Elaine grew fast in those warm, golden weeks of late summer. As soon as Grace brought her home from the hospital, Harry had taken them out to buy a pram and during the weeks that followed Grace took her for long walks. Even though she knew Elaine was too young to understand she showed her all the sight and sounds and smells she had discovered for herself in the weeks before the baby was born. The beach with its tangy salt air; the ordered profusion of colour and the clean scent of pine and bruised grass in the gardens. She loved to push the pram down to the clifftop in the evenings, to hear the plaintive crying of the gulls and watch the sky turn to mother-of-pearl as the sun dipped beneath a sea of molten gold.
Elaine’s little arms and legs grew honey brown and rounded, her hair grew into soft dark curls and her cheeks became rosy. The holidaymakers on the beach often looked into the pram to coo at the pretty, happy baby kicking and laughing under the canopy, while Grace stood proudly looking on. She loved everything about Bournemouth. It was a beautiful town, but to Grace it was far more. She had been happier here than in any other place and she never wanted to leave. As the summer days began to shorten, Harry occasionally reminded her, with a word or a reference to people they both knew, that it would soon be time to leave, but she refused to allow herself to think of their return to London; the noise and fumes of the traffic, the grimy city streets, and the dreariness of the coming winter.
‘Can’t we stay here?’ she asked once. ‘You could get a job with the resident band at The Pavilion, couldn’t you?’
But Harry had shaken his head. He was excited. That morning he’d had a letter from Gerry Sylvester with the news that he’d fixed him an audition with the Geraldo orchestra. He showed it to her.
‘It’ll mean twice the money I’ve been getting, love. We’ll even be able to put down the deposit on a house of our own, somewhere in the suburbs maybe, with a garden for Elaine to play in. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’
All too soon September was upon them. Time to pack and leave. But as they prepared to move back to London, Grace’s heart was heavy. Something told her that she would never be as happy as she’d been that summer.
Chapter Three
To begin with Harry said that the house in Stanmore was too expensive, but Grace had set her heart on it from the moment she walked in through the front door. She insisted that they could manage the mortgage if she found a job too.
‘With you at home in the daytime we don’t have to worry about Elaine,’ she reminded him. And at last Harry had allowed himself to be persuaded, secretly looking forward to having his little daughter to himself for a few hours each day.
It was a semi-detached villa in a road lined with flowering cherry trees. Each pair of houses had a timbered gable and a rounded front porch. They had been built in the mid-thirties, just before the war. Inside there were three bedrooms, a pretty green bathroom, a lounge, dining room and a kitchen with what the estate agent had called ‘every mod con’. The previous owners had moved in a couple of years after the war ended, and modernised, putting in a stainless steel sink, something which Grace had never seen before, as well as brightly painted cupboards and units. At the back was a garden neatly laid out with a lawn and flowerbeds that reminded her nostalgically of Bournemouth. There was even a gnarled old apple tree with a swing hanging from one of the lower branches. It was perfect — and far too good to miss.
Grace had quite easily found a job as manageress of a small draper’s shop in the Honeypot Lane shopping centre. The house was within walking distance of it, and of Elaine’s new school. Even the station was handy enough for Harry to get up to Town in under an hour. And so the three of them had moved into number forty-seven St Olaf’s Avenue and settled happily into a new routine.
Elaine was seven when they moved to Stanmore. A bright, happy child, she had adjusted easily at school and was the apple of her parents’ eyes.
Since the family had moved back to London the autumn after her birth, they had lived in a flat in Edgware over an ironmonger’s shop. Harry was happy and busy with his regular dance band job and Gerry Sylvester found him plenty of additional engagements with the BBC to augment his income. More recently he had managed to get Harry work with some of the major film studios too, providing background music for the sound tracks. For himself, Harry would have been content to remain in Edgware, but Grace had never forgotten his promise of a little house in the suburbs. Bournemouth had given her a taste for fresh air and the good things of life and she was determined that they would have something better. When she found the house in St Olaf’s Avenue, she knew at once that it was the home she had always dreamed of.
