every day. Instead she found herself jobs more locally, first in a grocer’s shop in Stoney Lane and later in a cafe nearby. She liked that job. It was sociable in a way that was not very demanding, but stopped her feeling isolated. She liked wearing an apron and feeling slightly official in it. She enjoyed the warm smells of toast and buns and tea, the repetitive actions of wiping tables and refilling sugar bowls.

  One day as she was working her way round, wiping away cigarette ash and grains of sugar, she looked up into the face of a customer at the next table and their eyes fixed on each other’s. His face was thin, hollow-eyed, sad-looking. He paused, holding up a cup of tea.

  ‘Margaret?’ he said.

  She came back to the present, still standing by the sink. It felt as if hours had passed. Turning to the clock, she saw that it had been seven minutes. Time seemed endless, slow as the flow of tar. The hours of the day alone in the house became huge and baggy. All she could hear was the tick of the living-room clock and a distant vibration of television from the house next door.

  Fred Tolley. Her smile had met his that day. A man she had not seen for more than twelve years and whom she had barely known even then, when they were children. Yet they felt destined for each other.

  ‘Why did I marry Fred?’ Her lips moved, but there was no sound.

  Answers came that she had never let herself think of before. Because he was the only one who ever wanted me, and I was grateful. Because he seemed kind. Because I wanted him to be Tommy, to take his place, like he did at the wharf all those years before. Because I had had tea at his house and thought he would offer me heaven. And because I had no idea what else to do . . .

  Fred was a good man in his way. They had a life, a family. But his own past had taken its toll. He was timid, cowed by life, never seemed to feel much about anything, though she knew with shame that he felt more for her than she ever had for him. That he loved her, or at least needed her, and in some way she felt contempt for him for doing so. She had never felt she could tell him who she was – the real Maggie, and all it had meant. He would have stared blankly at her and shrugged. The dread of that was worse than him not knowing anything at all.

  A terrible sensation rose in her, like nausea, a swelling sensation that filled her with panic. She was finding it hard to breathe. For a moment she put her hands over her face as if to cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. It was like something that had happened after Karen was born – as if there was something inside struggling to get out. She hadn’t been able to bear it. The doctor had given her the pills.

  Unsteadily she went to the back door and stepped out. The heat was building up and she stayed in the shade of the patio. She clutched a fist to her lips, biting into it to stop herself screaming out, howling like a wolf across the back gardens of Kings Heath. Managing to control it, she leaned against the wall by the kitchen window and took deep, shuddering breaths until it passed.

  Thirty-Seven

  As the summer went by, Joanne could no longer pretend to herself that things at home were in any way all right. In fact she could barely remember what ‘all right’ meant.

  The phone calls continued, Dave checking up on her two, three or more times a day. She had given up asking him not to. Even though she rolled her eyes every time the phone rang, she tried to sound relaxed and appeasing, though her nerves were often at screaming pitch. If she ignored it, he just kept ringing again. And if she was out, had warned him she was going to the shops or the park with Amy, he would always call an extra time later in the day.

  In the evening, once he came home, they never saw anyone else any more or socialized together. It had been harder since Amy anyway, but Dave’s mate Pete used to ask him out, and Michelle would come round once in a while. Now it had all fizzled out and they had lost contact with people. When she heard the engine of his car fall silent outside the house and his key in the lock, she felt a surge of claustrophobic panic. From then on they were shut in together.

  That was when her efforts truly began. She would be waiting now, often reading Amy a story, tensed as a wire, even though she tried to pretend to Amy that nothing in the world was wrong. Even before he came home, her heart would start to pound.

  ‘Here’s Daddy!’ she’d say brightly, despite her sledge-hammering pulse. She’d pick Amy up and go through to meet him, a smile pinned across her face.

  ‘Hello, love – all right?’

  ‘Yeah, all right,’ he usually replied, stiffly kissing first her cheek, then Amy’s. ‘Just gunna change.’ He would go upstairs.

  And she would be left in the hall in the whiff of resentment that came off him like aftershave. There was always an atmosphere, a tense-making undertow of angry feelings, no matter how hard she tried to be the perfect wife. She always had the tea ready. And she spent every evening working to dispel his suspicion, to make sure he was in a safe mood.

