by JB Rowley
“I mean… when he comes back. Will you let him go?”
Let him go where, thought Myrtle. What does she mean?
Impatience clouded Shirley’s fair features. Myrtle glanced over at Bertie playing happily in his playpen.
“Well it’s no good hiding your head in the sand, Myrtle.”
What is she talking about, thought Myrtle. Shirley frowned.
“Henry and I want to go to Queensland when he gets back. We want to start a new life together.”
Myrtle looked at the other woman. Even before those crisply spoken words reached her consciousness she knew. Suddenly she knew. As though a silent messenger had delivered the information direct to her brain, bypassing all cognitive functions. She knew. She felt as though her world had shattered into tiny pieces and fallen at her feet. Her face must have betrayed her shock.
‘Well,” said Shirley. “Henry wrote to you explaining our position.”
Myrtle was too numb to speak. Even if she could she did not know what to say.
“Well? Didn’t he?”
Myrtle shook her head.
“Well, now you know. It can’t be all that much of a shock surely. It’s not as if you’ve been happy together. I mean he told me you don’t… I mean… you sleep in separate rooms. Henry told me.”
Myrtle glared at Shirley. Her hand instinctively stroked her stomach. How dare she be so personal? What had Henry been telling her? Her anger stirred a heated retort.
“That’s none of your business, is it?” she said.
Shirley smiled calmly. She was clearly confident she had the upper hand.
“Well, anyway he loved me long before he met you. You know that.”
Myrtle stared at her. Shirley continued.
“You must have got his letter. Henry has explained it all to you in a letter. He told me so. About us, I mean.”
Seeing the look of disbelief on Myrtle’s face Shirley’s expression changed. She looked confused, less confident.
“You haven’t received his letter?”
Myrtle felt as though her brain had stopped functioning. She couldn’t think straight. Shirley reached for her bag and took out a packet of cigarettes. She took one out, tapping it lightly on the pack before putting it in between her lips and lighting it. She drew deeply on the cigarette, removed it from her mouth between two fingers and held it aside as she exhaled the smoke between pursed lips. Silence. Finally Shirley spoke, with a hint of bravado in her voice.
“The letter’s obviously been delayed. The thing is, Myrtle, we both felt it was better to be honest and bring it out in the open.”
Shirley feigned a look of concern.
“It’s better for all of us.”
Myrtle said nothing. Memories of confused moments and conversations flashed into her mind to be re-examined. One by one each took on new meaning and, like falling dominoes, fitted together neatly in a burst of illumination. Suddenly the truth lay bare before her. Henry’s evenings out with Shirley. His late arrivals home. Exchanged looks at the back of the tennis court.
A wave of anger seared through her body. Its power and the confidence it generated took her by surprise. In that moment she was indomitable. She fixed a cold stare on the woman opposite.
“And what about the children? You can’t break up our home.”
She heard her voice saying the words but she wasn’t conscious of having control over them or of forming the thoughts that preceded them. They simply fell from her lips. Shirley brought her cigarette up to her mouth again.
“Henry will make arrangements for them.”
Another wave of anger overwhelmed Myrtle. How dare this stranger presume to tell her what will happen to her children? How dare Henry discuss it with her? Myrtle rose without taking her eyes from Shirley. The other woman averted her gaze, stubbed her unfinished cigarette in the ashtray and reached for her bag. Some of her confidence seemed to have left her. Myrtle followed her quietly as she left the lounge and walked down the hall. When Shirley reached for the doorknob Myrtle reached out in front of her and opened the door. She was still mistress of this house and she was determined to show Shirley Townsend she was in charge. Her visitor stepped across the threshold and onto the front porch. Without a word Myrtle closed the door.
She heard Shirley’s footsteps as she retreated along the front path. The sound of the creaking gate signalled her exit. Myrtle, realising she had been holding her breath, expelled the air from her lungs and ran back to the lounge. She picked Bertie up and held him close. She wanted to scream but her body convulsed with sobs instead. Bertie put his arms around her neck.
