by Nancy Carson
‘I never realised Ben was so dependent on you, Lizzie.’
‘We manage.’
‘You’re a brick. And your children are a credit to you, you know. The eldest one – Henzey, isn’t it? She’ll fetch the ducks off the water …’ He smiled, one of his dazzling smiles. ‘… just like her mother.’
‘For all the good it’s done me,’ she replied experimentally.
‘Well you’re not over the hill yet, Lizzie. Far from it. You’re as lovely as ever.’
‘Oh, that’s easy to say, Stanley. But none of us get any younger.’
‘And you think life is passing you by, eh?’
‘There’s no doubting it, is there?’
‘You’ve got a lot to be thankful for, Lizzie. You’ve got four lovely children … And Ben obviously thinks the world of you …’
‘Oh, and I think the world of him … but …’
He took her hand and squeezed it, and she looked up into his eyes. ‘Don’t be too despondent, my love. I can tell you’re despondent.’ His voice had dropped to a whisper, but there was a pause while both concentrated on this caressing of hands. It told so much, and Stanley was encouraged by her acquiescence. ‘Listen, can you get out at all? To meet me, I mean.’
‘Oh, I don’t know, Stanley.’ She noted her own lack of refusal. ‘When do you mean?’
‘Whenever you can. During the day. At night? Any time.’
‘I work in the day. There’s only at night …’ She was well aware that she was submitting too easily. ‘Oh, but even that’s impossible. There’s too much to do. It’s just too much with Ben and the kids. In any case, we shouldn’t, Stanley.’
‘What about a Saturday? How about this coming Saturday. Would that be easier?’
‘Saturday afternoon might be all right if I could get May to call in and see if Ben and the children were all right … I could say I was going shopping to the town. Where would we go, though? We couldn’t be seen together.’
‘We could go to an hotel.’
‘An hotel?’
‘I’d book a room. I might even stay the night, but I know you couldn’t. I could meet you there in the afternoon. Nobody would know. What d’you say?’
She wrestled with her conscience for no more than a few seconds. Her mouth went dry and her heart started beating as if it were a big bass drum. It was going against her new resolution, but she was remorselessly drawn to Stanley. This yearning was becoming an obsession, and Ben had promised he would turn a blind eye if she felt the need. How could she refuse? Why should she refuse? In a way it was a perfect set-up. Because Stanley was a soldier, and would be for at least another five years, there was no chance of her being tempted away permanently. She could never leave Ben; she never would; and this way there was nowhere else to go; even if she wanted to. The only drawback, as far as she could see, was that she wouldn’t be able to meet Stanley often enough.
So they stepped back into the discreet darkness of the entry, and he held her to him; and his lips parted hers with a hungry kiss that held so much promise. She pledged then to be at the front door of The Station Hotel at two on Saturday afternoon. If the arrangement had to be altered the one would let the other know. With her mind racing back to that Christmas night of illicit love, she watched him walk away. Her heart throbbed so much with anticipation that she was hardly able to contain herself. Silhouetted against the light of a street lamp Stanley turned and waved, before he disappeared into the sultry night.
*
Getting out that Saturday afternoon was easier than Lizzie expected. Casually, during the week, she told May that she wanted to look for some new clothes for the children, and May instantly offered to see to Ben and the children for her, as she knew she would. But deceit on this scale was something new, and she felt a pang of guilt for telling the lie. All week she was increasingly preoccupied with her foolhardiness and betrayal, but also tried to imagine how it would be in some strange bed, with clean white sheets, in an hotel room. Oh, it was all so wrong, so sinful, so risky. If her mother were alive to see her there would be hell to pay. But it made no difference. It made no difference at all. She was hungry for love. She’d been unfaithful once before, and it would be even easier a second time.ha
The weather that Saturday was set fair – perfect for a romantic tryst. Lizzie’s mind was in a whirl but, all around her, life went on as calmly and as surely as ever, as she walked towards the Station Hotel carrying, for the sake of her alibi, her shopping basket. Housewives went about their business buying food for their families’ dinners tomorrow, and girls in domestic service scurried from shop to shop with similar intent, complaining about the heat and how much they were expected to do. Workmen, thirsty from their labours, entered public houses, impatient for the taste of smooth, rich beer to slake their dry mouths. Children tripped across the cobbles ever hopeful of a sugar mouse or a toffee apple as they clutched their mothers’ hands. Although Lizzie felt conspicuous, as if what she was about to do was written all over her, nobody except Stanley knew about that room today, and what might happen in it.
