‘You’ll be wanting to be with your friends as it’s your last night. It’s all right, I can find my own way.’
He looked hurt. ‘Of course I’ll come. You don’t think I’d let you walk home on your own, do you?’
They walked in silence. She wanted to tell him how much their brief acquaintance had meant to her; how much she would miss him; but the words refused to come. Besides, she asked herself, what was the point? A week from now he would have forgotten her. Somehow she found she had voiced this last thought. Harry stopped walking and took her arm, swinging her round to face him.
‘That isn’t true, Grace, honestly.’ His blue eyes were grave as they looked into hers. ‘You’re special — different from all the others. If I’d been staying — if things had been different...’ He drew her towards him and kissed her gently on the lips. ‘Look, tell you what, will you write to me?’
She looked up at him, her eyes luminous with tears.
‘Oh yes, Harry. Of course I will.’
‘And maybe you could come up to Town and meet me sometimes?’
For the moment she couldn’t quite see that as a possibility but she nodded her head just the same. Somehow she would manage it — for him.
‘Yes, Harry.’
He kissed her again and she felt a glow of happiness enfolding her like a warm blanket. He loved her. He must love her to say such things and to kiss her.
‘I’ll write as soon as I can and let you have the address of my digs,’ he said. ‘Take care of yourself, Grace. I’ve got to go now. I’ve got all my packing to do. Bye for now, love.’
Her father was waiting for her in his darkened study. As she let herself in through the front door her thoughts were all of Harry. She could still feel his lips on hers and the warmth of his strong young arms around her. She didn’t notice that the study door was ajar. When Rodney’s voice sawed through the silence it made her start violently.
‘Where have you been?’
She had reached the foot of the stairs but she stopped in her tracks. ‘To the theatre, Father.’
‘And who gave you the money for such fripperies, may I ask?’
‘I was given a free ticket. I didn’t think you’d mind.’
‘How dare you go out without asking my permission?’ His brow was dark with anger as he glowered at her and her heart began to thump with apprehension. He flung out an arm, pushing the study door open behind him. ‘Take off that coat and come in here.’ When she hesitated he strode towards her, grasping her arm and pulling her across the hall. ‘Do as you’re told, girl. How dare you defy me?’ In the study he turned to face her and she shrank from the raw fury in his eyes. ‘So you think you can do as you please, do you?’ She stared at him. ‘You — you’ve been so much — kinder lately, I thought...’
‘You thought you could take advantage,’ he thundered. ‘You thought you could betray me — your own father. I saw you out there,’ he said in a voice that trembled. ‘I saw you — making yourself cheap with that common young man, behaving like a street woman.’ When she didn’t reply he went on: ‘Don’t you care? Are you so completely abandoned that you don’t care who sees you making free with yourself?’
‘I wasn’t. I told you, Father, I was given a free ticket...’
‘Don’t you know, girl, that nothing is free in this world? If that man gave you a ticket for the theatre it was because he expected something from you in return.’ He stepped towards her. ‘Or perhaps you knew that. Perhaps you expected and welcomed it.’ He stopped suddenly to sniff at her. ‘You’ve been drinking.’ He glared at her accusingly. ‘Well, have you? Tell me. I’ll have the truth from you if I have to beat it out of you.’
His anger was like a wall of flame. Grace cowered from it. ‘Harry isn’t like you say, Father. He bought me a drink after the theatre — just one — and then brought me straight home.’
‘Don’t lie to me, girl. I saw you out there with my own eyes — kissing — kissing and letting that — that creature paw you about. How could you, a child of mine?’ She didn’t answer and he thundered: ‘Well — can you deny it?’
‘It wasn’t the way you make it sound, Father. It was because he’s going away.’ A sudden flash of defiance made her burst out: ‘All the girls I know go out and enjoy themselves. They have boyfriends too. It doesn’t make them bad. I’ve done nothing wrong. There’s no harm in it.’
