A Daughter's Disgrace

by Kitty Neale

  Then her new husband had kissed her hand and led her up the stairs. Their room was perfect, spacious and with gilt-framed mirrors and elegant lamps, with a big soft bed in the centre. No danger of anyone overhearing them here, Hazel realised with delight. This was how married life should begin. With a secret smile she edged into the bathroom to change into the satin nightdress she’d saved up for. It was peach-coloured, with lots of lace around the edges. She stroked the fabric as she smoothed it over her body. She was so excited she almost tore it as she tugged down the hem. If she had her way it wouldn’t stay on for long.

  Neville was waiting for her, stretched out on the bed in his suit trousers and wedding shirt, which he’d undone. ‘Come here,’ he breathed, his eyes shining with appreciation. ‘Oh my God, Hazel, I’ve waited for this moment since I first saw you.’

  ‘Mmmm, me too.’ She lay beside him and reached for him, drawing him down to her neck. He kissed it then kissed her face, gently and then more forcefully, his breath getting faster and faster. She could feel him pulling down the straps of her nightdress, exposing her breasts, kissing them, pulling up the hem, reaching between her legs. She thought she would burst with excitement. He had struggled out of his trousers and she helped him off with his shirt. ‘Oh Neville, yes, yes, yes. Come on, I want you.’ She held him tightly, but then gasped in pain as he suddenly thrust himself inside her. It soon passed and she started to moan in pleasure.

  Then, nothing. He stopped moving. ‘Neville, what is it? Is something wrong?’ She tried to sit up but he had collapsed on top of her, pinning her to the bed. ‘Neville, what’s going on?’

  He rolled over and turned away. ‘Sorry. I’m so sorry. I must have had a bit too much to drink or something.’ She could tell he was embarrassed. ‘It won’t be like that next time.’

  She realised her legs were wet and slimy. ‘Neville? What do you mean?’

  But he wouldn’t look at her. After a while he began to snore, leaving her to cross the gorgeous room to the elegant bathroom, where she cleaned herself up. She caught sight of herself in the mirror.

  Her hair was dishevelled and her lovely nightdress was rumpled and to her eyes now looked cheap. She pulled it round so it was less noticeable. Was something wrong with her? Had she said something, done something? If so she didn’t know what it was.

  She went back to the bed and crawled under the covers, trying to work out what had happened. Neville had got it up all right but then had finished almost at once. Why hadn’t he carried on, when she was having such a good time? She’d saved herself for this, had dreamed of this, and all for nothing. What a let down.

  Shaking with disappointment, she rolled over and stared at the silhouette of the window. What a waste of all these fancy surroundings. They might as well have stayed at their new flat if that was all Neville could manage.

  Cora had allowed Fred to get her a few drinks at the reception and now she was home Terry had poured her a port and lemon. She felt quite tipsy, but very pleased. When all was said and done, the day couldn’t have gone better. Hazel had been a radiant bride, Neville a handsome groom and the bridesmaids were beautiful. As for Fred, he’d turned into the life and soul of the party. He’d even got some of the more staid church members up on their feet and dancing, wiping their sour expressions off their faces. Cora could have hugged him with relief. Now they’d be less likely to gossip about Alison behind her back. One had even come over to her to praise him. ‘I can quite see what your daughter saw in your son-in-law,’ she’d whispered. ‘If I was forty years younger myself … Not that I approve, you understand, but these things will happen. What a pleasure it must be to have someone like that in your family.’

  Talk about a turn-up for the books. Cora sipped her drink, watching as Linda poured herself a very small sherry. ‘I think I might go upstairs,’ she said. ‘You and Terry stay up as long as you like. I’m out for the count. I’ve been running round like a blue-arsed fly these last few days and now it’s all catching up with me.’

  Linda looked up, thinking it was more a case of several port and lemons catching up with her. ‘Yes, you do that. We won’t be long.’

  Terry came through from the kitchen, a bottle of beer in his hand. ‘I’ll just have this, the rewards of giving the bride away.’ He grinned at them both. ‘I wonder what they’re up to now. Making the most of that posh hotel bed, I hope.’

