Thurnscoe, 1958
In the autumn of 1957 Margaret falls pregnant again. When she tells Roy he is sanguine and caring, saying it’s a good job, they ought to be having a brother or sister for little Gary, their son. Roy does not stay out late for a while and the family has one of its periods of contented calm. Margaret has the flat how she likes it, Gary is walking and beginning to talk, and Roy is earning good money at Hatfield colliery. He still talks about himself as an Army man, even though he was discharged from the Emergency Reserve the previous December. The Army had recognised his qualities, he feels: in his discharge papers he had been described as ‘a sober, honest and trustworthy man . . . who can be given a reasonable amount of responsibility, and who is prepared to work hard’.
And now, in his civilian career, he does work hard, clocking up the overtime on the earthmovers, and arguing with his dad about the strain when they go out drinking. Harry and his pals annoy Roy with their insistence that the young men complaining these days should have tried the pits under the old gaffers, on their bellies with picks and shovels. They’d not be able to stand it now, they say, they’re different, a weaker kind of men. Roy is bored by this competitive suffering, and by the petty materialism that goes with it. His dad’s expensive shirts and gold-plated tie-clips are ridiculous to him because, after all, ‘they’re only in bloody Thurnscoe’. Vexed by it all he goes home and tells Margaret: No, he’s not paying for new stuff, what did it matter if it was new or not? It’s all show for the neighbours, and he hates it. ‘I’m telling you,’ he says, ‘if there was a place where everyone had no possessions, and walked around naked, I’d go to live there.’ Margaret tells him to stop talking daft.
*
Her labour begins on the evening of 3 July 1958. She is up all night, with Roy rubbing her back and encouraging her, but by the morning the contractions have faded away. Her mam takes Gary, Roy goes to work, and her dad drives her to the Montagu where she gives birth to another baby boy. Roy comes to see her after work in the evening, and he is gentle and kind, holding her hand, smiling down at the baby. He tells her not to worry and says he’ll come tomorrow and bring her home.
The following morning, a Saturday, there is no sign of him, and no message. Margaret waits, and waits, and then a nurse says there is an ambulance going to Thurnscoe that can take her and her baby home if she likes. She gets back to the flat at half past twelve. Roy is sitting at the kitchen table.
With her senses and tolerance shot, her usual fear of confronting him falls away. ‘Where’ve you been? I thought you were coming for me?’
‘What’s up with you? I was just going to come down!’
‘Were you hell,’ she says. ‘I bet you’ve been out all night with them from Highgate.’
‘Them from Highgate’ means Roy’s family.
‘Aye, I went out for a drink. Then I came home, I got up and I was just coming down to fetch you.’
The baby cries in the basket. Roy and Margaret have a row. Roy storms out and doesn’t come back for three days.
Margaret calls their new son David. He is a quiet baby, but nevertheless, with two children their one-bedroom flat now seems small. The boys’ things fill all the spare space, and Margaret is up through the night feeding or soothing them. Roy recoils from her and the home, and soon he is staying away again, and irritable when he comes home. He takes off for days with no warning, and when he comes back he finds her upset and tired, but talks her round with stories about fantastic job offers that will make them rich. She lets herself believe him, but then a few weeks later he will disappear and she is alone with the boys again.
When she can, she takes Gary and David back to her mam and dad’s house, but this makes Roy fume. Sometimes he leaves them all there and goes back to stay at Harry and Winnie’s, until they run out of sympathy and tell him to look after his kids like a proper father. His moods darken. His attempts to be a kind, responsible husband never last the month and then he’s off, staying out and blaming Margaret for her nagging when he returns. One night, when David is six months old and Gary is two, he turns violent again.
He comes back after being away for two days and enters the bedroom swaying. He holds a glass bottle of milk in his hand. Margaret gets out of bed and stands up to him.
‘Where the hell have you been? I’ve been worried here on my own.’
‘I’ve been working.’
‘Working! Boozing more like.’
‘Aw, give it a rest, love. I’ve been working.’
‘Don’t lie to me!’ She pushes him. He pushes her back harder, against the bed.
‘Shut it!’ he says, and she sees him lift the hand holding the milk. Instead of hitting her with it, he removes the top, and pours the milk over her head, swearing at her as he does so. A few moments later he is gone.
Margaret sits on the bed, and looks over to the cots in the corner. David is awake and crying, and Gary is standing with his hands on the rail, watching the milk drip from his mother’s body down onto the bedsheets.