‘Really? I happen to think I’m the best judge of that.’ He drew in his breath sharply and turned from her, walking round his desk and opening the drawer. ‘I thought I’d brought up my daughters to know right from wrong. Obviously in your case I failed. Painful as it will be for me, I will have to chastise you, Grace. You realise that?’
Now she saw what it was that he had taken out of the desk drawer and shrank back in disbelief. ‘No, Father, you can’t. I’m not a child any more. You can’t. You can't.’
‘Do not tell me what I can and cannot do.’ He advanced towards her, flexing the cane between his hands. But what she saw in his eyes terrified her even more than the prospect of a thrashing. She made a dash for the door and twisted the handle frantically, but it was locked. With her back pressed against it she made one last desperate appeal.
‘Please, Father — please don't.’ But even as she was saying the words she knew they were falling on deaf ears. The violent emotion that had taken possession of Rodney Pringle could hear and feel nothing but the urge that drove him; the irresistible urge to inflict pain — pain that would satisfy the perverted lust eating at his repressed being.
*
It was five am when Harry was awakened by something tapping on his bedroom window. He lay for a moment, wondering if it was part of the dream he’d been having, but when it came again he got out of bed to look down into the back garden. What he saw below shocked and puzzled him. Grace, her hair wild and her clothes torn, stared up at his window as though transfixed. Pulling on trousers and a sweater he crept downstairs and quietly let himself out through the back door. She was still there, huddled on the garden seat beneath his window, a handful of gravel still clutched in her hand.
‘Grace. My God, what’s happened to you?’
She got shakily to her feet and fell into his outstretched arms. ‘It was Father. He — he saw us last night. He was watching from the study. He — he — beat me.’
Speechless with shock, he stared down at her. Her hair hung in damp strands around her bruised and swollen face, and her blouse was ripped almost to shreds. ‘He did this to you — your own father? Just for going out with me?’ He looked disbelievingly at her cut lip and the livid wheels and lacerations made by the cane on her shoulders and arms. ‘But surely...’
‘Please, Harry — don’t ask me to tell you about it. Take me with you,’ she begged. ‘I can’t stay here any longer. You don’t know what he’s like.’
He held her trembling body close and felt the chill of her flesh through his sweater. ‘Where have you been all night?’ he asked.
She nodded towards the garden shed. ‘In there. I was afraid he might kill me if I stayed in the house.’
Harry sank on to the garden seat with her and pulled her head against his shoulder. After a moment he said: ‘You’ll have to go back to fetch your things. Can you get back into the house? I’ll come with you if you’re afraid.’
She looked up at him with frightened eyes. ‘I can’t. I can’t go back in there.’
‘If you’re going away you’ll have to.’ He touched the torn sleeve of her ruined blouse, trying to cover her shoulder with the tattered shreds. ‘You can’t go like this. You’ll need a change of clothes — your ration book — clothing coupons and things. No good going anywhere without them.’
She swallowed hard. ‘Yes, of course. I’ll go by myself — now, before he wakes up.’ She looked up at him hopefully, trying to read his expression. ‘Does that mean I can come with you then, Harry? I promise I won’t be a nuisance. I won’t get in your way and spoil things for you. I’ll get a job as soo
n as we get there.’
‘Shhh. Don’t worry about things like that.’ He held her close, rocking her soothingly back and forth and stroking her tangled hair, his mind working on the problem. At last he made his decision.
‘We can’t be together like this,’ he said slowly. ‘But if we were...’ He grinned down at her. ‘It’s a funny old time to be asking you, but will you marry me, Grace?’
She gazed up at him, her eyes round with astonishment. ‘Oh, Harry, yes. Yes, please.’
Chapter Two
Grace stood at one of the long windows of the tiny flat, looking down on to the Hackney Road. It was early evening and Harry had just left for work. As she watched the traffic below, she wondered vaguely about the people rushing past in the street. There were so many of them, each with their own life. Were they happy? What were they thinking about as they made their way home or out for the evening? Surely none of them could possibly be as confused and unhappy, feel as inadequate as she did.
