The Letter (4 page)

‘Everything’s going to be different now, Tina, I promise. Look at me.’

Tina had to admit he had scrubbed up well. He was dressed, which was by no means a foregone conclusion for a Saturday teatime, clean-shaven, and he’d been liberal with the
Old Spice
. Tina couldn’t be sure, but he might even have washed his hair. Admittedly there was the lingering smell of alcohol on his breath but he seemed quite sober.

‘I was way out of order this morning, Tina. I know that. Can you forgive me? I’m so sorry.’

He pulled her closer and buried his head in her long dark hair. Tina was rigid. They had been through this so many times before. He was a complete bastard, she got upset, he was filled with remorse and asked for her forgiveness. Tina pushed him away gently.

‘You need help, Rick. With the drinking, I mean.’

‘I’m fine, Tina. I can stop whenever like. Now… look…I’ve stopped, that’s it.’

Tina sighed and indicated the bath.

‘Is this for me?’

‘Of course. Come on, let me help you.’

He slid her jacket off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. He slowly unbuttoned her blouse and let that slide too as he began to kiss her neck. Tina closed her eyes as he pushed her gently against the wall, his mouth finding hers as he kissed her eagerly.

‘The water’s getting cold,’ she said, ducking out from under him. Rick tried to hide his disappointment. ‘Ok, love, sorry. Look, you have a long soak and I’ll make tea.’ Tina eyed him suspiciously. ‘What? I can make tea you know. I promise you, Tina, I’ve changed. Winning this money is the new start we need.’He sounded so plausible and had Tina not heard it all before, she might have taken it in. But Rick was a master manipulator of women, a skill he had learnt from a very early age, and Tina knew exactly who was to blame. His mother.

*

Richard Craig was a war baby, the only son of George and Molly Craig. Whilst his father was away fighting for his country, his mother took him to live in the countryside with her sister where he would be safe. Little Ricky was adored by his mother and childless aunt and had an idyllic childhood. Every whim was catered for by the two women, so it was a shock to him one day when the three-year old Ricky was refused a wooden train he had seen in a shop window.

‘It’s a lot of money, darling,’ reasoned Molly Craig.

‘I want it,’ demanded little Ricky.

‘Maybe you could have it for your birthday.’

‘Want it now.’ Ricky folded his arms across his chest and frowned.

His aunt interjected. ‘Your birthday is only a few months away, it’s not that long to wait.’

Ricky didn’t reply but glared at the two helpless women. Then he took a deep breath and held it.

‘What are you doing?’ demanded his mother.

Ricky ignored her and closed his eyes. As the two women watched in horror, Ricky turned a bright scarlet and then slowly his mouth turned blue. And then he passed out.

‘Do something!’ his mother screamed.

His aunt picked up the wooden train and brandished it towards the startled shop assistant.

‘We’ll take it.’

When Ricky came round in his bed that afternoon, the first thing his eyes focussed on was the little wooden train standing on his dresser. He smiled to himself. He knew from now on his mother and aunt would be putty in his hands.

When he was five years old, the war ended and his father returned home. Rick started school and predictably did not enjoy it one bit. He had a problem with all the discipline and was expelled from several establishments. When he finally left for good at the age of fifteen, he trained as a bus conductor before eventually qualifying as a driver. His dark, swarthy good looks meant he was never short of female attention and he had a friendly rapport with all his passengers, especially the women. His only other interests were the horses and the dogs. He accompanied his father to the bookmaker’s every Saturday morning, followed by a couple of pints in the pub. Thursday nights were always spent at the Belle Vue dog track. This treadmill existence ended the day a young girl boarded his bus. His eyes met hers and they held each other’s gaze for a second longer than was necessary. Rick had told Tina many times that from that moment on he knew he was going to have her and never let her go.

*

Tina felt marginally better after her soak in the bath. The day had drained her physically and emotionally. Her eyelids were heavy with exhaustion and her limbs felt like lead. She could hear the chip pan in the kitchen bubbling away furiously as Rick tipped in a pile of chips. Not quite a gourmet meal, but at least he was trying. As she entered the kitchen, he was frying a couple of eggs.

‘Sit down, Tina,’ he said pulling out a kitchen chair. ‘It won’t be long. I’ve opened a tin of peaches for afters. We can have them with some Carnation milk.’