  ‘Terry!’ Linda pretended to swipe his arm. She hated it when he spoke like that in front of her mother.

  ‘Well, maybe they are,’ said Cora generously. ‘Bit of time to themselves after all the pressures of the big day. Just as long as it don’t give them a taste for luxuries beyond their means.’ She stiffly raised herself from the armchair. ‘Good night, then. See you in the morning.’ She tottered unsteadily to the stairs and began to climb.

  Terry stretched out on the rug in front of the unlit fire, resting his head against Linda’s legs.

  ‘What are you doing down there?’ she demanded. ‘There’s a perfectly good chair over here, you know. You’ll get dirt over your good suit and who’s going to get that clean?’

  ‘I’ll take it off if that’s any better.’ He smiled up at her. ‘Come down here and join me.’

  ‘Terry, I can’t do that!’

  ‘Course you can.’ He reached up for her hand. ‘Come down here and let’s have some fun. I was staring at you all day in that posh dress. I could have ripped it off you in front of everybody.’

  ‘Glad you didn’t,’ said Linda, but she was weakening. She knew she shouldn’t but what harm would it do? ‘Quiet, Terry, what if Mum hears us?’

  ‘She’s had that many port and lemons, she wouldn’t hear a bomb go off next to her head,’ he said. ‘And what if she does hear something? We ain’t single. We’re a respectable old married couple.’ He pulled her gently down onto the rug. ‘You were the most gorgeous creature there today, do you know that? And you’re mine, all mine. Let me show you how much I love you.’

  ‘I think I can feel that,’ giggled Linda.

  ‘You certainly can. Wouldn’t it be funny if we made June a baby brother or sister right here on your mum’s old rug?’

  ‘I’d never be able to tell anybody,’ she said, pulling off his trousers.

  ‘Maybe not,’ he breathed, ‘but we’d know, wouldn’t we?’

  Alison put her feet up on the delicate little three-legged stool that Fred had found specially for her. She was finding her legs ached more and more as the bump grew bigger. God knows what they would be like by the time it was full size. She flopped against the padded back of the sofa, glad to be home. She shook herself at the thought. She’d called this place home in her head. Maybe she was getting used to it.

  ‘Do you want a milky drink?’ Fred asked. She’d expected him to be tired out after the long day, particularly as he’d been dancing so much, but instead he seemed livelier than ever. She’d noticed there’d been no sign of his wheezing. Maybe dancing was good for you. The grumpy old ladies had certainly seemed to enjoy it.

  ‘No, you go ahead and have one.’ She smiled weakly up at him.

  ‘Do you know, I think I might have a drop of Scotch,’ he said. ‘After all, it’s a special day, isn’t it? Not often your sister gets married.’

  ‘Not often you get a chance to dance with half the seventy-year-olds in Battersea either.’

  ‘You didn’t mind, did you?’ Then he realised she was teasing. ‘Well, I thought it wouldn’t do any harm. They was sitting there, faces like lemons, they needed a bit of help to get into the party spirit. I was only doing my bit.’

  ‘Very kind of you.’ She rolled her ankles from side to side. ‘I couldn’t have been on my feet a moment longer. But I’m glad I didn’t deprive you of your fun.’

  He sipped at his whisky and nodded. ‘No, it was a good day. I hope it’s the start of a happy future for them. Who knows, it might make your sister a bit kinder.’

  Alison raised her eyebrows. ‘Not sure how that would happen
. Hazel’s Hazel.’

  He sat down beside her. ‘I know, I know. But it might … I don’t know. This is the whisky talking. I just thought, having a proper bit of loving in her life might soften her a little. Make her less inclined to hit out. Sorry, I’m being a soft old sod.’

  ‘Neville’s got his work cut out to make her happy,’ Alison predicted. ‘She won’t be content with that flat for long. You think Mum’s harsh when she says some of those things about Hazel but she’s right. My sister likes the good things in life.’

  ‘I can’t blame her for that,’ said Fred, gazing round the living room that Alison had begun to add little touches to.

