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| Some quarrels are too bitter to be mended by a kiss. The memory lingers on ... continued on page 31 |
Forgive Me, Darling, by John Montgomery
Illustrated By Coby Whitmore
TOM pushed the books away from him. "Let's go out for the evening, somewhere bright," he suggested, kicking his foot against the table leg.
It wasn't unexpected. Anne had been wondering how long he would stay in, evening after evening, poring over his engineering books. They looked terribly dull. And it was dreary for her, working alone in the kitchen or reading by the fire or listening to the wireless turned low while he went on studying, just as if she didn't exist.
But she daren't interrupt him. And every evening was the same: the routine had not changed since they moved into the flat. No sooner had she cleared away the supper things than out came the books, down went his head, and then there was silence.
But today was Saturday, and now Tom had suddenly decided to step out. Would wonders ever cease!
"Let's go!" she said, jumping up from the armchair, fearful he might change his mind. "What would you like to do?"
"What's on at the Ritz?" he asked. It was their favourite cinema; before they were married they used to sit at the back of the stalls, holding hands. It had been there, in the darkness, that he had quietly and unexpectedly slipped her engagement ring on to her finger. The dear old Ritz, she thought.
"I think it's a Western," she said.
"You don't like them."
"Not much," she admitted "but it doesn't matter." Anything to go out, to make a change. "If we go straight away, we'll just catch the last programme."
"All right. Put on something warm. Better wrap up, it's cold outside."
She ran into the bedroom, which was chilly after the heat of the sitting-room fire. It wasn't much of a flat, but it was almost impossible to find somewhere unfurnished unless you had plenty of money. And Tom and Anne
certainly weren't well off.
He was too young to be earning a large income. Their honeymoon had cost more than they expected and it was unlikely they would have a real holiday this year. They had been married six months but they never seemed to catch up with the bills. That was why Tom was studying to gain knowledge and earn more money. But must he work all the evening, every night?
She took her blue coat out of the cupboard. It was her only good one; her mother had given it to her, and it was warm. She was aware, as she put it on and took down a small hat from the top shelf, that Tom still possessed only a cheap, thin raincoat.
She felt slightly guilty as she came back into the sitting-room with her fur collar turned up. With his raincoat over one arm Tom was examining his chin in the small mirror over the mantelpiece.
"I should have shaved," he said, and she remembered how careful he had been to shave in the evenings when they first started going out together. Life had been exciting then, meeting three or four times a week to go to the pictures or the coffee bar in the High Street or over to the Crown for a drink.
By comparison, married life was more than dull. She had begun to feel that the engineering books had come between them; they had changed him from a carefree boy into a rather serious, studious fellow.
She reflected, as he followed her downstairs, that he wasn't quite so affectionate as during their first few weeks together. They had settled down and were almost taking one another for granted. It was what she dreaded, that the first gloss of marriage, the excitement, would soon wear thin. .
"You don't think you've been working too hard?" she suggested, as he opened the street door for her.
"Maybe, a little," he said, "but I must convince Mr. Jilson that I want to get out of the workshop into the planning department. I'll only do that by studying."
Mr. Jilson's name was almost sacred. He was the managing director of the vast steelworks which bore his name, and it only needed a word from him for Tom to be out, unemployed, on the dole, with the milkman unpaid and the rent mounting up and the blue studio couch not nearly paid for. It was frightening, the power a man like Mr. Jilson could hold over a young couple he didn't even know.
It had started to rain and there was no shelter along Hawley Street so they walked quickly, Anne clinging to Tom's arm. It was pleasant to be going out together again, but he didn't appear happy. .
"What a filthy night," he said as they passed the windows of the electricity showroom, bright with colour. She didn't reply. She was wondering if she'd remembered to turn off the fire in the sitting-room; leaving it on would use up the shillings. Would they ever be able to afford a new fire, something to replace the cracked imitation logs in the grate?
'It depends on whether I dare ask for more money.' She could almost hear him saying it, just like last week when she asked about buying extra blankets. He was so indecisive.
