Millie treated me like a servant from the start. As a very small child, she sent me to fetch groceries from down the road. It wasn’t much to start with but as I grew older and stronger she asked me to fetch more and more. If the goods weren’t what she wanted or not up to her standards, it meant a walk back again into town to exchange them. If I bought her a piece of lamb shoulder from the butchers, it had to be seven shillings and sixpence. Not a penny less or a penny more and not too much fat on it. I lost count of the times I had to traipse back with a joint and ask for another because the first one wasn’t good enough. It was so embarrassing to have to go back again but it was either that or face Millie’s wrath. One day she gave me such a list of heavy articles to carry that Mr Britten, the grocer, took pity on me and sent his boy, Alf, along with me to help carry the stuff.
‘You’re too young to send out for all this shopping,’ he said, not looking at all pleased. It was nice to think someone was on my side.
Millie opened the door and seeing young Alf with me, holding some of the bags of spuds and things, was really angry. He had put his scarf round my neck too, to keep me warm, he said. I was touched by that gesture of kindness. People being kind always made me want to cry, it was such a rare thing. Seeing Millie’s face, panic came over me. I tore off the scarf, flung it at the bemused Alf, and taking the bags, ran inside. Mille glared at Alf and told him to clear off. I think he’d rather hoped he’d get a tip, but that was his bad luck. She shut the door turned to me and gave me a slap.
‘You can manage very well, you sly little thing. Luring young boys to carry your bags already, are you? I can see you’ll come to no good. Far too fond of the boys already.’
I tried to defend myself. ‘Mr Barrett said it was too heavy too carry. He said I was too young to carry all this stuff,’ I said, rubbing my cheek. ‘I’m not luring, Mother. I don’t know what it means. He sent Alf with me.’
‘You’re such a liar, such a little floosie! God knows, your father sets you a bad enough example.’
‘My father?’ I felt confused. ‘Dad Joe?’
‘Don’t you know sailors have a woman in every port? You think my precious husband is any different and able to keep his trousers buttoned up? Huh! He always had an eye for the women, did Joe.’
‘I don’t believe you!’ I shouted. ‘Dad Joe isn’t like that, he isn’t!’
Millie’s temper was easily provoked and terrible. She went deep red in the face, a peculiar shade that began down in her neck and rose like some strange tidal wave of blood up to her cheeks, over her forehead until even her ears turned dark red. When that began to happen I always fled well out of the reach of a hard fist ready to smack my head or a thwack from the wooden spoon in her hand or any other object that she might grab and fling in my direction.
‘You’re as disgusting and argumentative as he is!’ she screamed at me and grabbing an ashtray sent it flying in my direction. It splintered by my ear as I dived out of the door, quaking with her ferocity and hate.
Anything that was not in agreement with Millie’s wishes and desires was construed as being stubborn and argumentative. I was not allowed a heart or mind of my own. She seemed to assume I would be a reflection of her in every way, know what she needed. I learnt to be so in order to survive. But she forgot, didn’t she, that a reflection is your opposite face.
Maybe what pushed Dad Joe that bit too far was the day I broke my ankle. He could stand her harrying him, laugh about it even. He was away so much he didn’t really care. I asked him once why he didn’t leave Millie, why he didn’t divorce her but he said he didn’t agree with divorce. He was Catholic and though he didn’t attend Mass or anything, he still felt he’d made a promise to be with her till death did them part and he never broke a promise. I understood that, I was just the same, but I felt maybe God would be kinder to put them asunder now rather than let them live in such a farcical relationship. What I really wanted was for Dad to take me away or else for Millie to die.
The day I broke my ankle was a Sunday. A Sunday in January; cold, grey and miserable. Millie had sent me up to lay a fire in their bedroom as Dad Joe was coming home on leave that evening. They still slept together in a small double bed. It was just a habit, I suppose – the thing everyone did when married no matter what the relationship was like. Later in life, I looked back and wondered how they could bear to be so close at night when they never spoke to one another in the day.
I was always good at making fires and getting them going. I never needed to use a newspaper over the chimney to get a draught up. The trick was to make sure the wood and coal were really dry by bringing some in the day before, leaving it in the box near the fireplace where it would warm up nicely for the next day.
As I laid their fire, I thought about Dad and wondered if he was on the way from Portsmouth, or Pompey as he called it, where his ship had docked. I looked forward to seeing him and I knew he was always glad that I would be there first at the door, ready to hug and kiss him and welcome him home.
‘My best girl, my little Bridie!’ he’d say lifting me up in the air, even though I was nearly eleven, making me squeal with delight.
Millie would press her lips tight with annoyance and jealousy but she said nothing, never uttered a comment that she was glad he was home. Yet she’d attend with surprising care by making him a nice meal, getting the bedroom cosy, making the house extra neat and clean. But that was all. There were no words of love or welcome, no touch of hand or a little kiss or token of affection. The two of them simply stood and looked at one another for a few moments and then Millie would tell me to go and put on the kettle and make a pot of tea. Dad would pick up his kit bag and march upstairs with it, the boys following him, demanding gifts and treats. They were never disappointed.