  Alison shrugged. She did like the comforts that came with living with Fred. She loved the fact that everything was new, unlike the depressing worn-out stuff in her mother’s house that had been poor quality to start with. She liked the way the toaster worked without her having to fiddle with the plug, that there was hot water whenever she wanted it, that there was a proper bath and no more old tin tub. It seemed crazy that there was another room on the top floor with a shower in it – and yet she was getting used to all this luxury fast. She loved the items that made life easier. They just weren’t the main thing. Fred provided for her in the material sense but more than that, he gave her confidence and she was beginning to feel that she could be herself. The flat and the furnishings and the money were extras. It was different for Hazel, and suddenly she had the feeling that something would go badly wrong for her sister. She shivered.

  ‘You cold?’ asked Fred, immediately on his feet. ‘Shall I get you something?’

  Alison smiled. ‘No, I’m all right. But I think I’ll turn in.’ She heaved herself to her feet and faced him. ‘See you in the morning. We’ve got that delivery of pork arriving first thing, remember.’

  She headed for the room Fred had first put her in that night he’d found her in the churchyard. It was hers now. She’d begun to buy things for it that were to her taste, knowing Hazel would have given her eye teeth for soft bedding and new furniture, but they didn’t really matter. The main thing was she was safe here. Nobody would call her names, insult her, attack her in the street. This was her haven, a room facing the backyard of the butcher’s shop.

  She hoped Hazel felt as safe in the arms of her new husband, but she couldn’t shake off the sensation that something terrible was going to happen.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  ‘How did the wedding go?’ called Joe as Hazel walked along through the market stalls. ‘Everyone admire the dress, did they? And how was the wedding night?’ he asked as she drew closer.

  ‘Enough of your cheek,’ said Hazel, pretending to be outraged. ‘Yes, everyone loved the frock, you done me proud. Got to dash, I’m on my lunch hour.’ She sped up and walked on, as Joe shook his head.

  ‘What’s got into her?’ he said aloud.

  ‘Thought you said she just got married,’ leered Barry from the stall opposite. ‘She’ll have had plenty into her, won’t she.’

  Hazel knew they were talking about her behind her back but she ignored them. Everyone was being friendly and interested but she didn’t want to speak to any of them. Here she was, back shopping at the market, as if her special day had never happened. The only difference was all their savings were gone and they had to scrimp even more. Her fantasies about transforming the new flat into their first beautiful home had been short-lived. Most of their wages would have to go on rent and food, leaving them little to save.

  She wouldn’t even be able to rely on decent cuts of meat from her sister but would have to return to the butcher’s market stall instead, to get scrag ends. Fuming, she stood in the queue, her fierce expression putting anyone off talking to her.

  That hadn’t been the biggest disappointment though. Things hadn’t improved in bed. She couldn’t believe she’d spent so long saving herself for Neville only for it all to be such an anti-climax. He’d tried and failed every night since the wedding, and last night she’d lost her temper, telling him not to bother. She couldn’t believe he was getting any enjoyment out of it. She certainly wasn’t. Was this really what it was like for most people?

  ‘Good to see you back, Hazel,’ said the butcher. ‘Or do I say Mrs Parrot now?’

  ‘No need,’ said Hazel with gritted teeth. ‘A pound of that, please. And half of sausages.’

  Her sister’s good fortune added to her anger. How come Alison had nearly disgraced them all and yet she’d landed in the lap of luxury when she, Hazel, had done everything right but ended up as poor as ever and with a husband who couldn’t satisfy her? It was enough to make her weep. If she wasn’t careful she might have to concede that her mother had been right after all about Neville. No, she wasn’t ready to believe that quite yet. But he was threatening to be a disappointment in every sense.

  ‘Penny for ’em,’ said the butcher.

  Hazel realised she’d been standing staring into space and the women in the queue behind her were starting to mutter. Bloody interfering old bags, she thought, paying for her meat and then turning back towards the café. She was back to working five days a week, but sitting alone in the flat on her days off when Neville was at work only reminded her of how little money they had to spend on it. Maybe she’d go back to working the extra day. It wasn’t as if she had to sleep in after long nights of unbridled passion.

  It’s early days yet, she reminded herself, you got to give it time. In one way she should be pleased; it showed that Neville hadn’t been at it with loads of other women before he met her or, worse, behind her back while they were engaged. That had happened to some girls she knew and she’d always prided herself that her Neville would never have done that. He’d never betray her. Yet now she found herself wishing that he had – at least he might have picked up a few useful tips.

