him.
He had rarely seen her look so lovely. Any man would be suspicious if his wife came in all starry-eyed and pink-cheeked, as if she’d just won a few hundred quid on the pools. It was the way she used to look when they made love. Something must have happened to make her eyes shine like that. Whatever it was, it was nothing to do with her husband.
‘I’m sorry, luv,’ she said in a rush, ‘but after I’d been to me dad’s I decided to drop in on Bernadette because she’s been feeling dead low since Christmas. We had a drop of sherry each and I seemed to lose track of the time.’
‘You’ve been gone two and a half hours,’ John said icily.
‘I know, luv. As I said, I’m sorry.’
‘You’ve been with a feller, I can tell by your face.’ Why, oh why, did he so much want this to be true? It was as if he wanted to wallow in his misery, make it worse.
She sighed. ‘Oh, don’t be silly, John. Go round and ask Bernadette if you don’t believe me.’
‘Do you think I’m daft enough not to know you’ve fixed a story up between you?’
‘Think what you like,’ she said tiredly and went into the kitchen where she put the kettle on. ‘Did the girls have drinks when they came in? I can still hear them talking upstairs. Perhaps they’d like a cup of cocoa.’
Had he been the sensible man that he used to be this would be the time to mention the bunk beds. Instead, the man he had become followed his wife into the kitchen and grabbed her arm. ‘I want to know whereyou’ve been. I want to know why you’ve got that look on your face. How much did you make? How much have you got in your purse?’ He released her arm. She had hung her handbag on the knob of the kitchen door. It was one of those shoulder things that had become popular during the war. He undid the zip and turned it upside down. A gold enamelled compact smashed on to the tiled floor, followed by her purse, a little comb, two neatly ironed hankies, the stub of a pencil, a couple of tram tickets and a scrap of paper.
‘John! Me dad bought me that compact for me twenty-first. Oh, look, the mirror’s broke.’ She was close to tears, kneeling down, picking up the broken bits of glass. ‘That’s seven years bad luck.’
‘I’ll get it fixed.’ Jaysus! He looked like a monster – and he acted like one. Kneeling beside her, he began to put the things back in the bag. Their shoulders touched and he longed to take her in his arms, dry her tears. Dammit, he
would
. It was now or never. Things couldn’t possibly go on like this. He would just have to take the risk of seeing the disgust on her face. He said humbly, ‘I don’t know what gets into me some . . . what’s this?’
‘It’s a cheque,’ Alice said in an odd voice. She snatched it away before he could see who it was from and all John’s suspicions returned with a vengeance he could scarcely contain.
‘So, you get paid by cheque, eh? It must be some posh geezer you do it with? Let’s see.’
‘No!’ She stubbornly put the cheque behind her back. ‘It’s nothing to do with you.’
‘Oh, so me wife can sleep around all over the place and it’s nothing to do with me!’ He laughed coarsely. ‘Let me see that fuckin’ cheque.’
Alice shuddered. He’d never sworn in the house before, not so much as a ‘bloody’. She suddenly felt sickand knew it was no use keeping the cheque from him. He was stronger than she was and could easily take it off her. ‘It’s from Cora Lacey,’ she said. ‘She’s loaned me twenty-five pounds for Myrtle’s salon. As from tomorrer it’ll be mine.’
A year ago John would have been delighted. A year ago he would have borrowed the money for her. A mate of his had borrowed from a bank to set up his own small engineering company. But now, a year later, John felt only blinding rage, accompanied by tremendous fear. He didn’t want her independent, having her own business, no longer reliant on him for money. Lately he’d even resented
He had rarely seen her look so lovely. Any man would be suspicious if his wife came in all starry-eyed and pink-cheeked, as if she’d just won a few hundred quid on the pools. It was the way she used to look when they made love. Something must have happened to make her eyes shine like that. Whatever it was, it was nothing to do with her husband.
‘I’m sorry, luv,’ she said in a rush, ‘but after I’d been to me dad’s I decided to drop in on Bernadette because she’s been feeling dead low since Christmas. We had a drop of sherry each and I seemed to lose track of the time.’
‘You’ve been gone two and a half hours,’ John said icily.
‘I know, luv. As I said, I’m sorry.’
‘You’ve been with a feller, I can tell by your face.’ Why, oh why, did he so much want this to be true? It was as if he wanted to wallow in his misery, make it worse.
She sighed. ‘Oh, don’t be silly, John. Go round and ask Bernadette if you don’t believe me.’
‘Do you think I’m daft enough not to know you’ve fixed a story up between you?’
‘Think what you like,’ she said tiredly and went into the kitchen where she put the kettle on. ‘Did the girls have drinks when they came in? I can still hear them talking upstairs. Perhaps they’d like a cup of cocoa.’
Had he been the sensible man that he used to be this would be the time to mention the bunk beds. Instead, the man he had become followed his wife into the kitchen and grabbed her arm. ‘I want to know whereyou’ve been. I want to know why you’ve got that look on your face. How much did you make? How much have you got in your purse?’ He released her arm. She had hung her handbag on the knob of the kitchen door. It was one of those shoulder things that had become popular during the war. He undid the zip and turned it upside down. A gold enamelled compact smashed on to the tiled floor, followed by her purse, a little comb, two neatly ironed hankies, the stub of a pencil, a couple of tram tickets and a scrap of paper.
‘John! Me dad bought me that compact for me twenty-first. Oh, look, the mirror’s broke.’ She was close to tears, kneeling down, picking up the broken bits of glass. ‘That’s seven years bad luck.’
‘I’ll get it fixed.’ Jaysus! He looked like a monster – and he acted like one. Kneeling beside her, he began to put the things back in the bag. Their shoulders touched and he longed to take her in his arms, dry her tears. Dammit, he
would
. It was now or never. Things couldn’t possibly go on like this. He would just have to take the risk of seeing the disgust on her face. He said humbly, ‘I don’t know what gets into me some . . . what’s this?’
‘It’s a cheque,’ Alice said in an odd voice. She snatched it away before he could see who it was from and all John’s suspicions returned with a vengeance he could scarcely contain.
‘So, you get paid by cheque, eh? It must be some posh geezer you do it with? Let’s see.’
‘No!’ She stubbornly put the cheque behind her back. ‘It’s nothing to do with you.’
‘Oh, so me wife can sleep around all over the place and it’s nothing to do with me!’ He laughed coarsely. ‘Let me see that fuckin’ cheque.’
Alice shuddered. He’d never sworn in the house before, not so much as a ‘bloody’. She suddenly felt sickand knew it was no use keeping the cheque from him. He was stronger than she was and could easily take it off her. ‘It’s from Cora Lacey,’ she said. ‘She’s loaned me twenty-five pounds for Myrtle’s salon. As from tomorrer it’ll be mine.’
A year ago John would have been delighted. A year ago he would have borrowed the money for her. A mate of his had borrowed from a bank to set up his own small engineering company. But now, a year later, John felt only blinding rage, accompanied by tremendous fear. He didn’t want her independent, having her own business, no longer reliant on him for money. Lately he’d even resented
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