A Mother’s Sacrifice

Copyright

Published by Avon an imprint of

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2017

Copyright © Kitty Neale 2017

Kitty Neale asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008191672

Ebook Edition © December 2016 ISBN: 9780008191689

Version 2017-01-09

Dedication

For my Mum.

To the most amazing and inspirational woman I have ever known. You have always been there for me to share my tears and my joys and have offered unconditional love and support throughout, without which I may have floundered. You have my greatest admiration and respect, and leave me in awe of your strength. You have given me life and opportunity, and I thank you for everything. I love you xxx

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Part 1, 1947

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Part 2, 1967

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Q&A With Kitty Neale

About the Author

By the Same Author

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

Battersea, London, 1947

‘Glenda!’ The front door flew open and Glenda Jenkins tensed as she heard her husband shout.

‘Get your glad rags on, we’re going down the Castle. Alfie Ledger’s missus had a boy last night. We’re gonna wet the baby’s head.’

Glenda pulled the covers over Johnnie, tucking him into his crib. At seven months old, he was teething and it made him tetchy, so she didn’t want to wake him and drag him out in the damp evening air to Harry’s parents’ house. She hated going to the pub too, but knew it would be useless to protest. Anyway, it sounded like Harry was in a good mood and she dared not rile him.

She took a deep breath and moved her slim frame to the top of the stairs as she called down, ‘All right, love, just give me a few minutes. Have you checked with your mum that it’s OK to drop Johnnie in?’

‘No, but you know she loves having the little munchkin. Just get a move on, will you? We’re missing valuable drinking time.’

Glenda sighed heavily again. It was Thursday, Maude’s Tombola night at the Catholic church, so she might not want to look after her grandson. But Glenda was used to Harry barking his orders, and when Harry said jump, she knew better than to argue. She would take Johnnie’s bottles and formula for Maude to make up. Once again, she felt a familiar surge of guilt that she’d been unable to breast-feed.

Quickly slipping off her housecoat and smoothing down her drab dark-green dress, Glenda checked her reflection in the bedroom mirror. She was twenty-four and her long legs would have looked good in one of those fashionable new knee-length skirts, but Harry wouldn’t let her have one as he said only tarts and whores wore them. She would have loved a smart jacket with shoulder pads too, but Harry said that big shoulders were for men, not for decent wives and mothers. Anyway, with clothes still being rationed, and only stuff made of cheap, scratchy material available, she’d have to make do with what she had.

Content with her dress, she patted her brown hair, wrapped a scarf over her waves and tied it under her chin before leaning in closer to the mirror to apply a touch of lipstick. Damn it, she thought as she noticed the yellowing mark still visible on her jaw. Harry rarely hit her on her face but his violence seemed to be escalating and last week, after a skinful of beer, he had come home the worse for wear and woken her, dragging her out of bed to warm up his dinner. She had thrown it away earlier, thinking he wouldn’t want it, but that had been the wrong thing to do. She had paid for her mistake with several blows to the head.

When they entered the smoky pub, Harry steered Glenda towards the saloon bar where several of his mates’ wives were already sat. Before the war women weren’t seen in London pubs, but things were changing and, as long as you were escorted, it was now acceptable to be in the saloon bar. A cheer went up from the group of men. ‘Look, Harry’s here!’

‘All right, lads, where’s the proud new father?’ Harry said, smiling as he greeted his mates. ‘There he is. Alfie, my old mucker, let me get you a drink.’

Glenda stood back shyly, her head lowered as Harry summoned the barman and ordered a round of drinks for everyone. His generosity and popularity had once been attractive to her, but now she worried as she saw the rent money going over the bar.

‘Glenda, hello, love. How are you? I ain’t seen you in ages!’

Glenda looked up and inwardly cringed. It was Betty Howard, the last person she wanted to be seen with and the biggest gossip in Battersea. If you wanted something known locally, Betty was the person to tell. She was also the most gossiped about and had worked in the local greengrocer’s since she was fifteen. Though she was nice looking and had dated most of the men in the area, Betty was still single and known to be flighty. Harry had come home only yesterday and said that Betty had her eye on Billy Myers now. Apparently she had turned up at the old bombsite on Lavender Hill which was now a building site and brought sandwiches for Billy. All the workmen had had a right laugh about that.

‘Oh, hello, Betty,’ she said. It wasn’t in her nature to snub anyone. ‘Yeah, I’m fine, thanks. I’ve been busy with little Johnnie lately. He’s teething at the moment; you know how it is.’

