by Annie Murray
Joanne hesitated. ‘I hope so, I’ll have to see.’
‘Is he still coming home?’
‘Yes – tomorrow.’
They wished each other luck.
The day stretched ahead empty in front of Joanne. She wanted to go out, not sit brooding about how things might be the next day and the day after. Once the chores and Amy’s nap were over, they’d go into town, she decided.
In the end she didn’t get out until nearly three o’clock.
‘Now,’ she said to Amy, when they’d climbed off the bus and sorted out the buggy, ‘we’ll go and have a look round the shops.’
She headed for New Street, hoping the sights would distract her thoughts, but round and round went her head. She could think of nothing but Dave coming home. Some of the time she was full of dread. Several times she nearly collided with people along the crowded pavement, she was so lost in thought. She took Amy to buy a jumper for the winter.
‘You’re growing too fast, young lady,’ she said, pushing the jumper, in its bag, under the buggy. ‘You’ll soon grow out of everything.’
Off went her thoughts again. She had a surge of energy and optimism. She loved Dave – he was her husband and she wanted to see him! They could do this; they could start afresh. And it was up to her, not just up to him!
She managed to buy herself a new pair of jeans, keeping Amy happy with a bottle of juice. The time seemed to pass quickly.
‘Right,’ Joanne said. ‘We’ll go down to the Bull Ring and get some fruit and veg and then we’ll get home, okay?’
As it was near the end of the day, some of the stallholders were reducing their prices to sell stuff off. She wheeled Amy round to take in the sights and sounds, the piles of cheap crockery being sold, the toys and watches. All the time there was the smell of oranges, crushed underfoot, and the loud shouting about apples and mushrooms, carrots and spuds. One stall was piled with pumpkins, as it was Halloween. Joanne held out her bag for them to tip in a pound of carrots, a cabbage, some knock-down mushrooms. Most of them called out to Amy in a friendly way and she watched, fascinated.
At the top of the slope the lady with the flowers was selling off her last bouquets. Joanne leaned over Amy’s buggy.
‘We’ll get a bunch of flowers, shall we?’ She found she wanted the house to look nice tomorrow. One minute full of dread, the next a good wife. It was all part of the confusion.
As she went to walk past Woolworths a short, grizzly man shook a tin at her.
‘Help for striking miners’ families,’ he said. Absent-mindedly she slipped fifty pence through the slot.
Nearby the newspaper-sellers were calling out as well, ‘Get yer Mail!’ One of them stood holding a copy of the paper. The headline caught her eye: INDIRA GANDHI ASSASSINATED.
Hesitating, she thought of Sooky. In their conversations Sooky had talked a bit about India and politics, but Joanne didn’t feel she knew much about it. She wheeled Amy over and bought a copy, before heading up to buy the flowers.
Later, while unpacking the shopping, she took out the newspaper. The Indian Prime Minister, Indira Gandhi, had been gunned down that morning by her Sikh bodyguards. Joanne read the report, frowning. The assassination was said to be in revenge for her ordering the Indian army to storm the Sikhs’ most sacred temple in Amritsar.
Realizing she did not really understand the whole thing, Joanne switched on the TV. There were Sikhs rejoicing at the news, fists raised high. She switched it off again. She would have to ask Sooky.
Then realization returned to her, making her insides clench. Dave was coming home. In just a few hours.
Sikhs. She was murdered by Sikhs.
Even in their grief, this news overrode everything. It was all they could think about. They sat round the TV, watching report after report.
Roopinder was still in the hospital, in a drugged sleep after her ordeal. Raj would have been asleep too, had things been different. As it was, he was glued to the images on the screen. The Hindus were distraught with grief at the death of ‘Mother India’, the Sikhs rejoicing at the death of the loathed woman who had ordered the desecration of their most sacred temple and the slaughter of so many of their people.
‘She’s gone!’ Raj kept saying. He was still tearful, full of grief, but now also of triumph. ‘That filthy bitch has gone!’
