If she asked for money Annette knew Joan would say that she should make Danny hand over his pay packet every Thursday. She’d say, ‘You take the thick end of it, he gets the rest. That’s what happens in this house. I wouldn’t see my lads go without food.’
She’d said it before; Annette wondered if she’d ever tire of saying it. She thought of Bill who had smiled at her so gently in the pub the other night. She remembered that only a thin wall divided his and Joan’s bedroom from hers and Danny’s. Bill would have heard the filthy things Danny shouted as he forced himself on her. All the terrible names he called her were shouted so loudly she wondered if the whole street heard. She’d noticed that some of the men on the street looked at her as though she was dirt. Some of them sniggered when they thought she wasn’t looking. She guessed what they were thinking: surely only a slut could be treated like that.
Danny had gone out an hour ago; she wasn’t sure where and she didn’t care very much. He had clipped Mark round the ear as he left. ‘See the little bastard’s in bed when I get back.’ As if she would keep him up, waiting to be assaulted. She wished she could whisk her kids away, somewhere safe and quiet where they wouldn’t hear the terrifying, disgusting words Danny used. The words shamed her as much as anything he did.
That afternoon as she’d stood in Doctor Walker’s sitting room choosing children’s books from the many in the box, she’d had a sense of being outside herself. It was as though her mind was cut off from her body and she could watch from a distance the way she stood and picked each book up, hear her own voice as if it belonged to someone else. She’d liked the feeling, even began to allow herself to drift further away so that Doctor Walker’s voice began to sound as if it had an echo, but he had touched her arm and her mind had jumped back. Reality clattered around her as he said, ‘Annette – my dear! Are you all right? Here, you must sit down!’
He’d made her sit on one of the dusty armchairs, bending over her with such a look of concern she was scared.
‘I thought you were about to faint.’ He’d frowned at her, picking up her wrist and timing her pulse. His manner changed, becoming like that of every doctor she had ever met. ‘Have you eaten today?’
‘Yes.’
‘The truth?’
‘I had a cup of tea.’
‘Stay there.’
He came back a few minutes later with a plate of ham sandwiches and a mug of hot milk. He’d watched her as she ate; because she was ravenous she forgot to feel self-conscious and finished the food quickly.
‘Thank you.’ She became ashamed of herself, realising how she must have looked as she’d gobbled the sandwiches down. She got up and made to carry the plate and mug to the kitchen. Doctor Walker took them from her again. ‘Sit down, Annette.’ In his serious, doctor’s voice he said, ‘You should eat a proper breakfast before you go out to work.’
‘Yes. I know.’
‘You need to keep up your strength for the sake of your children, at least.’
‘I know that, too.’ She met his gaze, angry with him for saying what was so obvious; she’d thought better of him than that.
He sighed and his voice became softer again. ‘Annette, I know you and I have only just met and you may feel this is presumptuous of me, but I think we’re becoming friends, wouldn’t you agree?’
She nodded, unable to look at him any longer. No man had ever said he was her friend. It was embarrassing and touching and she was afraid she might cry again. She mustn’t cry. She’d made enough of a show of herself today.
He said, ‘I’m worried about you –’
‘There’s no need to be!’
‘How did you get those bruises on your hand and arm?’ When she didn’t answer he said, ‘Annette?’
‘I don’t know how I got them.’ Forcing herself to look at him she said, ‘I don’t know. I’d like to go home now.’
‘Then let me give you a lift.’
‘No, really – it’s not far.’ She stood hurriedly, desperate to get away. ‘Besides, you have to go and see your wife. You shouldn’t worry about me.’
He’d pressed the books on her, two of them. She had hidden them under the boys’ mattress, terrified Danny would come in and catch her in the act, scared even now that he would find them.
Mark said, ‘Mummy?’ He touched her face anxiously. ‘Mummy…?’
She brought herself back into the present. ‘It’s all right sweetheart. Come on. Let’s put your lovely book away. We’re going to see Aunty Joan.’