  She’d never admit what was happening to anyone. It was too shameful. To think that she, talked about as one of the best-looking girls in Battersea, had chosen someone who couldn’t make love to her was too painful to put into words. She deserved better than this. Life had cheated her. Meanwhile her sister was living the life of Riley with her new clothes and what sounded like a huge new flat. She had no intention of going round to visit – she was far too envious.

  Head held high, Hazel strode back to the café, where at least she’d be too busy to worry about what was going on at home.

  The next few weeks were too hectic for Linda to even think about how her sisters were doing. Terry had heard of a bigger house coming up and persuaded her to go to see it.

  ‘Isn’t it too soon?’ she’d asked him. ‘We don’t want to rush into anything.’

  He’d won her round and when she caught sight of it she knew why. It wasn’t modern but it was an end of terrace, with a big garden. Whoever had had it last had installed a proper inside bathroom, for which she was glad – she wasn’t going back to outside lavs and tin baths for anyone. The kitchen was as up to date as it could be and there were gas fires in every room. Best of all there was a third big bedroom and a small box room. When she looked out from the box-room window she could see the downs in the distance.

  ‘Oh Terry,’ she’d said, turning to him. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking? What this could be?’

  Terry didn’t have to be asked. He knew the way his wife’s mind worked. ‘It’ll be the nursery,’ he said. ‘It’s big enough for a cot and a cupboard and a comfy chair. You can sit here with June’s little brother or sister and nurse him or her and look out at the view.’ He smiled at her. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, and June’s room all pink.’

  ‘Whatever you want,’ he agreed. ‘But it will have been worth it, won’t it?’

  ‘Don’t remind me,’ she’d muttered.

  They’d never have managed to live in such a place if Terry hadn’t taken those risks, she told herself, as she cleaned up in the old kitchen for the last time. Terry hadn’t let the grass grow under his feet but had signed for the new house th
e day after viewing it. Now after several weeks of frantic planning, packing and organising, they were moving later that afternoon. She gazed around her kitchen with a pang of sadness. She’d thought it was luxury beyond her wildest dreams the first time she’d set foot in it. Now it seemed poky and old-fashioned in comparison to the new place. Pull yourself together, she murmured, as she finished mopping the floor. Nobody was going to be able to find fault with the way they left the house. She wouldn’t have anyone saying she was a slob.

  Finally satisfied, she twisted the mop to wring the water from it and emptied the bucket into the outside drain. The floor in the new kitchen would be easier to clean too – it had beautiful checked lino tiles, freshly laid by the looks of them. She’d have to make sure her friends didn’t wear stilettos when they came to visit.

  She quickly ran through the checklist she’d memorised. Boxes packed and labelled, the one with the kettle, teapot and cups on the top. June to be picked up to spend the afternoon after nursery with her best friend. Keys to be posted through the landlord’s letterbox. Last-minute items – coat, hand towel, cleaning things – to go into the big shopping bag. At last, everything was ready to go. She could sit down and take a breather, even if she couldn’t make a cup of tea.

  As she sank onto the one remaining kitchen chair, she began to relax. Anything that hadn’t been done by now would just have to stay undone, she could do no more. Satisfied with her work, she sighed with pleasant exhaustion. Then the thought struck her.

  When had she last had her monthlies? Before Hazel’s wedding, surely. Yes, the more she thought about it, the more definite she was. What if Terry’s prediction had come true and they had managed to conceive a baby that night on her mother’s rug, as they tried in vain to stifle their shouts of passion? The harder they’d tried to be quiet, the worse it got. She blamed the sherry. Her mother had looked at her strangely the next morning but hadn’t said anything.

  Linda tutted. Here she was, getting her hopes up all over again. Don’t even think about it, she warned herself. Don’t jinx your first days in your new house. This is a fresh start – no more deliveries of dodgy boxes, no waking in the night wondering what’s in them or if they’ve been stolen. Don’t set yourself up for disappointment. Forget you’ve counted back on your fingers and worked out it’s possible.