*
On the surface Grace and Harry’s marriage was ideal. Everyone who knew them thought them the perfect couple. And Grace herself was happy enough. They agreed about most things and they were both devoted to Elaine. But under the bland surface their relationship was still far from idyllic. It was for this reason that Harry sat in the waiting room of the local GP one spring afternoon, nervously waiting for his name to be called.
The family had registered with Doctor Bradshaw when they first came to live in Stanmore six months ago, but so far none of them had had any reason to visit him. Harry had no idea whether he was old or young, and as he sat there, staring unseeingly at the magazine on his lap, he wondered how on earth he would approach the problem he had come to discuss.
When he was ushered into the surgery he was relieved to see that the doctor was middle-aged. A younger man would have inhibited him, whilst a man of an older generation would have made him feel even more embarrassed than he was.
After the usual preliminaries, the doctor looked up at him expectantly.
‘So, Mr. Wendover, what can I do for you today?’
Harry took a deep breath. ‘It’s my wife really, Doctor.’
‘I see. Couldn’t she come herself?’
‘She doesn’t know I’m here. It’s rather embarrassing. You see she’s — she won’t — doesn’t like...’
‘How long have you been married?’ the doctor asked helpfully. ‘Almost eight years.’
‘Any children?’
‘One — a daughter of seven.’
‘So this problem is recent?’
‘No. It’s always been — difficult.’
The doctor turned his chair round to face Harry. ‘Why is this, do you think? Is there pain? Did she have a difficult confinement?’ Harry frowned. ‘Well, yes. But even before that she was — unwilling.’
‘Have you talked about it?’
Harry shook his head. ‘I’ve tried. She just gets upset.’
‘Could there have been some traumatic incident perhaps, when she was younger?’
‘Oh, I doubt it. She had a very strict upbringing,’ Harry said. ‘Her father was a Methodist minister. As a young girl she was hardly allowed out of the house.’
‘Mmm.’ The doctor looked thoughtful. ‘If the birth of your daughter was difficult and painful, perhaps fear of another pregnancy is inhibiting her. What do you do about contraception?’ Harry frowned. ‘Well, I’m always careful.’
The doctor smiled. ‘You mean you don’t use anything.’
‘Well, no.’
The doctor sighed. ‘I wonder if you realise how vulnerable that makes a woman feel.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘She must feel tense and anxious every time, and that isn’t conducive to a relaxed and enjoyable intercourse for either of you, is it? Look, why don’t you bring your wife along to see me? I’m sure the three of us could sort something out.’
‘Oh, I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t come,’ Harry said quickly. Grace had no idea that he was here this afternoon. If she knew that he was sitting here now, discussing their unmentionable problem with a total stranger, she’d be horrified. ‘She’s very sensitive about these things. Her upbringing, you see...’
‘Then why not try buying some condoms and using them? Show your wife that you care — that you’re willing to ta
ke the responsibility.’
‘Yes, all right.’ Harry knew deep inside that this wasn’t the answer.
‘I see I haven’t convinced you.’ The doctor was peering at him. ‘Is there anything else you want to tell me? In what way does she object to lovemaking?’
Harry swallowed and ran a finger round his collar. ‘She just seems to find the whole business disgusting.’
Doctor Bradshaw regarded him for a long moment, then he said: ‘Tell me a little about yourself.’
Harry looked at his watch. ‘I don’t want to hold you up...’
‘It’s perfectly all right. You can let me worry about that. Anyway you’re my last patient this afternoon. Tell me, are your parents still living? Were you an only child?’
Slightly irritated, Harry outlined his background as briefly as he could, seeing no relevance whatever to his marriage problem. ‘I’m thirty-two, and yes, I was an only child. Both my parents are dead. They were killed by a V2 in 1944. I was in the RAF at the time. I’m a musician, by the way.’