If only she were running things, she would know what to do; she would ask to see Mr. Jilson and demand a rise. And she'd get it. Men didn't always achieve results quickly, they let things slide, and were surprisingly timid. After all, Tom wasn't earning enough money, was he? But he seemed afraid of pushing himself.
When they reached the cinema she saw to her dismay a long line of people standing in the rain, a queue that stretched around the corner and showed no sign of moving. Dejected, they walked round to stand at the end.
A man in front of them was complaining to his companion, "Hardly worth waiting-they've started." "What do you think?" asked Anne.
TOM wiped the rain off his forehead. His faded raincoat looked soaked, he had turned the collar up but he wasn't wearing a scarf.
"Someone’s bound to come out soon," he said hopefully.
Just like Tom, she thought-always putting things off, hoping for the best.
And when she made suggestions he didn't approve. She recalled how surprised, almost angry, he had been when she suggested-only last Sunday-that they might buy a new fire. The way he scowled at her, she might have asked for the moon.
"Dam this rain!" he said suddenly, stamping his feet up and down.
"Let's give up," she suggested.
"They'll have to move soon," he said. But at that moment a comissionaire came plodding along the wet pavement, holding an umbrella over his head, shouting, "All full up! No seats available!"
"Nothing at all?" asked Tom.
"No. I said all full up, and that's what I mean. You won't get in until the big picture starts, and then you might be unlucky. There's two hundred people in front of you. Know what I'd do?"
"What?" asked Tom.
"Go 'ome and sit in front of a nice, big, roaring fire and keep dry. Wish I blinking well could!" He turned and sloshed off through the rain.
Anne watched him go, and then -to her surprise -Tom suddenly exclaimed, "Come on! I've had enough of this," and started walking away across the road.
She was taken completely by surprise, but he didn't even turn his head to see if she was following. He was away before she fully realized what was happening. And then she was chasing after him, with the rain pouring down her face and all the cinema queue standing there, watching.
"Tom!" she called, but he had crossed the road before she caught up with him, and now they were almost inside the swing doors of the Crown.
SHE was furious, humiliated that he had left her standing there without even caring. She had never seen him like this before, he was behaving like a stupid child in a fit of temper; it was ridiculous to be upset by a cinema queue and a wet night.
"Really, Tom!" she protested, as they entered the warm, cosy lounge bar. She felt so exasperated she hardly knew what to say.
"Oh, don't start nagging!" he replied, without even looking at her. It wasn't a new expression, it was becoming a habit. Whenever she reproved him or reminded him of some lapse, he accused her of nagging. It was a word she associated with unhappy couples, not with her own marriage, certainly not with life with Tom.
It didn't fit in with her honeymoon memories of the boy she loved, bronzed and dark-haired in the Cornish sun, running along the edge of the sea towards her without a care in the world. They had been overwhelmingly happy.
But now, was she really becoming what she dreaded, a nagging wife? Or was it Tom who had changed? He didn't seem quite the same person, standing there at the bar looking sullen and miserable, with his hair all wet and untidy and his raincoat creased and dripping.
She turned away and sat down at a small table, wondering what strange spell had spoilt their happiness.
"I got you a sherry," he said, rather curtly, placing the glass and a small tankard of beer on the table.
"All right." She hardly knew what to say.
"You don't seem very pleased."
She answered sharply, without looking up. "Would you be, if you were left standing on the other side of the road?" Really, they had to settle it. Didn't he know he had hurt her?
"I thought you were coming with me," he said, sitting down and taking a sip from his tankard of beer. But it didn't sound convincing, the way he said it.
"Anyway," she said defiantly, "how did you know I wanted sherry? "
"Don’t you usually drink it?"
"Yes, sometimes -but you could have asked first. I might have wanted a gin and lime, how did you guess I didn't? "
At the back of her mind she knew she was being unreasonable. The choice of drink had nothing to do with the way he had behaved. But he mustn't be allowed to go on like this, he was ruining their evening, he deserved anything unkind she said.
WHEN he spoke again his voice sounded more like a school- master's than his own. "Well," he said, "if you wanted something else why didn't you ask?
"You didn't give me a chance, you just ordered it."
