That'll Be the Day (2007) (27 page)

A position of strength! And how was she ever to achieve that if Sam was holding all the cards? Throughout their marriage he’d never allowed her the slightest independence, or to work outside of the home. Sam had expected and demanded utter obedience in this and Judy had complied for the sake of peace, and for her children, at least until the end. Now she was to be punished for that fact.

Judy was in despair. Finding somewhere better for them to live was proving impossible on the few savings she had left. Over the next two weeks she applied for countless jobs, but, considering that she couldn’t type, had no experience of retailing, and with the kind of scrappy here-today-gone-tomorrow education that had left her with no exams to her name, the only employment she could find was washing up in Belle’s café. It paid a pittance but she gladly took it, but Belle still wasn’t keen on allowing her to have her stall back.

‘Sam’s ironmongery business is an important part of this market. I can’t risk losing that, and he’s sworn he’ll up-sticks and move it elsewhere if I let you come back.’

‘But that’s not . . .’

‘Fair? Life never is, pet,’ Belle told her, exactly as Judy had told Ruth.

The night Sam had come round and created an embarrassing scene in the street had been one of the worst of Judy’s life. On another occasion she arrived back at the bedsit, after a particularly wearing and fruitless search for employment around the department stores of Manchester, to find that her landlord had actually let her husband in.

One swift glance told Judy that Sam had removed all her precious belongings, taken the children’s toys and clothes, their books and bicycles, the few pots and pans she’d brought with her from home, even the sheets and pillows off the bed. Her own clothes lay in shreds on the carpet. Judy fell to her knees and wept.

She would never have expected him to be so cruel, so utterly heartless. He seemed determined to destroy everything she possessed. But any anger and grief she might feel on her own account for the loss of these things was as nothing to the pain she felt on behalf of her children.

Tom was bemused, not understanding why his father should deprive him of his tipper lorry, his Beano comics and his favourite
Thomas the Tank Engine
books. Ruth was inconsolable and turned on her mother in a veritable tantrum of fury.

‘What have you done to Daddy now?’

‘Nothing! I’ve done nothing to him.’

‘He wouldn’t be so nasty to us if you hadn’t annoyed him. Have you been asking him for money or something?’

‘Well, yes, we do need money to live on and he is still your father and therefore equally responsible for your well-being. Look, I went to see a solicitor, that’s all.’

Ruth’s eyes snapped open wide in accusation. ‘A
solicitor
?
Why
? Are you going to take Daddy to court or something?’

Sighing, Judy tried to calm the child sufficiently to explain her decision to seek a divorce. Ruth wasn’t in the mood to listen.

‘You
can’t
divorce him! I won’t let you. Only bad people get divorced.’

‘That’s not true, Ruth.’

‘Yes it is! Stop sulking, Mummy, and make up. Isn’t that what you tell Tom and me when we’ve had a quarrel? Why can’t you and Daddy do that?’

‘It’s not that sort of quarrel. Mummy and Daddy have big problems that can’t be resolved by kissing and making up. I’m sorry, Ruth, but you must understand that we both still love
you
, even if we don’t any longer love each other. And the last thing we want is for either you or Tom to be hurt in all of this.’

‘Well, we
are
being hurt,’ the young girl screamed. ‘I want my clothes back, my
Little Women Dressing Dolls
, my
things
, and I don’t want to live in this
awful
dustbin of a room!’ Whereupon, she flung herself out of the door and clattered down the stairs, sobbing noisily as she went.

‘Oh, Tom, stay here, stay here darling. Don’t move an inch. I must go after her.’

By the time Judy had reached the front door there was no sign of Ruth and she spent a frantic half-hour searching every corner of the market before finding her sitting by the rubbish bins sobbing her heart out.

‘Oh, Ruth, sweetheart.’

‘I tried to go home but the door’s locked.
Can’t
we go home, Mummy? I
hate
that horrible flat.’

Judy put her arms around her daughter and rocked her lovingly. ‘Me too, but we must be brave till I manage to find us something better. Everything will be all right in the end, I promise.’

Ruth looked up, her face grubby and tear stained. ‘Why are you doing this to us? Why can’t you just go home to Daddy so that things can be like they used to be?’

Judy drew in a slow, trembling breath. How could she explain to this child who worshipped her father, what he was really like. Would she even believe Judy if she told her about his string of affairs with other women, or simply assume she was trying to blacken his name? Could she, young as she was, comprehend such things as a woman’s rights and the need for a personal life of her own? Judy wasn’t certain and was deeply fearful of making matters worse. She shook her head. ‘I can’t tell you everything just now, love. Maybe later, when you’re old enough to understand. Or you could ask your father. Perhaps he should be the one to explain, not me.’

A decision she was later to come to regret.

On the question of access Judy and Sam agreed, in a most awkward and difficult discussion standing on neutral ground in the middle of Champion Street, that Sam would have the children on Sundays and Wednesday afternoons when he took a half day off from his ironmonger’s shop. Judy tried to explain to him that both children, Ruth in particular, were finding the situation difficult and it was their duty as responsible parents to make things as easy as possible for them.

‘Oh, and can I please have their things back. Mine too, if you don’t mind. It was rather petty of you to take them, don’t you think?’

‘They wouldn’t need to even be in that poky little flat if you’d only see sense and come home. This isn’t going to do you any good, Judy. You aren’t going to win. Remember, I have far more weapons at my disposal than you.’

‘You talk as if we’re fighting a military campaign.’
 

‘We wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for your histrionics. I, for one, am perfectly willing to go on as we were.’

‘Oh, Sam, don’t start. If you aren’t prepared to make a single concession how can we possibly go on as we were? And sniping at each other won’t help, nor carrying out malicious reprisals by throwing stones at my window or ripping up my clothes. Accept it, our marriage is over. The important thing now is to make it clear to the children that they are still loved by us both.’

