The Would-Be Wife

by Annie Wilkinson

  ‘If you’re thinking about Alec for your next husband, take a tip from me, before you make another mistake,’ her mother said. ‘Being married to a fisherman means hardly being married at all. It’s hours and hours sat in on your own every night, wasting your youth.’

  ‘I’m not thinking of anybody for my next husband. I’ll manage without. And you had a day in town yesterday, and a good night out, and you’ll be out enjoying yourself again tonight.’

  ‘And after tonight, I’ll be on my own again for weeks, not enjoying myself at all. Anyway, why don’t you ring Graham, and tell him to keep Simon tonight, and bring him back tomorrow morning?’

  ‘I don’t want him to keep Simon all night,’ Lynn said. ‘He’s managed very well without Simon for over a month without even asking about him, so I hardly think that Graham’s unconquerable love for his son’s the reason he’s taken him.’

  ‘He probably wants to get back with you.’

  ‘So he’s using Simon to do it, do you mean?’

  ‘You’re your own worst enemy, sometimes, Lynn. By the way, there’s a letter for you on the mantelpiece. It came yesterday after you’d gone to work, and then you went straight out before I could tell you.’

  Lynn ripped the letter open, and quickly scanned it. It was a copy of her divorce petition, naming Mrs Mandy Jones as the co-respondent, and saying that since her husband had ‘transferred his affections’ to Mrs Jones, she, his wife, found it no longer tolerable to live with him. Well then, Graham must have had his copy yesterday as well, and maybe got an inkling about how much money ‘transferring his affections’ to Mandy Jones was going to cost him – which would certainly explain his second trip to see her at the hospital yesterday, and his sudden interest in Simon today. He was using him as bait for the sole purpose of getting her up to the house.

  Alec arrived in a taxi just as she was setting out to walk to Marlborough Avenue. She briefly explained why she was going.

  ‘We’ll go in the taxi if you like,’ he offered.

  ‘We won’t! Mr Farley warned me off boyfriends. I don’t want to give Graham any room to accuse me of being as bad as him,’ Lynn said, ‘so I’m not having any boyfriends until I’m divorced. You’re just a friend of Anthony’s, Alec.’

  ‘Take a friend’s taxi, then, and get back as soon as you can,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks, friend.’ She gave him a smile and a friendly peck on the cheek and went.

  *

  The taxi running the meter outside gave her a good excuse for grabbing Simon and leaving, cutting short any conversation with Graham.

  Simon stopped at the gate. ‘I didn’t give my dad a kiss,’ he protested, and ran back to Graham, standing in the doorway.

  Graham lifted him up and squeezed him tightly, nuzzling into his neck. He put him down with tears in his eyes. ‘I don’t know why I did it,’ he said. ‘I felt nothing for her.’

  Remembering the way Graham had cut him in York, Lynn took Simon’s hand to usher him into the taxi. Graham followed them to the garden gate and Simon sat waving to him until he was out of sight.

  Simon was very quiet and Lynn watched him, wondering at her child’s capacity for forgiveness. Those tears in Graham’s eyes had looked genuine enough to melt a heart of stone, and they’d certainly had an effect on Simon. Lynn’s buoyant mood was gone. She tried in vain to dispel her feeling of misery and desolation, reminding herself that Graham deserved no better, but the feeling would not go.

  Later, when Simon was safely at Margaret’s she slapped on a bright and happy face and went out, determined not to cast a shadow on everyone else’s enjoyment. She laughed and joked as if her life depended on it, but her gaiety was forced and her talk a little too fast and too feverish. Despite all her efforts she knew that Alec at least was not taken in. Something of her wretchedness had transferred itself to him.

  Chapter 14

  Their three-day millionaires were away on the morning tide, and Lynn knew her mother would clear none of their things away until the following day, nor would she do any washing, since washing clothes on sailing day meant you were washing your man to the bottom. Most agreed it was just superstition, but it was a rare wife who would defy it. Pegging three sheets on a washing line was unlucky, too – another invitation to disaster at sea.

  ‘There’s plenty of time for housework before they land again,’ her mother said, ‘so why tempt Providence?’

  ‘Why indeed?’ Lynn agreed. She’d tempted Providence enough with the pearls.