Simon sat at Joy’s bedside. She was yet to come round from the anaesthetic and he held her hand, wanting her to somehow sense that he was there. She looked smaller in the intimidating hospital bed; he tried to dismiss the thought that she looked old, too. Older than him, although they were the same age. Joy had an older way about her, an old-fashioned, matronly air.
And yet she made so little fuss; everything was taken calmly in her stride. The first time they’d gone to bed together in her tiny Hampstead flat her modesty had made him feel as though he’d stepped into the past, to a time before the war, perhaps before even his father’s war. Standing in her bedroom she’d asked, ‘Should I undress? Or is that something I should leave to you?’
She’d looked at him as though it was common sense to seek his direction and he’d smiled as the desire he’d begun to feel for her slipped away. ‘Let’s lie down first,’ he said. ‘I’ll hold you for a while.’
‘I’m rather nervous. I’m sorry.’ She’d taken off her shoes and laid down on her back, her hands folded over her stomach so that he was put in mind of a patient about to be examined. He lay down beside her. ‘Joy,’ he said. ‘Are you sure about this?’
‘Yes. Absolutely. I’m just rather surprised you’re here. And I don’t know if I’m surprised despite your reputation or because of it.’
‘I’m here because I want to make love to you.’
She laughed slightly.
‘I didn’t make a joke, Joy.’
‘No. I didn’t think you did.’ She turned on her side to face him. ‘I am nervous; but also I feel such a…such a want for you. Indecent. I suppose I feel indecent with desire. And I laughed just then because to hear you say you want me, too, well…how wonderful.’
He smiled, touched by her honesty. ‘I’ll make it as wonderful as I can.’
She gazed at him. ‘Of course you will. That’s why I chose you.’
She was a secretary to one of his senior colleagues. She was fiercely efficient. It was rumoured she made junior secretaries cry. It was rumoured too that she was a lesbian and that had made him laugh. In his heart he didn’t actually believe in lesbianism but all the same he’d looked at Joy Featherstone with new eyes. He found himself drawn to her coolness, her trimness and clipped way of talking. He forgot the silly rumours and found excuses to visit the little office she shared with his own secretary. On one such visit Joy was on her own. She’d looked up from her typewriter and smiled wryly. He’d asked her out to dinner. In her clean and orderly flat, both naked beneath her crisp white sheets, her surprising passion spent, it had crossed his mind that she was just the kind of woman he needed. It was only a fleeting thought, and one he quickly got rid of. Joy wasn’t his type, not at all.
In her hospital bed Joy stirred. She opened her eyes and looked at him, her eyes confused and full of pain. He stood up and smoothed her hair back from her brow. ‘Darling, it’s all right, everything went well. How are you feeling?’
‘Don’t leave me.’
‘I’m here to stay, as long as you want me.’
‘Simon –’ She tried to sit up and her face became even paler. Guessing what was coming he reached for a clean bedpan and held it for her as she vomited.
He left Joy sleeping more peacefully and went to see Iain. He was just leaving and they walked along the pea-green hospital corridors together.
‘What a sensible woman your wife is, Simon. Asked all the right questions, didn’t cry or go on like some of them do.’ He gla
nced at him. ‘She’s very brave.’
‘Yes. Yes, she is.’
‘It’s horrible for you both, I know.’
A patient fresh from theatre was pushed past them, the porters either end of the trolley exchanging banter. The patient was an old woman, tiny and frail as bird bones, curled on her side. Her face, even in her drugged state, looked anxious. The world was full of pain and he couldn’t escape it, it was the life he’d chosen. He was sick of it, he wanted to say that he was sorry but he couldn’t go on with it any more. He wanted to lie down for a long time and not think about anything. His leg hurt. He drew breath and exhaled heavily. This was self-pity; whenever he started taking notice of his leg he knew he was letting himself down.