‘So you were in the airforce? Did you have many girlfriends during that time?’
Harry shrugged. He was getting tired of this interrogation. ‘No more than most.’
‘Sexual experience?’
‘Some.’
‘Compare notes with your friends?’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Harry felt beads of perspiration break out on his forehead. He felt like an insect under a microscope.
Doctor Bradshaw turned his chair back to the desk and pulled his pad towards him. All the signs were there. Clearly the problem was with the young man, not his wife. He was just embarrassed and ashamed to admit he was inexperienced. The solution was quite simple. ‘I suggest that you buy a book that I shall recommend,’ he said, writing down the title. ‘Take it home and when you have studied it yourself, show it to your wife. Pick your moment, of course. A quiet evening after dinner when you’re both relaxed. Learn about lovemaking together. I’m sure you’ll find it most rewarding.’
‘Oh — thanks.’ Harry took the slip of paper the doctor handed him.
‘Don’t forget what I said about contraception. And, Mr Wendover...’
‘Yes?’
‘Don’t be too hesitant. Most women like a positive approach.’
‘I’ll try to remember.’ With some relief Harry got to his feet and backed towards the door. ‘Good afternoon then, doctor.’
‘Good afternoon, Mr Wendover.’ Doctor Bradshaw shook his head as the door closed. Eight years. It had taken eight years to pluck up the courage to ask about something as basic as sex. The sooner they taught it as part of the general curriculum in schools, the better, in his view.
*
‘Grace...’
‘Yes?’ She looked up from the dining-room table. It was late.
Elaine was in bed and she had been working, bringing the books from the shop up to date. ‘What is it?’
He cleared his throat. ‘You’re not afraid of having another baby, are you?’
She frowned. ‘You know we couldn’t afford another child. I’d have to give up my job and we’d never meet the mortage...’
‘No, I’m not suggesting we have another child — just asking if you’re afraid of getting pregnant.’
Grace began to feel the familiar prickly uneasiness creeping over her. ‘No, not particularly.’ She lowered her head over the books again, hoping he would let the subject drop. But he didn’t. Getting up from his chair he came across to her and closed the ledger she was working on.
‘Harry, don’t do that. I have to get these books...’
‘They can wait,’ he said firmly. ‘This is more important.’
‘What is?’
‘Look, Grace...’ He sat down next to her, covering her hand with his. ‘We can’t go on as we are.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Yes, you do. You hardly ever let me near you. It isn’t natural.’ She felt tears fill her eyes and the hated panic beginning to stifle her. ‘I can’t help it, Harry.’
He squeezed her hand. ‘I know, love. But why? You say you love me.’
‘I do. Of course I do!’
‘Then if you love me...’ He broke off. They’d been down that road countless times and found it a dead end. ‘Look, love, maybe it is the fear of another baby, even though you don’t realise it. You said yourself we couldn’t afford it. I’ve been thinking about it and I’ve got something to prevent it.’
‘Have you?’
‘Yes, because I want you, Grace. I don’t think you realise what it’s like for me. I want us to have a proper marriage — to be happy. I want you to know what love is really like.’
She sighed. She was unfair to him, she realised that. He loved her. He’d tried hard to do what he thought was best. He deserved better. If only there was some way she could overcome her aversion.
Harry was watching her face. She seemed to be softening. Maybe the doctor had been right. He wondered whether this was the right moment to get the book out. Then he pushed the idea aside. Some of those diagrams... She wasn’t ready for that yet. Maybe later. He took her hand.
‘Let’s go up, love. Now that you know it’s safe, you’ll be all right. ‘I know you will.’
She hung back. ‘Something to prevent it,’ he’d said. What did he mean? Perhaps he was right. Maybe she would be all right this time.
