Authors: Rita Bradshaw
The Rainbow Years (26 page)
‘Mam, sit down, please. Look, come downstairs and I’ll make you a cup of tea.’ Bruce put his arm round his mother and as he did so, May’s lip quivered.
‘First Perce disgracing us and now your da, and all I’ve ever asked for is respectability. That’s not too much, is it?’
‘Come on, Mam.’ Bruce led her out of the room.
As they reached the kitchen, May said, ‘Your granda’s been proved right as he always is. He said from the start I could do a sight better than Ronald Shawe and that we’d need to keep a tight rein on him or suffer the consequences.’
Bruce stared into his mother’s tight face and for the first time in his life he fully understood just what his father had had to put up with over the years. He suddenly found he wouldn’t have wished his da to stay another minute. And he was glad Amy was out of all this too because one thing was for sure, life wouldn’t be worth living for the next little while.
On the other side of Sunderland, Amy was lying next to her new husband. Charles was fast asleep, one arm flung across her waist. She liked the closeness of his body next to hers, she thought drowsily. In fact she liked everything about being married up to then. Even ‘that’ hadn’t been what she’d expected from the odd comment she had heard from the married women at the restaurant, most of whom seemed to bewail the frequency of their husbands’ attentions. According to what she’d gathered listening to them, the first time was invariably painful and pleasureless, followed by a routine of lovemaking - how often seemed to depend on the individual man but was always too much for the woman concerned - which was only endured by lying back and thinking of other things.
True, Jinny had disagreed with the others, declaring she looked forward to her husband’s lovemaking and had never thought of the price of bread once in the fifteen years they had been married, but she had been the exception. All the others seemed to plan the family’s meals for the week, what shopping they needed to do, anything to forget what was happening to them.
Amy smiled to herself. She rather thought she was another exception too but then that was because Charles had been so patient and gentle with her. He had drawn forth responses and feelings she hadn’t thought herself capable of, and after a time of touching and stroking and kissing her in the most intimate places, the actual act itself hadn’t been unpleasant. One brief moment of pain and then a sensation of aching tightness which had led to something rather nice in the end.
She blushed in the darkness. Yes, she definitely was going to enjoy being a wife and she would make Charles so happy. She was determined on that.
She had been a bit surprised at the two bottles of champagne he had drunk before he had gone to sleep, though; she would have thought the amount he had consumed throughout the afternoon would have been enough for anyone. But then perhaps champagne wasn’t like proper alcohol, like beer and whisky and stuff. It was as fizzy as bairns’ lemonade, after all.
She closed her eyes, the unaccustomed comfort of the expensive feather bed and the satisfying warmth of Charles’s body tipping her over the brink of drowsiness into sleep.
PART FIVE
1933 New Beginnings
Chapter 12
Amy stood staring out of the drawing-room French windows into the garden beyond, but she wasn’t seeing the landscaped grounds stretching out in front of her. Bruce had just left after coming to say goodbye to her. He was moving away, and she knew she was going to miss him. Not that she didn’t understand why he was leaving, she told herself. It had been six weeks now since her wedding and four weeks since Terence O’Leary had moved May and the rest of the family into the four-bedroomed house he and his wife occupied. When her grandma had got all upset at the thought of leaving Sunderland and had confessed she’d been homesick for her old neighbourhood and friends, Sally Price had immediately offered her a home with them, which Muriel had accepted with alacrity. This meant Bruce had no responsibilities to tie him to the north and it was his time to make a break, she knew that, but she would still miss him.
She turned from the window and looked across the beautifully furnished room. Marriage wasn’t turning out to be quite what she had expected, not that she’d told Bruce that, of course. She had presented a front to him that said all was perfect. But it wasn’t perfect. She frowned to herself. She didn’t understand why Charles had to drink so much before he could sleep each night. He said it was like a sleeping pill but more pleasant and tried to make a joke of it, but once or twice he’d had a job to climb the stairs to their room. Not that he had been drunk, she told herself hastily. Drunk was like old Mr Reeves in Monkwearmouth who used to wake up the street with his dancing and singing when he came home from the pub, or the McHaffies who would brawl and fight until the police van took them away. No, of course Charles wasn’t drunk, but . . .
She shook her head, unable to explain her unease. She sat down on one of the sofas and took up the book she had put down on Bruce’s arrival. She wished her grandma had agreed to come and live with them when she had asked her to, immediately she had found out her uncle had gone off with Kitty. But her grandma had been adamant newlyweds needed time on their own. Amy raised her head, staring at the wall opposite. Her uncle and Kitty. It was unbelievable really. She had been flabbergasted when Bruce had come round to tell them. And she couldn’t help feeling let down that Kitty hadn’t confided in her. It was probably unreasonable but she couldn’t help it. Her gran had said that after living with May for years she didn’t blame her son for grasping a bit of happiness, and Amy agreed with this in part, but she had the notion that if the woman concerned had been anyone other than Kitty her gran wouldn’t have felt quite the same. Thought the world of Kitty, her gran did, and so did she. Kitty was still Kitty whatever she had done.
Amy glanced at the clock.Another three hours before Charles would be home. She so wanted to see him tonight. Bruce coming to tell her he was going away had been upsetting in itself, but it had also stirred up the sense of loss she had felt when she had first realised Kitty wouldn’t be there any more. She missed her, even more than she had thought she would.
The afternoon dragged and when six o’clock came and went and Charles still wasn’t home, Amy began to worry. At half past seven she was just beginning to wonder if she should tell Mrs Franklin, the housekeeper, to put dinner on hold when she heard his voice in the hall.
