Читать книгу Walking Back to Happiness - Anne Bennett - Страница 9

If Hannah could have confided in Gloria she could have told her that her contentment in marriage had lasted just six weeks, until the end of October. It hadn’t been a bed of roses until then of course, for the problems in the bedroom, which Arthur had never managed to control, had caused him great distress.

Added to that, his meanness, which had reared its ugly head on honeymoon, continued into their married life. He doled out meagre amounts of housekeeping every Friday evening, examined the shopping lists meticulously and quizzed Hannah for hours if she asked for more.

Apart from that, Hannah disliked his treatment of Josie. Despite his promise of trying his best to get on with her Hannah couldn’t help feeling that if that was his best, she’d hate to see his worst, for he’d never really taken to the child. Sometimes he was so open in showing his dislike and resentment, that Hannah became frustrated and angry with him.

Then one day, towards the very end of October, Arthur came home from work in a foul mood. He’d been odd for a few days, morose and snappy, but Hannah, thinking he maybe had a problem at work that he didn’t want to talk about, didn’t worry too much about it. But Arthur had no problem at work; his problem was his marriage and that meant Hannah.

Despite inheriting the house and hints the boss was dropping about dependable married men, he doubted he’d have been swayed to marry anyone if Mrs Emmerson hadn’t urged him to ask Hannah. And he had to admit that he’d been flattered when she’d accepted his proposal.

He’d been aware he had a sexual problem. He knew his penis didn’t go hard, but then he thought he’d never given it occasion to. Before Hannah, he’d never had any encounter of that type, knowing his mother wouldn’t have liked it. And not having discussed the matter of a hardened penis with anyone, he didn’t know how normal it was and what to do about it. In fact, he was so hazy about the sexual act that eventually, and with great embarrassment, he’d entered a shop in one of the seedier areas of Birmingham and bought himself a book on the matter.

However, it hadn’t touched on his problems at all. The book seemed to take it for granted that the desire and love the man had for his partner would make the penis erect naturally. It wasn’t something you could ask anyone about, not even a doctor and Arthur had no idea what to do.

In his heart he knew he shouldn’t have married, but he had and that was that. Initially, his abortive attempts caused him shame and embarrassment, then utter humiliation and eventually, anger.

And this anger he turned on Hannah, pushing away her arms when she sought to comfort him that night. ‘Get off me! It’s all your bloody fault,’ he shouted at her when he’d again tried and failed.

‘What is? What is it?’

‘You know what! A bloody temptress that’s what you are!’

Still Hannah felt sorry for him. She was as confused as Arthur over his sexual problem. Like him, she could never bring herself to speak about it, but she understood how it must make him feel. ‘I told you it doesn’t matter,’ she said consolingly.

‘Of course it bloody matters. Are you some sodding imbecile that can’t understand that?’

Hannah gave a small gasp. This was the side of Arthur she’d never seen before. The face he turned towards her was almost puce, he was so angry, and his eyes were wild, his hair standing in spikes where he’d run his hands through it.

Still she persisted. ‘Look, Arthur, I know it’s important, but there’s plenty of time. Shall I pop down and make us both a cup of tea?’

‘Tea! Tea! You bloody stupid bugger, you,’ Arthur cried, pushing at her so that she fell on the bed where he straddled her, holding down her arms while he spat out a stream of abuse, vile words, some Hannah had never heard before.

She thrashed on the bed to free herself, but Arthur held her fast, tightening his grip on her arms while he continued to yell obscenities at her. She closed her eyes for the light was still on and she couldn’t bear the look in his eyes, nor his thin lips, rimmed with spittle.

Eventually, the violent tirade was over and Arthur rolled away from her. Through anger, he’d felt a stirring inside him that any desire he’d felt for Hannah had never achieved, but still he was ashamed of his behaviour.