She turned despondently back to look at the room behind her, seeing it as though for the first time; the shabbiness of the furniture, the mockery of the double bed with its frayed and faded pink eiderdown. The evening sunshine showed up the threadbare patches in the worn carpet. It made the curtains look dusty, and glaringly lit the places Grace had so carefully darned. The whole room epitomised the way she felt — impoverished and bewildered.
The flat was part of a converted Georgian terrace. The once elegant, beautifully proportioned family house had been divided crudely and unimaginatively into four flats by a greedy landlord. Each one consisted of a tiny hall, a large bed-sitting room and a small kitchen; each of the kitchens had a bath and water heater in one corner, but the toilet facilities on the ground floor were shared by the tenants of all four flats. It was their first home and when Grace had first seen it she’d felt like singing with happiness. To her it had looked like a palace and she had longed to move in with Harry and begin their new life together there and then.
When they’d first arrived in London, Harry’s landlady had reluctantly found Grace a tiny box room which she referred to as her ‘top floor back’, but she had insisted that it was only a temporary measure. Her mouth pulled down at the corners, she had warned them both that she didn’t hold with what she called ‘hanky-panky’, and that she didn’t let her rooms to married couples. It seemed they would have to postpone their wedding until they could find a flat. In the meantime Harry had been busy rehearsing with the dance band he had joined and Grace had occupied her time looking for work. She found a job on the haberdashery counter in one of the big department stores in the West End and soon settled into it.
When Harry had heard of the flat through one of the other boys in the band they had taken the bus out to Hackney at the very first opportunity. When they were told it was still vacant they had been as excited as two children.
‘It’ll mean a bit of travelling for us both each day,’ he had said. ‘But it’s quite cheap. It’ll do nicely for a start, eh?’
‘Oh, Harry, it’s beautiful.’ Grace had stood at one of the two long elegant windows in the living room, her eyes shining as she pictured the velvet curtains she would make to replace the dingy brown brocade ones, and the smart new furniture they would save up for. She and Harry had hardly spent any time together since they came to London. He played with the band in the evenings at various venues all over London, often not getting home until after midnight. Grace worked in the daytime from nine till six. Often they only passed each other on the stairs, he on his way out, she on her way in. Sunday was the only day when they had time together and they made the most of it. Anxious to save as much money as they could they would go to all the places that were free: parks and museums, The Serpentine or Hampstead Heath, sometimes a bus ride to Hampton Court. Hand in hand with Harry on those days, Grace thought that no one could ever possibly have been as happy as they were.
The wedding took place at Hackney Register Office on a blustery day in early May. Grace wore a blue two-piece, bought at special staff discount from the store where she worked. Harry looked handsome in the navy pin-stripe suit he wore when the band played for tea dances. Instead of a honeymoon they had gone straight back to the flat. And that was when the trouble had begun.
When Harry had pulled her into his arms that night in bed and tried to make love to her, Grace had gone rigid, seized with a violent panic. Somehow it was not what she had visualised. Without really thinking about it she had foreseen their marriage as innocent of all intimate contact; pure and beautiful. Every time Harry touched her a vision of her father’s face rose to haunt her. She saw again the indescribable look in his eyes. In Harry’s gentle touch she felt again the obscene softness of her father’s hands, heard again the excuses he had made for what he was doing, which she now saw through as weak and wanton. Were all men the same? Did they all want to use a woman’s body for their own gratification? Her father had made her feel soiled and guilty. She would not allow Harry to do the same. She would not let him spoil their marriage.
To begin with he had been patient, soothing and caressing her until her tears had subsided and she slept. He had begged her to talk about her problem but she couldn’t. How could she tell him what she had allowed to happen? How could she make him understand that the only way she could forget was never to let another man near her? But she was married now. Once more the despised and hated word ‘duty’ arose. One night in exasperation Harry himself had used it.