  ‘Ah, well, the fun’s over for another three weeks,’ her mother sighed.

  But the fun seemed to be far from over for Nina. She was enjoying a much busier social life than she’d ever had before Lynn got married, always out at the pictures, or dancing, or to some ‘do’ or other with other wives of grown families. Lynn shuttled to and from work on the bus, and found herself alone most nights after Simon had gone to bed. She enjoyed having the house to herself for a few hours, and spent the time swotting for her exam, or watching television. Graham started calling two or three times a week to take Simon for tea at his mother’s.

  ‘I wish you’d tell me what your shifts are, then I could come when you’re in and I wouldn’t have to bother your mother,’ he told her one day when she was home after an early shift.

  ‘I don’t know what my shifts are from one day to the next,’ she said. ‘They chop and change them at the drop of a hat.’

  ‘I’m sure they don’t.’

  ‘I’m sure they do.’

  ‘They never did when we were married, then. You knew what you’d be working for a full week.’

  ‘Well, we’re not married now, and things change.’

  Graham corrected himself. ‘I meant when we were living together, and we are married now. We’re not divorced yet,’ he reminded her, looking directly at Simon. ‘And Simon doesn’t want us to get divorced, do you, Simon?’

  Although he didn’t even know the meaning of the word ‘divorce’ Simon took his cue and gave her an emphatic ‘No!’ Lynn saw the drift of the discussion, and cut through it. ‘It’s no bother to my mother, Graham,’ she said. ‘She doesn’t mind a bit. She’s all in favour of you taking more responsibility for Simon. And you’d better get a move on, or your mother will be wondering where you both are.’ She bent down to kiss Simon. ‘Bye, son. Be a good lad.’

  Simon seemed reluctant to move. He looked up at her with hope and pleading in his eyes. ‘Come with us, then we can go to the house with the swing in the garden, and you can push me.’

  ‘I can’t, Simon. I’ve got too much to do.’

  Simon’s whole body seemed to slump, but he puckered his lips and kissed her, before taking his father’s hand.

  Graham was evidently prepared to stand on the doorstep as long as Lynn would stand there with him, so she went in and closed the door, regretting her curtness only for Simon’s sake.

  He was back before bedtime in a distinctly truculent mood, and firmly stated his case. ‘I want to go back to live in the house with the swing in the garden.’

  ‘We can’t,’ Lynn said.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because your daddy had another lady living there.’

  ‘She’s gone now, so we can go back,’ he insisted, challenging her to explain the logic of staying away from the house with the swing in the garden because of a lady who was not there.

  Some of the phrases in the divorce petition sprang into Lynn’s mind: ‘. . . transferred his affections to Mrs Jones . . .’ ‘. . . obliged to leave the marital home . . .’ ‘. . . finds it no longer tolerable to live with him . . .’

  All true. It was no longer tolerable to live with Graham, but it was hopeless trying to explain to a child of Simon’s age, so Lynn made no attempt at it. And why hadn’t she heard anything from the solicitors, she wondered? The petition was prepared, they had her affidavit attesting to the truth of it, they had her marriage lines. So what was the hold-up? She decided to ring them the following day. She wanted
the whole thing over and done with as soon as possible.

  Simon planted his feet apart and stared up at her, scowling like a little demon. ‘She’s gone now, so we can go back,’ he repeated.

  It was a balmy summer’s evening and the Arctic Raven was due in around midnight, so Lynn went down to St Andrew’s Dock with Brenda to meet Anthony and Alec off the ship. A party of young deckies who had just come ashore were walking towards the taxis at the back of the market, and a few of them stopped to ogle the girls as they passed.

  One of the youngest gave Lynn the eye and called to her: ‘How much are you, then, love?’ He must have been all of fifteen years old.

  ‘More than you can afford, you cheeky little twerp,’ Lynn retorted. ‘Come back when you’re out of nappies.’

  ‘Have you just come off the Raven?’ Brenda asked him.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You’ll know her brother, then,’ Brenda said.

  ‘Who’s her brother?’ they heard one of the lads ask, after they’d gone by.

  ‘The bosun, you daft bugger! The other one’s his girlfriend.’

