That'll Be the Day (2007) (19 page)

‘That’s
enough
!’ Sam roared. ‘There’s no more to be said on the matter. I will allow one week for you to sell off those stupid pictures of yours for whatever you can get for them, then close the damned stall down.’

Judy couldn’t believe her bad luck. She’d only been held up for a matter of minutes, selling a rather special picture to a customer.

Perhaps Sam was right though. She should have been there to protect Tom. Oh, she was filled with such guilt. Was she a failure as a mother? Was she selfish? Surely not. How could she have imagined that such a thing might happen? And she’d made a point of telling both her children to wait by the school gate should she ever be held up for any reason. What had possessed Tom to set off home alone? She rather thought that he’d had no choice in the matter. Perhaps he was running from the bullies, hoping he would meet up with her, and it had all gone badly wrong.
 

But for Sam to accuse Tom of being a mummy’s boy was equally unfair. Why should he be made to feel a failure because he couldn’t take on three big lads? This was a hang-over from Sam’s own childhood. Lillian, his mother, had always been a fussy woman, constantly ailing and complaining, and neither parent had shown their young son much in the way of affection. Sam’s father had insisted the apron strings be cut early to make sure the boy grew into a strong man, and now Sam, in turn, was behaving in exactly the same way with his own son.

 
But punishing her by insisting she close the stall was unfair. What had that got to do with anything? How cruel Sam could be sometimes. Why couldn’t he see that she needed a life of her own, in addition to motherhood? She needed some freedom to express her creativity, to be herself, and where was the harm in that?

He would say there was a great deal of harm, if it meant that she neglected her children.

Oh, but she hadn’t neglected them, not knowingly, and despite everything she’d been through with Sam, all the times he’d cheated on her, Judy had studiously accepted the way things were between them. She had learned not to complain, not to expect him to change, or to give up what was an intrinsic part of his personality. Hadn’t it been made clear to her from the start that there was little point in her trying?

She’d tolerated his iron control, his need for perfection, his lectures and his orders, as did the children, just as if they were all privates in the army and he was their sergeant. But she was tired of it, tired of feeling guilty, tired of obeying his every whim, tired of failing to meet his exacting standards.

Now, for the first time, Judy began to question her own loyalty. Where was the point in her putting up with all of that if Sam allowed her no freedom whatsoever, gave her no love, nor showed even the smallest degree of kindness and understanding.

Why couldn’t he have been as sympathetic and understanding as Tom’s rescuer, Leo Catlow, had been?

It came to her in a moment of rare clarity that not only was her precious child being bullied at school, but she too was being bullied by her own husband in her own home, even if he never had laid a finger on her. And she would tolerate it no more.

Judy made a private vow that from now on she would somehow make an effort to take charge of her own life. If he was free to enjoy his women, then she should surely be allowed some freedom of her own to make her own life tolerable.

Damn it, she wouldn’t close down her stall. She would go on running it for as long as she possibly could.

It was on Friday morning that Leo strolled casually over to Judy’s stall to ask how Tom was. He really should have been in his office by now but something had caused him to linger over breakfast in the hope of catching sight of Judy Beckett before he left. He told himself it was nothing more than concern for the hapless victim. It was the polite thing to do.

‘Has the little chap got over the shock of being used as a punch-bag?’

Judy smilingly nodded. ‘I think he’ll live, but it was a stiff lesson for him to learn.’

‘Hardly his fault though. I hope you’ve made a strong complaint to the school.’

Judy paused, not quite meeting his eye. ‘My husband doesn’t seem to think that’s a good idea.’

‘I see.’ A short pause while he studied her. She was even lovelier than he remembered, and more fragile. He could see something was troubling her, the usually warm smile seeming somehow strained. ‘But you don’t agree with him.’

‘No, I don’t.’ She looked up at him then and it was exactly as before. There was an instant rapport between them, a sort of recognition, almost as if he could read her mind which was perhaps what allowed her to make this frank confession. It was the strangest experience, comforting and yet exciting all at the same time. Dangerously so. Just looking into those sparkling blue eyes brought a tightness to his chest.

‘Perhaps you could have a quiet word with the boy’s teacher, without your husband knowing. Ask her to keep an eye out for any trouble.’

Judy was shocked. ‘Oh no, I could never go behind my husband’s back. Never!’

‘Never?’ Leo gave a half laugh. ‘I thought women were well practised in the art of getting their own way.’

She shook her head. ‘Not me.’

‘My wife certainly is. I am married too, you see.’

The phrase seemed heavy with meaning but she couldn’t seem to drag her gaze from his. ‘Yes, I know.’ Another telling silence followed, which neither seemed able to break. After a beat Judy cleared her throat, frantically saying the first thing that came into her head. ‘Your wife is a lovely, elegant woman.’

‘Oh, very stylish, yes, and truly female. If she wants something, she believes it is my role in life, as the man of the household, to supply it.’ He was smiling again, making light of his words but Judy recognised a hint of bitterness underneath.

‘I could never persuade my husband to do anything he didn’t want to.’

‘You could, if you were as single-minded as my wife.’

‘Oh no, I can’t imagine a situation where I would ever go against his wishes, in anything.’ And Judy blushed, wondering what on earth had possessed her to make such a foolish remark since she was doing exactly that by refusing to close down the stall.
 

‘Never?’

‘No, never.’

‘I see.’

There seemed to be a vibration in the air between them, some hidden meaning to the words as if they were speaking about something other than whether or not she should talk to Tom’s teacher without Sam knowing.

The smile faded and Leo’s expression became unusually solemn as he continued to hold her gaze, his voice soft and filled with compassion. ‘That must make life quite difficult.’

She shrugged. ‘Sometimes. But that’s how it is, isn’t it, when you’re married?’