  Once Amy was tucked up she served him dinner, watched TV, sometimes holding hands, while he drank cans of lager. Then bed. He wanted sex almost every night now. It was not lovemaking, not anything that took account of what she might like or need. He would lie up close to her until he was aroused enough to begin, when, without speaking, he would pull on her to roll her over, or push into her from behind. She never refused. She had tried at first to see it as desire, hoping it might bring them closer in a way they couldn’t manage with words. Now she knew it was nothing like desire. His quick, hard thrusts and the way he pushed her down, were a way of dominating her, and left her feeling sad and invaded. But she did what he wanted, to avoid trouble.

  There had been no major scene, not for weeks. He hadn’t hit her, or even lost his temper, thanks to her efforts. It was like shadow-boxing, always something there under the surface to fend off. But at least there was a kind of peace. Nothing had happened.

  He didn’t like any changes. One day Karen phoned and asked Joanne if she’d like to go out for a drink. Joanne was really pleased that Karen had asked, but didn’t feel she could go.

  ‘Sorry, Sis – I’d really like to, but you know it’s not a very good time of day for me. There’s Amy to get to bed and Dave’s tea . . .’

  ‘Well, why can’t Dave get Amy to bed?’ Karen asked. ‘He can look after her sometimes, surely?’

  ‘Yes, I know, but it’s just the stage she’s at. It disrupts her routine and then she won’t sleep. We’ll get through it in the end. Maybe we could do it some other time?’

  ‘God, you’ve really turned into a proper little housewife, haven’t you?’ Karen didn’t speak unkindly, she just sounded puzzled. When they were younger, Joanne had seemed by far the least domestic of the two. ‘Look, tell you what: maybe I could pop over and have a cuppa with you instead, and see Amy?’

  Joanne hesitated. She could see how ridiculous this was, how scared she was to disrupt the delicate balance of things.

  ‘Well, yeah,’ she said slowly, knowing she sounded unwelcoming. ‘Would you be able to come quite early?’ And be gone before Dave gets home? She couldn’t say that. He doesn’t like me seeing anyone.

  ‘Okay, I’ll come Wednesday,’ Karen said. ‘I get off a bit earlier.’

  She came wearing a pink-and-mauve flowery dress that showed off her curves and brought a bag of marshmallows for Amy. They had a cup of tea outside in the late-afternoon sunshine. Karen chatted about work, but then suddenly said, ‘Are you okay, Joanne?’ She squinted keenly at her. ‘You seem a bit . . .’

  ‘A bit what?’ Joanne fought to seem relaxed.

  Karen put her head on one side. ‘I dunno. Nervy? You’re ever so dark under the eyes. And skinny. Have you lost weight?’

  ‘Nah – well, if I have, it’s just running round after madam here.’ Amy was at their feet on a paving slab with paper and wax crayons. ‘I’m fine. Anyway, how’s Mom?’

  Karen shrugged as if she was a bit sick of the subje
ct.

  ‘Hard to tell. You know what she’s like. About the same. Not very nice to Dad at the moment, but then she goes through her moods. She has reduced the dose a bit, though, I know that.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  As Karen left she looked hard into Joanne’s face, wearing a puzzled expression. She kissed Amy, then touched Joanne’s upper arm. They weren’t huggers, not in their family.

  ‘Take care of yourself.’

  Joanne stood with Amy in her arms, watching Karen go back to her car. Karen turned and waved at them briefly. Her sister was getting nicer, Joanne thought. For a moment she was full of a warm feeling. Then the sick dread returned. Dave would soon be home.

  Some days, she rebelled angrily.

  ‘You can’t just keep me in the house like a prisoner. I’m not your possession, like some toy you’ve bought from a shop.’

  Her ranting was always to herself, while she was pegging out washing or wiping down the kitchen. Sometimes she wanted to explode with frustration and self-pity at the loneliness of it all. But she never said anything to Dave’s face. She was far too frightened, too desperate to keep the lid on it all.