They walked out into the hospital car park towards the Doctors Only spaces. Iain drove a Jaguar, brand new and red as fresh blood. Simon’s hired car was parked beside it, a black Morris Minor. Iain laughed at it as he took his car keys from his pocket. ‘Fancy one of these instead?’
He almost said that cars were the least of his worries. But he smiled and said, ‘Thank you for taking such care of Joy.’
Iain slipped his keys back into his pocket. He stepped towards him and patted his arm. ‘Listen, come over for supper tomorrow evening – I’d say tonight but Sarah’s got tickets for the theatre. But tomorrow – seven-ish. Nothing as stiff as the other night – just the three of us and a spag bol or something, how about it?’
‘Thanks, you’re very kind, but do you mind if I don’t? I’m rotten company, Iain, really.’
He smiled. ‘You’re not, but all right, it’s an open invitation if you change your mind –’ He got into his car. ‘Cheerio. And don’t worry about that lovely wife of yours. Everything went exactly as expected.’
Iain had two children. One was at Cambridge, the other about to have her first child. Iain was only a couple of years older than he was and in a few weeks he would be a grandfather. Simon waited until Iain had backed the Jag from its reserved space and driven away; he couldn’t bear to tootle along after him in his laughable car. Iain was a nice man – more than that, he could imagine him as a friend and he had few enough of those, God knew. But at that moment he hated him, a jealous hatred that wanted him dead so he could take over his life, his sexy, warm wife and bright, successful children, even the grandchild, a baby not yet born.
He closed his eyes and rested his head against the steering wheel. He didn’t want them, of course he didn’t. He wanted what he’d lost. He wanted Joy to be as happy and excited as she’d been the day they packed up her Hampstead flat. He wanted the baby, his baby. No matter how much he tried to think of it as just a cluster of cells, he knew how badly he’d come to want it.
He sat up straight. He put the key in the ignition and started the engine. Ignoring the throbbing pain in his leg he shoved the car into gear and drove away.
Joan said, ‘I was just about to send our Ray out to the chippie. How about you and the bairns stay and we’ll all have a fish supper here? How about that?’
Annette hadn’t needed to ask for money. Joan must have seen right through her and decided to save her the embarrassment. Feeling weak with gratitude she said, ‘Are you sure?’
‘Well aye. Bill and Frank have gone up to the fishing club so there’ll be two less mouths to feed anyway. Sit down. Me and little Mr Clever Clogs here will butter some bread.’ She ruffled Mark’s hair. ‘You going to help Aunty Joan, honey?’
Mark nodded shyly and was lifted up to sit on the table. Joan took out a loaf of Mother’s Pride and a block of Stork margarine. She bellowed, ‘Ray! Ray, get yourself down here!’
Annette saw Mark jump and his eyes widen with shock at the sudden loudness of Joan’s voice. Joan noticed it too. She frowned at him sympathetically. ‘Oh – did I scare you, pet? I’m sorry! Come here, let’s give you a love.’ She lifted him into her arms and jigged him up and down singing, ‘He’s got eyes of brown – I’ve never cared for eyes of brown – but he’s got eyes of brown…’ She paused, laughing as she kissed his forehead. ‘And he’s my baby now! There!’ She sat him on the table again. ‘You’re handsome, aren’t you? Good looks and brains – the girls’ll be beating a path to your door, pet.’
Annette said, ‘He’s only a baby, Joan.’
Joan handed Mark a piece of bread and margarine. Her youngest son Ray appeared and she glanced at him, rooting in her apron pocket for her purse. ‘Here, fish and chips five times. And get a bottle of pop for the bairns.’ She smiled at Mark. ‘We’re having a party, aren’t we, honey?’
When Ray had gone Joan said, ‘Where’s that husband of yours tonight, then?’
‘I don’t know.’
Joan snorted and her lips set in a thin, grim line.
Needing her to be jolly again Annette said brightly, ‘I’ve got a new job – with that Doctor’s son you were talking about in the pub, Doctor Walker. I’m cleaning there twice a week – good money too.’