"Oh, stop nagging," he said. There was that word again. It was monstrously unfair. Then, uncontrollably, she felt the tears welling up into her eyes. Heavens, she thought, I can't cry here!
Suddenly there came into her mind, like a flash, the realization that she must show him -now or never -that he couldn't do this kind of thing. She must make it clear that she wasn't prepared to be humiliated and taken for granted, that you just didn't walk off and leave your wife standing.
She knew just what to do -she would get up and go, leaving him sitting there alone to recover his senses. He'd soon come crawling back home like a naughty boy, full of apologies. It was now or never.
Pushing back her chair, she suddenly rose, gulped down her sherry, and placed the glass on the table. Then, without even glancing at him, she gathered up her handbag and gloves and walked quickly towards the swing doors.
"Anne!"
She heard him call, but this was no time to turn back. She pulled open the door and went straight out into the rain. Let him shout, she thought to herself. She was furious with him. And she was justified, wasn't she?
But she was hardly prepared for the downpour that greeted her. She had never seen such rain. Within a minute she was wet through, with water dripping down her face and soaking in through her thin shoes, and she was still far from home. Desperate for shelter, she dashed for the covered arcade next to the electricity shop.
She had stood there under cover for at least ten minutes before she realized that it was not going to stop raining, not that night.
A lonely car ploughed past, sending up a fine spray of water. Then all the lights in the electricity showroom went out, and she suddenly felt very cold and lonely and anxious to get home.
IT was then she realized with a sinking feeling in her stomach, that she was locked out. She had no latch-key to the front door: it was in Tom's pocket.
There was only one solution -she would have to ring Mrs. Murston's bell and hope she would come down from the top floor to open the door. The key to their own flat would be up on the ledge, where they always kept it.
But rousing Mrs. Murston would be difficult, even supposing she were in. She was very unsociable and she would probably be unpleasant especially if her husband was at home. They were always having rows; you could hear them arguing and fighting' downstairs.
She didn't like the idea of ringing the Murstons' bell but by the time she had reached the house she was so exhausted by the rain that she would have done almost anything to get into the flat. So she pressed the bell, and to her relief she heard familiar footsteps on the stairs, the door opened, and there was Mrs. Murston, untidy and ugly and suspicious.
"Oh, it's you, is it?" she said. "What's wrong? Got locked out, eh? "
One day, thought Anne, I'd like to live in a really nice house, without any Murstons.
"Thank you for coming down," she said.
"Bit wet, aren't we, dearie?"
"It's raining very hard," said Anne,
"You ought to get another key cut," said Mrs. Murston as Anne walked past her and started to climb the stairs.
It was true, of course, she had mentioned it to Tom several times but he never did anything about it. Must everything always be left to her?
BUT here she was at last, home again. Hanging her wet coat behind the kitchen door she went into the sitting-room, put her shoes inside the fender, and switched on both bars of the electric fire.
She had been sitting there for several minutes, toasting her toes, when the clock struck nine. She began to wonder how long Tom would be, and where he was. Perhaps she had acted rather hastily, walking out on him like that without saying a word; it certainly wouldn't improve the situation.
She had half expected him to come running after her, but he hadn't. Now he was probably drowning his sorrows with a drink or two. It was their first real row and she was already regretting it. Suppose they ended up like the Murstons, always fighting? Suppose their quarrels became more and more bitter and it was no longer possible to forgive and forget?
What had he murmured to her as they lay on the sand during the first week of their honeymoon?
"Dearest," he had said, "we've got to share everything, the good and the bad times together. It may be a struggle, at first, but we'll overcome the difficulties if we both keep faith. Think we can manage it?"
She had smiled, and nodded her head. She had been quite sure then, that their love could see them through.
Now that doubts were beginning to creep in, so early in their married life, she remembered what he had said. They had to keep faith, not walk out on one another, and behave like spoilt children. She should have stayed with him and just ignored his bad temper.
She went into the kitchen, filled the kettle at the cold tap, and put it on the stove. A cup of tea was what she wanted: the sherry had made her throat feel dry.
But as she returned to the armchair in front of the fire, she suddenly swayed, overcome by a feeling of faintness.
She stumbled over to the chair and sat with her head in her hands feeling thoroughly sick.