  ‘Damn you,’ she’d mutter sometimes, yanking the buggy into the hall. ‘I’m bloody well going out, whether you like it or not.’

  There was always something to buy from the shops anyway. One morning, a while ago, she had run into Tess in the Soho Road, still heavily pregnant. She felt shy of saying hello, but Tess, who was outside a shop with her little boy, Joe, holding her hand, spotted her straight away.

  ‘Hi, Joanne!’ she said, smiling. She looked different, her face swollen, hair scraped back, but she was cheerful.

  ‘Hello,’ Joanne said. She leaned down to Amy in the buggy. ‘Look who it is. It’s your friend Tess! And little Joe.’

  ‘Hello, Amy.’ Tess smiled.

  ‘You’ve not had it, then? I thought you were due ages ago.’

  ‘So did I,’ Tess grimaced. ‘I was supposed to be due a week ago. It feels as if I’ll be pregnant forever now! They’re going to induce me in a day or two, if nothing happens.’

  Joanne wished her luck and parted from Tess, uplifted at seeing a friendly face.

  About a fortnight later she set out shopping again and ran into Tess once more, pushing an old-fashioned pram, with Joe holding on at the side. In the pram she saw a round, contented face. Tess told her that she had had another boy and they had called him Christopher. She looked thinner, but still had the misshapen look of the weeks following a birth. They discussed labours and weights and sleep patterns for a few minutes. Tess looked as if she was managing very well, which was what you would expect with Tess, Joanne thought.

  ‘See you when the term starts,’ Tess said. ‘You’re coming back to the group, aren’t you?’

  ‘Oh yes – I hope so!’ Joanne said.

  There was a pause. Tess looked intently at her. ‘Are you okay, Joanne? You look really tired.’

  ‘Oh yes, I’m fine.’ She made up something about Amy not sleeping well and got away as fast as she could.

  As she walked home, it was with a sinking worry inside. She longed to get out to the toddler group, but it would be another cause of tension and suspicion. For a moment Joanne found herself wishing desperately that she was not married. It was hard being a single parent, but nowadays she felt like a single parent anyway, only with a moody, oppressive man to deal with as well. She knew her attitude to Dave had changed. She could hardly find any positive feeling for him these days. He was someone she looked at objectively, as another difficult task in her day. And, increasingly, she was frightened.

  Rebelliously she thought, I’ve had enough of this. Why the hell shouldn’t I go out and see people?

  She didn’t know where Sooky lived, but at least she knew Kieran’s house and it was quite close. She hesitated. Maybe Gerri would be home from hospital by now? In which case she didn’t want to turn up and make things awkward. She’d never met the woman and didn’t know what state she might be in.

  But her desire for company made her decide to chance it. When they got to Kieran’s house, she saw his red car was outside with the seats for Billy and Charlie. The house felt occupied and she thought she heard voices, perhaps the TV.

  To her relief, Kieran opened the door. He seemed both taller and thinner than she remembered. After registering who she was, he smiled broadly.

  ‘I was passing . . .’ Joanne started to say.

  ‘Great, that’s great! And you managed to make the bell work – it can be a bit dodgy. Come in, have you got time for a drink?’

  ‘Oh yes, I’ve got time!’

  Kieran laughed. ‘Acres of it, I expect.’

  ‘Only I didn’t want to disturb you – not if Gerri was home . . .’

  Kieran led her through and put the kettle on. ‘No, not yet; we’re starting with weekends. She’s doing okay – a few setbacks. It’s just quite a slow process. Coffee?’

  ‘Tea, if that’s okay.’

  Amy had fallen asleep on the walk, so Joanne left her in the buggy and she and Kieran went outside with Billy. The baby, Charlie, was also asleep. The two of them sat out at the back while Billy played on the grass.

  ‘Have you seen Sooky?’ Kieran asked.

  ‘No, have you?’

  Kieran, swallowing a mouthful of coffee, shook his head.

  ‘I forgot to ask where she lives,’ Joanne said. I know it’s in Handsworth Wood – Selbourne Road, I think she said. But I haven’t got a number or anything. She’s really nice, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, lovely person,’ Kieran agreed. ‘Oh well, I expect she’ll come back to the toddler group when it starts. Not that long now, is it?’