  ‘He’ll feed your guts to the mollies,’ another said, and with hoots of laughter they made a dash for the taxis, and safety.

  Lynn grinned and walked on, passing lads from the Raven and other ships, some of whom recognised her and exchanged a word or two. Seven trawlers were already berthed on the wet side of the dock, with as many on the dry side waiting to sail. The dock was quiet, and would stay quiet until the bobbers turned up to start unloading.

  Anthony was just off the ship, and Brenda ran to meet him. Lynn watched as he caught her and lifted her into a dizzying spin. The sight of them arm in arm under a bright full moon and a sky full of stars brought poignant memories of the heady days of her courtship with Graham.

  Alec was not far behind them. He looked at Lynn and hesitated, and the way he looked sent a wave of excitement rippling deep inside her, telling her she’d lived the celibate life longer than was good for any grown woman. She wanted a man. He strode towards her to lift her off her feet and give her a suffocating hug and a kiss that left her weak.

  ‘Did you get the flowers?’ he demanded, nuzzling her ear.

  ‘We’ve hardly got room for them all in the house!’

  He released her, and set her back on her feet. ‘Good.’

  ‘I got the chocolates as well. You’ll have to help us to eat them; I don’t want to get fat. Did you have a good trip?’

  ‘Terrible – we’ll be lucky if we don’t owe them money, when it’s all reckoned up,’ he grimaced. ‘And on top of that I’ll have to buy a new pair of boots. A catfish sank its teeth into one of ’em, and went straight through – they’ve got teeth worse than any shark, and they don’t let go. I’ve had one wet foot most of the trip, and I haven’t been very pleased.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have thrown all that money away on flowers and chocolates, then!’

  He pulled her close. ‘It’s not thrown away.’

  She linked his arm. ‘I’m off work tomorrow. If it’s nice, we could get out for a long walk somewhere. That would be a bit easier on your wallet.’

  ‘Preferably somewhere nice and secluded,’ he said, with a grin. I used to roam for miles before I went to sea. Where shall we go?’

  ‘Anywhere,’ she said, calculating that since it would be Thursday Graham would be at work, and very unlikely to bump into them. ‘We could get a bus out into the countryside, or go to Beverley and have a stroll on the Westwood. The pubs round Wednesday Market are open all day. I’ll buy you a pint, if you’re that hard up.’

  ‘What if it rains?’

  ‘We can sit in a pub or stay in the house, and play Monopoly or something.’.

  He stopped, his blue eyes gazing into hers. ‘Or something would be nice, if we could get the house to ourselves.’

  She dropped her gaze. ‘Not yet awhile,’ she murmured, and hurried him on to catch Brenda and Anthony.

  A short taxi ride took them to Boulevard, where they saw that the lights were on. Lynn’s mother was sitting up, waiting for them.

  ‘Come in and have a drink,’ Anthony said. ‘She’ll have some beer in.’

  ‘Thanks, but it’s too nice to sit inside. I’m taking Lynn for a stroll in the moonlight, and then I’ll have to get back to the Raven.’

  ‘What for?’ Brenda demanded.

  ‘Because it’s the mate’s job to oversee the landing of the catch,’ Anthony told her, ‘and give the dollarman a nice backhander.’

  ‘I’ve got a fiver in my pocket,’ Alec said.

  ‘What’s a dollarman, and why should he give him a fiver? Doesn’t he get paid?’ Brenda demanded

  ‘The dollarman’s the foreman bobber; he sorts the fish out in the kits to make them ready for market and if he doesn’t get his backhander, he’s likely to make your fish look fit for nothing but fertiliser so it won’t sell, and that won’t do us much good when it comes to the settling,’ Anthony said. ‘There’s many a first-class catch been sent to the fish meal factory, for lack of a five-pound note.’

  ‘That’s not right.’

  ‘It’s not, and it goes against the grain, but we have to work within the system we’ve got. The whole fishing industry runs on bribes and backhanders, and if you want a good price for your catch, you have to go along with it. Just think of it as an investment,’ Alec said. ‘Anyway, if you’ll get out and go for your beer, I’ll just have time to take Lynn for a stroll.’

  ‘Oh, aye?’ Brenda laughed. ‘Where are you strolling her?’