‘Well, not really,’ Betty answered as she drank her gin and tonic. ‘I’ve not had much experience with babies but you never know … I’m hoping Billy Myers will be coming in later. You know him, don’t you? He works as a labourer on that site where your Harry is. He’s a bit of all right, I must say! Tell you what, your Harry reminds me a bit of Billy, both with their dark hair and stocky build. I do like a muscly man, what about you? Here … have you tried gin with this Schweppes stuff? It’s ever so ladylike, don’t you think?’

Glenda looked at Betty, rather bemused. Blimey, she thought as the woman jabbered on, but thankfully, before she had a chance to engage in too much conversation, the pub door opened again and Billy Myers walked in, bringing with him a blast of chilly autumn air.

Betty spotted her target instantly and sashayed towards the door, wiggling her hips in her satin skirt. Glenda admired Betty’s outfit and wondered how she had come to own such a garment, what with the shortage of clothing. Betty was brave to wear it in here, she thought.

Harry appeared at Glenda’s side and handed her a small sherry. ‘Look at that bloody tart,’ he said, nodding towards Betty and Billy.

‘Yeah, she came in on her own and it’s disgusting,’ said one of the wives who was just passing them and had overheard Harry’s remark. ‘I wouldn’t walk into a pub, saloon bar or not, without my husband.’

‘You never know,’ Glenda said with a smile, ‘Betty might have one soon. They might find true love together.’

‘Don’t be daft, woman! She’d eat Billy alive. I’ve never seen him with a girlfriend. I doubt he would know what to do with one.’ Harry laughed and went back to join his mates.

Glenda sipped her drink. She hated the taste of alcohol but Harry would insist she drank with him when they were out. She glanced around the crowded bar, but her eyes were soon drawn back to Betty who was now draped over Billy, crooning something in his ear. Billy looked up and his eyes met Glenda’s. He held her gaze and she shifted uncomfortably, quickly averting her eyes back to the floor. There was something about him that she really didn’t like.

Billy Myers had been disappointed when he walked into the Castle and saw that Betty was there. He’d known she would make a beeline for him, and he would have to suffer the mocking and jibes of his mates at work tomorrow. But his disappointment had been short-lived when he had set eyes on Glenda Jenkins.

He wondered what Glenda saw in Harry, thinking what a lucky bugger the man was. Yes, Harry was flash with his cash and always held centre stage in a crowd, but Billy had seen the darker side of him. He knew that Harry could pack a punch and had no qualms about hitting a woman. Before Harry had married Glenda, Billy had witnessed Ruby Edwards take a beating when she had thrown his engagement ring back at him, yet somehow the woman had remained silent and Harry had got away with it. And Glenda’s so quiet, Billy thought. I bet she never complains if he does knock her about.

As Betty rubbed her hand up his back, Billy caught sight of Glenda looking at him with her dark eyes. He quickly took Betty’s arm and thrust it to one side in the hope that Glenda didn’t think he was interested in the old trollop. How could he be attracted to someone like Betty? She couldn’t hold a candle to Glenda. Glenda was a proper lady, she had class and she’d even kept her lovely figure after having the baby.

‘What’s the matter, Billy, don’t you wanna buy me a drink?’ Betty whispered. ‘I’m terrible when I’m tipsy, you know. I just can’t control my urges … and another drink might make me a bit tipsy.’

‘Yeah, all right, I suppose. Later though,’ Billy abruptly answered as he stared at Glenda. The last thing he wanted was to get lumbered with Betty and her ‘urges’.

Glenda was looking at the floor again. Probably embarrassed that I caught her checking me out, thought Billy. He wanted to approach her, offer to buy her a drink, but Harry was close by and always kept an eye on his wife. It wasn’t worth the risk, but he would bide his time. He knew Glenda would be going down the high street then up to the Latchmere baths on Wednesday morning. She always did, like clockwork. He could throw a sickie and accidentally bump into her. Could he get away with yet another sickie, though? He’d taken quite a few in the last couple of months but it’d been worth it; it had given him the opportunity to follow Glenda around and work out her routines. Now all he had to do was get her alone.

‘Oi, Billy,’ Harry shouted across the bar. ‘Come and toast Alfie’s little ’un … if you ain’t too busy with Betty!’

‘Leave it out, will you,’ Billy replied, laughing as he sauntered over to his friends, not looking back to give Betty a second glance. ‘To Alfie –’ he raised his pint of beer ‘– and whatever he calls his new nipper.’