As for Hannah, she felt abused. If Arthur had had sex with her, which would have been his right after all, she’d have felt it at least showed normal behaviour. But this filthy, vitriolic abuse he threw at her was hard to bear and she hurt and ached all over, too, from his rough handling. Every time she closed her eyes she relived the scene and it was the early hours of the morning before she finally slept.

In the morning, she lay and tried to analyse the situation. Arthur was not naturally a violent man. Obviously, his frustrations had spilled over, that was all. Maybe she should battle to overcome her reticence and try and convince him to seek help. Perhaps there were things he could do, drugs he could take. They could do wonderful things these days.

Arthur, coming into the bedroom from the bathroom after a shave, saw that Hannah was awake and knelt down by her side of the bed. ‘I’m sorry about last night,’ he said, ‘really sorry. I don’t know what came over me.’

Hannah smiled at him. Hadn’t she just told herself that that was the way of it? A one-off occurrence that would never happen again and so didn’t have to be referred to at all. ‘It’s all right,’ she told him. ‘I understand.’

‘You are a wonderful wife,’ Arthur said earnestly, giving Hannah’s cheek a kiss. ‘The most wonderful wife in all the world.’

It was a little harder for Hannah to face Josie, who showed by her plain embarrassment and downcast eyes that she’d heard every word of the confrontation in the bedroom the previous night. Still, it wasn’t something Hannah felt she had to explain and certainly not to a child of nine, so she busied herself making breakfast.

Later, Hannah made her way to the guesthouse where she would help Gloria clear up after the breakfast, tidy and clean the rooms and prepare the evening meals for her paying guests.

It was only when the guesthouse was particularly full that Hannah would be required to wait on in the evenings now. Most times, Gloria said she could manage and Hannah was home in time to eat with Arthur and Josie.

Normally, she enjoyed the work and the company although that morning she wished she didn’t have to go, for she was tired. She knew too she didn’t look her best and that Gloria would be sure to remark on it. And she did, after a swift look at Hannah’s face as she entered the kitchen. ‘You all right?’ she asked ‘You don’t look at all well.’

‘No, I’m all right,’ Hannah said. ‘I … I didn’t get much sleep.’

‘Oh yes,’ Gloria said with a knowing wink and when Hannah flushed crimson she went on, ‘I mean it’s natural and you are married.’

‘There is nothing natural in our marriage,’ Hannah wanted to cry. But this was something she could not share, not with anyone, so she forced herself to smile at Gloria as she exchanged her outdoor coat for an overall and began her work for the day.

For the next week things went on as normal and on 5th November, Hannah, Arthur and Josie went to a bonfire and fireworks party, which a friend of Gloria’s was having in their garden. ‘There will be soup and sausages and things to eat,’ Hannah told Arthur. ‘Do say it’s all right?’

Arthur had no desire after a day at work to strike out again into the cold streets to watch a fire and a few paltry fireworks, but he went for Hannah’s sake. She intimated that it was for Josie, but really she was as excited as the child.

He knew because Hannah had told him that they’d not had bonfire nights in Ireland, but Hannah had gone to her first one with friends from the hotel the first year she was in England. By the second year it was 1939, war had been declared, and bonfires and fireworks had been banned.

He wanted to please Hannah, because he still felt incredibly guilty about his behaviour and it wasn’t as if it would actually cost anything. That made the decision as far as Arthur was concerned.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I consider it an utter waste of money buying fireworks to light up the sky and can never understand people wanting to do it, but if you want to go so much, we will look in for an hour or so.’

Hannah and Josie had a wonderful time. Josie’s eyes were wide with astonishment at the fireworks. Roman candles, Golden Rain and Catherine wheels. Even the names were exciting and the bright colours of them sparking into the black night brought oohs and ahhs from more than Josie who’d eaten so many sausages, Hannah said she’d never sleep.

But she did, they all did, and the next morning Hannah got up in a buoyant mood. Life wasn’t so bad, she thought, and Arthur could be handled easily with a little care and attention. Her good mood lasted all that day and even Gloria commented on it.

