A Mother’s Sacrifice. Kitty Neale
seen him with a girlfriend. I doubt he would know what to do with one.’ Harry laughed and went back to join his mates.
Glenda sipped her drink. She hated the taste of alcohol but Harry would insist she drank with him when they were out. She glanced around the crowded bar, but her eyes were soon drawn back to Betty who was now draped over Billy, crooning something in his ear. Billy looked up and his eyes met Glenda’s. He held her gaze and she shifted uncomfortably, quickly averting her eyes back to the floor. There was something about him that she really didn’t like.
Billy Myers had been disappointed when he walked into the Castle and saw that Betty was there. He’d known she would make a beeline for him, and he would have to suffer the mocking and jibes of his mates at work tomorrow. But his disappointment had been short-lived when he had set eyes on Glenda Jenkins.
He wondered what Glenda saw in Harry, thinking what a lucky bugger the man was. Yes, Harry was flash with his cash and always held centre stage in a crowd, but Billy had seen the darker side of him. He knew that Harry could pack a punch and had no qualms about hitting a woman. Before Harry had married Glenda, Billy had witnessed Ruby Edwards take a beating when she had thrown his engagement ring back at him, yet somehow the woman had remained silent and Harry had got away with it. And Glenda’s so quiet, Billy thought. I bet she never complains if he does knock her about.
As Betty rubbed her hand up his back, Billy caught sight of Glenda looking at him with her dark eyes. He quickly took Betty’s arm and thrust it to one side in the hope that Glenda didn’t think he was interested in the old trollop. How could he be attracted to someone like Betty? She couldn’t hold a candle to Glenda. Glenda was a proper lady, she had class and she’d even kept her lovely figure after having the baby.
‘What’s the matter, Billy, don’t you wanna buy me a drink?’ Betty whispered. ‘I’m terrible when I’m tipsy, you know. I just can’t control my urges … and another drink might make me a bit tipsy.’
‘Yeah, all right, I suppose. Later though,’ Billy abruptly answered as he stared at Glenda. The last thing he wanted was to get lumbered with Betty and her ‘urges’.
Glenda was looking at the floor again. Probably embarrassed that I caught her checking me out, thought Billy. He wanted to approach her, offer to buy her a drink, but Harry was close by and always kept an eye on his wife. It wasn’t worth the risk, but he would bide his time. He knew Glenda would be going down the high street then up to the Latchmere baths on Wednesday morning. She always did, like clockwork. He could throw a sickie and accidentally bump into her. Could he get away with yet another sickie, though? He’d taken quite a few in the last couple of months but it’d been worth it; it had given him the opportunity to follow Glenda around and work out her routines. Now all he had to do was get her alone.
‘Oi, Billy,’ Harry shouted across the bar. ‘Come and toast Alfie’s little ’un … if you ain’t too busy with Betty!’
‘Leave it out, will you,’ Billy replied, laughing as he sauntered over to his friends, not looking back to give Betty a second glance. ‘To Alfie –’ he raised his pint of beer ‘– and whatever he calls his new nipper.’
It was almost closing time and Glenda was pleased when the bell rang out for last orders. She stifled a yawn, not wanting to appear bored whilst sat in the company of two of Harry’s friends’ wives. They were nice enough women, but all they talked about was the continuing food rations and the war years. Glenda would have loved to chat about the new Gracie Fields song she had heard on the radio, or ask them whether they preferred Frank Sinatra to Bing Crosby.
An old boy in a flat cap with a pipe hanging from the side of his mouth was tinkling away on the piano in the corner. Glenda closed her eyes, lost in her own world as she listened to the tune of ‘If You Were the Only Girl in the World’. Suddenly she was brought back to reality by rough hands pulling at her arms and the tempo of the piano changed to a more upbeat ‘My Old Man Said, “Follow the Van”’.
‘Come on, darling. Have a spin with your old man.’
Harry was tugging at her, trying to get her up to dance with him.
‘No, Harry. Stop it. I don’t want to dance,’ Glenda tried to whisper to him, but it was no use. She was on her feet now, with Harry clumsily whisking her around the floor. ‘Harry, please stop. You’re showing me up.’
‘All right, all right,’ said Harry, finally letting her go. ‘If you don’t wanna dance with your old man, that’s fine by me.’ Harry looked at his mates and laughed as he walked back to the bar. ‘Bloody woman’s got two left feet anyway and I ain’t got me work boots on.’
Glenda was left standing in the middle of the room, all eyes on her. She felt her cheeks flame as Harry’s friends joined him in laughter, except Billy, who was leaning against the bar, staring intently at her again.
She ran to pick up her coat and dashed to the exit, glad to feel the breeze outside cooling her cheeks. She took a cigarette from her small, round clasp handbag, lit it and drew in a long, grateful breath. Harry didn’t like her to smoke, especially in public, but he was drunk again and she reckoned he wouldn’t notice.
But just then the door swung open and she looked up to see her husband walking towards her.
‘What have I told you about smoking?’ He glared at her, snatched the cigarette from her mouth and angrily threw it to the floor. Then he grabbed her arm and marched her off down the road towards home, her chunky sensible heels furiously snapping on the pavement.
‘But what about Johnnie?’ Glenda asked as they crossed the top of the street where Maude and Bob lived. She was anxious to collect her son from Harry’s parents, even though it was late.
‘Don’t worry about him. Me mum would have put him in bed with her by now so you can pick him up in the morning,’ Harry growled. Glenda swallowed; she feared she was about to feel the brunt of his anger yet again that night.
Bloody woman showing me up, thought Harry as he slammed the front door of their two-up, two-down terraced house. How dare she walk off like that and have the audacity to say I was showing her up! He stormed into the small living room, throwing his ex-army overcoat over the back of their threadbare winged armchair whilst Glenda went through to the kitchen.
‘Glenda! Where are you?’
Glenda appeared in the doorway. ‘I’m just about to put the kettle on. Do you want a cup of cocoa?’
‘No, I don’t! I want to know what your bloody game is.’
‘Game … I–I don’t know what you mean,’ Glenda answered, her voice sounding shaky.
Harry took three swift steps forward until he was face to face with his wife. She’s not fucking stupid, he thought.
‘You know exactly what I mean,’ he said as he grabbed her around her neck with one of his large, calloused hands. The force he used caused Glenda to stagger backwards but still Harry held on, pushing her up against the wooden door of the under-stairs hallway cupboard. ‘Don’t you ever leave the pub like that again.’ He squeezed her neck tighter. ‘And showing you up, eh. Me showing you up! It was the other way round, woman, and I ain’t standing for it!’
He lifted his other hand, slapped her hard across her cheek and for a moment she closed her eyes, but when she opened them again to look back at him Harry could see there were no tears, just a look of defiance which he took as a challenge.
‘You fucking bitch,’ he spat, remembering how he had noticed her looking at Billy Myers. ‘Fancy that Billy, do you?’
‘No … Harry, please. Don’t be silly. Of course I don’t.’
‘Silly … So I’m silly now, am I?’ Without further thought Harry released her neck to punch her in the stomach, and Glenda fell to the floor. ‘Now who’s silly, eh?’ Harry snarled as he kicked her in the ribs. ‘Get up and get up them stairs. I’m telling you, woman, you had better behave yourself in future. You’re my wife!