It was almost closing time and Glenda was pleased when the bell rang out for last orders. She stifled a yawn, not wanting to appear bored whilst sat in the company of two of Harry’s friends’ wives. They were nice enough women, but all they talked about was the continuing food rations and the war years. Glenda would have loved to chat about the new Gracie Fields song she had heard on the radio, or ask them whether they preferred Frank Sinatra to Bing Crosby.

An old boy in a flat cap with a pipe hanging from the side of his mouth was tinkling away on the piano in the corner. Glenda closed her eyes, lost in her own world as she listened to the tune of ‘If You Were the Only Girl in the World’. Suddenly she was brought back to reality by rough hands pulling at her arms and the tempo of the piano changed to a more upbeat ‘My Old Man Said, “Follow the Van”’.

‘Come on, darling. Have a spin with your old man.’

Harry was tugging at her, trying to get her up to dance with him.

‘No, Harry. Stop it. I don’t want to dance,’ Glenda tried to whisper to him, but it was no use. She was on her feet now, with Harry clumsily whisking her around the floor. ‘Harry, please stop. You’re showing me up.’

‘All right, all right,’ said Harry, finally letting her go. ‘If you don’t wanna dance with your old man, that’s fine by me.’ Harry looked at his mates and laughed as he walked back to the bar. ‘Bloody woman’s got two left feet anyway and I ain’t got me work boots on.’

Glenda was left standing in the middle of the room, all eyes on her. She felt her cheeks flame as Harry’s friends joined him in laughter, except Billy, who was leaning against the bar, staring intently at her again.

She ran to pick up her coat and dashed to the exit, glad to feel the breeze outside cooling her cheeks. She took a cigarette from her small, round clasp handbag, lit it and drew in a long, grateful breath. Harry didn’t like her to smoke, especially in public, but he was drunk again and she reckoned he wouldn’t notice.

But just then the door swung open and she looked up to see her husband walking towards her.

‘What have I told you about smoking?’ He glared at her, snatched the cigarette from her mouth and angrily threw it to the floor. Then he grabbed her arm and marched her off down the road towards home, her chunky sensible heels furiously snapping on the pavement.

‘But what about Johnnie?’ Glenda asked as they crossed the top of the street where Maude and Bob lived. She was anxious to collect her son from Harry’s parents, even though it was late.

‘Don’t worry about him. Me mum would have put him in bed with her by now so you can pick him up in the morning,’ Harry growled. Glenda swallowed; she feared she was about to feel the brunt of his anger yet again that night.

Bloody woman showing me up, thought Harry as he slammed the front door of their two-up, two-down terraced house. How dare she walk off like that and have the audacity to say I was showing her up! He stormed into the small living room, throwing his ex-army overcoat over the back of their threadbare winged armchair whilst Glenda went through to the kitchen.

‘Glenda! Where are you?’

Glenda appeared in the doorway. ‘I’m just about to put the kettle on. Do you want a cup of cocoa?’

‘No, I don’t! I want to know what your bloody game is.’

‘Game … I–I don’t know what you mean,’ Glenda answered, her voice sounding shaky.

Harry took three swift steps forward until he was face to face with his wife. She’s not fucking stupid, he thought.

‘You know exactly what I mean,’ he said as he grabbed her around her neck with one of his large, calloused hands. The force he used caused Glenda to stagger backwards but still Harry held on, pushing her up against the wooden door of the under-stairs hallway cupboard. ‘Don’t you ever leave the pub like that again.’ He squeezed her neck tighter. ‘And showing you up, eh. Me showing you up! It was the other way round, woman, and I ain’t standing for it!’

He lifted his other hand, slapped her hard across her cheek and for a moment she closed her eyes, but when she opened them again to look back at him Harry could see there were no tears, just a look of defiance which he took as a challenge.

‘You fucking bitch,’ he spat, remembering how he had noticed her looking at Billy Myers. ‘Fancy that Billy, do you?’

‘No … Harry, please. Don’t be silly. Of course I don’t.’

‘Silly … So I’m silly now, am I?’ Without further thought Harry released her neck to punch her in the stomach, and Glenda fell to the floor. ‘Now who’s silly, eh?’ Harry snarled as he kicked her in the ribs. ‘Get up and get up them stairs. I’m telling you, woman, you had better behave yourself in future. You’re my wife! Mrs Harry Jenkins, and don’t you bloody forget it!’

Harry stood back as Glenda scrambled to her feet and ran for the stairs, clutching her belly. The hallway was normally dark, but now it was well illuminated by the lights from the kitchen and living room. Huh, Harry thought, I bet she turns the tears on now.