  ‘Hessle foreshore. I’ve heard that’s a nice walk.’

  ‘We’ll come as well, then,’ said Brenda. ‘It’ll be nice to get a breath of fresh air. Go in and dump your sea bag and tell your mother, Anthony.’

  ‘Fresh air? I should think I’ve had enough fresh air, after three weeks at sea,’ Anthony grumbled – but he carried out his orders.

  A bright moon streaked the Humber’s mud-brown waters with silver and a cool breeze whispered through the trees as Lynn strolled hand in hand with Alec along the shingle. There was not another soul in sight, except for Brenda and Anthony, lagging far behind them.

  ‘This trip’s been a complete washout,’ Alec told her. ‘The last couple weren’t all that great, either. The skipper’ll be lucky to get another ship. I wouldn’t like to be in his shoes at ten o’clock tomorrow morning when he goes to see the gaffers. He’ll probably end up having a long rest, or have to go back to being mate.’

  ‘Well, they won’t keep him on if he can’t make a trip,’ Lynn said, with the wisdom of one born and bred on ‘’Road’. ‘They’ll have no mercy on him if he keeps coming back without the money box.’

  ‘I’ve got some sympathy for him; none of it was his fault, but he’s had no luck at all. First we had to get a man taken off in Iceland because he’d broken his leg getting one of the trawl doors on deck, and then we were fishing over a wartime wreck that wasn’t marked on the chart, and we lost all the gear. It took hours of hard work to get another set sorted out, and then we found out the ship was letting in water. It’s just been a series of disasters.’

  She shook her head. ‘And you still want to be a skipper?’

  ‘Aye, and the more bad luck some poor buggers have, the more openings there’ll be for mates with skipper’s tickets!’ He laughed, his face brightening. ‘It’s a cruel world, i’n’t it?’

  ‘You’d be better off getting a job ashore, one where you get home every night, and you’re not at the mercy of the gaffers.’

  He stopped, and turned towards her, his eyes shining. ‘Not me! Jobs ashore pay nothing for lads who left school at fifteen with no qualifications. Unless I win the pools, fishing’s my only chance of making any money. And nobody could be as unlucky as our skipper – I know I couldn’t. It’s all a gamble, but I trust my luck . . . and my instincts.’

  ‘Let’s hope your trust’s not misplaced, then,’ she said.

  ‘It’s not. Another six months a
s mate, and then I’m going for skipper. I’ll fill the ship with fish, and get us a house in Kirkella.’

  ‘Kirkella!’ Lynn laughed, picturing that exclusive suburb to the west of Hull with its palatial houses set in acres of manicured garden that seemed to be the dream of many a Hessle Road fisher-lad. ‘You’ll need to make a fortune before you can look at a garden shed in Kirkella.’

  You’ve as much chance of ending up at the bottom of the sea as in Kirkella, she thought – probably more. More fishermen went to the bottom than ever got to Kirkella, but no fisherman wanted to hear that, and saying it would seem like wishing it on him.

  ‘I will, though,’ he insisted. ‘I’ll do it, sooner or later.’

  ‘You fishermen are all the same. You all think you’re going to be millionaires,’ she scoffed, ‘but for every fisherman who ends up with a house in Kirkella, there must be thousands who never get out of Hessle Road.’

  ‘You’re exaggerating.’

  ‘Not a lot.’

  ‘You’ll see.’ He gave her hand a squeeze and they walked on in silence for a while. ‘A stroll by the river under the moon and stars . . . I’d have liked us to be strolling on our own,’ he said, jerking his head in the direction of Anthony and Brenda, ‘but we can’t shake them off.’

  ‘We could have shaken our Anthony off all right, but Brenda seems to have him well under the thumb. Anything she wants, it’s: “all right, love” from him.’

  Alec smiled. ‘Best way to keep the peace, I reckon.’

  They drew to a halt. ‘I love to walk by the river, and there are some decent pubs round here as well,’ Lynn said.

  ‘Pity they’re all shut. What about coming to Fleetwood, then, Lynn? It’s lovely, this time of year. On a clear day you can see right out over Morecambe Bay to the fells in the Lake District, and if you turn landward, you can see right over to the Pennines. It’s one of the bonniest spots in the British Isles.’