In their room they undressed in silence, each of them tense and nervous. Sliding into his eager arms under the covers Grace tried hard to relax and found it difficult. Harry took his time, caressing her, employing everything he knew and more that he had learned from the manual the doctor had recommended. At last he felt her body begin to lose its rigidity. Her response to his kisses grew warmer and she began to caress him in return. He heard her breath catch as he ran one hand down the length of her body, cupping one breast, stroking over the curve of her waist and the roundness of one buttock to her thigh. Now was the time. He slid his hand under the pillow for what he had put there earlier. Taking her hand he pressed something into it.
‘Put it on for me.’
Her eyes flew open. ‘What is it?’
‘I told you, it’s to prevent... Grace. What is it? Where are you going?’ She was out of bed in an instant. He jumped out and made a move towards her, but she held both hands up defensively in front of her, backing towards the door.
‘Don’t. Stay away. Don’t come near me.’ Pulling the door open she fled into the bathroom and he heard her turn the key. Sighing, he flopped back on the bed again and closed his eyes tightly against the pain that tore through his lower body. What the hell was the matter with her? Couldn’t she see what she was doing to him — to their marriage? What on earth was he to do with her?
In the bathroom Grace huddled in the corner, sitting on the cork-topped stool by the bath. She wrapped both her arms around herself and rocked backwards and forwards, trying to shut out the images that haunted her. She could still feel the sensation of thin, slippery rubber between her fingers — still hear her father’s voice as he explained to her what must be done with it. That voice, low and rumbling, gloating with letchery. So different to the sanctimonious boom he used in the pulpit on Sundays. The horror and revulsion she had felt then intensified a hundred times. It was as though her father and Harry had become one and the same person.
Much later, stiff with tension and chilled with cold, she got up and splashed her face with cold water at the washbasin. Taking a clean nightdress from the airing cupboard she slipped it over her head, then crept into Elaine’s room and slid into bed beside the sleeping child.
In the next room Harry was still awake, lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He heard her stealthy movements and turned on his side. Was she afraid — actually afraid — to come back to him? Did she think he was going to rape her? One thing he knew: he’d never ask for outside advice any more. And tomorrow he’d burn that book. If Grace found that, God only knew what she’d think. As for his needs �
� he’d satisfy them elsewhere. There was never any shortage of girls hanging around the stand when they played for dances. After all, what was there to be faithful to? he asked himself bitterly.
Ever since Elaine’s birth Harry had taught music as an addition to the family income. He had a dozen or so piano pupils, most of whom came to the Wendovers’ home for lessons. Elaine had been fascinated from babyhood, learning as she watched her father’s patient skill; hearing him coax the first stumbling efforts into real music. Soon after they moved to Stanmore she begged him to give her lessons too and to his delight he found her a bright pupil with a good ear. She picked it up with a speed that amazed him.
That first year at Stanmore, Harry taught his daughter to swim at the local pool. On her eighth birthday he bought her a shiny red bicycle and taught her to ride it. It was always Harry who was waiting when she came home from school, with tea ready so they could sit and eat together companionably before it was time for Grace to come home. They would relate to each other all that had happened during the day, laughing together at their own private little jokes and shared likes and dislikes. When the summer holidays came, the long warm days spent in each other’s company were a delight to both of them and as the months went by father and daughter grew closer.
Harry couldn’t always be home during the day. Sometimes he had to go up to Town to rehearse and on these occasions he would take Elaine with him. This she enjoyed more than anything else. Sitting quietly in her seat at the back of the rehearsal hall she would listen to the band going through new numbers, her quick ear picking up every badly turned phrase, every wrong note and discord, until she felt convinced that she could have conducted it herself.
Harry was inordinately proud of his small daughter with her intelligent little face and her bouncing dark durls. Maybe she was becoming a little precocious — even spoilt. The lads in the band made a great fuss of her and she responded by showing off a little; airing her musical knowledge; making them laugh with her quaint grown-up remarks.
Coming home tired after long days at the shop, Grace became increasingly aware of the way her small daughter’s character was developing and didn’t care for it.
Wives & Mothers Page 4