He held on to the wall as he swayed behind her, slowly stumbling up the stairs. When they were in bed he would have his husband’s rights. Harry grinned to himself as he made his way into the bedroom; at least he never suffered from brewer’s droop.

The alarm clock rang out at six o’clock in the morning. Glenda was already awake, her back to her husband and the covers pulled up tight under her chin. Her side hurt so she tried not to move too much, but she knew she’d have to get up to make Harry his morning cup of tea and pack some Spam sandwiches for his lunch. She felt a moment of resentment at the thought of having to do anything for him after what he had inflicted on her last night.

Oh, he would be sorry today, probably bringing her some cheap flowers and promising her he would never hurt her again, yet it was always the same – good behaviour for a week or two until he’d have a drink and she would become his punchbag.

Last night he had gone too far. The kick to her ribs had damaged her, possibly cracking a bone or two, and, as she had laid in bed sobbing with the pain, Harry had forced himself on her, disregarding her discomfort and ignoring her pleas to stop.

‘Argh,’ Harry grunted now as he slammed his hand down on the alarm clock. ‘My head’s banging and I think the tooth fairy shat in my mouth in the night.’

Glenda remained motionless, waiting for Harry to go to the bathroom before she would get out of the bed.

‘Sod these mornings,’ he moaned, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, ‘it’s freezing and more like winter than autumn.’ He turned and shook Glenda’s hip. ‘You awake?’

‘Yes,’ she answered through gritted teeth.

‘You gonna get up and put the kettle on then?’

Without answering, Glenda winced as she slowly climbed out of the bed and made her way downstairs to the kitchen. As she stood on the cold linoleum, staring at the kettle waiting for it to boil, she gently rubbed her aching ribs and wondered what had happened to the charming man she had married three years earlier. The one who had lavished gifts on her and made her feel so safe and secure in his muscular arms. Harry used to make her laugh so much that her sides hurt. Yet now her sides hurt for a very different reason.

She had loved Harry so much when they’d first met, but now, instead of adoration, Glenda found herself contemplating how she could ever get out of this situation. It was impossible of course. She had little Johnnie to think about and nowhere to go. Her parents couldn’t help, and even if she left, Harry would easily track her down to drag her back home. He would never let her go, and, with no other choice but to stay with him, she felt trapped – trapped with a man who was growing more and more violent.

The kettle whistled on the gas stove as Glenda feared that one day Harry would send her to an early grave.

Glenda turned the corner onto the street where her in-laws Maude and Bob lived. As she looked down the row of little terraced houses, she thought how all the streets around here looked the same, apart from the Latchmere estate with its impressive five-storey tenement blocks. Maude had said she wouldn’t mind living in one as the views would be spectacular, and they would have an indoor lavvy. But the idea of living up high didn’t appeal to Glenda, and she was lucky as her street was more up to date so they all had bathrooms inside, with electric geysers for hot water.

As was usual at this time of the morning, housewives in their housecoats, cardigans, curlers and scarves were busy outside, cleaning their doorsteps and enjoying neighbourly natters. A few younger children were kicking balls across the street, wearing short trousers even though it was a nippy day. Glenda put her head down and paced towards Maude’s house, hoping that none of the middle-aged busybodies would stop her for a chat. Her cheek was still puffy and she was running out of excuses to cover for Harry’s violence. The women around here must think I’m so clumsy, she thought, hoping the embarrassing truth would never come out.

The worst thing was that everyone in these streets who knew her also knew her mother Elsie. She was a frail woman who had had Glenda late in life. The pregnancy and a traumatic childbirth had left her weak and sickly. In fact, Ted, her father, had said Elsie had never properly got over it. Her father was getting on in years too, so the last thing that Glenda wanted was to worry them both with her marital problems.

‘Wotcha, Glenda,’ Mrs Williams called from over the other side of the street, ‘you look like you’re in a hurry, love.’

‘Oh, hello, Mrs Williams. Yes, just off to pick up little Johnnie. I can’t stop, he’s teething so I don’t want to lumber Maude for much longer.’ Glenda was pleased the woman was far away enough not to notice her swollen face.

‘All right, dear. Give Maude my regards and say hello to your mum.’

Glenda hurried on, glad when she finally reached number 127 and could retreat inside, away from the prying eyes of the neighbours. She still had Maude to face, though. The woman was a godsend when it came to babysitting Johnnie, but Glenda had never really liked her.