Stanley was already waiting when she arrived. He smiled and asked how much time she had. She must be home by six at the latest, she told him as they walked up the steps to the main door. While he paid for the room Lizzie tried to blend into the background, her eyes fixed to the polished wood block floor for fear of intercepting a curious or amused glance, or even recognition. Was this how a prostitute felt in similar circumstances? Her demeanour would certainly give her away. Lucy, her sister, used to work here; somebody might remember her and easily recognise her. So she was glad when they were out of the public area and climbing the oak bannistered stairs to their room.
Stanley unlocked the door and opened it, letting her in first. She looked about and heard him close the door and turn the key. Even if she changed her mind now and wanted to escape it was too late. But she did not want to escape. She was more than ready for this affair.
The room was much as she expected: plain, with a double bed, newly made up, with a brass bedstead; a wardrobe with a long mirror on one of the doors, a small dressing table, and a couple of wicker chairs. There was a rug at each side of the bed; save your bare feet getting too cold on the linoleum, she thought. A wash-stand stood near the window, bearing a bowl and a jug of water.
She turned to Stanley and smiled unsurely. ‘Well, here we are, then,’ she said, and waited for him to make the running.
Smiling, he took her basket from her and placed it on the floor. ‘Are you going to take your hat off?’ He put his hands to her waist and drew her to him. ‘I should hate it to get crushed.’
She laughed at the thought and raised her arms to take out the pin. At the same time he started undoing the buttons on her blouse, since she wore no coat on account of the weather. She stuck the pin back into the hat, then placed both on the wicker chair at the foot of the bed. Submissively, she tilted her head forward, so that it was touching his chest, and he sniffed her hair, freshly washed that morning. He put a hand to her chin, gently lifted her face to him, then bent his head forward and kissed her luxuriously on the lips, dwelling, as if drinking her. Unlike their last encounter she was in total control of her senses, and the mere thought of his lips, the subject of so many adolescent fantasies, now full on hers and relentlessly probing her mouth, sent the blood swirling through her body. And after just one solitary evening and a long five year gap there was a strange familiarity in his kiss. This time, like the last, she tasted drink on him, possibly whisky, but she ignored it, sighing, tingling at his touch.
Her blouse was open and one hand was inside it. He must surely be able to feel the thumping of her heart beneath it, she thought. Then he concentrated on unfastening her skirt, and it fell to the floor silently around her. They broke off their kiss and, like the time before, he scooped her up in his arms to lay her gently on the counterpane. Without hurry he undressed her, kissing every inch of her body as it became exposed, till she was aching with longing.
*
Stanley sighed and reached into the pocket of his uniform, lying on the floor at the side of the bed. He pulled out a book of matches and a pack of Black Cat cigarettes, lit one and inhaled deeply, shuffling to make himself comfortable. All the sweet-talk had been spoken while they’d enjoyed each other.
‘I suppose it’ll be another five years before I see you again,’ Lizzie remarked lightly, pulling the bedclothes over her nakedness.
‘Not if you don’t want it to be. I’ve still got another week of leave yet.’
‘And what about after that?’
‘I don’t know. Probably about six months. We’re due for a posting to Londonderry because of the troubles in Ireland. Will you write to me this time?’
‘If you want me to …’
‘I’d like you to,’ he said. ‘I’ll write to you first so you’ll know my address. It is okay to write isn’t it?’
She caught his meaning at once. ‘Oh, yes. I always get up first anyway, so I’m always the one to grab any post that comes. Ben doesn’t get up till the children have gone to school.’