But Arthur came home again that evening in a foul mood. All day he’d fought his conscience because he knew he wanted to make love to Hannah and he knew not only would he fail, but also that it would probably turn out the same as last time, and he would be ashamed of himself because of it.

Hannah was unprepared for the assault that night, relaxed and at ease. She was pulling her nightie over her head when Arthur entered the room. In two strides he was behind her, wrapping one arm vice-like around her waist while pulling the nightie from her with the other.

Hannah gave a yelp and hearing the material tear, she cried out sharply, ‘Arthur, stop! What’s got into you?’

‘Shut up! Shut your mouth!’ Arthur cried, as he flicked the light out and kicked the door closed.

Hannah was nervous of the man she barely knew in this mood, but she didn’t struggle. She had the feeling that he’d enjoyed her futile attempts to free herself the last time. This time she lay passive and felt his breath on her face as he screamed obscenities at her. She was conscious of Josie lying the other side of a stud wall and knew every syllable from Arthur’s lips would be audible to her.

And it was audible, even when she buried her head beneath the blankets and wrapped her pillow around her ears. It was filthy talk, dirty words that she’d never heard from any man in her family. Some she didn’t know the meaning of, but knew they weren’t nice by the way Arthur said them. She wondered what he was doing to Hannah while he was saying such things, she’d been very quiet since the one short shout. What if he’d hurt her, killed her even? No, if he’d killed her there’d be no point in going on shouting at her. But all the same, she trembled in fear both for herself and Hannah.

Hannah wasn’t dead, but petrified with loathing for the stranger her husband had turned into. His apologies the next morning were as sincere as ever, but when he assured her it wouldn’t happen again, she didn’t believe him.

It was as well she didn’t for the same thing happened the next week and the next and the next. Sometimes only two or three days would pass, sometimes a week. Arthur always apologised and said how ashamed he was, but he refused to discuss his problem or seek help.

‘My God, girl, you look peaky,’ Gloria remarked one day. ‘Mind you, you’ve not looked yourself for days. You’re not … you know, expecting?’

‘No,’ Hannah said tersely, thinking ‘fat chance’. Gloria looked offended at Hannah’s tone and eventually she said, ‘Sorry, Gloria, I’m tired, I’m not getting much sleep.’

‘Well, I must say I’m surprised at Arthur,’ Gloria said. ‘Didn’t think he had it in him.’

Hannah’s mind was befuddled because of lack of sleep. ‘Had what in him?’

‘Don’t act the innocent with me,’ Gloria said quite sharply. ‘You know what’s what as well as I do. Some men are the very devil, want to be at it morning, noon and night. You need to put your foot down.’

Hannah knew now what Gloria had been hinting at and hid a wry smile at Arthur being thought of as a sex-crazed Casanova.

Just before Christmas, a letter with an airmail stamp from America arrived and Hannah snatched it up eagerly, glad that Arthur always left for work before the post came. It hadn’t been the first letter Hannah had had because Martin in particular wrote often and kept her up to date with the news.

This letter was no exception and in it Martin wrote of the impending marriage in March the following year of Siobhan to a wealthy New York banker.

He wrote,

Her future is assured now and so is mine for I’ve obtained a good job in a factory belonging to one of Aunt Norah’s friends.

The farm business is now completed and Josie’s share will be a little under three hundred pounds. We all also feel that while it was very good of you to take Josie into your home, you shouldn’t suffer financially because of it. I will be sending twenty dollars a month for her and Siobhan and her husband another twenty dollars. We hope that this will help towards her upkeep.

Hannah was filled with relief at the offer of financial assistance, for Arthur had made it clear almost from the beginning that he was not clothing the child. Feeding her was bad enough, he’d said, and Hannah would have to apply to the family if she needed more money.