‘Lovely, thanks.’

‘How was your day in the shop? Did you manage to watch the race?’

‘Err, I caught a bit of it, yes.’

‘Bloody brilliant, it was. I thought he was beaten but he came through right at the end. I bet Graham was miffed, wasn’t he? I love it when the bookie gets stiffed.’

‘Well he’s had plenty of your money over the years.’

‘Tina, don’t start…’

‘I wasn’t.’

‘Look, we’ve hit the jackpot today. Four hundred and fifty quid. I was only earning three grand a year on the buses. You know, we should celebrate. You put the egg and chips out and I’ll nip to Manny’s for a bottle of champagne.’

‘Champagne? Where do you think you are, Rick? I doubt Manny even stocks it. Not much call for it round here.’

Rick bounced on the balls of his feet and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Well, that other stuff then, Pomagne or Babycham or whatever they call it.’

‘Rick, there’s no need. I don’t really drink and you’ve given up, remember?’

He hesitated for a moment.

‘Well, when I said I’d given up, I didn’t mean totally. I can still have the odd drink on special occasions and they don’t come much more special than this.’

‘You’re an alcoholic, Rick. You can’t just have the odd drink.’

‘You’re an expert now, are you?’

‘Actually, yes, living with you has made me an expert on the effects of alcoholism.’

‘Don’t keep saying that word. Who are you to diagnose me as an alc.....you know, one of those.’ He slipped his jacket on. ‘I’ll be back in five minutes.’

Tina shook her head. He was never going to change. He couldn’t even say the word, let alone actually get professional help. He would drag her down with him if she let him.

*

Tina’s early life had shown a lot more promise, which made the situation she was in now all the more heartbreaking. An only child, Tina excelled at school, passing the eleven-plus exam and going to a state grammar school. Her exam results were among the best the school had ever produced, and both she and her headmistress thought a university education beckoned. Tina had hoped to study English and pursue a career in journalism. Fate, however, had other ideas when her father, Jack Maynard, died suddenly at the age of forty-five. Despite the protestations of both the school and her mother, Tina didn’t hesitate. She left school immediately and found work in a small insurance office to help support the family. Her duties were menial with wages to match, but she attended night school, where she learned how to type and take shorthand. Her doggedness and fortitude paid off, as she rose through the ranks, eventually becoming the best shorthand typist in the company. The job, however, was boring and the hours were long. The highlight of Tina’s day was the bus journey home. The driver of the 192 was incredibly good-looking and always greeted her with a smile and a wink. One day, he plucked up the courage to ask her out for a drink, and from that day on they became inseparable. Tina might have had to abandon her dreams of a career in journalism but Richard Craig would more than make up for it.

*

They retired to the lounge where Rick had put one bar of the electric fire on. With no central heating, the house was always freezing. Rick was now on his third glass of cheap fizzy wine and was beginning to slur his words. That was the trouble with him. He never completely sobered up, so it didn’t take that much for him to be incoherent again. Tina was still nursing her first glass. She didn’t even like the taste of sparkling wine and it gave her a headache.

Rick was sprawled on the settee watching
The Generation Game.

‘Have you ever seen such crap prizes? What in Christ’s name is a fondue set anyway?’

‘It’s a little pot that heats up a cheesy sauce and you dip chunks of bread in it.’

‘Sounds vile.’

‘It’s supposed to be the height of sophistication.’

Rick patted the sofa next to him. ‘Turn the telly off and come and sit here, love.’

Tina put down her glass and shuffled over to join him.

‘Is there any more bubbly left?’ he asked.

‘A little, yes, but don’t you think you’ve…’

‘Had enough? No, I don’t. I’m fine, Tina. Please don’t be such a nag. You’ll spoil everything. Come here.’

He pulled her into his arms and tried to kiss her. Tina pursed her lips instinctively and stiffened.

‘What’s the matter now?’ Rick demanded.

‘Nothing.’ She pushed him away gently. ‘I’ll get you that drink.’

He grabbed both her wrists and held her firmly.

‘It’ll wait.’