‘Good.’ He inhaled again on his cigarette, and flicked ash onto the rug unthinkingly. ‘Why didn’t you reply to the letter I sent you last time?’
‘Things were different then, Stanley.’ She turned to look at him. ‘Ben was away and I was deeply in love with him and really missing him. I didn’t want to start something with you that might muck things up. I didn’t know he’d come back in that state.’
‘I understand.’
‘Besides, you were away as well, so what would’ve been the point? I expect you had lots of other women to concern yourself with, anyway.’
‘Nobody serious. We move about too much in our regiment to get trapped by women. And after that first night we spent together, nobody else had a chance.’
She smiled at his flattery, aware he was flannelling, of course.
‘I kept thinking about the way you made love,’ he said, ‘the way you responded to me – your body.’ He drew on his cigarette once more, savouring the taste and the memory for a few seconds. ‘You know, Lizzie, considering you’ve had four kids, your body’s still as fresh and firm as a young girl’s.’ He pushed the covers off her and ran his fingers over her naked belly, feasting his eyes on her. ‘No stretch marks … no sagging titties. You’re amazing. Just like I imagined you to be when you were sixteen. And you’re, what? Thirty now? Mind you, I think you’ve gained a pound or two since last time.’
‘Nothing very much.’
‘Oh, I think a few extra pounds suit you better, if anything … Anyway, you made me realise what I’d been missing all my life. Jesus, I really envied Ben.’
She laughed coyly, feeling very flattered. ‘I bet you don’t envy him now.’
‘You might be surprised. Ben’s still got you. I haven’t.’
‘But right now I’m lying here with you, not him.’
He looked her up and down. ‘I know, and I’m counting my blessings. But when you go back home, you’ll be with him. And tonight, you’ll likely be naked making love with him.’
He was fishing, she knew, but why not let him think she and Ben still made love? It could do no harm to let him believe he had some competition, and let him believe he was not the only one these days who had access to her body.
‘Good God, Stanley. What do you think I am? I couldn’t do it with Ben on the same day as I’d done it with you. I wouldn’t. Anyway, he’s not too demanding these days. I daresay it’ll be a day or two yet … Can I pull the bedclothes up again now? I’m cold.’
He threw his unfinished cigarette in the empty fireplace and snuggled up to her. ‘No,’ he whispered. He began kissing her neck and his hand brushed gently up the inside of her thigh, sending delicious shivers through her entire body once more.
‘I wonder what your father would say if he could see us now?’ she remarked, smiling, feeling her desire rise again as she felt his supple body once more pressing against her skin.
*
Lizzie returned home in good time, albeit with an empty shopping basket. Ben teased her about it, but she replied indignantly that she’d only been to the town to see what was available and to check prices. She could always go next week, or even during the week, to get what they needed, when she’d paid it some mind. At once she set to work preparing the family’s meal, and sang as she did so. Ben commented how chirpy she sounded. Later, they talked randomly before she put him to bed; and in bed together, they continued their disconnected conversation until Ben fell asleep.
She lay for a while, listening to the grunts of Jack ’Ardmate’s pigs, to the soft cooing of pigeons which Joe had begun keeping in a loft he’d built near the pigsty, and to the intermittent wailings of a drunk staggering along Grove Street. She slipped Ben’s protective arm off her, slid out of bed and stood at the window in her night-dress looking out at the stars, like pin pricks of light shining through a sheet of blue black velvet. The light of a bright half moon floating low over the roofs of Grove Street lent a silvery sheen to the slates of the brewhouse roof.
Even though it was warm in the room she shivered as she considered the enormity of what she’d done that afternoon. She was scarcely able to believe she’d gone out and left her family, knowing she was going to be unfaithful to her husband; and not just to her husband, for she was being unfaithful to her children as well, inasmuch as whatever she did must also affect them indirectly. Of course, this wanton infidelity had been in the back of her mind ever since Ben returned home from the war. The memory of that unintended first time with Stanley had eaten away corrosively at her, undermining her acceptance of Ben’s condition, his ruined looks and his inability to physically love and satisfy her. Now she’d allowed herself to slip into this prearranged adultery which, as a younger woman, she would have believed impossible in herself.