‘Is it?’

Leo longed to say something that would bring back that lovely warm smile, make it light up her face again but he felt as tongue-tied as a raw youth. What on earth was happening to him?

The moment was broken by Lizzie Pringle coming over in search of a gift for her mother’s birthday, and with a last brief nod Leo turned on his heel and walked quickly away. Perhaps he’d been saved from making a complete ass of himself, yet in truth he resented the interruption deeply.

Judy steadfastly turned her attention to the task in hand, although she felt a surprising regret at seeing him go.

More than a week later she learned the cost of daring to defy her husband. Sam was furious when he discovered that she had disobeyed his instructions and her stall was still operational. He said nothing to her there and then, in front of everyone on the market, but she could tell by the way his jaw tightened and his fists clenched when he saw her setting up as usual, that he was filled with rage. Sergeant Sam Beckett was not accustomed to insubordination, particularly from his own wife.

Judy got through the day as best she could, but it was not until later that evening that she learned the full extent of his anger. He marched into the house and ignoring the carefully set table, the flowers in place at its centre, his wife and children beautifully dressed and welcoming, he stormed up to the attic and slashed all her pictures to pieces. There wasn’t any question then of Judy continuing with her stall, as she’d nothing left to sell.

Chapter Twenty

In Betty’s little book of flower meanings, marriage was associated with ivy which seemed highly appropriate in the circumstances. Ivy would cling to anything and choke the life out of it, rather as Ewan Hemley was trying to do to her. And even though she’d chopped their marriage off at the roots, just as ivy did with brickwork he continued to cling and hang on week after week, month after month, when really he should give up and accept defeat.

On her stall today she had branches of golden broom, known for humility, as was the sweet scented lilac. If she took a bunch home to stand on her dresser, would it remind her to exercise more of that virtue herself? Somehow Betty doubted it. Hadn’t she learned long ago that humility and patience could easily turn a woman into a doormat, a role she never intended to play again.

Ewan had struck Lynda. The girl might deny it but Betty had seen the fear in her eyes and the bruise on her cheek. Wasn’t she familiar with the signs, the kind she’d hoped never to see again?

Later, when they’d gone upstairs to bed, mother and daughter had exchanged a few whispered words of comfort. Lynda admitted that she’d asked him to leave, and he’d refused.

‘It’s all my fault that he’s here,’ she’d sobbed.

‘No, it isn’t, love. If it’s anyone’s, it’s mine. I should have taken you further away, to the other side of the world if necessary. Ewan Hemley is bad news. Look at what he’s done to our Jake. The lad still hasn’t come home again tonight, so where the hell is he? Out with them rapscallion mates of his, I’ll be bound, up to no good. Having a father around has made him worse, not better.’

‘He’s just seeking attention,’ Lynda said, as if they didn’t both know that already.

The two women were silent for a long while, sitting huddled together on the edge of Betty’s bed with their arms about each other.
 

‘What can we do, Mam?’

‘I don’t know, chuck, but I’m thinking about it. We’ll get no help from Constable Nuttall, that’s for sure, I’ve already tried down that road. So it’s up to me lass, to sort this one out. All I’ve ever wanted out of life is for you and Jake to be happy and safe. Now wipe your eyes and get some sleep. We’ll talk some more tomorrow.’

Now Betty stared about her at the smoke-blackened brick of the terraced houses, each door brightly painted, the windows glistening from regular applications of soap and water and liberal quantities of bleach and washing soda, the sills given their twice weekly coating of cream rubbing stone. Who’d want to go to Australia when she could live here in Manchester? Betty loved her home and nobody, not even Ewan Hemley, was going to chase her out of it.

Lynda was still seeing Terry, and that evening they were going dancing at the co-operative rooms. They’d been dating for almost six months now and she’d bought herself a new dress to celebrate. It was shantung blue cotton in the new Trapeze line with elbow length sleeves and a bow just under the breast. Terry whistled softly when he saw her in it. He never failed to appreciate the trouble she took to look nice and Lynda liked that in him.

Terry belonged to a skiffle group and was playing for part of the evening while Barry Holmes, who operated the record player, took a break. He was naturally musical, since his father Alex owned Hall’s Music Stall, and played lead guitar in the group. Much of the winter had been spent in rehearsals at the back of the shop and Lynda didn’t mind missing out on a few dances as she loved to sit listening to him, entranced.

He finished with
Sweet Little Rock & Roller
, a Chuck Berry number, and Buddy Holly’s
Rave On
, which Lynda loved. Lynda had adored Buddy Holly and still wept when she thought of his tragic death in February.

She was also still stinging from the blow her father had given her. She’d felt compelled to lie to Terry when he’d first seen the bruise, pretending she’d banged it against a cupboard door when she was making tea. Lynda hated to deceive him but was fearful Terry might go straight round and thump Ewan, which would do no good at all. She was the one who had to live with him and Terry couldn’t be there to protect her all day, so, as Mam said, they had to sort this one themselves.

Tonight Lynda had put make-up over her bruises and was determined to be happy so she smiled up at Terry when he returned to her side. ‘You really are quite talented.’

‘I was singing it specially for you, my own sweet little rock and roller.’

‘Oh, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,’ and Lynda kissed him, a long, demanding sort of kiss that brought whistles and cheers from their friends and made Terry blush.

Later, on their way home, she let him do a great deal more than kiss her. But then she was fancy free and single, so why not? She let him fondle her breasts, then slide his hand beneath her net petticoats and press it against that secret, private part of herself. She groaned with pleasure but that was as far as she let him go. She was still being cautious, still needing to be sure of him.

‘Hey, don’t think you can do as you please just because I’m old enough to have been round the block once or twice.’