A Mother’s Sacrifice

by Kitty Neale

  He held on to the wall as he swayed behind her, slowly stumbling up the stairs. When they were in bed he would have his husband’s rights. Harry grinned to himself as he made his way into the bedroom; at least he never suffered from brewer’s droop.

  The alarm clock rang out at six o’clock in the morning. Glenda was already awake, her back to her husband and the covers pulled up tight under her chin. Her side hurt so she tried not to move too much, but she knew she’d have to get up to make Harry his morning cup of tea and pack some Spam sandwiches for his lunch. She felt a moment of resentment at the thought of having to do anything for him after what he had inflicted on her last night.

  Oh, he would be sorry today, probably bringing her some cheap flowers and promising her he would never hurt her again, yet it was always the same – good behaviour for a week or two until he’d have a drink and she would become his punchbag.

  Last night he had gone too far. The kick to her ribs had damaged her, possibly cracking a bone or two, and, as she had laid in bed sobbing with the pain, Harry had forced himself on her, disregarding her discomfort and ignoring her pleas to stop.

  ‘Argh,’ Harry grunted now as he slammed his hand down on the alarm clock. ‘My head’s banging and I think the tooth fairy shat in my mouth in the night.’

  Glenda remained motionless, waiting for Harry to go to the bathroom before she would get out of the bed.

  ‘Sod these mornings,’ he moaned, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, ‘it’s freezing and more like winter than autumn.’ He turned and shook Glenda’s hip. ‘You awake?’

  ‘Yes,’ she answered through gritted teeth.

  ‘You gonna get up and put the kettle on then?’

  Without answering, Glenda winced as she slowly climbed out of the bed and made her way downstairs to the kitchen. As she stood on the cold linoleum, staring at the kettle waiting for it to boil, she gently rubbed her aching ribs and wondered what had happened to the charming man she had married three years earlier. The one who had lavished gifts on her and made her feel so safe and secure in his muscular arms. Harry used to make her laugh so much that her sides hurt. Yet now her sides hurt for a very different reason.

  She had loved Harry so much when they’d first met, but now, instead of adoration, Glenda found herself contemplating how she could ever get out of this situation. It was impossible of course. She had little Johnnie to think about and nowhere to go. Her parents couldn’t help, and even if she left, Harry would easily track her down to drag her back home. He would never let her go, and, with no other choice but to stay with him, she felt trapped – trapped with a man who was growing more and more violent.

  The kettle whistled on the gas stove as Glenda feared that one day Harry would send her to an early grave.

  Glenda turned the corner onto the street where her in-laws Maude and Bob lived. As she looked down the row of little terraced houses, she thought how all the streets around here looked the same, apart from the Latchmere estate with its impressive five-storey tenement blocks. Maude had said she wouldn’t mind living in one as the views would be spectacular, and they would have an indoor lavvy. But the idea of living up high didn’t appeal to Glenda, and she was lucky as her street was more up to date so they all had bathrooms inside, with electric geysers for hot water.

  As was usual at this time of the morning, housewives in their housecoats, cardigans, curlers and scarves were busy outside, cleaning their doorsteps and enjoying neighbourly natters. A few younger children were kicking balls across the street, wearing short trousers even though it was a nippy day. Glenda put her head down and paced towards Maude’s house, hoping that none of the middle-aged busybodies would stop her for a chat. Her cheek was still puffy and she was running out of excuses to cover for Harry’s violence. The women around here must think I’m so clumsy, she thought, hoping the embarrassing truth would never come out.

  The worst thing was that everyone in these streets who knew her also knew her mother Elsie. She was a frail woman who had had Glenda late in life. The pregnancy and a traumatic childbirth had left her weak and sickly. In fact, Ted, her father, had said Elsie had never properly got over it. Her father was getting on in years too, so the last thing that Glenda wanted was to worry them both with her marital problems.

  ‘Wotcha, Glenda,’ Mrs Williams called from over the other side of the street, ‘you look like you’re in a hurry, love.’

  ‘Oh, hello, Mrs Williams. Yes, just off to pick up little Johnnie. I can’t stop, he’s teething so I don’t want to lumber Maude for much longer.’ Glenda was pleased the woman was far away enough not to notice her swollen face.