But there would be a backlash. What would happen now? Meena thought that she had never in her life felt more helpless. She sat tensely on the sofa, Harpreet beside her, stealing distressed glances at her mother’s reaction.
All of them had their emotions pulled in so many directions: grief, triumph, horror.
At last Nirmal had managed to book a call from Delhi. He had no telephone in his house. Meena wept with relief, hearing his affectionate voice down the line.
‘It was early this morning,’ he yelled. He always shouted into the telephone, even though there was no need. ‘She was walking in her own grounds. It was her bodyguards . . .’
‘I know all this,’ Meena said impatiently. ‘We have it all on TV. But you . . . I am afraid of what is going to happen. You should leave – get out of Delhi. Come to UK, to us . . .’
‘We are okay,’ Nirmal said. ‘I think everyone is shocked. To tell you the truth, I am worried, but what can I do? I don’t have money to come to UK.’
‘I send you! We are frightened for you. We will get a ticket for you.’
‘Nothing is going to happen,’ he said. ‘I cannot leave. I have my business – everything. You are worrying too much.’
Meena listened to his jovial tones, the voice of the man she had looked up to and loved for so many years.
‘I wish you were here,’ she said desperately. ‘I am so worried for you.’
She sent her love to Bhoji and all the family and rang off. He had sounded so sure – too sure. But had there not been a tremor in his voice? Forever after, she never knew if she had imagined it.
Sixty
Thursday. As soon as she woke, Joanne had butterflies in her stomach. He . . . is . . . coming . . . home . . . Without waking Amy, she managed to creep down, make a mug of coffee and take it back to bed.
She sat with the duvet pulled up round her, sipping the coffee. Tonight he’ll be here with me, lying next to me, she thought. And tomorrow Megan is coming to see us again. Dave had had the shock of his life when the police turned up on his doorstep. Surely he’d learned his lesson and things could get better? A rush of longing filled her. Let it be okay. Let it work out, please.
Once she was up, she found herself wanting to make everything nice. She fed Amy, then dashed round tidying up. She even put the oven on and baked a cake, grating orange peel into it so that the warm, fruity smell seeped round the house.
The phone rang, and with her heart pounding she rushed to answer it.
‘Jo, what time’s he coming back?’ It was Karen, phoning from work.
‘I’m not sure. This morning – soon.’
‘You okay?’
‘Think so. Bit nervous.’ She couldn’t think of anything to say. Her mind was jittering all over the place. She must go and make the bed, pop out and buy some milk . . .
‘Well, I hope it goes okay,’ Karen said cautiously.
‘Yeah . . .’ Before her sister rang off, Joanne managed to pull herself together and say, ‘Look, Karen – sorry. I’m just a bit out of it. But thanks, you know, for being such a help and everything.’
‘Oh, that’s okay,’ Karen said. The words Someone’s got to keep it together in our family were left unsaid, but implied in her tone. Joanne smiled as she rang off, thinking: At least we’re giving practice to a budding counsellor.
But as she rushed round doing chores, her thoughts stayed with her family. She was surprised by her mother’s reaction. Of course she’d had the lecture, to start with. Margaret had always been old-fashioned, up in arms when anyone stepped out of line, broke up a marriage or had a baby out of wedlock. But somehow she seemed to have come to terms with what h
ad happened more quickly than Joanne had expected. She had her own things to deal with of course – getting off the Valium. But in fact . . .
Joanne stopped for a moment, standing in Amy’s room. Mom seemed different altogether these days. She had been so wrapped up in her own problems that she hadn’t given it much thought before. But all that business with the new clothes . . . It dawned on her that for the first time she could ever remember, her mother looked happy.
Dave had to ring the bell again when he arrived.
Joanne hesitated behind the door for a few seconds. Would the Coles be twitching their net curtains, seeing him come home?
‘You know we’re here if you ever need us, bab,’ Mrs Coles had said. And it was reassuring to know.
Now, she thought unlatching the door. It’s the beginning.
There he was, spruce as ever: well-ironed jeans, navy jumper, hair freshly cut. He had his things in a zip-up bag of Wendy’s and a bin-liner tied neatly at the top.