He pushed her back onto the settee and pressed himself down on top of her. He forced his tongue into her mouth and she nearly retched. She pleaded with him to stop but she was no match for his strength and she could not stop him from yanking down her pants and spreading her legs apart.

‘Rick, wait,’ she reasoned, trying to buy herself some time. ‘Let’s go upstairs where it’s more comfortable.’

He slapped her hard across the face.

‘You must think I was born yesterday, now shut up and enjoy it you frigid cow.’

Tina turned her head to one side and closed her eyes. It wasn’t the first time he had forced himself on her, but Tina vowed it would be the last. She had let this go on long enough. She needed to get out. Her life depended on it.

Sundays were the worst day of the week for Tina and she was always looking for excuses to leave the house. Rick had spent the night on the settee, too drunk to even manage to stagger up the stairs, for which Tina was grateful. She sat in the kitchen warming her hands on a mug of tea and surveying the mess. The place stank of greasy food and the frying pan was congealing in the bowl of icy water where Rick had left it. He appeared in the doorway, his hair stuck up at wild angles and his eyelids drooping with sleep. He was still dressed in yesterday’s clothes.

‘Where are my fags?’ His voice was gravelly and he gave a disgusting snort, thumping his chest as he did so.

Tina grimaced. ‘Morning, I’m fine thanks, how are you?’

‘What?’ He paused. ‘Oh, look, is this about last night?’

Tina shoved the packet of cigarettes across the table.

‘Here.’

He pulled up a chair and joined her at the table.

‘Any chance of a brew?’

Tina nodded. ‘Kettle’s over there.’

Rick took a long drag on his cigarette. ‘You’re right. I am a complete bastard, you deserve better. Now
please
make me a brew.’

‘Finally, the penny’s dropped.’

‘It’s not all my fault though,’ Rick countered defensively, ‘I mean you have to take some of the blame.’

Tina put her mug down and shook her head.

‘How in any way is this my fault? I told you not to buy any more booze last night after you promised me you wouldn’t drink again, but, no, you knew best. Said one or two wouldn’t hurt, it was a special occasion, blah, blah, blah…’

Rick blew a cloud of grey smoke in her face.

‘I also recall you telling me yesterday not to put that bet on. Hmmn?...who knew best then?’

‘That money was mine,’ Tina said calmly.

‘What’s yours
is
mine. We’re a partnership.’

‘Ok, give me half the winnings then.’

Rick sneered and patted his back pocket.

‘They’re mine. You don’t approve of gambling, remember?’

He was impossible to reason with and Tina didn’t have the energy any more. When she spoke she sounded braver than she felt.

‘I’m leaving you.’

Rick looked as though he had had the wind knocked out of him. He took hold of Tina’s hand.

‘Christ, Tina. I know I was a little, err, enthusiastic last night but that’s no reason to be hasty. I love you, you know that.’ She could sense his desperation. She had seen it all before. He would do and say anything at this stage in order to placate her. The cycle was so familiar.

‘Rick, you don’t get it, do you? I’m scared of you. Scared of what you’re going to do to me next. I’m sick of turning up at work and having to lie about my bruises, sick of treading on eggshells around the house, sick of living in this freezing cold pigsty and having to work all hours to pay the bills..’

‘But...’

Tina held up her hand.

‘I haven’t finished. Have you any idea what it’s like to live in fear? And why should I? I’m the one who supports us. You don’t contribute one penny, you’re just a drain on our finances and a drain on my emotions.’

‘That’s charming, that is! I cooked tea for you last night.’

‘A plate of egg and chips?’ Tina scoffed. ‘If that’s your idea of pulling your weight you’re more deluded than I thought.’

Rick was breathing hard now and his fists were clenched, but Tina ploughed on. She had never stood up to him like this before and she suddenly felt empowered.

‘You need the sort of help that I can’t give you.’

Without warning, he stood up, reached across the table and grabbed Tina’s hair.

‘There’s someone else, isn’t there? Who is he? I’ll kill him and then I’ll kill you.’

Tina stared defiantly into Rick’s eyes.

‘There’s no-one else, Rick. Can’t you just accept that I’m leaving you because of
you
? This is nobody else’s fault but yours.’

He released his grip on her hair.

‘Why do you make me do these things to you?’ he said softly. ‘Please, Tina, don’t go, I need you.’