She’d never done this, but knew if Josie grew much more, nothing she had would fit her. Added to that, the black patent shoes she’d bought her for the wedding were not strong enough, nor warm enough, to wear through the winter, which was prophesised to be a bad one with much rain and snow.

So while the monthly allowance was a lifeline and one Hannah decided to use as needed, the three hundred pounds was Josie’s security. The future payment for a wedding and honeymoon perhaps, for Hannah knew that Arthur would not contribute to either when the time came.

No luxuries were affordable on the money Arthur gave Hannah and she was finding more and more of her wages were being used to supplement the household budget.

But Hannah seldom complained and tried hard to keep the house peaceful, knowing that if she annoyed Arthur in any way she’d pay for it later. But somehow, she had to safeguard Josie’s money for she knew Arthur would have it off her faster than the speed of light and she’d never see a penny of it again.

She wrote to Martin, thanking him for his and Siobhan’s offer of financial help for Josie. She accepted gratefully on her behalf, but Josie’s share of the sale, she said, she’d rather he kept and tied up in some fund or another to mature when she reached twenty-one, and in a way that no one else could touch it.

Josie was delighted that Hannah was eventually being paid something for her keep, for she’d felt bad about living on her and knew Arthur resented it, but Hannah’s handling of her inheritance worried her. ‘Won’t Arthur really be cross?’

‘He may indeed,’ Hannah said. ‘Sure isn’t that why I’ve asked Martin to have it tied up in trust for you?’

‘Doesn’t it … Isn’t it a bit sneaky?’

‘With Arthur, you have to be sneaky,’ Hannah told Josie. ‘He’d have the money off you before you’d had the chance to see the colour of it and that can’t be right either. Your mammy wouldn’t want that. She’d want the money to benefit you in some way, wouldn’t she? I’ll tell Arthur that Martin decided it that way, then he can’t blame either of us, can he?’ But Hannah knew Arthur would be furious when he discovered that he was unable to touch Josie’s inheritance.

Josie chewed her thumbnail. ‘I suppose,’ she said at last. ‘But what if you need it? I mean what if you had a baby of your own or something?’

‘That won’t happen, Josie,’ Hannah said grimly. ‘Believe me, that just won’t happen.’

She felt suddenly very sorry for herself. She’d married a man she didn’t love in order to have a child. And that was the one thing he couldn’t give her. And because he couldn’t give her a child, he hurled obscenities at her and abused her whenever the notion took him. It seemed to her she’d dealt herself a very bad fist indeed. It was a kind of justice, some would say.

Josie was looking at her with concern. She knew she’d said something to upset Hannah, but had no idea what it was. Hannah caught sight of the woebegone face. Whatever was wrong in her marriage at least they’d both had a choice in the matter, she told herself sternly. Josie had had none, it was nearly Christmas and she was still but a child.

She tried to push despondency aside and get into the festive mood. She extracted the dollar bills from the envelope – the first month’s payment, and said, ‘Now that you’ve broken up from school and I’m not needed at the guesthouse till after New Year, what do you say to having a day in town, just the two of us, and buying in some goodies and maybe a few presents for people?’

‘Grand!’ Josie said, glad that her aunt’s good humour seemed to have returned. ‘And,’ she went on, anxious not to be a drain on resources, ‘I do know all about Santa Claus and that, you know. A girl at school told me.’

‘That’s all right then,’ Hannah said with a mock sigh of relief. She was glad she’d used some of her wages to buy things for Josie for weeks now to make sure her first Christmas without her mother and family around her wouldn’t be a total disappointment. Santa Claus-believer or not, she would get a stocking to open on Christmas Day morning, before setting off for Gloria’s where it had been arranged they would spend the day.

And the day wouldn’t have been so bad at all, despite the lack of festive cheer in the Bradley household, if Arthur hadn’t seen fit to launch one of his verbal attacks on Hannah in the early hours of Christmas morning.