Almost from the first day of their courtship Ben had always been more than just a sweetheart, more than just a husband. They’d been more than just lovers, before and after their marriage; they’d been true soul mates. In that time she’d matured from a dreamy, adolescent girl into a practical woman. She always made the best of herself, for Ben as much as for herself, and endeavoured to be lady-like, as her mother had always taught her to be. Ben had given her his love, his protection; he’d given her his name and four delightful children. Now she’d betrayed all that, wilfully, yielding to a man whom she’d known all her life, who was pretending to be Ben’s friend. She’d given herself with consummate ease, too, affording him the same sensuous warmth she would at one time only ever have bestowed on Ben. It had happened sordidly, hidden away from the rest of the world in an hotel room, without any embarrassment or second thoughts. There must be something perverse in her subconscious that drove her to be like this; some flaw that had always been there.
Yet she did not regret it. Nor did she love Ben any the less. Stanley had had many other women, doubtless of all races and creeds; and she was just one of them. That in itself was stimulating; not because of a wish to be more desired by him than any of the others, but because she was convinced that all those other women almost certainly desired him as much as she did, thus endorsing her own taste. She felt no differently towards Stanley because of it. She was not taken with him now like she used to be, but she was certainly stimulated by his expert lovemaking, and by her own response to it.
She’d lacked sexual love for years. For a long time it had been an important part of her life. And she’d missed it more than anything. It was something she needed; it helped keep body and soul together; it was addictive, like a drug. Without it she was moody and depressed; as dull and lacklustre as a heap of slack in the cellar.
Thankfully now there was opportunity; opportunity that had been contrived once the will had manifested itself. And once the opportunity had been devised, there was the expectation, the anticipation of something incurably, perhaps even ruinously exciting, and she had to pursue it at all costs. The reality was no dis
appointment either; and not just in the physical sense. The knowledge that she was locked in that room alone with him, as naked as the day she was born but for her wedding ring, tasting and savouring his naked body, yielded a wonderful unreality. She wondered whether it was all a dream; whether this thing could really be happening to her.
But she was well aware that one of the things that drove her to this affair was that, when it happened before, that notable Christmas night, she had been in the depths of despair and the act of physical love had lifted her and enabled her to carry on, putting the world and all its woes into perspective. This time she expected it to do the same; and, thankfully, it seemed to have done.
A lifetime’s drilling had brainwashed her into believing that it was not right, that it was sinful in the eyes of God. Adultery only ever happened to other people who were depraved, and they were frowned on, condemned by society. But it made no difference. She was swept along in this current of craving for sexual satisfaction, and all other thoughts were negated absolutely.
Ben turned over painfully in their bed, grunted, and then began snoring. Lizzie turned away from the window momentarily, allowing the moonlight to fall on him, so that she could see him. Oh, Ben … dear Ben … poor Ben … She sighed, knowing it would have been better if … if he’d never gone to war, of course. If he’d never gone to war they would still be as much in love as ever they were. Maybe they’d have six or more children by now. But he had gone to war, damn him; against her better judgement. It was all his fault. It had to be his fault.
She turned back to the stars and the moon. A cloud, like a black bag with a pale yellow lining, hovered over the tilting chimney pots of Grove Street. ‘Your body’s still as fresh and firm as a young girl’s,’ he’d said. ‘I really envied Ben.’ It might be Ben’s fault, but she didn’t like herself particularly after what she’d done, and was intending to do more. ‘… still as fresh and firm as a young girl’s. Just like I imagined you to be when you were sixteen. And you’re, what? Thirty now?’ A shiver stole over her body in the warm night. This affair would be understandable if Ben had been seeing other women. But he had not. Or rather, perhaps he had when he was away in the army, but she wasn’t aware of it, and now it was of no consequence anyway. But she regretted nothing. Not yet, at any rate.