  ‘All right, dear. Give Maude my regards and say hello to your mum.’

  Glenda hurried on, glad when she finally reached number 127 and could retreat inside, away from the prying eyes of the neighbours. She still had Maude to face, though. The woman was a godsend when it came to babysitting Johnnie, but Glenda had never really liked her.

  Maude’s door was painted red, a colour she must have got from someone doing a bit of black-market dealing, and it stood out from the others on the street which were mainly black or dark blue. The knocker and letterbox were both shiny brass and there was a white wire milk-bottle holder next to the pristine doorstep. The windows were always gleaming and Maude’s net curtains were crisp white. Glenda inwardly smiled as she pictured what lay behind the ostentatious front door. The house was overfilled with crystal ornaments and carnival glass bowls, remnants of the Romany heritage that Maude strongly denied. But all the family had dark hair and swarthy skin and, although Maude tried to pass them off as Spanish, Harry had confided in Glenda about their real roots.

  Maude greeted Glenda with a warm smile and ushered her up the hallway towards the small kitchen at the back of the house.

  ‘Here’s your little mite,’ Maude said, beaming, ‘snug as a bug in a rug. I put him in here next to the stove ’cos it’s warmer. He’s been as good as gold for his old Nan. He was a bit whiney this morning, but I rubbed a drop of whisky on his gums and he’s been as happy as a sandboy.’

  Glenda silently seethed. She hated that Maude would use her old-wives’-tale remedies on Johnnie and had asked Harry on many occasions to have a word with her. But Harry’s response was always the same: it never did him any harm when he was growing up.

  ‘Thanks, Maude,’ Glenda answered, hoping she sounded sincere. ‘You’re so good with him. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  ‘It’s just experience, my girl. When you’ve had four of your own, you know a thing or two about rearing the little sods! Cor, my Harry was a little tyke! He used to run rings round me. And you’d have thought that with him being the last born I would’ve known better. Anyway, sit yourself down. I’ll make us a cuppa.’

  Glenda was desperate to pick Johnnie up from his pram and hold his soft body to hers but she resisted, knowing that Maude would berate her for disturbing the child whilst he slept. Instead, she took her coat off and slowly eased herself onto one of the four wooden chairs.

  ‘You all right there?’ asked Maude, frowning as she looked at Glenda’s discomfort.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine, thanks, Maude. I just slipped getting out of the bath last night. Caught my side on the edge.’

  Glenda could see Maude’s disbelieving expression and knew she was going to get some motherly advice.

  ‘If you say so –’ Maude shook her head ‘– but I know that boy of mine has been at it again. I’m right, ain’t I?’

  ‘No, Maude, honest. He’s been really good lately. He’s hardly raised a hand to me since Johnnie’s been born.’

  ‘I don’t believe you. Sorry, gal, but your puffed cheek tells me a different story. So come on, what happened this time?’

  Glenda’s heart sank. There was no hiding anything from this woman, but she would never give Glenda any sympathy. In fact, it was almost as if she blamed Glenda for Harry’s outbursts.

  ‘It was the usual thing, Maude, too much alcoh
ol. It’s always when Harry’s had a drink, you know that. The rest of the time he’s lovely, and he’s so good with little Johnnie. I just don’t know what to do.’ A tear slipped down her cheek which she quickly wiped away, hoping that Maude hadn’t noticed.

  ‘Well, firstly, you can stop that snivelling. That won’t do any good,’ said Maude firmly as she stirred the tea cups. ‘I’ve told you before, Harry’s just like his father. My Bob tried putting me in my place, more than once in fact. But I showed him, waited for the bugger to fall asleep then hit him square in the face with me frying pan. Broke his nose, I did. And of course he couldn’t tell his mates at the wood yard that it was a woman that did it to him. He made out he got jumped in the back alley by two big blokes. I told him, if he ever laid a hand on me again, I would cut his bloody knackers off.’