“Mummy?”
She held him until her sobs subsided.
The next few days passed in a daze for Myrtle. Her conversation with Shirley haunted her. Desperate to make sense of it all she recalled the times she and Henry had spent with Shirley and the Townsend family, searching for clues that she must have missed at the time. What a fool she had been, consenting to Henry and Shirley going out together, but thoughts of betrayal had never entered her head. Goodness knows things were not perfect between her and Henry but she never thought… Marriage after all was forever. Hadn’t he considered the children? Didn’t either of them care about breaking up the family?
It wasn’t long before a visit from his mother enlightened her as to just how much Henry had considered the children. The clicking of the back gate one morning alerted Myrtle to the impending arrival of Agnes Bishop. She watched her through the window, shoulders straight, head high. What did she want this time? She looked like she meant business. No doubt there would be some serious complaint about Myrtle’s behaviour. Or she might expect Myrtle to accompany her to the Red Cross to contribute to the war effort, helping to sew uniforms or knitting socks for the soldiers. As soon as Agnes entered the house Myrtle sensed a confrontation. Her mouth was set and she had a down to business air. She settled herself in an armchair and motioned for Myrtle to sit.
“Sit down, girl. I want to talk to you.”
Myrtle sat down opposite her. Seeing the hardness in her face Myrtle remembered the words of gentle Lily who rarely said an unkind word about anyone. “I can’t help it Myrtle, I just can’t seem to like her,” she said one day when Myrtle had confided in her about her mother-in-law’s unfriendly attitude. Lowering her voice to a whisper she said, “She’s got a face like an old nut.” Myrtle agreed with a giggle. “Yes, that’s what she is; a hard old nut.” They had both been a little shocked at themselves but at the same time enjoyed the release of saying what was on their minds.
Myrtle looked across at her mother-in-law. Her dark brown eyes seemed to be gleaming with confident superiority. At least, thought Myrtle with some relief, she did not look like a mother about to deliver bad news of her soldier son. When Agnes opened her mouth Myrtle was flabbergasted.
“Henry’s asked me to have a little chat,” she began with the cool politeness she probably used on tardy delivery boys. “I believe Shirley has already had a word?”
Her mother-in-law knew about Shirley! Not for a minute did Myrtle think her calling might be related to Shirley’s visit. It didn’t occur to her that her mother-in-law might be aware of, let alone party to, what Henry and Shirley had been up to. She waited expectantly for the older woman to speak. With disbelief numbing the shock Myrtle experienced a sense of being caught up in someone else’s bad dream.
“I hope there needn’t be too much fuss about all this. Henry wants to start afresh and he thinks it will be better if he goes interstate. However, it doesn’t have to be like that. We can handle it all quite sensibly I’m sure. I will take Albert and look after him. He can see his father frequently that way. We will provide you and your daughter with a weekly income as long as you need it, for the rest of your life if necessary, provided you promise not to interfere with Albert. The divorce can be done quietly when the time comes.”
Myrtle could hardly speak. She should have known Henry’s mother would support him unconditionally in whatever
he wanted to do, but to suggest they could simply take Bertie from her was outrageous. She looked her mother-in-law in the eye, anger giving her courage, though her knees were knocking with fear. She gripped them firmly with both hands.
“He is my son.” Her voice sounded thin and sharp.
Agnes Bishop met her gaze, clearly confident of the final outcome of the meeting. To Myrtle it seemed the bad dream would not end. She wanted to scream to make sure she was awake but the thought of Audrey sleeping in the next room kept her calm.
“Come, girl. It’s a generous offer.”
“A generous offer!”
She was talking about taking her child as though she was negotiating for a piece of merchandise. Agnes misunderstood her reaction. She twisted her mouth in annoyance.
“Well... Perhaps we can come to some other arrangement. We could perhaps take the girl as well? I would still be prepared to offer you the same terms. You would be free to start a new life without the hindrance of young children and you would have an assured income. The children will be well taken care of. You’ll have nothing to worry about on that score. All you have to do is stay out of their lives.”
