Emma (19 page)

‘There must be more,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what he does with it, Mum – but I know the shop makes a good profit. He takes the money out, but where he puts it—’ I shrugged my shoulders. ‘Not that it matters. I don’t care about the money. I’ve sometimes thought about leaving. It might be safer for me and the baby.’

‘You can’t think he would hurt the baby?’ She looked at me in horror. ‘He isn’t that bad, is he?’

‘No, not all the time,’ I said and shook my head. ‘No, of course he isn’t, Mum. I’m just feeling down. Sometimes I feel things aren’t too bad – then I get miserable and wish I could run away.’

‘I know just how you feel, love. It was that way for me for years. When Harold was nice, I enjoyed being his wife. I was proud of his business sense. Then he would think I was looking at a man and he would be furious. I used to lie in bed at night and wish I could go off somewhere, but I wasn’t brave enough. I couldn’t go and neither can you.’ An odd look was in her eyes. ‘Not yet. Don’t despair, love. It won’t always be this bad, I promise you.’

How could Mother say that? I wondered as I washed the cups and went back to bed. Richard was snoring loudly now. I looked at him with a growing disgust. I had tried hard to come to terms with being his wife. I had almost convinced myself that I was happy – but I was lying. Richard could be nice one day and cruel the next. He seemed as if he was driven by a demon – perhaps his jealousy – when the drink got into him. He said he cared for me, but he hated me too. And he wanted to punish me. What sort of a life was that for any woman?

What sort of a woman was I if I let him get away with treating me like dirt? At first I had responded to his lovemaking, but now I was beginning to dread the moment he reached for me. I longed for freedom – for the right to choose whether or not I wanted to make love.

One day I was going to be independent. One day I would have money of my own: I would be in a position to look after myself. And I would never marry again …

What was I thinking? I was married. I was trapped and there was no way out for me as far as I could see, no matter what my mother said to comfort me.

Richard brought flowers home the next evening. He looked awkward as he gave them to me, but didn’t apologise. ‘I was thinking we might go somewhere for your birthday,’ he said. ‘Perhaps to London? We could see a show and do some shopping.’

I stared at him, not quite sure how to react to this suggestion. My birthday was two weeks away. I’d never been to London, and the idea itself appealed to me.

‘I’d like that,’ I said, deciding to take him at face value. ‘Thank you for thinking of it – but it depends how Father is by then.’

‘He’ll be all right,’ Richard replied. ‘It was just a bad attack of his stomach trouble, that’s all.’

‘Perhaps,’ I agreed, though not convinced he was right. There was no real reason why I should care what my father felt, but somehow I did. Maybe the old folk are right when they say blood is thicker than water – or perhaps it was because Father was very different with me these days.

Had ill health made him look at things in a new light? Gran always said that the approach of death was a great leveller.

‘It makes folk think, lass,’ she had once told me. ‘It’s not good to go with too much bad feeling left behind.’

Sometimes I saw a look in my father’s eyes that I thought was wistful, as though he wished he could turn back the clock.

After a couple of days’ rest, during which Father left me to manage the shop alone, he did seem better. His illness had taken something out of him, though, and his manner had continued to soften towards me, losing its old harshness. He often smiled at me now and didn’t grumble about me fetching the doctor, even going so far as to thank me for my concern and insisting I let Richard take me to London for my birthday.

‘Well … if you’re sure you can manage?’ I looked at him doubtfully. ‘I don’t want to leave you in the lurch if you’re ill.’

He made no reply, but seemed thoughtful. On the morning we were due to leave for London, he gave me an envelope with twenty pounds inside.

‘It’s for your birthday,’ he said sheepishly. ‘And you’ll be needing things – for yourself and the baby.’

‘Thank you.’ I was so surprised I hardly knew what to say. ‘It’s a lot of money, Father.’

‘You’re a good girl, Emma. Always have been.’ Unable to meet my gaze, he lowered his own. ‘I don’t blame you for what happened, despite the things I’ve said. I’d just like to get my hands on the swine who did it to you. Your mother should never have harboured him here. That sort are never to be trusted. If she hadn’t invited him to tea—’

‘It might still have happened. I would have met him somehow. I was in love with him, no matter what he was.’

I gave him a straight look. Clearly he had decided to forgive me, but not my mother. The breach between them had gone too deep to be mended.