For a second the fear that she was seriously ill almost overwhelmed her. And then the giddiness was gone, as quickly as it had come, and she was left wondering what she would do if she were sick while Tom was away. In an emergency he was the only person she could turn to, her husband.
She stood up, and walked into the kitchen. The kettle had not yet started to sing, so she took down the brown teapot from the cupboard and put it on the table near the stove. Then she took the tea-caddy out of the larder.
IT was when she looked around for the sugar that there suddenly flashed into her mind the reason for her faintness and nausea. It had been like nothing she had ever known before, but when it had passed she was left with a strange contentment, a peace of mind, a happiness which was new and wonderful.
A new infant life was within her, she was sure of it.
She might be wrong, of course. Only a doctor would know for certain. But in her heart she was convinced. Her lips moved in silent prayer that it might be so, that all would be well. And then, as she turned off the stove and walked back into the sitting-room, the tears began to well up into her eyes. Tears of thankfulness which she did not want to hide.
Tom kept his papers in the small bureau by the window. It took only a minute to find a clean sheet of writing paper and a pencil. Then, using the top or the bureau as a pad, with her hand shaking slightly, she wrote the words.
'My dearest,
I am tired and have gone to bed. Forgive me for being so stupid tonight. I love you very much indeed. And now, because I believe we are going to have a child, I love you more than ever. - Anne.'
When she had read it, she wondered whether it was really what she wished to tell him. She had never been good at writing letters, and it seemed strangely inadequate, this little scrap of paper, to carry such momentous news.
She hoped, as she wrote his name in block capitals on the folded message and placed it on the hall table, that he would understand, and share her happiness. Then she went back to the sitting-room, and stretched out luxuriously on the couch to sip her tea, before going to bed.
Please make him want a child, she thought. Please let' us have a baby.
She did not hear him come in. She must have dozed off. When she awoke he was there, looking down at her, smiling. .
"Hello, darling," he whispered, grasping her hand. "Sorry I'm so late."
DREAMILY, she smiled at him. His dark hair was still wet with rain, he seemed even younger than he had looked on the beach during that glorious fortnight. He was an attractive boy; and she knew she was lucky to be married to him.
"From now on," he said, "things are going to be much better. You'll see."
"How?" she asked.
Gently he squeezed her hand. "You were right about my not getting things done," he said. "Not grasping opportunities, not pushing myself. So I did it, I grabbed my chance."
"You did?"
"I saw Mr. Jilson coming into the Crown, just after you'd left. So I went straight up to him, and guess what I did."
"What?"
"I asked him for a rise, just like that. And he told me to sit down, and he ordered me a beer, and we talked for ages."
"About you?"
"Yes, about me, and you and what I was doing at the works, and everything. And at the end Mr. Jilson said he'd move me into the planning department, and give me a rise, starting Monday.
Almost double what I'm getting.
"I have to go and see him on Monday at nine, but it's all fixed. More money and the job I want. That's something, isn't it? Think of the holiday we'll have in the summer."
"Oh it's wonderful," she said. "But, Tom. . . ."
"Yes? "
"Didn't you see my note?"
"What note?"
"The one on the hall table."
"No, darling, what's it about?" He looked at her. "Something mysterious," he whispered, and grinned. "What have you smashed this time?" Rising, he walked through to the hall.
HE seemed to be away for a lifetime. There was silence in the room except for the beating of the rain on the window.
Heavens, she thought, I do hope it will please him. Having a baby would use up all the extra money, they probably wouldn't be able to afford a holiday at all, it might not be what he wanted, not yet.
She looked up and there he was standing in the doorway, with the note in his hand.
"Darling," he said, as he walked towards her, "aren't you the cleverest girl in the world? It's the best thing that's ever happened to us. Now we're a real family. Oh, dearest, if I'd only known, I'd have come running after you and carried you home in my arms. I love you so much."
Sitting down on the edge of the couch he put his arms around her and started to cover her lips with kisses. And as she raised her hands to run her fingers through his hair, she knew that the magic of marriage had not dimmed but deepened. ------------ THE END © John Montgomery, 1959
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