Joanne smiled, feeling as if they were on a first date. His face was full of uncertainty, but he smiled back, in a humble way.
‘Can I come in then?’ he said.
Once they’d closed the front door, he put his bags down and held out his arms and she, a bit awkward at first, stepped up to him. Silently they held one another. From the back room they could hear Amy chatting to herself.
‘Amy, look who’s here,’ Joanne said after a minute.
Her little blonde head appeared round the door. ‘Dada!’
Dave leaned down and scooped her up so that the three of them were all in one hug. He kissed each of them and held them tight.
‘Home,’ he said. ‘Oh God, it’s good to be home.’ And in front of Amy he managed not to dissolve into tears.
That day reminded Joanne of the time after she had first brought Amy home from hospital, when all normal routines had been suspended. There was a floating quality of everyone just being together and taking no notice of time or anything else.
Shyly she offered Dave a cup of coffee.
‘That looks nice,’ he said, standing at the kitchen door and seeing her cake cooling on the rack.
‘I’ll put some icing on later,’ she said. ‘It’s too warm now.’
They spent the morning just sitting together, playing with Amy, giving her lunch, letting her watch Sesame Street when it came on. She asked him when he was thinking of going back to work, but he shrugged and avoided answering. So she asked what he’d been doing at Wendy’s.
‘Not much,’ he said. ‘Watching telly – helping Mom out a bit.’
Her spirits sank. He still seemed so punch-drunk, as if all his spark had gone, even after several weeks. Was he ever going to get better again?
He seemed happiest when she was talking, so she told him what she’d been doing while he was away, about her friendship with Sooky and going to meet her family. No more pretending, she thought. I’ve got to have friends and go out – I’m not going to be stuck in the house just with him. Everything’s going to be in the open.
‘She’s ever so nice,’ she told him. ‘You’ll like her – she’s really kind and chatty. And her daughter and Amy are best friends.’ She felt proud that Amy had a little friend. ‘Sooky’s started a degree: she wants to be a social worker, so that’s why she can’t come to the toddler group. She’s very clever.’
She waited for Dave to ask about Kieran, but he didn’t, so she said, ‘You remember that guy we met up Soho Road that time – with the red hair? Well, he’s really nice too, but he’s not around any more. His wife’s come out of hospital, so he’s been able to go back to work. I’m glad things are working out for them – so far as I know.’
Dave nodded, seeming to listen. Joanne realized, with a moment of worry, that at the moment she could say or do almost anything. He wouldn’t dare to challenge her. But would it last, when he was feeling stronger? Would his old, possessive ways come creeping back?
All he seemed to want to do was sit beside her. She noticed that even when she got up and left the room to make sandwiches for lunch, he seemed anxious and wanted her back beside him.
As Sesame Street ended, she got up. ‘Come on, Amy, time for your nap.’
Amy looked round and said cheekily, ‘No – Amy stay!’ She stuck her lip out. But in a second she was rubbing her eyes.
‘Come on, young lady.’ Joanne took her hand. ‘Give Daddy a kiss.’
The sight of Amy reaching up with pursed lips to kiss Dave brought sudden tears to her eyes.
‘I think she’ll settle,’ she said, coming back down a bit later. ‘She’s quite good at the moment.’
Dave looked up at her, his eyes full of need. He held out his hand and after a second she took it. They looked at each other.
‘Can we . . . ?’ He looked down for a moment, then back up at her. ‘Can we go up as well?’
They undressed shyly, on opposite sides of the bed. It felt to her such a long time since lovemaking had been loving that they had in some way to begin again. Yet there was his body, long and lean, creamy-white, every inch of it so familiar. For a moment they stood apart, each taking the other in. He was already stiff, ready for her, and the sight moved her. She walked round the bed to him, conscious of her own naked body and how she must look to him, a woman with long legs and heavy breasts.