‘Money he’s taken off you?’
Annette bowed her head, ashamed of how Danny robbed from her purse. At least she’d managed to pay the rent with the money Doctor Walker had given her, although there was nothing left for anything else.
Joan set a slice of bread in front of her. ‘What’s he like, then, Doctor Walker?’
‘Nice.’ She thought of the way he’d walked her to the end of his drive that morning, how he’d stood watching her cross the road and how he was still there when she looked back. He was worried about her. She wasn’t sure if that made her feel safe or more frightened.
Remembering the books he’d given her she said, ‘He let me have a couple of his old books for Mark.’
‘Very generous.’
‘No – it was! It was kind of him…’
Joan sighed. ‘Don’t let him take advantage of you like all the other buggers you work for.’
‘He wouldn’t.’
‘Oh?’ Joan looked at her quizzically. ‘Too kind is he? Aye well, maybe. His dad was kind. He delivered our Ray that terrible winter of ’48 – the snow was piling up in the streets but he still came, I’ll never forget – he says to me, “Just call me Eskimo Nell.” Mind, I wasn’t in any state for laughing. Eat your bread. You look half famished.’
Ray came back with a newspaper parcel under one arm and Ben under the other. The boy, thick set and as powerful looking as his mother, said, ‘Look at the monkey I found in the street!’
He set Ben down and immediately began to tickle him. Mark watched, his eyes wide as if he was deciding whether he should be frightened or not. Ray set the parcel beside him on the table and ruffled his hair. ‘Hiya! You finished that War and Peace yet?’
‘Leave him be. Now, let’s not bother with plates. Up you get, Mark. You can sit on your Aunty Joan’s knee.’
The parcel was unwrapped and its released heat filled the kitchen with a smell that made Annette’s mouth water. Sitting down Ray said, ‘I asked for scraps.’ He winked at Ben, who grinned happily, showing off the gaps where his baby teeth had fallen out. Sometimes she forgot how little he was, he was always so serious and sensible, so protective of Mark that it seemed sometimes he was the grown up and she was the child. He had become her confidant and true ally, never judging her as Joan did. She smiled at him and his grin melted away as though she reminded him of trouble. She felt as if she’d been slapped in the face and she hung her head, her appetite gone.
Later they all watched Joan’s telly, Mark asleep against Joan’s breast. She looked at Annette while stroking his hair. ‘Stay here with me tonight, the three of you. In the morning we can go down the council and ask if they could re-house you and the kids –’
‘I couldn’t!’
‘Couldn’t what – ask for a safe place for your bairns? Look at this!’ She lifted Mark’s limp arm and pointed at a chain of bruises. ‘You said yourself – he’s a baby. He’s just a baby and he doesn’t deserve what that bastard’s doing to him!’
‘It isn’t so bad, not really…’
> ‘No? Sounds like he’s killing him some nights!’ She lowered her voice as Ben turned to look at her. ‘Listen, you could stay here and if he comes anywhere near, my lads will knock him into the middle of next week.’
‘No, Joan – we’ll be all right. I don’t want any trouble.’
‘You’ve got trouble now! What more trouble could there be? He could kill this baby – then you’d know bloody trouble!’
‘We should go home.’ She got up and lifted Mark from Joan’s arms. ‘Thanks for the fish and chips.’
‘Are you going to leave the rotten sod?’
‘How could I? He’d only find us…it would be worse then, you don’t know him.’
‘Oh, I know him, all right.’ She sighed and pushed herself up from the sagging settee. ‘Come on, Ben, pet. Let’s see if I’ve got some sweeties for you before you go.’
* * *
Danny didn’t come home that night. In the morning Annette found him sitting at the kitchen table, his head in his hands. He looked up at her and his eyes were bleary and red rimmed; he stank of beer and cigarettes and dirty houses. He caught her hand as she brushed past him to put the kettle on.
‘You not speaking to me?’
‘Course I am!’
Say You Love Me Page 13