  Maude paused for a moment, took a slurp of tea and said, ‘You’ve gotta stand up to Harry. Show him you ain’t no pushover. I know he can be a handful, he always has been, but I used to get the broomstick out to him when he was a nipper. I bet he would still bloody run now if he saw me with it.’

  Maude began to chuckle, but Glenda couldn’t find it in herself to laugh. Harry was nothing like his father as Maude had suggested. Bob was a quiet, gentle man whose only vice was his Saturday-morning flutter on the horses. Maude was a strong woman who ruled over him. Some would call him henpecked, but Glenda thought he seemed happy enough to do as he was told. Maybe because he liked a quiet life, one in which he didn’t have to think for himself.

  If anything, Glenda thought, Harry was more like his mother. Maude had raised her four boys in fear of the strap and had taught them to hit first and ask questions later. Out of all of Harry’s siblings, Glenda had only met the eldest brother, Len, and his wife Connie. The other two brothers always seemed to be on the road somewhere or another. She had heard they were both prize bare-knuckle fighters, which unnerved her a little. Len seemed nice enough, though, albeit a know-it-all. She wasn’t too sure about Connie. The woman came across as cold and stuck-up but apart from Christmas Glenda didn’t have to socialise with them much.

  Maude’s family were tough and had a bit of a reputation. In fact, most of the women on the street only spoke to Maude out of fear and politeness rather than chatted because they liked her. She had caused many a fight in her younger days, slapping down any woman who even so much as looked at her the wrong way. And even now, in her later years, Maude was still a powerful force to be reckoned with, and her large frame meant she certainly had the strength to back up her fierce mouth.

  ‘It’s not as easy as that, Maude. He’s too strong for me to fight back and I’m sure if I did I would end up twice as bad.’

  ‘Well, if you ain’t prepared to fight him, you’ve gotta stop giving him cause to hit you. What set him off last night? Something happen down the Castle, did it?’

  Glenda paused to sip her hot tea. Was it her fault again? She had been a bit of a killjoy when Harry had wanted to dance. And she had run out on him. But all that about Billy Myers? Yes, she had looked over at him, not in that way of course, but Harry wasn’t to know that. Maybe it was down to her. Harry always said she pressed the wrong buttons, just like last week with his dinner. Throwing good food in the bin, wasting his hard-earned cash. She hadn’t wanted to make love last night either, but she knew it was her duty as his wife. Not that what Harry had done to her could be described as anything like making love, she thought, wincing at the memory.

  ‘Maybe,’ Glenda answered as she realised that by now she should know what her husband was like. She should be able to please him instead of continually making him angry. ‘Now I think about it, Maude, maybe I was a bit moody last night. He was still out of order for hitting me, but I suppose I asked for it really.’

  ‘There you are. You know what starts him off so make sure you don’t do it again. Harry’s a good man, Glenda. You could have done a lot worse. Blimey, when I think of all the girls that used to come sniffing round my doorstep for him. He was a bit of a catch, you know. And now look at him – working hard for you and Johnnie, doing that bricklaying in all weathers, and, like you said, he’s a proper good dad. All right, so he likes a pint after work, but he bloody well deserves it after grafting all day. He doesn’t smoke, he doesn’t gamble and I know he wouldn’t go chasing after any skirt. You’ve got a good ’un there, my girl. You’ve just gotta learn not to wind him up.’

  ‘Thanks, Maude, I appreciate your advice, but please don’t say anything to him about this. Like you say, I don’t want to wind him up again.’

  ‘Mum’s the word!’ Maude answered as she pursed her lips and pretended to zip them.

  As she drained the last of her tea, Glenda thought about getting home and making sure the house was spotless for when Harry finished work, with fresh sheets on the bed, dinner on the table and her looking ravishing. She couldn’t fight her husband, but she could make sure that she didn’t give him a reason to knock her about again.

  Chapter 2

  Billy Myers pulled up the collar of his long trenchcoat, shielding his face from the chilly wind. He had been hanging around on the high street for nearly an hour, dodging anyone who might recognise him. After all, he couldn’t risk it getting back to his foreman that he was well enough to go shopping but was too sick to work.