He’d been moody since he’d come home that afternoon and Hannah couldn’t understand why. He should have been in good spirits; they’d had a little party in the office at lunchtime, a few drinks with his colleagues and his boss, and he’d come home with a sizeable bonus, and a large box of chocolates for Hannah, the same as all the company wives had.

Hannah at least was delighted for, with the sweet ration still in place, chocolates were like gold dust, and yet nothing seemed to cheer Arthur.

Hannah wasn’t too worried. She knew her husband’s passion for hoarding money and for spending as little as possible and she thought it had probably upset him to have to increase her housekeeping in order to supply the few extras that even he saw they needed at Christmas time.

She took it as a hopeful sign that he agreed to go with her and Josie to the Abbey for Midnight Mass, certain the beautifully clear night with the stars twinkling and the moon shining down, lighting up the earlier fall of snow that crackled under people’s feet, would be enough to lift anyone’s spirits. ‘Very Christmassy, a bit of snow,’ she said, slipping her arm through Arthur’s.

He just grunted a response, but Josie squeezed Hannah’s other hand and said, ‘I love snow too.’

Neither of them knew of the long hard winter to come when they’d be heartily sick of snow, but that night, it had a sense of rightness about it. The world was a beautiful place, Hannah decided, and it was almost Christmas Day. What could be better?

She couldn’t believe it when she felt Arthur’s weight upon her later that night. She’d been almost asleep, the carols still running in her head when he launched his attack as he came in from the bathroom. She tried to twist away from his grasp and felt her nightie rip open as it was torn from her. ‘For pity’s sake, Arthur, will you leave me be?’ she cried.

But it was if she hadn’t spoken and somehow the obscene words that Arthur spat out that night seemed to defile all that had gone before.

Afterwards, aching everywhere, Hannah cried herself to sleep and was in no great humour for Arthur’s abject apology the next day. ‘Don’t say you’re sorry,’ she cried. ‘Just don’t. If you were sorry, you’d not do such things to me. Leave me be, Arthur. It’s not right the things you do. Surely you can see that?’

Arthur got to his feet, avoiding her eyes, and began to dress. ‘Look me full in the face and tell me what you do is normal behaviour,’ she demanded shrilly.

And then Arthur faced her, his own face expressionless and his voice cold. ‘If you’ve quite finished your tantrum,’ he said, ‘it’s time to get up.’ He paused at the door and said, ‘By the way, my dear – Happy Christmas.’

If Hannah had anything to hand she would have hurled it after Arthur. Instead she punched the life out of the pillow and imagined it to be his face. She knew that Arthur would never in a million years believe that he might be in the wrong. In a way, she wished that she wasn’t going to Gloria’s house that day. Gloria was too astute by half and Hannah knew that feeling and looking as she did, she’d not be able to convince her that her life was hunky-dory.

Hannah was right; Gloria was not fooled. She sensed the tension in every line of Hannah’s face and the smile that seemed to have been nailed there. Only Arthur seemed normal, for Josie was far too quiet, especially as it was Christmas Day.

I’ll pop over and see her one day soon, she promised herself, and have a chat. See what’s what. But she couldn’t, for the bad weather put paid to any plans she had.

At first, most people had been quite philosophical about the snow. After all, that’s what happened in winter and Birmingham only really got a sprinkling of it that didn’t last long. The children loved it through the Christmas holidays, making snowmen, hurling snowballs at the unsuspecting and making slides that were a danger to life and limb for the unwary.

The adults struggled to maintain some semblance of order to their lives, going to work and shopping and later, when the schools reopened, taking children to school. But gradually things slowed down and ground to a halt altogether in some cases. The snow was relentless and blown into drifts by the gusting winds. This then froze solid at night and was covered by more snow the next day. The skies were leaden grey and not a glimmer of sun penetrated them and so lights were kept on most of the day and fires stoked up.