Myrtle screamed her answer.
“No! I love my children. I want them with me!”
She clenched her fists and leaned forward in the chair, suddenly overcome with a powerful urge to strike Agnes Bishop. With an effort she restrained herself, but couldn’t resist a heated retort.
“Besides, I don’t want Bertie to grow up spoilt rotten like his father.”
Her mother-in-law’s lips tightened. Her face clouded like a dark night sky. Myrtle felt sick in the stomach.
“We’ll see who’s a good mother in the courts if you’re not careful,” Agnes hissed and added, “I hardly think they’ll rule in your favour.”
“What are you talking about?” cried Myrtle.
“Everyone knows what you’ve been up to girl; out dancing and gadding about with soldiers, instead of taking care of your children. And that’s not the least of it. You encouraged your husband to take up with another woman. Oh, it would not be difficult to get witnesses to prove you an unsuitable mother. The court will do what is in the best interest of the children. Let me tell you that will not mean letting them be brought up by a scarlet woman who neglects her family.”
Myrtle glared at Agnes.
“Why are you doing this? I love my children. I want my marriage to work.”
“Your marriage!” spluttered Agnes Bishop. “My son wouldn’t have married you if you hadn’t been pregnant. Your marriage was over before it started. You can’t tell me you’ve a marriage worth talking about when you don’t even share the same bed.”
Close to tears Myrtle’s temper flared.
“Then why am I carrying your son’s third child?”
The look on her mother-in-law’s face was at least some consolation to Myrtle. The wind had clearly been taken out of Agnes’ sails. Her eyes went to Myrtle’s stomach.
“What do you mean?”
Myrtle said nothing. She hadn’t meant to tell her mother-in-law about her pregnancy. The doctor had given her confirmation only that morning. She hadn’t even had a chance to tell her own mother. Conscious of the older woman’s eyes on her she focused on Bertie, watching him pushing his wooden train around the perimeter of the playpen. She clenched her fists. Agnes Bishop rose from her chair. She looked across at Bertie then turned back to Myrtle.
“I won’t have my grandchild living in a house of sin.”
In the days that followed Myrtle was restless and fearful, keeping Audrey and Bertie with her at all times. Eventually she confided in her mother. Etti Webb nodded her head sadly.
“So it’s come to this,” she said.
“She can’t just come and take Bertie away, Myrtle love,” she assured her daughter. “You’re their mother after all. Agnes was probably just blowing off steam. That young Henry needs a good kick up the backside, if you ask me. And as for Shirley Townsend… I’ll have a few words to say to her when I see her. Don’t you worry, love. You just take care of yourself and you’ll have another healthy baby bouncing on your knee sooner than you know. When the war is over, things’ll sort themselves out.”
Myrtle felt better after speaking to her mother. She had been foolish to take Agnes seriously. After all, she hadn’t done anything wrong. Nobody could take her children and there was no way she was going to give them up. If it weren’t for Audrey and Bertie life would hardly be worth living.
Yet she could not forget the look Agnes gave her; if she ever had the opportunity to look straight into the eyes of the venomous King Brown snake she was sure she would see the same deadly look there as she had seen in the brown eyes of Agnes Bishop.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“This is our darkest hour.”
The words of Prime Minister Curtin haunted Myrtle. She was afraid. War was on everyone’s minds now. The attack on Pearl Harbour when the Japanese had struck like assassins in the night had shocked everyone. People talked of the Japanese attacking Australia, even bombing Albury. The Australian government, said the newspapers, was now taking Adolf Hitler seriously; the little high stepping man in far off Germany with the comical moustache. It was the first time Myrtle had really thought seriously about the war. Even when Henry enlisted it had seemed more like an adventure for the men than something that might impact on their own lives.
Myrtle knew it was not just the war that stirred feelings of dread within her. Her own troubles crowded her mind. Morning sickness, distress about her marriage situation and fear of her mother-in-law’s intentions had combined to make her third confinement a miserable time.