It made me feel sad – and once again I decided to try and patch things up with Richard. He didn’t deserve that I should, but divorce wasn’t easy. If only I could wipe out the hurt in my husband’s mind, things might improve.

I would never love Richard, but there must be lots of women who endured similar marriages. I would just have to live with it somehow. What else could I do?

London amazed me. I’d never imagined it could be so large and noisy. We travelled up on the early train, disembarked amongst the crowds of people flowing in and out of Liverpool Street station, took a bus to Marble Arch, which gave me an opportunity to stare in wonder at the sights, and then spent two hours walking along Oxford and Regent Street. The pavements thronged with people, all of whom seemed to be in a hurry, and crossing the road was a terrifying experience – but I loved the shops.

‘What do you want to do now?’ Richard asked after we’d had a proper three-course lunch in a smart restaurant. ‘We could go to the waxworks if you like – or the zoo? Or would you prefer more shops?’

‘More shops, please,’ I said. I’d been too bewildered by the choices offered to buy anything that morning, but now I’d made up my mind. ‘I think I would like to buy that red wool dress I looked at this morning.’

‘I’ll buy it for your birthday,’ he offered. He looked almost excited at that moment, and I saw the man he might have been if his mind hadn’t been soured by bitterness. ‘I wasn’t sure what to get.’

Richard’s moods swung between wanting to please me, and wanting to punish me for not loving him … for having let another man touch me.

‘You’re already paying for all this … the theatre and everything. Besides, Father gave me some money.’

‘You keep it,’ Richard said. ‘I’ll get you the dress. I want to, Emma. I know I’m a bit of a brute sometimes, but I do love you.’ For a moment he looked as though he really meant it.

It was as close to an apology as I was going to get. I smiled and tucked my arm through his, wanting to be fair to him.

‘All right,’ I said. ‘I can buy some shoes to go with it, can’t I?’

He grinned at me. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go mad for once. It’ll be a long while before we can do this again.’

We plunged into an orgy of spending, buying not only my dress and shoes, but also a shirt for Richard, leather gloves for Mother, a tie for Father and a warm winter scarf for Gran. Emerging into the coolness of late afternoon, our arms full of parcels, we paused on the pavement and looked for a bus to take us to the hotel Richard had booked for the night.

‘Damn it, we’ll take a taxi,’ he said. ‘If we don’t get a move on, we’ll be late for the theatre.’

I wasn’t really listening. My eye had been caught by a large and expensive car which had just pulled into the kerb. I thought it looked a bit like the one Paul had sometimes driven, only newer, and as the driver got out I saw he was an older man, perhaps fortyish. He was smiling at a very smartly dressed woman, who had also been on a shopping spree judging by the amount of parcels she was carrying.

As I watched, I saw the woman suddenly stagger and start to fall. Some instinct had already alerted me and I dropped my parcels, darting forward to catch her. Because I had acted so swiftly, I was able to grab hold of the woman’s arm and support her, preventing her collapse.

‘Margaret!’ I heard the man’s anxious voice. ‘Are you all right? What happened?’

‘I think she nearly fainted,’ I said. The woman was moaning softly, her own parcels scattered on the pavement. ‘She needs to sit down.’

‘Thank you. Let me have her now. My wife hasn’t been well, but I didn’t expect this.’

The man put his arm about his wife, helped her to the car, and settled her in the passenger seat. She seemed to come round, though was obviously still unwell. I bent to gather the parcels she had dropped and took them to the car. After making sure his wife was comfortable, the man turned to me and took the parcels from me.

‘You are very kind,’ he said. ‘My wife could have had a nasty fall if you had not been so quick to help her.’

‘I’m glad I noticed her,’ I replied, smiling at him. ‘I hope she will be all right now.’

‘We shall have to see what the doctor says about this.’ There was an anxious expression in his eyes, which were a blueish-grey and seemed kind. ‘Thank you again for helping her.’

I shook my head and turned away as Richard came up to us, having gathered up the parcels I had dropped.

‘Is she all right?’ he asked, with a cursory glance at the woman. ‘Good thing you saw her. I didn’t notice. Come on, I’ve got a taxi waiting.’

About to follow him, I felt a touch on my arm. I looked back at the man whose wife I’d helped, and saw he was offering me his business card.