This caused a further problem in the increase in power used and so power cuts began and coal was rationed. Trams and trains were very late, or cancelled altogether. They couldn’t run on rails filled with frozen ice, while buses and other vehicles couldn’t operate on roads cut off by snow. As fast as the emergency services cleared them, they were soon as bad as ever.

1947 was the first year Gloria had not gone to the January Sales in the city centre stores. Normally, she stocked up on things for the guesthouse, as well as finding a few choice bargains for herself.

Even collecting the weekly rations was a chore. Not indeed that there was much in the shops to be had, for many supplies were just not getting through. One woman that very day in the grocer’s had commented to anyone interested, ‘Looks like the bloke upstairs thinks Hitler d’aint kill enough of us already with his bloody bombs, he’s now trying to starve us to death.’

She wasn’t so far wrong either, Gloria remarked to Amy later. ‘I mean, I don’t say it’s got much to do with God, like, but some of the shelves are near empty. And it’s no joke with half the stuff on ration anyhow. I mean, if they haven’t got one thing in, then you’ve got hardly much choice to get anything else. Must be a nightmare for women with families to feed.’

Gloria was glad she had Amy to talk to, glad their back doors were not that far away and that Tom always cleared the path so they could pop into one another’s houses. She often thought she’d have gone mad in that big rambling house without Amy. Of course, normally she would have been kept busy. She was usually quieter through December, but once the New Year was over, the commercial travellers were on the road again, trying to make up the money spent out in the festive season.

But not this year. In a way, she was pleased she didn’t have to heat the whole place as well as finding coal for the residents’ dining room and lounge for there was a desperate shortage of it. As it was, she’d shut off all the house, but her own rooms, and even then she often went to bed early to save fuel.

She wasn’t in trouble yet with money. She was canny with it and had plenty saved and yet she knew she couldn’t go on with the situation indefinitely without any income.

She wasn’t the only one. Many people either couldn’t get to work, or got there and found there was no heating and often no light either. She’d seen pictures in the Evening Mail of people in shops wearing overcoats and trying to serve customers by candlelight.

But thinking of families brought Hannah to mind and how odd she’d been at Christmas. If she’d have been able to see her since, she’d have felt better. Amy knew what her friend was fretting over.

‘You can’t do anything about Hannah,’ she said. ‘She’s a married woman now.’

‘I know that, Amy, but you must admit she was peculiar over Christmas, they all were.’

Amy knew they were. She and Tom had come over in the evening for a bit of tea and you could have cut the atmosphere between Hannah and Arthur with a knife. But it wouldn’t help Gloria to tell her that. She was a proper old worryguts about the girl as it was, but she was no fool either. ‘Maybe she was a bit strained,’ she admitted. ‘They’d probably had a tiff.’

‘Do you think that’s all it was, a bit of a row?’ Gloria asked anxiously.

‘Bound to be,’ Amy said confidently. ‘Newlywed, see. Still getting to know one another.’

‘If only I could see her, check that everything is all right.’

‘Why shouldn’t it be?’ Amy said. ‘She’s better off than us, only yards from the High Street in Erdington and Tom says they try and keep that clear. Doesn’t always work of course, but I bet Hannah can get out to shop and get coal delivered.’

‘You’re right there,’ Gloria said. ‘I thought that last coal lorry was going to overturn.’

‘Or go ploughing through someone’s garden and into their front rooms,’ Amy said with a grim smile, remembering the coal man’s valiant efforts to control his lorry that had skidded the last time he’d tried to deliver coal to them. ‘Tom says this road’s a bugger,’ Amy went on. ‘You should see him slithering and sliding over it to reach the main drag. Mind you, the kids make it worse. Them and their flipping slides. Something should be done about it before someone breaks their neck.’

‘They’re bored with the schools all closed,’ Gloria said wearily. ‘We’ll just have to put up with it. God knows, it can’t go on forever.’ She gave a sigh and said, ‘Put a few pieces of coal on that fire, Amy, before it dies out altogether and I’ll make us some tea.’