When Noel was born she didn’t feel the same joy and excitement she had experienced with Bertie and Audrey. He was just like Bertie. The same big brown eyes that followed her every movement. She longed to love him passionately and yet she felt detached. She was weak and lethargic. At first she had thought it was the heat. It had been a particularly hot summer but it was almost winter and she felt worse than ever. Little Noel was six months old and adorable, yet she still couldn’t seem to love him. Desperate for comfort and guidance she went to her mother.
“I don’t feel the same Mum. I don’t feel the way I did with Audrey and Bertie. It’s not right. I don’t want to cuddle him. What’s wrong with me, Mum?”
“I warned you about this love,” said Etti. “You’ve had three children too close together. You’re tired and probably a little anaemic, that’s all.”
“How did you feel Mum, when you had me?”
Etti’s quick fingers continued knitting. She manoeuvred the needles and twisted the blue wool without dropping her gaze to see what she was doing. She smiled at Myrtle.
“When you arrived Myrtle, it was the happiest day of my life. I desperately wanted a child. You were a dream come true.”
It was the first time her mother had spoken about Myrtle’s arrival. Myrtle wanted to ask her more questions. Instead she felt an overpowering urge to cry. Tears welled in her eyes.
Her mother’s quick fingers stopped. She put down her knitting.
“Mum... I was so happy when I had Bertie and Audrey. I can’t... I want it to be the same with Noel.”
Etti reached over and clasped her daughter’s hand.
“Mum... there’s something wrong with me. I don’t know what to do.”
The tears fell freely now.
“It’s any wonder you’re in a state, love, with everything that’s going on. Agnes is to blame for this. It’s time I gave her a piece of my mind.”
“No, Mum.”
There was no telling what Agnes would do if her mother provoked her. Perhaps she really would take Bertie away from her. Myrtle took her handkerchief from her pocket and mopped her tears.
Her mother tried to reassure her.
“Nothing’s wrong with you at all, love. Didn’t the sister say it’s quite normal to feel flat after giving birth? And with all that you’ve had to put up with, w
ell... it’s any wonder you’re feeling poorly.”
Her mother stood up.
“You’ll feel better in a day or two. What you need right now is a nice cup of tea.”
Talking to her mother helped but she couldn’t shake the awful dull, tired feeling.
It was just as her mother-in-law had said, Myrtle decided. She wasn’t fit to be a mother. She found herself crying frequently. The tears flowed for no reason and she couldn’t stop them.
Christmas had been a dismal time for Myrtle. When she passed the carol singers in the street singing Away in a Manger she thought of Noel lying in his cradle. She imagined him sad and lonely because he had a mother who couldn’t love him properly. She hurried away before they started to sing The First Noel. She took the kids to her mother’s but felt no Christmas cheer. She hardly had enough energy to lift Bertie up to place the star at the top of the tree. Even the excited squeals of the children unwrapping their presents failed to raise her spirits. She laughed when Audrey tried to wrap herself in Christmas wrapping paper but the laughter almost turned to crying.
Henry sent letters for Bertie and Audrey. Her mother-in-law delivered gifts for Audrey and Bertie. Since the unpleasant encounter with Agnes Bishop Myrtle barely spoke to her. She was forced to suffer her presence when Agnes visited the children from time to time. Her mother-in-law tolerated Myrtle with cool disdain. Agnes took no interest in Noel and did not offer the child a Christmas gift. She did not seem to be aware of her own hypocrisy when she handed gifts to Bertie and Audrey with the comment, “I’m a Christian woman. I won’t see the children missing out on Christmas gifts no matter what their mother has done.”
One day Agnes Bishop openly accused Myrtle of adultery.
“You can’t pass that child off as Henry’s. In his correspondence he has informed me that you and he have not shared the same bed since the birth of your daughter. Besides that, he had already left for overseas when the child would have been conceived. That boy cannot possibly be his. He is not my son’s responsibility. It’s not right that he should have to pay for his upbringing. You’ll have to contact the child’s father and come to an arrangement with him.”
