Sins of the Father (15 page)

‘No, that can’t be right. Why wouldn’t he want you there?’

‘I dunno, perhaps we ain’t good enough to mix
with his fancy friends. I mean, look at us, Em, we ain’t exactly toffs, are we?’

‘But he only had three friends…’ Emma paused, trying to make sense of it, but then jumped out of her skin when a voice spoke from behind.

‘Hello, what are you two whispering about?’

Emma turned quickly, her face reddening. ‘Oh, Horace, you made me jump. We…we weren’t whispering. We were just having a little chat.’

‘I see. Well, my dear, I’m sorry to break up the party, but I’m afraid your youngest sister has fallen asleep on the sofa. Not only that, your father has had a little too much to drink, and before he passes out I think it would be best if everyone leaves now.’

Emma’s mind was still churning but, distracted now, she didn’t have time to think. It was Polly who took over, waking Ann and ushering the family together, ready to leave.

With a wide smile, Polly said, ‘I’m surprised that Horace hasn’t chucked us out earlier. After all, it’s your wedding night, Emma, and the best bit’s to come.’

Emma flushed, but as they all trooped out, Dick leaned forward to whisper in her ear, ‘If you need me, Em, you know where I am.’

She nodded, but as the door closed behind them she was hardly able to draw breath before Horace
took her elbow. ‘Come, my dear, the clearing up can wait until the morning. I think it’s time for bed.’

With a sinking heart, Emma let Horace lead her upstairs, and then the horror began. She was red with embarrassment as Horace watched her undressing, miserably trying to hide her body, but as she went to put on her nightdress, he ripped it from her hands.

‘I don’t think that’s necessary, my dear,’ he murmured huskily.

The expression in his eyes made her shiver with fear and then she was on her back, half across the bed, his hands feverish on her body.

‘No, no, don’t,’ she protested, trying to cover her nakedness, trying to squirm away.

‘Oh, Emma, Emma, you are so beautiful, so innocent…’

His hands gripped her arms, his legs forcing hers apart, his body on top of her now, and then…oh, the pain, more pain than she could ever have imagined.

She cried out, tried to move, tried to get out that awful thing that he had forced inside her. With Horace’s weight upon her it was impossible, and as he grew more frantic, she beat his back with her fists, her screams rising. Horace ignored them and to Emma he was like a wild beast, his
teeth sinking into her neck.
Oh God, please make him stop!

At last his voice became a frantic cry, ‘Yes, Emma! Yes!’ and, slumping on top of her, he was left panting for breath.

Hands flailing, she pushed him off, scrambling to the far side of the bed, but it didn’t help as only moments later Horace moved closer. He was sweating, his brow wet, but he was smiling as he fought her resistance and pulled her into his arms.

‘I’m sorry if that hurt, darling, but it’ll be better next time, I promise.’

Next time! Emma was as stiff as a board as she tried to resist his embrace. ‘Oh no, Horace!’ she begged. ‘Please don’t do it again.’

He chuckled. ‘Well, I need a little time to recover, so not right this minute. Come on, relax, my dear, and let’s have a little doze.’

Emma lay stiffly beside him, listening to his breathing and praying he would go to sleep, but only half an hour later felt his hands moving over her body.

With her eyes squeezed shut, she pretended to be asleep, but nothing stopped him and once again she was fighting.

‘Now then, Emma, lovemaking is a part of married life and if you could just learn to relax, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.’

Lovemaking! He called this lovemaking! Emma
was sore, bruised and to her it was more like torture. At last, unable to fight any longer, she lay beneath him, hating the feel of his wet lips, his skin, her arms splayed out on each side, clutching the blankets in her fists.

He groaned and her bile rose. It was the same sound she had heard her father make, the same sound she had heard year in, year out in the close proximity of the attic. God, how had her mother put up with it? Would she too suffer the same fate each night? No, oh, please God. No!

Emma had been married for a week and now moved around the house like a shadow, dreading the times when Horace’s eyes would darken when he looked at her, dreading the times she was in his arms. During the day when he was out, she coped by burying herself in dreams–that she was now a lady, the house hers, yet the dream was marred when she went to her scant wardrobe. She saw little of their neighbours, but those she had seen were well dressed, the women immaculate in suits, hats and gloves. What would happen when they began to socialise? When Horace introduced her to his friends?