As she walked away she caught a glimpse of Leo Catlow standing on the corner watching her. He half lifted one hand as if about to wave to her, then his wife came out of their front door and he changed his mind, redirecting his smile to her instead. Judy felt the loss of that smile like a physical pain in her heart.

The first time Sam collected the children it felt odd, as if she were losing them in some way. Sam himself seemed like a stranger to her and not her husband any longer.

Judy sat alone all that long Sunday in the little bedsit watching the clock and waiting for their return, terrified they might not even come. Emotions were running high by the time Sam did actually arrive, an hour late, as if to prove he was still in control.

The situation didn’t improve the following week either and by the third Sunday at the end of May, Judy was still sitting with her hands clenched between her knees, for all she should be used to it by this time. All she could hear was silence, not even with the reassuringly normal everyday sounds of the market to comfort her.

How was she to survive? How was she ever to break free? Actually getting a divorce was proving to be far more difficult than she’d expected. She had no money in her purse, scarcely any food in the larder and the landlord was threatening to put the rent up. And now the children were late home yet again.

The moment she heard the hammering on the street door Judy flew down the stairs and flung it open on a sigh of relief.

‘Hello, my darlings.’

Dressed in khaki shorts and jersey, still wearing his school cap and blazer, and loaded down with fishing tackle, Tom looked somehow very small and vulnerable. Head bent, he walked past her and up the stairs. He always seemed oddly withdrawn and quiet after a day out with his father, which worried Judy immensely as she could find no reason for it.

‘Did you have a good day, darling?’ she asked his retreating back. The little boy hunched his shoulders and nodded.

‘And Ruth?’ Judy said, turning to look around, then frowning in puzzlement up at her husband, ‘Where is she? Where’s Ruth?’

‘She’s with my mother. Ruth has decided to stay on with me.’

Chapter Twenty-Seven

By the first week in June Betty was back at her flower stall, although still in a wheelchair. Her loss of mobility meant she found great difficulty in dealing with the displays but she was happy to be there amongst her lovely gladioli, zinnias, snapdragons and sweet-scented stock. Lynda had done her best in her absence but was clearly in need of more guidance. This morning Betty was trying to explain to her daughter about choosing contrasting or complementary colours for the basket displays, how to vary the shape and heights and add just the right amount of greenery without overwhelming the final picture, but she didn’t seem to be properly listening.

Lynda had become rather withdrawn of late, and strangely quiet. Betty guessed she was worrying about Jake, as was she. Oh, how she missed that daft lad of hers and wished he would come home, or at least write to let them know he was well.

If only she could turn back the clock. If only she’d shown more sense as a girl and not got herself involved with Ewan Hemley in the first place. If only pigs could fly!

‘You made your decisions and you can’t go back and change the past, so live with it, girl.’
 

‘Glad to see you’re talking to yourself again, Betty,’ Judy teased, coming over to say hello and give the older woman a kiss on each chubby cheek. ‘Welcome back.’

‘By heck, but you’re a sight for sore eyes. I’ve missed seeing you, chuck.’

‘And I you. Unfortunately, I can’t afford to buy my usual flowers this morning, even if it is a Friday. I expect Lynda told you that I’ve left Sam? Well, I can hardly afford the electricity on the bedsit let alone flowers.’ She gave a rueful little smile.

‘I hope you’ve arranged for him to pay maintenance. Don’t let him get off scot-free.’

Judy frowned. ‘I’ve made a start to try and put it all on an official footing but it isn’t easy. I’m just so glad to get away, to be free of the agony of wondering who he’s with and what he’s up to.’

‘Eeh, I remember that feeling right enough.’ Betty thought she wouldn’t mind experiencing it again right now.

‘Our situation is not ideal, and the children particularly find the bedsit cramped and difficult. But at least I can paint again, if only on the kitchen table, now that Sam isn’t around to stop me. The trouble is, Belle Garside won’t allow me to start up the stall again because Sam is set against it. She’s taking his side, I’m afraid, and finding any other sort of job has so far eluded me, apart from the odd bit of washing-up in Belle’s café. I’ve no training you see, not like you, Betty. I’m just a plain, boring housewife who’s been out of the job market for far too long.’

‘I can’t say I knew much about flowers when I first started, but I soon learnt, and you do have a skill at your fingertips already. Your painting. Don’t let anyone say otherwise or try stopping you from doing whatever it is you fancy. It’s a free country, or was last time I looked since we did win the flaming war. Here, have this bunch of lily-of-the-valley on me. They have a lovely scent.’

Judy firmly shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t hear of it. You can’t afford to give me flowers when you have your own problems.’

It was true that Betty couldn’t afford to be too generous with her gifts. Lynda had done her best to keep things going but the flower stall didn’t seem to be as financially sound as it once had been. Betty suspected that Ewan was running up debts. Even so, she loved this young lass like a second daughter and since her own parents were abroad, in the army or some such, who else was there to keep an eye on her?

‘Go on, lass, take them. One bunch won’t break the bank, and they’ll brighten up your window sill. Lily-of-the-valley are for a return of happiness, so they’ll happen bring you luck.’

 
‘Betty, I love you. You’re a national treasure, truly you are.’

And the older woman blushed with pleasure.

Betty’s next visitor to the stall didn’t speak in quite such glowing terms. Constable Nuttall bluntly informed her that although he realised she’d done her best to bring up her son with a proper sense of right and wrong, he had no option but to tell her that she’d failed.

‘Do you know where that lad of yours has been all these long weeks?’

‘Living rough, I shouldn’t wonder,’ Betty said. ‘Why, do you know where he is?’