  As he stamped his feet to relieve the numbness, he saw Glenda Jenkins standing at the crossing with her navy-blue pram loaded with bags. At last, he thought, pleased that his efforts hadn’t been in vain. He had been looking forward to this moment since he’d seen her in the Castle a week before. He quickly darted into the ironmonger’s shop and sneaked a look through the window, waiting for her to approach. Her head was lowered against the inclement weather and her shoulders hunched as she hurried over the crossing, but Billy’s heartbeat quickened as he admired her long hair whipping at her face in the wind.

  Just as she was about to pass the shop, he made a dash for the door. ‘Hello, Glenda,’ he said with a smile, trying to appear casual.

  ‘Oh, hello, Billy.’

  Billy noticed she didn’t smile back at him but supposed it was because she was obviously in a hurry.

  ‘You look a bit overloaded there,’ he said as he pointed at the bags on the pram. ‘Let me give you a hand. Where you off to? Washday at the baths?’

  ‘Er, yes, I am, though I’m going to the butcher’s first before the queue gets too long. Thanks, Billy, but I can manage.’

  ‘Nah, come on, I’ll take these for you.’ Before Glenda could object further, he had grabbed the two large bags and was walking along beside her. ‘It’s a cold one today,’ said Billy, furiously trying to find conversation. ‘Winter will be here before we know it.’ He had planned this moment all week since seeing Glenda in the pub, but hadn’t thought about what he would say.

  Glenda didn’t answer. She just nodded as she looked ahead.

  ‘How’s the boy?’ Billy asked, nodding towards Johnnie, who was sleeping soundly in the warmth and shelter of his pram.

  ‘He’s fine, thanks, Billy.’ A few moments’ silence fell as they arrived outside the butcher’s to see that they’d made it ahead of the queue. ‘Thanks for your help,’ Glenda said, ‘I can take it from here.’

  ‘It’s all right. I could do with getting out of this wind for a bit anyway.’

  ‘There’s no need, really. I don’t wanna hold you up.’

  She’s always so polite, thought Billy before answering, ‘You won’t be holding me up. I’ve got plenty of time to kill this morning so don’t worry about me. You just get what shopping you need and I’ll carry these washbags for you.’

  Billy smiled as Glenda sighed but entered the butcher’s, where a gust of wind was blowing sawdust around the floor. He stood awkwardly as she handed over her ration book and ordered her small piece of meat, then held the door open for her to leave. I’ll show her I’ve got good manners too, he thought, doubting that Harry ever treated her like a proper lady. Judging by the remnants of a bruise
on her cheek, it looked like he’d been knocking her about again.

  As they headed up towards the public washhouse, the chilly breeze made Billy’s eyes water. He would be glad to get to the baths and retreat from the horrid weather. His nerves were getting the better of him and he was finding conversation difficult to come by.

  Finally they reached the Latchmere, and once inside Glenda removed her coat to drape it over the pram before donning a floral apron. She then took a stall and began to unload her sheets. Billy sat on a long wooden bench that ran down the length of the rear wall, enjoying the warmth of the steamy hall. He pulled his flat cap lower over his face and, as Glenda bent over to take washing from the bags, he watched and admired her pert backside. What I wouldn’t do to get my hands on that, he thought, instantly feeling hot.

  Johnnie stirred in his pram, letting out a small cry. Glenda abandoned her washing to see to her child. As she stood with Johnnie in her arms and her back turned, Billy carefully ambled towards her washbags, stealthily popped his hand in and quickly removed a pair of Glenda’s knickers, which he stuffed into his coat pocket. As he felt the silky material in his hand, Billy found himself aroused at the fantasy that one day he would have his hands on Glenda’s knickers while she was still wearing them.

  Johnnie settled down and Glenda placed him back in his pram. ‘Shouldn’t you be at work, Billy?’

  ‘It’s me mum’s legs, Glenda. They’re up like balloons! She asked me to run a few errands for her so I’ve taken the morning off. Only thing is, I had to tell a bit of a porky to my gaffer. I couldn’t tell him I was looking after Mum, so can you do me a favour and not mention to Harry that you’ve seen me today? Only him and my gaffer are pretty tight and I don’t wanna get my cards.’