Having laid the fire neat and nice, I got up, rubbed my blackened hands on a duster, and collected the coal scuttle to take down and refill. For a moment, I walked over to the window, put down the scuttle, and moving aside the thick cotton lace curtains, looked out over the rooftops towards the sea. It was only five minutes’ walk away but we couldn’t see it from here as our house was lost in a maze of streets near the town centre. Still, I knew it was there, could picture it and feel the thrill of it. Soon Dad and I would be walking down to the seashore and he would tell me some of the places he’d been to, his adventures and the exploits of his mates. I was so happy. A smile broke out on my face.
‘What are you doing, girl, what are you grinning about?’
Millie had entered the room in her usual silent, sneaking, spying fashion. My heart leapt with guilt as it always did when she was around.
‘Nothing. Just looking out of the window.’
‘Looking at our private things is what you mean. I know you; you’re nosy and always prying. Just do your job and get out of our room.’
This accusation was rich, coming from her, and I felt angry in turn.
‘It’s not me who noses into things,’ I muttered.
She grabbed me by the arm, her face beginning to colour up alarmingly.
‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’
I tried to twist my arm away but her fingers dug into my flesh. I was already tall for my age and could easily push her aside but that never occurred to me. Her strength lay in her forceful personality, which held me in such a state of fear that it paralysed any actions on my part.
‘Nothing, nothing …’ I bleated. She knew I was afraid and fed on the fear like some vampire, delighted with her power.
‘Little tart!’ she exclaimed. ‘Always where you shouldn’t be, always causing trouble between me and Joe. We were happy till he picked you up. You were a nasty little red-faced, screaming baby and you’re a nasty child now. You’re a horrible little thing, that’s what you are!’
I fled past her to the top of the stairs, tried to escape her accusing face and voice, her upraised arm ready to slap me across the head. Stepping backwards, I stumbled and fell, rolling and bumping down the steps, feeling every tread catch at my spine as I went down. It was a peculiar sensation, painful and quick to end, leaving me with a feeling that I would never be able to save myself from anything; that all my life long I would be falling and falling into space in an effort to escape something evil.
The boys, hearing the commotion, came running out and stood staring at me as I lay still and twisted up at the bottom. Andy laughed. ‘Silly cow! Get up.’
I was dazed but tried to get up and shrieked. Something hurt too much.
At the top of the stairs, Millie looked down on me from what seemed a great height. She folded her arms and looked upon me with utter contempt.
‘Stop being a fool and looking for sympathy,’ she barked, ‘get up and get out, you rude, nasty thing!’
I tried again and howled with pain and fear.
Andy kicked me hard in the side and pushed me with his foot, ‘Stop hamming, Bridie. You’re such a blinkin’ tragedy queen.’
Jim stared at me, frowning, and then bent down to look at my leg.
‘She can’t get up, Mum,’ he said, ‘look, her foot looks funny. I think she’s broken something. We’d better get a doctor over.’
Millie almost hissed in exasperation.
‘She brought it on herself,’ she said as she marched down the stairs and took a look at me. I lay white and still and whimpering as quietly as I could though the pain was so immense I wanted to scream my head off. It seemed to dawn on her then that maybe I was really hurt, that Dad would be home soon and demand an explanation of events. In a funny way she was quite frightened of Dad who also had a temper though not like hers. His temper, though seldom roused, was cold and merciless once set in motion. He might not buy her story that it had been my fault, though he knew nothing of her regular ill treatment. She was always quite nice to me when he was around and I never said a word against her, there didn’t seem any point. Nothing could be changed. To the young, their situation, however bad, seems inevitable and they just live through it, vaguely hoping that some day things might improve. I was the sort who kept things to myself and suffered in silence.
Jim picked me up, carried me into the living room and laid me on the sofa. I lay there moaning, gasping with the pain, and looked at him, huge tears brimming over, rolling down my face. His eyes flickered with a sort of compassion and I gave him a weak smile. I felt immense gratitude to him. It was the first time one of them had shown me any care.
‘Better get the doctor, I suppose,’ said Millie, looking at me with utter disgust. ‘Trust you to cause trouble, just as Joe is coming home, attention-seeking little bitch. Andy, run down the road and get Doctor Barnes … if he’s in. It’s Sunday as well.’ She glared at me as if I had conjured the whole scenario on purpose to annoy everyone.
I began to feel I had done so and felt deeply unhappy. Now I couldn’t greet Dad and we couldn’t have our walk down to the sea. I began to cry again but not aloud; I just shut my eyes, letting the tears ooze out slowly, choking back my sobs.