When he opened the drawing-room door she bounded into his arms, saying, ‘Where have you been? I was worried. Are you all right? Has anything happened?’
‘I’m fine, sweetheart.’ The slurred tone to his voice and the strong smell of whisky both hit her in the same moment.
She drew back, looking up into his face. ‘You have been drinking.’
‘Business meeting. Went on a while. Bit of a problem at the restaurant.’ He detached himself from her and walked across to the cocktail cabinet where he poured himself a large measure of brandy.
Amy remained standing exactly where she was. ‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough already?’
He turned, his eyes narrowing. ‘No.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘And tell Mrs Franklin to hurry up with dinner. I’m damn hungry.’
‘It isn’t eight yet.’
‘I don’t care what time it is. I told you, I’m hungry.’
By the time they had eaten the dinner served by a stiff-faced Mrs Franklin, Amy was forced to recognise the truth she had been trying to ignore for the last six weeks. Charles
was
drunk. Maybe not the dancing and falling over or fighting kind of drunk, but drunk nevertheless.This time he had difficulty even rising from his seat, the empty decanter in front of him witness to the fact that his meal had been more of the liquid variety than anything else.
was
drunk. Maybe not the dancing and falling over or fighting kind of drunk, but drunk nevertheless.This time he had difficulty even rising from his seat, the empty decanter in front of him witness to the fact that his meal had been more of the liquid variety than anything else.
On reaching their bedroom he fell on the bed fully clothed and was immediately asleep, snoring loudly. Amy cried herself to sleep.
The problem with the restaurant continued and with it Charles’s increased drinking. No longer did he wait until he got home for his first drink, often he had had several by the time he arrived home. From eagerly awaiting his return as she had done in the first weeks of her marriage, Amy now began to dread it. She never knew from one day to the next if he would be drunk or sober, and whenever she tried to talk to him about it he would either laugh it off or turn cold and distant. In the mornings he would be her Charles again - mostly. Once or twice he awoke with such a thumping head he disappeared into his study before breakfast and Amy suspected it was to have a glass of something or other. She didn’t know what to do or who to speak to, not with Kitty and Bruce gone.And although she visited her grandma several times a week, she couldn’t confide in her. Her grandma was so happy at the Prices’, so bright and cheery that she couldn’t spoil things for her.
By the time summer was over and October had been ushered in with hard white frosts, Amy was getting to the end of her tether. Her emotions were in a state of perpetual vacillation. On the occasions when Charles didn’t drink so much that he fell asleep immediately he got to bed, she told herself things were improving.They would make love in their big bed and although the smell of drink would be strong on his breath, he was the kind, charming and loving man she had married.They would talk about their plans for the future, about babies and fitting out a nursery and Amy would go to sleep feeling they might have turned a corner. Then the next night or the next he would return home the worse for wear and a different person, surly and uncommunicative.
Then, at the beginning of November, something happened which began to change Amy’s feelings for the man she had married so happily only months before. The day had been a bitterly cold one with a savage wind and she hadn’t put her nose out of the house, spending the day sorting through the big boxes in the loft which were mostly full of old bits and pieces of bric-a-brac and rubbish the previous owners had left. She and Charles had had a good evening the night before, and when she emerged from the loft for a bath she felt content and hopeful. She had enjoyed doing something constructive; she was discovering she wasn’t made to sit about twiddling her thumbs all day receiving this person or that or visiting people Charles thought might be socially advantageous.
She sang to herself in the bath and she dressed in a frock Charles particularly liked, arranging her hair with more care than usual and taking time over her appearance.
At half past seven her stomach was churning. He was late, and usually that meant only one thing. Either he had been sitting drinking in his office or he had called in at the Gentlemen’s Club on his way home. Either way it didn’t bode well for the evening ahead. But she could be wrong. Maybe this time he
had
been tied up with business. She stared into the leaping flames of the blazing fire in the drawing room and began to pray like she hadn’t done for a long time.
had
been tied up with business. She stared into the leaping flames of the blazing fire in the drawing room and began to pray like she hadn’t done for a long time.
Two or three minutes later she heard his voice in the hall but gone were the days when she would spring into his arms. Now she always waited to gauge his mood. As soon as he opened the door she saw he was three parts to the wind and disappointment and anger made her voice tight as she said, ‘You’re late again.’
‘I have a business to run or hadn’t you noticed?’ He barely glanced at her as he walked across the room and poured himself a large brandy from the decanter on the side table near the cocktail cabinet.
Amy warned herself to say nothing for the moment. Mrs Franklin would be calling them through to the dining room any moment and she didn’t want to quarrel in front of the housekeeper.
They didn’t speak while Charles drank his brandy. His gait was unsteady as they entered the dining room a few minutes later and he thumped heavily into his chair. His face was morose as he glanced at the table. ‘There’s a stain on this tablecloth.’ He poked at a tiny pinhead of a mark. ‘If I can see it, why can’t that useless chit of a maid?’
Her voice steady, Amy said, ‘You told Mrs Franklin and Lucy that the laundry bill was too high the last time. I suppose Lucy thought you would prefer the cloth to be used again rather than having a clean one brought out.’
‘She thought wrong.’
‘I’ll have a word with her tomorrow.’
‘Make sure you do.’
Oh, she hated him when he was like this. After glaring at him, Amy reached for her bread roll and broke it in half, buttering a morsel before popping it in her mouth. Mrs Franklin entered with the soup tureen, and Amy knew the housekeeper had assessed Charles’s mood because there were none of the smiling pleasantries she sometimes indulged in as she served the soup. Instead she went about the duty silently and efficiently before noiselessly leaving the room.
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