Horace had given her a little housekeeping money, but it was gone now and she needed to buy new clothes, needed something to distract her mind from the dread of his lovemaking. Last night had been awful again, but oh, she didn’t want to think about it. Instead she took a deep breath to
calm her nerves as they sat opposite each other at the breakfast table. ‘Er…Horace, I need to buy a few things. Do you think I could have some money, please?’

‘Money! But I gave you your housekeeping allowance on Monday.’

‘I…I know, but I need to buy some clothes.’

‘Emma, I am not a rich man and you must learn to be frugal. There is an excellent dressmaker nearby and I am sure she will be able to alter my late wife’s clothes to fit you.’

‘But I thought…I mean, all your property…’

‘What property? I only have this house, Emma, and I inherited it from my wife.’

‘But…but…’

‘Emma, you seem to be under some sort of misapprehension. I have never claimed that I own property. I am merely an agent, managing property on behalf of my employer.’

Emma stared at Horace, feeling sick with disappointment. She had married him, thinking him rich, had put up with his sexual demands, and, other than ensuring that her family wouldn’t be evicted, it had all been for nothing. She had sold herself, allowed herself to be sold, and now felt a wave of shame. God, what had she done?

Horace spoke again, his voice curt. ‘There is no need to look so horrified, Emma. We have this house, and my earnings are sufficient to ensure
a pleasant quality of life. One that will be far superior to the one you have left behind.’

Emma looked around the lovely drawing room, a room that in comparison to the attic in Battersea was filled with every luxury. It was a far cry from what she had come from, but the dream of beautiful clothes and lovely jewellery had died, leaving her frozen in shock. ‘But…but your late wife’s clothes are far too big for me and old-fashioned now.’

‘With alteration they can be brought up to date.’ Horace then pulled Emma from her chair and wrapping his arms around her, added, ‘I must go now or I’ll be late. I’ll be back some time this afternoon.’

Emma was stiff as Horace’s wet lips devoured hers. She remained ramrod straight, glad when at last he left.

Her mind was still reeling, her voice a whisper, as she sat down again. ‘Oh, Mum, what have I done? Why didn’t I refuse to marry him?’

Yet deep down, Emma knew the answer. Yes, she had wanted to keep her family from eviction, but the thought of riches, of fine things, had been a large factor in her decision. She had thought money would buy her happiness, a life away from the slums, but instead…
Oh, Mum
.

The minutes ticked by, Emma slumped over in despair, but then it was as if a voice whispered in
her ear. She raised her head and looked around the room, at the beautiful ornaments, paintings and books that she had come to love. All right, they may not be rich, but she still had so much to be thankful for. Oh, she could be happy, she could, if only Horace would stop demanding sex. Once again she slumped forward, knowing it was a forlorn hope.

By the time another two weeks had passed, Emma was at the end of her tether. With Horace’s revelation about their financial situation had come another, the realisation that Dick had been right. Horace had manipulated her, and though he may not have said he owned property, the inference had been there.

She thought back on the last few weeks, starting with her father’s marriage to Polly. It too had been a quick affair. Her father didn’t want any fuss, leaving the children at school, but there had been a booze-up at the local pub in the evening. Emma hadn’t been allowed to go, of course. Horace told her that he didn’t want his wife to be seen in a public house.

Now her family were in their lovely new flat in Balham and when Emma had first seen it, her heart had ached for her mother. How she would have loved it: the space, the high ceilings, but most of all, their own bathroom.

The clock chimed and she shuddered, praying
that Horace wouldn’t come home today. It was bad enough at night, but lately nights weren’t enough for him. He could turn up at any time during the day, demanding his so-called rights. He was like an animal, devouring her, and he didn’t care where. Across the kitchen table, on a sofa in the drawing room, in fact anywhere she happened to be when he walked in the door.

She had tried protesting, but he held the upper hand, holding her father’s flat over her like a gun to her head. He’d threaten to turn them out, to leave them homeless if she wasn’t a compliant wife. The man she had thought so kind and generous was just an illusion.