‘It’s the least a man can expect from his wife,’ he had said, getting up to pace the room in frustration. ‘You took a vow to love and cherish. If nothing else you might think of it as a duty, but if you loved me you’d want to.’
She did love him and she told him so — over and over. But he could not believe that a woman who loved her husband could shrink with revulsion every time he so much as reached out for her.
The weeks passed into months. Grace worked by day and Harry in the evenings. She was always in bed when he arrived home and when she heard him coming up the stairs she would turn her back and feign sleep. Last night he’d been particularly late and instead of climbing quietly into bed beside her, he shook her shoulder roughly.
‘Grace, come on, love. I know you’re not asleep.’
She turned to look at him and saw at once that he’d been drinking. His eyes were slightly bloodshot and his breath was sickly sweet with the smell of whisky.
‘Don’t look at me like that. You make me feel like a sex-mad swine,’ he said, slurring his words slightly. ‘Damn it all, I only want what every married man has a right to expect.’
She pushed him from her. ‘Go away. You’ve been drinking.’
‘You bet I’ve been drinking,’ he said raggedly. ‘What other pleasures have I got?’ He pulled at her nightdress. ‘What’s so repulsive about me that you can’t bear me to touch you, Grace? Tell me that — just tell me.’
‘Leave me alone.’ She pushed him away and pulled the neck of her nightdress together. But before she knew what was happening he had snatched her hand away, ripping the thin material until it revealed one breast. He bent, fastening his mouth on it, ignoring her cries. Holding her threshing arms above her head he moved over her and forced her thighs apart, thrusting into her. It was over quickly and Harry rolled from her with a groan and lay on his side for a moment, listening to her sobbing. Then he turned, but this time, instead of taking her in his arms and gently soothing her as he had done in the past, he rounded on her angrily, suddenly stone cold sober.
‘Why do you have to make me feel like some dirty animal every time?’ he demanded. ‘You don’t know the meaning of the word love.’
She sat up, drawing her torn nightdress around her and staring at him reproachfully. ‘Love? You call that love?’
He shook his head. ‘No, I don’t, but it’s all I’m ever likely to get from you, isn’t it? What’s the matter with you, Grace. Why are you so bloody frigid?’
She should have told him them. She knew
instinctively that this was the moment and that if she let it pass there would never be another. She opened her mouth to begin, but her courage failed her. She imagined the look of incredulous horror on his face. He would blame her. How could he not blame her? If she told him what there had been between her and her father their marriage would be over. He would stop loving her — if he hadn’t already. There would be no chance for them once he knew. She turned away.
‘It’s all you ever think about,’ she muttered, getting out of bed and pulling on her dressing gown. ‘There are other things in life besides sex.’
*
They stayed together, establishing a kind of uneasy truce. As long as it wasn’t too often Grace would submit to Harry’s lovemaking. But he knew she hated it; sensed she was gritting her teeth, just waiting and praying for it to be over. It undermined his confidence and made him bad-tempered. It even affected his work. God only knew there was no pleasure in it for him, and gradually — to Grace’s relief — their love life almost ceased to exist.
As time went by and winter came, she began to think more and more about her sisters, left behind in the Manse at Easthampton. Sitting in the flat alone during the long evenings she worried about them. With her gone would one of them be forced to take her place — or would her father have learnt his lesson? She thought more and more about them until at last she could bear the uncertainty no longer and told Harry one morning at breakfast that she wanted to make the trip home.
‘Just for one day — to see that they’re all right,’ she assured him. ‘I’ve got some time off due to me. I’ll go next week. I could stay one night at the Great Eastern Hotel, then I could take the little ones out for a treat after they got home from school.’
He didn’t argue, but shrugged in acquiescence. Grace was a law unto herself. He had long since given up trying to understand her.
*
The town looked just the same. When she came out of the station forecourt and stood waiting for one of the familiar red buses she was faintly surprised to see the same shops and buildings. Somehow she had felt that it would all have changed, just as her own life had changed.
Wives & Mothers Page 2