‘I’m Solomon Gould,’ he said, his eyes meeting mine for just one second. ‘If I can ever do anything for you, please get in touch.’

Richard was looking for me impatiently. I nodded, took the card and slipped it into my jacket pocket. Richard scowled at me as I climbed into the back of the taxi.

‘What did he give you? If it was money, you shouldn’t have taken it.’

‘It wasn’t, and I wouldn’t have,’ I replied, annoyed that he could even think it. ‘He gave me his business card.’

‘Whatever for?’

‘In case he could ever do anything for me, that’s what he said. I expect he was just grateful, and didn’t know what to say.’

‘Looked like he had plenty of money,’ Richard observed with a twist of his mouth. ‘He’ll forget you by next week, Emma. Throw the card away. You don’t want anything from his sort.’

I made no comment. Why was Richard so touchy over it? I knew it was just an instinctive reaction on the part of Mr Gould. He must have realized I would be insulted by an offer of money, but felt he wanted to show his gratitude. I had no intention of ever using the card, but thought it nice of him just the same.

‘Yes, all right,’ I said. ‘I’m hungry – and I want a cup of tea.’

Richard nodded, relaxing again. I wondered if he had noticed the car was very like Paul’s. Perhaps that was what had caused his jealous mood – or was there something more?

‘I’m looking forward to the show this evening,’ I said and smiled at him. ‘This is the best birthday I’ve ever had, Richard. You were good to think of it.’

His frown lifted. ‘Good. I’m glad. I want you to enjoy yourself.’

The show was even better than those Richard had taken me to on our honeymoon. I giggled over the comedian’s jokes, marvelled at the ventriloquist and jugglers, and was enraptured by the beautiful voice of the young female singer’s rendition of Cole Porter’s
Anything Goes.

Afterwards, Richard took me out to supper. He had a couple of beers, but wasn’t in the least drunk when he made love to me later at our hotel. I let him do what he liked, but didn’t respond. It didn’t seem to matter, because he just turned over and went to sleep when he’d finished, seemingly satisfied.

Afterwards, I lay awake, staring into the darkness for a long time. This couldn’t be all there was to life. Surely there had to be something more?

I recalled the look of concern in the man’s eyes as he’d helped his wife into his car. It had been obvious to me that Mr Gould loved his wife very much. He had been so concerned for her, so considerate and gentle. I felt a pang of envy. It must be nice to be loved like that.

I slipped out of bed and went over to the window, looking out over the roofs of the buildings around the hotel. Then, on impulse, I took the small white business card from my jacket pocket and read the inscription.

Solomon Gould. Clothing Manufacturer.

Just that and a business address in the Portobello Road. I replaced the card. Why should I throw it away? I would never use it, of course, but would keep it as a kind of talisman: to remind me there was another way of life.

Perhaps one day …

‘Emma, what are you doing?’

Richard’s voice startled me, making me jump.

‘Just getting my dressing gown,’ I said. ‘I need to go to the bathroom.’

‘Take your key then,’ he muttered, a note of irritation in his voice. ‘Remember it’s down the hall to the right – and don’t get lost.’

‘No, I won’t,’ I promised.

Tears stung my eyes as I found my way to the bathroom. There must be another way to live, and one day I would find it.

‘He was taken bad again in the night,’ Mother said one morning, some weeks after the trip to London. She looked at me anxiously. ‘I wanted to send for the doctor, but he won’t let me. He says he’ll stay in bed today though.’

‘I’ll get down to the shop then,’ I said. ‘This is the third time he’s been really bad, Mum. We really ought to have the doctor.’

‘Wait for a bit,’ she advised. ‘Last time he was better after a few hours – and you know what he’s like about doctors.’

‘Yes, I do.’

I left her and went down to open the shop. I didn’t mind that Father was leaving things more and more to me these days, even though I was beginning to feel the baby now. I was more than four months gone and had started to show, though the loose overall I wore in the shop disguised it for the time being.

‘Hello, Emma,’ Sheila Tomms said. She was first in after the door was unlocked and was stamping her feet with the cold. ‘I reckon it’s nearly cold enough for snow. Can I have some toffee pieces please – and I’ll have this.’ She picked up a copy of
Woman
, then studied me with interest. ‘You look a bit pale. Are you all right?’