God, she needed to talk to someone, to find out if Horace’s sexual demands were normal. Surely it shouldn’t be like this? Alice Moon had told her that it only hurt the first time, and after that it could be enjoyable. Enjoyable! The woman must be mad!

If Alice liked it, Emma couldn’t complain to her, and that left only one person. She glanced nervously at the clock. If she went to Balham now she could be back before Horace’s most usual return time. Hurriedly getting ready, she almost ran out of the house.

Polly looked at Emma’s pink cheeks and knew she would have to choose her words carefully. If the
girl tried to leave Horace Bell it would put the cat amongst the pigeons and they’d almost certainly lose this flat. All right, the man might be insatiable, but what was so bad about that? From what Emma described, he wasn’t perverted, she wasn’t being slapped around, so what did she have to complain about? Polly scratched her head, sure that it was Emma who had a problem.

Bloody hell, talking about sex was making her wet and she squirmed in her chair. Unlike Emma, she couldn’t get enough of it. She was enjoying her marriage, the respectability of being a married woman again, and it was only the girls who occasionally marred her happiness. Still, she was beginning to sort them out. They’d been little sods at first, and Tom no help at all, but then she’d found that a little slap on their legs did the trick. Spare the rod, spoil the child, her father had said, and he’d turned out to be right. Unlike the girls, Luke was no trouble, and fast becoming her favourite. He was such a handsome lad, his young body developing into that of a man, and she loved giving him a cuddle.

She’d stuck to her determination that her marriage would be different this time, that she wouldn’t be ruled, and despite her initial reservations Tom had turned out to be a good husband. He was a bit work shy, but she’d soon sorted that out, getting him out of bed with a pack of
sandwiches and a flask to see him on his way. He wasn’t generous with the housekeeping money, but she’d put her foot down there too, telling him in no uncertain terms that there’d be no fun in bed if he kept her short.

After wimpy Myra, it must have been a shock for Tom at first, but surprisingly there’d been little resistance. She kept him happy in bed, loving their sexual antics too. She kept the flat spotless, and made sure they were all well fed. Yes, things were going along nicely, and nowadays Tom seemed more than contented. When he went out for a drink a few nights a week, she didn’t complain. In fact, on Saturday nights, with Luke in charge of the kids, she joined him at their new local.

With a start, Polly saw that Emma had stopped talking and was looking at her expectantly. She smiled sadly. ‘Well love, if you ask me, I think it’s you that has the problem. Horace is only doing what’s natural and after all, you
are
his wife.’

Emma’s head was low, her voice a murmur. ‘So…so I should just let him do those things?’

‘Christ, love, he isn’t doing anything wrong. Of course you should. Look, you just need to relax and I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.’

‘Enjoy it! How can I enjoy it?’

‘It ain’t that bad, but then again, maybe you’re frigid. Perhaps you could try a little drink, a drop
of gin or something. It might loosen you up and do the trick.’

‘But he makes me do it all the time,’ Emma cried.

Polly chuckled. ‘There’s nothing unusual about that. Like me, you’re newly married and the novelty ain’t worn off for Horace yet.’

‘Does…does that mean that he’ll stop soon?’

‘Well, I doubt he’ll ever do without, but he might cut it down a bit.’

Emma sighed heavily. ‘At least that would be something.’ She then rose to her feet, her voice resigned. ‘Maybe you’re right, maybe it is me, especially as Alice Moon told me it could be enjoyable too.’

‘There you are then.’

‘I must go, Polly. I would have liked to stay longer, to see the children when they come home from school, but Horace doesn’t like it if I’m not in when he comes home. He sometimes pops in during the day to see if I’m there and if I’m not, it causes such a row.’

‘It sounds like his only fault is jealousy, and I suppose that’s because you’re a lot younger than him and he’s frightened of losing you. You needn’t worry about the kids, they’re fine, and anyway, your place is with your husband.’

‘I miss them, Polly, but Horace won’t allow me to invite you to our place.’

Once again Polly chose her words carefully. ‘Listen, Emma, you’ve got to realise that you have a different station in life now. You live in that big, posh house and we just wouldn’t fit in. Blimey, love, if we came round we’d only be fit to use the tradesmen’s entrance!’