belly. The hallway was normally dark, but now it was well illuminated by the lights from the kitchen and living room. Huh, Harry thought, I bet she turns the tears on now.
He held on to the wall as he swayed behind her, slowly stumbling up the stairs. When they were in bed he would have his husband’s rights. Harry grinned to himself as he made his way into the bedroom; at least he never suffered from brewer’s droop.
The alarm clock rang out at six o’clock in the morning. Glenda was already awake, her back to her husband and the covers pulled up tight under her chin. Her side hurt so she tried not to move too much, but she knew she’d have to get up to make Harry his morning cup of tea and pack some Spam sandwiches for his lunch. She felt a moment of resentment at the thought of having to do anything for him after what he had inflicted on her last night.
Oh, he would be sorry today, probably bringing her some cheap flowers and promising her he would never hurt her again, yet it was always the same – good behaviour for a week or two until he’d have a drink and she would become his punchbag.
Last night he had gone too far. The kick to her ribs had damaged her, possibly cracking a bone or two, and, as she had laid in bed sobbing with the pain, Harry had forced himself on her, disregarding her discomfort and ignoring her pleas to stop.
‘Argh,’ Harry grunted now as he slammed his hand down on the alarm clock. ‘My head’s banging and I think the tooth fairy shat in my mouth in the night.’
Glenda remained motionless, waiting for Harry to go to the bathroom before she would get out of the bed.
‘Sod these mornings,’ he moaned, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, ‘it’s freezing and more like winter than autumn.’ He turned and shook Glenda’s hip. ‘You awake?’
‘Yes,’ she answered through gritted teeth.
‘You gonna get up and put the kettle on then?’
Without answering, Glenda winced as she slowly climbed out of the bed and made her way downstairs to the kitchen. As she stood on the cold linoleum, staring at the kettle waiting for it to boil, she gently rubbed her aching ribs and wondered what had happened to the charming man she had married three years earlier. The one who had lavished gifts on her and made her feel so safe and secure in his muscular arms. Harry used to make her laugh so much that her sides hurt. Yet now her sides hurt for a very different reason.
She had loved Harry so much when they’d first met, but now, instead of adoration, Glenda found herself contemplating how she could ever get out of this situation. It was impossible of course. She had little Johnnie to think about and nowhere to go. Her parents couldn’t help, and even if she left, Harry would easily track her down to drag her back home. He would never let her go, and, with no other choice but to stay with him, she felt trapped – trapped with a man who was growing more and more violent.
The kettle whistled on the gas stove as Glenda feared that one day Harry would send her to an early grave.
Glenda turned the corner onto the street where her in-laws Maude and Bob lived. As she looked down the row of little terraced houses, she thought how all the streets around here looked the same, apart from the Latchmere estate with its impressive five-storey tenement blocks. Maude had said she wouldn’t mind living in one as the views would be spectacular, and they would have an indoor lavvy. But the idea of living up high didn’t appeal to Glenda, and she was lucky as her street was more up to date so they all had bathrooms inside, with electric geysers for hot water.
As was usual at this time of the morning, housewives in their housecoats, cardigans, curlers and scarves were busy outside, cleaning their doorsteps and enjoying neighbourly natters. A few younger children were kicking balls across the street, wearing short trousers even though it was a nippy day. Glenda put her head down and paced towards Maude’s house, hoping that none of the middle-aged busybodies would stop her for a chat. Her cheek was still puffy and she was running out of excuses to cover for Harry’s violence. The women around here must think I’m so clumsy, she thought, hoping the embarrassing truth would never come out.
The worst thing was that everyone in these streets who knew her also knew her mother Elsie. She was a frail woman who had had Glenda late in life. The pregnancy and a traumatic childbirth had left her weak and sickly. In fact, Ted, her father, had said Elsie had never properly got over it. Her father was getting on in years too, so the last thing that Glenda wanted was to worry them both with her marital problems.
‘Wotcha, Glenda,’ Mrs Williams called from over the other side of the street, ‘you look like you’re in a hurry, love.’
‘Oh, hello, Mrs Williams. Yes, just off to pick up little Johnnie. I can’t stop, he’s teething so I don’t want to lumber Maude for much longer.’ Glenda was pleased the woman was far away enough not to notice her swollen face.
‘All right, dear. Give Maude my regards and say hello to your mum.’
Glenda hurried on, glad when she finally reached number 127 and could retreat inside, away from the prying eyes of the neighbours. She still had Maude to face, though. The woman was a godsend when it came to babysitting Johnnie, but Glenda had never really liked her.
Maude’s door was painted red, a colour she must have got from someone doing a bit of black-market dealing, and it stood out from the others on the street which were mainly black or dark blue. The knocker and letterbox were both shiny brass and there was a white wire milk-bottle holder next to the pristine doorstep. The windows were always gleaming and Maude’s net curtains were crisp white. Glenda inwardly smiled as she pictured what lay behind the ostentatious front door. The house was overfilled with crystal ornaments and carnival glass bowls, remnants of the Romany heritage that Maude strongly denied. But all the family had dark hair and swarthy skin and, although Maude tried to pass them off as Spanish, Harry had confided in Glenda about their real roots.
Maude greeted Glenda with a warm smile and ushered her up the hallway towards the small kitchen at the back of the house.
‘Here’s your little mite,’ Maude said, beaming, ‘snug as a bug in a rug. I put him in here next to the stove ’cos it’s warmer. He’s been as good as gold for his old Nan. He was a bit whiney this morning, but I rubbed a drop of whisky on his gums and he’s been as happy as a sandboy.’
Glenda silently seethed. She hated that Maude would use her old-wives’-tale remedies on Johnnie and had asked Harry on many occasions to have a word with her. But Harry’s response was always the same: it never did him any harm when he was growing up.
‘Thanks, Maude,’ Glenda answered, hoping she sounded sincere. ‘You’re so good with him. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
‘It’s just experience, my girl. When you’ve had four of your own, you know a thing or two about rearing the little sods! Cor, my Harry was a little tyke! He used to run rings round me. And you’d have thought that with him being the last born I would’ve known better. Anyway, sit yourself down. I’ll make us a cuppa.’
Glenda was desperate to pick Johnnie up from his pram and hold his soft body to hers but she resisted, knowing that Maude would berate her for disturbing the child whilst he slept. Instead, she took her coat off and slowly eased herself onto one of the four wooden chairs.
‘You all right there?’ asked Maude, frowning as she looked at Glenda’s discomfort.
‘Yes, I’m fine, thanks, Maude. I just slipped getting out of the bath last night. Caught my side on the edge.’
Glenda could see Maude’s disbelieving expression and knew she was going to get some motherly advice.
‘If you say so –’ Maude shook her head ‘– but I know that boy of mine has been at it again. I’m right, ain’t I?’
‘No, Maude, honest. He’s been really good lately. He’s hardly raised a hand to me since Johnnie’s been born.’
‘I don’t believe you. Sorry, gal, but your puffed cheek tells me a different story. So come on, what happened this time?’
Glenda’s