They lay down on the cold sheets, which soon grew warm under the weight of their bodies, and made love, tentatively at first. He touched her with a look of wonder. Then it became urgent and finally tearful. Words poured from his lips as he moved in her, ‘My babe, oh my babe, my woman . . .’ He lay on her for a long time, still inside her, she holding him close with her arms and her legs cradling him while he sobbed, his wet cheek pressed close to hers. The warm closeness of it, of being reunited and having hope and love, made her cry as well. He kept saying he loved her, he loved her so much.
At last he pushed up on his arms and wiped his eyes with the heel of one hand. As he looked down at her his face was tender, but she could see how lost and scared he looked as well.
‘I don’t know what’s happened to me.’ His voice was thick with tears.
‘I s’pose you had a sort of breakdown.’ Her nose was all stuffed up. It was hard to breathe.
‘Here, I’ll get the tissues.’ He withdrew from her and reached for the box on the table on her side.
They drew the cover up and settled side by side. Dave pulled her into his arms.
‘Sometimes I feel so scared. I feel as if I’ve come to pieces and I don’t know how to . . . you know, like Humpty Dumpty.’
Joanne laughed. ‘I’m sure you can – put yourself back together again.’ She was beginning to realize, only now, just how long this might take.
‘I just feel so bloody pathetic. It’s like I can’t do anything. Everything’s a massive effort – even making a cup of tea. That’s what the counsellor said: it’s like injuring yourself, cutting yourself or breaking a bone. It takes time to heal up, so why should our minds be any different? But even coming over here on the bus every time, all those people – it feels like one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I mean, that’s not me, is it? I’ve never been like that.’
‘No, but this is different.’
Dave rolled up onto his elbow and looked down at her. ‘All I want is to be here with you – for you to be my missis. You and Amy, you’re everything to me. I know that now: you know, how stupid I’ve been and everything. I never knew what was going on, why I felt the way I did. I didn’t know what to do about it. But it’s all going to be different now, I promise you. I love you, Joanne, you’re my wife and – well, that’s it. That’s the only thing.’
He lay back beside her, kissing her again and again. ‘Oh. You’re gorgeous, you are.’
It was lovely, to be loved and kissed and held. But in her mind she could hear the warning voices, women from the refuge, Gina and Doreen and Linda. ‘He always says he’s going to change – he promises me the earth, and I think he means it when he
says it. But after a day or a week or more, he’s up to his old tricks . . .’
It was her turn to lift up onto her elbow. Things were loving and sweet and all she really wanted, but she had to say it now – to make it clear.
‘I love you, Dave,’ she said. ‘I really do. I want you home and for us to be together, with Amy and everything. But it can’t go back to the way things were – not for any of us. I’m not going to stop in all the time like a prisoner, that’s one thing. I’ll decide for myself whether I go out or not. And I won’t have any violence. If you ever, ever lay a finger on either of us again – Amy or me – even just once, it’s over. I’ll leave you and take Amy; and I won’t come back. Not again, ever. That’s it.’
Dave stared back at her. He seemed to be struggling with something. Joanne saw that that something was her strength. Well, she thought, too bad. That’s how it is.
‘You do understand, don’t you?’
He closed his eyes. ‘Yes. Course I do. It’ll never happen again. I promise.’
‘Dave?’
‘Yeah?’ His eyes were still closed.
‘I love you. I do.’
In a subdued voice he said, ‘Love you too.’
She lay back down and they rested together, close and warm.
Sixty-One
The next reminiscence session at the library was on The Blitz. Margaret sat beside Alan as everyone talked about air-raid shelters and the sound of the planes, the cold, terrifying nights of the bombing, and emerging at dawn to see which bits of Birmingham had been flattened this time.
‘I don’t remember any of that,’ she told Alan when the tea was being brewed up afterwards. Alan handed her a cup and saucer in his usual gallant way. ‘Miss Clairmont and Mrs Higgins always listened to the news on the wireless. I remember when they bombed Coventry – everyone was talking about it. And there were planes over us sometimes. Everyone was scared they’d just empty out whatever they had left on their way back! But it was nothing like they had in Brum.’