  Joanne reported that she’d met Tess, and Kieran said he’d seen her as well. They talked about kids for a bit: broken nights and feeding, and how Kieran’s boys were adjusting to their mother coming and going. Kieran got Billy to show Joanne the wormery he’d made in a big glass far. She admired it, though the jar was so big that there were no worms to be seen, as they seemed to have taken refuge deep in the middle somewhere.

  Once her drink was finished, Joanne thought with a jolt of the phone ringing at home, of Dave waiting for her to answer.

  ‘I’d better be off,’ she said, ‘or Amy’ll be awake and then I’ll never get away.’

  Kieran smiled again. She thought what a boyish, innocent kind of face he had. It was such a relief to be with someone other than Dave. ‘Well, we wouldn’t mind the company. Pop round again if you get time.’

  ‘Thanks, I expect we will.’ She felt unwelcoming not saying the same in return: Come to ours: Amy would love it. But ridiculous as it was, it didn’t feel safe having him in the house, even if Dave was out.

  Kieran and Billy waved her along the road and she walked home, feeling, at least for a while, that life was something approaching normal.

  Thirty-Eight

  Dave decided to take the last week in August off.

  ‘We could have a few days out,’ he said. ‘Even if we can’t afford a holiday.’

  Joanne had mixed feelings. It would be good not to have to get through each day with Amy on her own. If Dave was at home, maybe he’d relax and not feel he had to keep checking on her. But the thought of him being there all day was also unsettling. Was she ever going to be able to relax for a moment herself? These days she often felt she was struggling for air.

  Over the weekend Dave caught up with some jobs in the garden, mowing the grass and replacing a rotted fence panel at the end of the garden. It was a relief that he was busy. His mood had not lifted. On the Saturday morning Joanne stood hand-washing a few of Amy’s clothes at the sink. She could see Dave at the end of the garden, his strong figure bending and straightening as he worked. His blond hair was short and neat as usual, and his face and neck were turning pink in the sun.

  Joanne stood with her hands in the soapy water. Last night he had pulled her over onto her back, when she had been curled up hoping for sleep.
He stared down aggressively into her face.

  ‘What’s the matter? Don’t you want me any more then? You too good for me, are you?’

  He was always doing that: throwing ridiculous questions at her, so that whether she answered ‘yes’ or ‘no’ she was caught out.

  ‘Don’t be silly – course I want you,’ she lied. ‘I’m just a bit tired, that’s all.’

  ‘Tired.’ He looked scornful. ‘What’ve you got to be tired about?’

  She felt sore after his treatment of her last night. Watching his unhappy, forbidding figure, that stranger the other side of the glass, she thought, I hate you, Dave Marshall.

  They went over to see Dave’s mom, Wendy, that afternoon, and to Kings Heath to see Joanne’s on the Sunday, so the weekend was more or less taken care of. Dave suggested they take Amy out to Brueton Park one day, have a picnic. Maybe even go out Tamworth way to Drayton Manor Park on another.

  It was Sunday night and she was cooking tea.

  ‘Brueton Park’d be nice,’ she called through to the back room. She was at the stove, mashing the spuds. ‘I think Amy’s a bit young for Drayton Manor – some of the rides there are really big.’

  Dave appeared at the kitchen door.

  ‘So?’ The aggression was so instant, so out of proportion that it jarred her, making her heart race. His arms were folded, face full of rage, his eyes boring into her.

  ‘Well . . .’ She could hear her voice trembling and fought to keep it under control. ‘It’s just – as she’s so little, it might be a waste of money. We could go when she’s a bit bigger.’

  Dave nodded his head in a nasty, mocking way. ‘Oh yeah, waste of money, is it now? And whose money is it, eh? Who earns every penny of the money around here? Those clothes you’re wearing – that food – who bought all that, eh?’

  She knew this was not the moment to point out that Karen had given her the shirt she was wearing for her birthday.

  ‘Well, you do, but . . .’