Andy, also shooting me looks of annoyance and dislike, went most unwillingly to get Doctor Barnes. Luckily the doctor was in and said he’d come after his Sunday lunch. He did so in his own good time and I lay in pain till he arrived, wishing I was dead. He came at last and seemed to spend an age chatting to Millie at first, as if nothing was the matter at all and this was merely a social call. He was one of her cronies and I’d never liked the man. She always made sure she brushed her hair and put on her lipstick when he called round. He seemed to call round a lot but never when he was needed. At last, he deigned to come over and see me and stared at me as if I was some specimen in a glass jar, and not a very attractive specimen at that. Then he felt my leg, pronouncing I had probably broken a bone near the ankle and would have to go up to the hospital tomorrow to have an x-ray and a plaster put on. Meanwhile he set it as best he could. ‘She’ll be all right,’ he said dismissively. ‘It can wait till tomorrow.’
I wanted them to take me now but it meant a bus into town and no one would bother. If only Dad was here. He’d have insisted, borrowed a car or something.
Between Jim and the doctor, they got me upstairs, onto my bed and out of the way. I lay there while tears streamed down my face. Now I couldn’t walk any more and I was frightened. Maybe I’d never walk properly again. It was better to be able to walk about and be normal even if it meant running about at Mean Millie’s bidding than lying here incapable of doing anything.
Jim lingered a little and smoothed the blanket around me.
‘Cheer up, old girl,’ he said. ‘I’ll bring you up some comics and things if you like.’
‘I just want to see Dad Joe,’ I sobbed. ‘I want Dad Joe.’
‘He’ll be here soon. Want me to read to you or anything?’
‘No. I just want to be dead!’
‘Don’t be stupid. It’s only a broken ankle. It’ll get better. You heard what old Barnes said. You’re young and it’ll get better quick.’
‘But I want to walk down to the sea with Dad Joe. I want to move about and it hurts a lot. I don’t want to be up here all by myself.’
‘I’ll keep you company, Bridie. I promise, I will. Honest.’
I looked at him and saw how his gentle blue eyes were clouded over with an expression I’d not seen there before. It was a questioning. Not questioning me but something indefinable and troubling in his heart. I tried to smile. He sounded so kind and sincere and worried. He was the only nice person in this house when Dad Joe wasn’t around.
Just then Millie yelled up the stairs, ‘Jim! What are you doing up there, wasting time. Come down at once and help me with the dishes.’
‘Helping Mum means I’ll have to wash and dry,’ whispered Jim, ‘while Mum watches from her chair.’
‘Don’t I know it.’ I whispered back, amazed at this traitorous comment.
‘Look on the bright side, Bridie. You can have a rest for a change while we do the work. Andy won’t be too pleased.’
‘Andy won’t lift a finger,’ I said. ‘Sorry, Jim. I suppose you’ll get lumbered now.’
‘Never mind. I want to see you rest, Bridie. I hate it when you work so hard. It isn’t fair.’
‘You’re kind, Jim. You’re really kind.’ I looked at him with new eyes and with deep-feeling gratitude. He smiled and stroked my hair for a moment then scuttled off as Millie lifted her voice yet again, demanding he came down forthwith or she’d give him what for.
When Dad came in, I yearned to run downstairs to greet him but had to lie there, feeling weak and dizzy. He would be so upset that I wasn’t there.
I heard his voice, heard him greet the boys and say, ‘Where’s my little Bridie?’
Millie passed some message via the boys. I heard Andy saying how I’d been stupid and fallen downstairs and hurt my ankle.
Dad came up straightaway and looked at me. He gave me a kiss on the cheek and stroked back my hair.
‘What have you been up to, silly-billy? Going and getting your leg messed up. How on earth did you manage that?’
‘Sorry, Dad,’ I said feebly, ‘so sorry to be a nuisance.’
‘I’ll say. Never mind, ducky, we’ll make sure you’re up and about again soon. I’ll fetch you up a cuppa in a minute and a couple of aspirins. Then we’ll have a little chat if you feel up to it. Lord above, you look so pale.’
He felt my ankle gently. I tried hard not to scream.
‘Damnation! This can’t be left till tomorrow; you could be lamed for life if we don’t act now. That bloody doctor’s useless, always has been. What the dickens has he done here? Is this supposed to be some sort of splint? He’s no use at all. That doctor will never turn out unless it’s to put you in the mortuary. I’ll go down to the phone box and order a taxi. There’s always some hanging about at the station. We’ll get you sorted out and then it won’t hurt quite so much, eh? You’ll soon be right as rain.’
‘Then we can go walking by the sea,’ I said, cheering up a little.
‘Yes, yes, we will,’ was the hearty reply. ‘Don’t you fret. Dad’s home again, my little lass.’
The words were like a balm to my soul. I felt safe and cared for now. Sometimes I had visions of running away to sea, stowing aboard his ship and begging to be a cabin girl or something. But those things happened in books, not real life. In real life I’d be sent home again or thrown in some juvenile detention centre or something equally awful and a triumphant Millie would say, ‘I told you she’d come to no good.’